Yesterday, I was ready. Got my bag, got my cycling gear, change of clothes — grabbed a towel and headed out the door 5:10am. I was going to teach my cycle class, hit the pool,do 1,000 meters and head home. Perfect plan…finish it all before 7 am.
I’ll admit, during cycling, I was thinking about the pool. I wasn’t having marvelous thoughts of cooling water and seamless strokes. I was convincing myself not to bail because it was early and I wanted to just go home and get ready for the day – pack lunches, make sure kids were fed and watered, plan the next classes. Then it dawned on me. My suit…no bathing suit. I had an out.
Instead of relieving me, the lack of suit made me antsy. I really had no intention of bailing on the swim and now it seemed inevitable that I’d have to. As class progressed, I realized I had nary any other time to swim in the next three days. It was Monday at 6:30am or never (well, post 8pm but that is bedtime, thank you.) I couldn’t swim in padded cycling shorts…could I? And then I remembered: my daughter’s yellow, frilly pineapple bikini was in the bag. Dare I try to squeeze my woman’s size medium body into a girl’s size 10 swim suit?
This had to be the first sign that I was losing it. This triathlon thing has made me clearly batty. Surely my commitment to training had gone too far.
Regardless, I hit the locker room. I slyly took the bikini bottoms with me to the restroom stall. I figured if it was a failure, I could put my shorts back on and no one would know. If they fit even a little bit, I could wrap a towel around me and slip unnoticed into the pool. I wasn’t going to try for the top – I could wear the dry-fit cycling tank I had on. I hadn’t gone full-blown nutso.
As I scraped the suit over my thighs, I knew I could do it. But just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. The one lone pineapple on the backside stretched quite thin, but I seemed to be covered. I didn’t dare check the mirror to make sure. I hadn’t the foresight to bring a towel into the stall with me, so I sprinted back to the bench to only to discover, I had grabbed a pile of hand towels from the laundry room, not a full-sized towel. This particular facility doesn’t provide towels for you. I thought briefly about tucking them into the pineapple frill to create a skirt, but that would only call more attention and frankly, I’m not sure I had a towel-width of space to spare.
I was committed, however. It was like a dare I made to myself. So, I put on my oversized sweatshirt jacket and walked to the pool deck. Success — just one lone swimmer who barely gave me a look. I slid into the water. The bottoms were rather tight, but I managed to get in a good swim. When I went to get out, a gaggle of men sat in the hot tub. I took a deep breath and made a run for it – fast out of the water and to the locker room.
Perhaps I was the subject of some gawking, some laughter – maybe no one noticed. hope to never know. I did get my swim in and felt much more satisfied because of it.
Just goes to show, when there is a will, there is a way. It isn’t always pretty, but you can do it.