Wednesday, April 6, 2011

There Always Has to Be One

One random "who are you?" dude who just has to go there and indulge the lame-o pregnancy joke to protect his own ego. 

So I'm at the pool for Master's this morning and am swimming with one girl and three guys. The girl leads the lane and I'm #3 with fins on. Guy #2 in front of me is the "Are we havin' contractions or somethin'?" guy from a few weeks ago. 

I'm planning on taking it as easy as necessary because I think the first of the Braxton Hicks contractions are actually upon me as of Monday...and thus feel a profound need to enjoy every workout that remains and really, really not overdo it. 

The workout is rather hard (5x100 desc, 4x100, 3x100, 2x100, 1x100 with 200 dps in between each, for all you technical folk) but I'm actually feeling GREAT. Great, and am on the toes of Guy #2 the whole time. 

Through the first half of the workout I probably lap him three times. Or rather he gets tired and has to let me pass him three times. With him out of my way I'm able to hold the #2 spot for the second, much harder half of the workout and make all the posted times with room to spare--and with open water between the guy and me. Who knew? Good workouts tend to follow not-so-great ones. Here, that would be the run the previous night that resulted in more walking than planned. You just never know how you'll feel. 

Anyway. At the end of practice, the good-natured coach is giving the guy I passed a hard time about maybe not having the best swim of his life. And then as I'm pushing off the wall again for another 200, I of course hear--cue the emasculated male--"I don't know, man. She just keeps getting bigger...and those hormones...and...." And I don't catch any more of it because--guess what--I'm swimming and not standing there pretending to fix "leaky goggles" in order to get extra rest. 

So whatever, right? Then as I'm leaving the pool area (after exiting at the ladder because my stomach now hits the side of the pool if I try to hoist myself out), he's like, "Oh, and uh, sorry about the pregnancy joke there." 

Joke? There was a joke? Because I'm pretty sure the part I heard you say wasn't quite joke-like. So there was MORE? Something to imply that pregnancy turns one into the likes of a hormonal power oven that people should probably "stay away from" and probably isn't quite "cool"?  

"Oh, that's fine. I'm pretty sure I didn't hear the joke." But thanks for telling me about it!

Off to the locker room, in defense mode, I'm of course wondering what the joke was. But then it occurs to me that any male also wearing fins who gets his butt kicked by someone 8 months pregnant is liable to say just about anything to soften the blow. 

Which, as I start washing my hair, prompts me to remind myself how above it I am and that it doesn't even matter what he said. Which then prompts a hearty post-workout kick from Baby, basically saying "That's right, we don't care!"

We Just Don't Care.

2 comments:

Mom/Mary Jo said...

Rock on.

Pharmie said...

No way. I think I would have a hard time not trying to pass this guy every time I got in the pool with him (if I were capable of passing people at this point). You are a rock star :)