Summer has been super hot. I have gone outside exactly three times since the last weekend of May, one of which was to cover my house in tinfoil to deflect the sun's hateful rays away from my cooccon of air-conditioned slothiness.
That is maybe a little exaggerated. But the first time I have exercised outside since May was Sunday afternoon and I was almost run over while I was riding my super-sweet road and wearing my spandex tri-suit (which is like an old-timey pair of swim trunks had a baby with a zip-up vest). God, if you are listening please don't let me die in spandex unless I wake up one day as Batman.
I must correct myself though. I have been to the pool like EVERY DAY this summer. I have lost about ten pounds from this excessive overuse of cardio, and as a result I can swim like a dolphin.
I have noticed that when I exhale underwater I am engaging my vocal cords and making this retard-screaming sound during my stroke. It's like that sound that a little kid makes when they have been crying for a while but have kind of forgotten exactly what they are crying about.
UUUUUUUUUUUUhhhh! Gulp air. UUUUUUUUUUUUUhhh!
I wonder if the other swimmers can hear me. In the lane next to me is a fat old guy with a moustache that makes him look a lot like a walrus. On the other side is a lean, very tan, man who looks about five years older than me, and he swims very fast. I want him to think I'm cool, because in my head he knows people that I need to meet. He swims like successful people do and I want to be successful like him.
UUUUUUUUUUUUhhhh! Gulp. (pay attention to proper form) UUUUUUUUUUHHhhnnhh!
My wife and I took a master swim class together last summer. She told me she could hear my retard-screaming while sharing a lane. People the next lane over can probably hear it, too. I am sure walrus-man and successful-tan-fast-swimmer-guy have heard my labored breathing and have alerted the life guards to my distress. I'm pretty sure the old ladies in the water-robics class at the other end of the pool can hear me, too. It's only a matter of time before some fourteen-year-old lifeguard tries to drag me out of the pool with one of those hook things they keep on the side.
I realize at some point that I will not drown if I don't scream underwater, so I try it. I hear bubbles. Just bubbles until I get near the end of my breath out. Then I hear a whale sound. Almost like the sound a dog makes when he's scolded. A whistle.
The only explanation for this wale whistle is that somewhere in my family tree, way back in time, off the coast of Scandinavia, a mother whale gave birth to a human-whale abomination. Which would explain why when I was a young man, a woman once looked into my eyes and told me I was most likely the Antichrist. Or maybe she was a nutcase. Whatever.
I continue by new breathing for a while until I see that my pool neighbors have left. Now that they are gone I will scream underwater in peace.
As I finish my laps, I start to think about how if I was shipwrecked would sharks be attracted to or scared of my screaming. I have read that human swimming looks like the way an injured sea creature swims, that's why sharks attack.
So I wonder to myself do I want to sound like a whale or do I want to sound vicious. Should I try to growl?
You can bet your ass the next time I meet a marine biologist I will be asking nothing but hard-hitting questions like those. Nothing but the truth.
Have a great summer.
