I went to the indoor pool at my gym today. I’ve mentioned this pool before. I have great swims here. I’m not really sure why, but it may be because I look like a rock star at this particular venue. People stop me and tell me what a “lovely swimmer” I am. In an effort to practice taking a compliment, I smile and say thank you. Not “Gee, you don’t get out much” or “Wow, you really don’t know much about swimming, do you?” For it’s true…I actually swim instead of sit in the hot tub, and I’m not the 400 pound guy in Lane 1.
Anyway, I got there to day and walked right out to Lane 2. Man in Lane 3 stopped, stood up, gave me a thumbs-up and said “You look good”.
“Thanks!”, I said. Are your goggles foggy? Oh, I’m just standing here. In my speedo. And I haven’t shaved my legs. Yup, “thanks” will do.
Who are you? Mister Magoo? Cataract Carl? “Wow”, I say. “Stop right there! I just want to glory in that comment!”
“You know the swimmer I’m talking about, right?” Lane 3 continues.
“Oh, you had a particular swimmer in mind?”, I query. Please God, I’m having a good day. Please let it be someone other than that East German. Or the one that they had to do testing on to see if she was really a woman…
Well of course you’re not talking about some young chippy with these thighs. But c’mon. Did you have to lump me with “older”? Oh wait…older Olympian…this is still quite wonderful! “Why yes, I know exactly who you’re talking about! And you Sir, are officially on my Christmas card list! Stop talking right now! I just want to savor that comment…”
“Yeah. She doesn’t look bad for someone her age, does she?”, Lane 3 says.
And there you have it. I remind (one very small piece of) the world of Dara Torres. And she doesn’t look bad. For someone her age.
Should I call her and tell her?