Purple bathrobe & Starbucks



This is not me; nor will post a picture
in my purple bathrobe & swim cap.


Eight o’clock in the morning and it’s already 87 degrees. Today’s forecast, cooler with high of 104. Oh goodie. I know what you are thinking, you are in Las Vegas. Nope, I’m in the city that claims to be the gateway to Yosemite (as it’s clearly stated on the garage cans) Merced, California. And I’m about ready to lap swim. The water in the pool is 91 degrees. Yes, that’s not a typo, 91 degrees. My daughter works on deck as an assistant swim coach. I drug myself out of bed at 6 am to meet her on deck and lap swim. Bathrobe covering my swim suit, I approach the pool disappointed. The lane lines are set up length wise for long course water 50 meters (think Olympic size pool.)

Fifty meters. I could drown before I swim to the other side and in 91 degree water it’s possible.

“You look so sad,” my daughter says to me. “Come back and swim at 8:30 am. The lane lines will be set for short course water.”

“I don’t think I can go to Starbucks in my bathrobe.”

I can’t decide if I’m upset, disappointed or overjoyed at the thought of drinking coffee instead of swimming in my short, purple bathrobe. The need for coffee is overwhelming. Bathrobe and all.

Coffee fueled and ready to swim. I slide into the side of the pool. In the lane line to the right is three college guys; to my left are four college girls. No one joins me in my lane. Google’s down over my purple swim cap, I push off the wall.

First lap, okay. Second lap, okay and then my thoughts run wild. Swimming is a solitary sport at least I find it hard to have a conversation with my face in the water, my mouth in water. I can’t remember if I put sun block on. My back feels hot. Is it covered? And oh no, what about my face? I can’t remember if I put my face cream on with sun block. My skin is Oregon pasty white without much previous sun exposure. Heck, I take Vitamin D because my skin lacks the sunlight it needs but it’s not my fault. Oregon is known for rain. Calculating my white skin, lack of possible sun block with reflection of the water I estimate I have about 12.5 minutes to be in the water before I burn. My pace slows to a crawl. Since my time is limited and the warm waters slows me I set a new goal to swim 5 laps (there and back, 25 meters) in 12 minutes. Now, if you are a swimmer you know this means that a snail could swim faster than me if it had fins. I feel that sluggish. Not even the caffeine can save me now. I find the clock against the brick wall and start my five laps.

One, one and a half two. I’m knocking them down. Three, four, four and half. I’m giddy. Only a half lap left, I flip, push and glide as long as I can. For those who don’t swim, the turn and glide is the best part of lap swimming; it’s a rest period. Swim coaches would disagree with me and claim they are attitude. For adult fitness swimmers, its rest and the goal is to glide as long as possible to conserve energy. Forget oohing and awing at the infinity pool you’ll see on display at State fairs; swimming without the bulk head is just plain silly.

I’m at lap five. Time to cheer, time to get out of the pool before I burn. I find the clock and the smile on my face, my giggy joy is gone; it’s only been 3.5 minutes. What? I have to set a new personal best record in the sauna pool? I have to go back and put my face back into the water and find other thoughts to worry about? No thank you.

I pull myself up and out. Thank goodness for the upper body strength to do that. The college kids are laughing and talking. I hope it’s not about my thighs.

Where is that short, purple bathrobe for as I hear Starbucks calling my name.