laps

I was on my 27th 50 meter lap when someone attached an anchor to my leg. I couldn't see who it was, I couldn't even see the anchor, but I felt it sure enough. I was swimming along just fine and suddenly my forward motion slowed to a near-crawl. Snails were swimming past me and laughing. A two-toed sloth backstroked away, mocking me with his crooked grin.

OK, OK, maybe it wasn't an anchor, maybe it was just my age catching up with me. Maybe it was my lack of solid sleep the night before that did me in. Maybe it was my diet. Maybe I'm just not a good swimmer.

Or maybe I was just weighted down with the thoughts of an animal kingdom struggling for survival, of a country led by a baboon's ass and of the size of the national debt. That would weigh on anyone (and markedly slow them down while swimming).

Next time I'm in the pool I'm thinking light thoughts, really light. Like, "Is Jessica Simpson related to Homer?"* That should speed things up.

* (the Greek poet, not the cartoon.)