Wave Makers

This morning I got my butt out of bed after Mr. kicked my shin - again - and told me I couldn't let Rebecca down.

"Sure I can!" I mumbled in his direction as I stumbled to our bathroom, refused to turn on the lights to pee and brushed my teeth in hot water because I turned on the wrong faucet. Does it make your mouth double clean to kill the germs with toothpaste and hot hot water? I'll have to look into this. Anyways, I pulled on the old swim suit that best suited a geriatric fat grandma than a twenty-something (I have three weeks) girl. Too bad it fit. Snugly. Too snug? Noooooooo.

Pitch black cold air shocked my eyes open as I hauled myself into Mr.'s Envoy. He left it in the driveway for me so I wouldn't wake the kids up when I left at the unGodly hour of 5-something to go shock my body that we were moving  just to move, not to chase diapered butts or energetic preschoolers.

The Y was buzzing with activity, skinny people drinking stainless steel bottles of water with sweaty ponytails that looked better than my hair why I style. So, I stepped back out and waited for Rebecca on the sidewalk. As she walked up with some serious bed head and jammies -- I love her -- and did a little "Yay Us!" cheer that pumped us both us and made our round bellies roll as Svelte Momma held open the door for us and then ruined the kind gesture with a roll of her eyes. We entered the Y with a little bit of nervousness that happens when you see someone naked for the first time. When you can fit into clothes at Lane Bryant, trust me, a swimsuit is the equivalent of naked.

We giggled as we undressed in the locker room and literally ran and jumped in the pool, maintaining complete eye contact. Come to think of it I still couldn't tell you what her suit looked like from below the shoulder straps.

We made waves. Just our waves happened to be in a different direction, style, and tempo than anyone else in the class. More eye rolls ensued, some from ladies old enough to be my mom's mom. Apparently, the instructor thought "pendulum swing! One two!" was enough direction when all you could see was her neck and head bobbing in the cold pool to get you doing her exact moves. So, we tried and laughed and laughed and tried.

We were moving! And having fun. Although, I must have had a better work out than Rebecca because she had to use one arm on anything that made her DD's try to float out of her suit, which happened to be most circuits. We plan on going back twice a week, on mornings that our men aren't at the Y. I just hope the Moth Ball Lady who gleefully cheered "this rough pool bottom is like a pumice stone" just as I accidentally swallowed a bit of pool - and then choked it back out - and the incontinent lady who I'm pretty sure had a few bursts of yellow under her as we did some hard core jumping jacks using the bar weights. One time Moth Ball Lady called me out and asked why I was drowning, while my body weight should have been supported by my wrists. I called out FIBROMYALGIA, you old Coot! and shut her up. In my head.

All in all, it was a really nice way to start the day, even if I did ingest a little urine and sloughed dead skin from some geriatric toes.