As I mentioned a few posts ago, I broke down and gave Emory $335 for a family membership to their Olympic sized pool. The membership is good for the entire swim season, which runs through November 1st, essentially making it $29 a month per person. If we go at least 7 times a month, it will be cheaper than paying $5 a visit as a non-member guest. I'm tempted to record each visit on my Google calendar so that when November rolls around, I can calculate our actual price per visit, but that would be kind of neurotic, wouldn't it? Who would do that? And why would they do it in Google calendar when they can set up an Excel spreadsheet?We've gone three times since I paid the membership fee, and it already feels like we have free access to the pool. How quickly we forget shelling out large amounts of "hard" earned money. Maybe I should pay myself $5 for every visit. Assuming the minimum number of visits per month (7), with a period of 6 months (May through November), I could repay myself $210 by the end of the swim season.
Okay, enough with the calculations. I really brought up the pool because I heard something incredibly disturbing yesterday. I went with charrow and another friend, both of whom are stronger swimmers than me, so I always end up sitting around reading until they're shriveled and exhausted. I was trying to ignore the frat boy kickboard game** and concentrate on my New Yorker article about Li Ying and his Crazy English(!!) propaganda when two girls ambled past me in white t-shirts and teeny tiny shorts. They were talking about a friend (or possible frenemy) that is "not fat" but not really skinny either. Just before they were out of earshot, I heard Teeny Shorts say to Tiny Shorts, "I mean, she's about average, but average is overweight!"
Anyone else feel their average thighs chafing together?
**the kickboard game consisted of 6 Joe College guys, 1 kickboard, and 2 tennis balls in the recreational end of the pool. There were 4 fielders (i.e. lungers that made a lot of splash but not a lot of catches), 1 pitcher, and 1 kickboard batter. When we first arrived at the pool, it was crowded with sun bathers, so we got stuck with chairs in front of what I consider the kiddie area. When I finished my laps, the game was already in full swing, but it was still too crowded to relocate. So I was trying to read while keeping a squinty eye on the pitches lofting through the air, about one third of which were going over the batter's kickboard and bouncing past either my chair or the chair of a very tan bikini clad girl about 6 feet away. Personal nightmare anyone? We finally moved to the opposite end of the pool where I could still hear the game (complete with the shrieking of a few new players), but at least I didn't feel obligated to scamper after their stupid tennis ball with my average towel covered body.
3 comments:
>>"I mean, she's about average, but average is overweight!"
While I cannot pretend to comprehend the pressures on the minds and bodies of a college age girl in short shorts at the pool, in my defense, I also cannot comprehend the apparent joy taken in cutting jugulars and slicing hamstrings of friends and enemies alike.
Partial blame may be placed on beauty campaigns, magazines and the like, but goddamnit, partial blame rests squarely on the shoulders of these clucking hens.
Well, depending on the statistical sample, she might actually be right. (!)
I'm guessing if you chose a pool of people at random in most American cities, their average weight would fall a little north of ideal.
Steve: I was afraid someone would point that out. I assumed a more derogatory context for her statement, but I agree, the actual average weight is probably not ideal (vs. the recommended average which is a completely different story).
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