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Typos, pool etiquette and why guys should have short hair.

As I was looking over past blog entries, I realized there was a “per” where there should be a “pro.” (As in prospective.) Argh. It has been corrected. How I can consider myself a writer and constantly misuse and make up words makes no sense. (Or since.) However, if you do it with enough confidence, most people won’t question you – at least not to your face.

My favorite time of year is here – outdoor pool time. The dome came off at Roeland Park last week and practices have a whole new feel. Part of it is the switch from yards to meters, which doesn’t seem like much, but my triceps beg to differ. Especially when swimming long course meters, like last Saturday. As I stared at the black line below me, one thought repeated itself. Where. Is. The. Freaking. Wall.

Saturday also included a confrontation with a grumpy old man in my lane. I’ll spare you the details, but all you need to know is that I was right. What I was the most proud of was when he said I should move to a faster lane, I swam right past him. Yep. Made my point. Who was he to tell me to move? Why couldn’t he move to the slower lane?

And then reality hit me. I will never be an Olympic swimmer, so was this really that important? After the set I moved to a lane by myself to finish the workout. But I stood my ground for the main set, proving that I refuse to miss my interval. Take that, Mr. Grouch.

Remember when I mentioned there’s not much excitement in my life to blog about? Now you understand.

Oh wait. I do have one funny story that is non-triathlon related. Last week, Boyfriend and I went to Lulu’s for dinner. We were eyeing the entrées of the people in the next booth, one of who’s back was to us. So I asked the waitress what she had ordered. And the waitress pointed to the girl facing me. And I say, “No – her” indicating the girl who was facing away.

Except it wasn’t a girl; it was a dude. With long, flowing hair. The waitress did her best to cover, but I was loud and rather insistent. Sadly, I didn’t realize my mistake until 30 minutes later when I gasped to Boyfriend, “Holy smokes, that’s not a girl!” He smiles. “You knew that was a guy?” I ask. “Yeah, but I didn’t want to make you feel bad,” he responded. Perfect response, since I felt like a complete idiot.

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