Alone and Unobserved

I arrive at the pool at 11AM. The coach has us warm up with 100 yards (four pool lengths) of the stroke of our choice. Then we do another 100 yards of kick drills. At this point, I am already completely exhausted. That means it’s time to do 100,000 hours of leg sprints*. I am thirsty, so I drink several gallons of pool water. Then we dive, and dive, and dive.

“Now,” the coach says, “we’re going to combine everything we’ve worked on today by doing a relay race!”

There are five swimmers on each team. By the time it is my turn, we are already slightly ahead, and I dive off and swim as fast as I can to the other side. Since I am completely out of shape, this leaves me with barely enough energy to keep from sinking to the bottom as I flounder back to the starting line. I clamber out of the pool, gasping and trying to keep from vomiting. Our team loses, barely.

“Time for another race!” the coach announces.

“Urgh,” say I.

He takes one look at me and asks me if I want to sit. I nod, and he helps me to sit without falling on my face.

“You know, why don’t you just lie down?” he suggests, toppling me inexorably onto my side and propping my legs up against the wall.

I lie there like a fish for several minutes. A flabby, mostly naked fish in a Speedo. Everyone stares at me. Finally I sit up.

The coach hurries over. “No, you should really lie down,” he urges, pushing me over again. “And get those feet elevated.”

Another eternity passes. The tile floor is slimy. I do not want to think about catching a disgusting disease and my skin sloughing off. I recall that I neglected to eat anything this morning.

“You’re getting some color back in your lips!” the coach cries. “Do you want to try sitting up?”

I push myself into a sitting position. I do my best to hide the wave of dizziness and nausea that washes over me. Apparently I succeed, because he nods and walks away. At least from this vantage point I can see all the hot, Speedo-clad action happening all over the room.

Finally, everyone is getting out of the pool. The coach comes over again and asks me if I feel all right.

“Oh, yes!” I chirp. “I’m just dandy.”

He helps me get up. I try not to pass out. Apparently I’m not quite as successful at concealing it this time, because he has me put my hand on his shoulder. He walks me out of the pool room as if I were an Old Person, stopping every two steps to ask if I’m still with him.

Once he lets me go I flee.