Personal training would not only cure my back pain, I rationalized, it would inevitably turn me into Claudia Schiffer. Or Heidi Klum. Or Gwyneth.Maybe.
Anyway, things went great with my trainer until he announced that he expected me to be working out on some of our “off” days. (Note to self: I always thought “off” meant “off”?) Since I can only afford the trainer twice/week, that meant he expected me to work out at least three of the remaining days.Deflated, I asked him if it would be okay if I swam on one of those days.
“Sure! I think that would be a great idea!” he enthused.The next morning at 5am sharp, I was in the pool swimming laps. I had new goggles, a new swimcap, and a new attitude. I was a female Michael Phelps.
When I got out of the pool, I decided to chat with the lifeguard for a few minutes. Since he would be the one saving my life if my future self happened to hit her head against the cement pool wall, I thought it would be good to at least know his name.It was a difficult Russian name and I immediately forgot it. I changed the subject and asked him if he liked swimming. (Gimme a break, it was early. I couldn’t think of anything else to chat about.)
He promptly replied, “I can’t swim.”Yikes! The lifeguard can’t swim?!
Realizing his error in language, he corrected himself: “I am not allowed to swim while on duty.”At least I got my heart rate up.
trifecta writing challenge/ exactly 333 words/ key word is "zombie"