Pooling Alone

Another Friday. Another night pooling alone. Instead of a night listening to local bands, eating fine local cuisine, nursing a nearly-frozen cider, and contemplating a dance or three once the booze takes hold, I wander to the gym. Core and forearms routines in a nearly empty hangar. Then climb into my Mexican wrestling uniform and grind through 1200 meters. Strangely, all the other lanes were full. Though I was the youngest and slimmest (whoa!) occupant. Why is a seventy six degree room warm but a seventy six degree pool is cold?

I'm thankful for my health. And the solace of the gym. Under water my thoughts can breathe. Dance and drink are over-rate, anyway. I'll take sweat and toil. I like the way they hurt.