Climb for Hospice

In a never-ending quest to find new and exciting ways to train, I decided to do something really stupid: take up swimming.

“But swimming is great exercise, Robyn!” you say, “it’s low-impact, good for your wonky hips, works all your muscles, and lets you gawk at hot lifeguards while working out. What’s not to love?”

I like swimming, I do. As you know, I used to be a Ladner Stingray (along with my climbing teammate, Alison), and so am fairly confident in my swimming skills. However, my body mass is quite different now then when I was a young Stingray, and so there are parts of my body that now sink, as opposed to when I was young and was possessed with all-encompassing buoyancy. It’s a humbling experience. But whatever, it’s worth it… right?

As much as swimming is a great sport and a fantastic workout, (and I find those little blue kickboards to be kind of adorable), and as accessible and inexpensive as it is… it’s the trauma that accompanies it that makes me smack my forehead repeatedly, while muttering “why? why? why? WHY?”

That’s right – Bathing Suit Shopping.

It has got to be one of the most traumatic, depressing, shock-inducing, rage-creating, tear-worthy events that women undertake. I’m not in bad shape, but when I put on a bathing suit, little neon arrows pop up in mid air to point at the poufy spots that shouldn’t be poufy. Alarms sound! Lights flash! There is panic in the street! Cats and dogs living together! MASS HYSTERIA!

There is nothing in the world that a woman does faster than take off an ill-fitting bathing suit. GAH! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! Get it off! get it off!! Bathing suit shopping is the LSD of retail experience.

I have NO IDEA why the US government has such a hard time getting confessions out of terrorists. They don’t need waterboarding. They don’t need Barney and Friends theme music.  All they need is a fully-mirrored room, and multiple bathing suits of descending size.

If I were President, I would turn Guantanamo into a Swimco. And then staff it with size zero women.

“I DID IT, I DID IT! I’M SORRY! NOW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE GIVE ME BACK MY PANTS!!!”

Aaaaaaaaaaanyway…

I braved the mall, and  *shudder* tried on a couple of suits. I mean, that’s bad enough, right? But to add insult to injury, someone felt that it was a good idea to charge an astronomical sum for swimsuits! Do you SEE how much material is there!? And when you buy a bikini, it costs even MORE! I think the people who set the price for swimsuits are the same people that set the price for printer ink.

But I did it. I bought myself a swimsuit. It was even on sale! I feel much better now… mostly because I won’t have to go swimsuit shopping for another few years.

Now… where is that over-sized beach towel of mine…?