Pay the Piper Wednesday

After goofing off in Florida for several days,  I had to face my training schedule.  We had a ball in FL, going to two Red Sox games and seeing five different couples who were friends when we lived in Aurora, OH.  My training regime, however, really requires that I do something six days a week.  Yesterday I was just too tired to lift a finger.  So, today the piper had to be paid, in the form of Fraulein Gabi the bike coach.  I went to her spin class and she took us up over a mountain, down the other side with eight switchbacks, and back up the mountain and down again.  Not really, but the class is designed to mimic that.  The closest thing we have to a mountain in Savannah is the Tallmadge Bridge that goes to SC.    I am whipped.   Driving home I thought about the term "pay the piper" and looked up its origins, which are German and ironically also relate to death.  Did I mention that Gabi is German?  She is one tough cookie.   Pay the piper means facing the consequences of one's actions.   That I did and hope I can walk tomorrow.

The ladies' locker room is my new hangout.  How pathetic.   We've belonged to our club for a few years and a club before that in Aurora.   I can't think of a time when I spent more than five minutes in the ladies' locker room.  It brings back bad memories for me from junior high (we did not go to intermediate school) and high school PE classes.   The entire experience was miserable from the stinky locker room to the strange gym teachers to the ridiculous activities to the one piece blue snap-close gym outfits ( Ann and Jan, you know what I am talking about).    We played dodge ball and did square dancing.  Yes, we really did square dancing.    Today the kids can do yoga or pilates or zumba or weight-lifting.  There is something for everyone.   It was so miserable the girls used their periods as an excuse to sit it out or scheduled orthodontist appointments during the PE time.   Didn't we pity those poor girls who had PE for first or second period?  The hair was never the same for the rest of the school day in hot/humid East Texas and there was a lot of focus on hair as I recall.    Pathetic. I was a pre-Title IX baby also so the girls activities were non-existent.    So,  even though I have access to some very nice, even luxurious locker rooms,  I've avoided them, until a month ago.    Now I hang out in the locker room.  I have to adjust my swim cap, for example.   We have a very nifty machine to squeeze the water out of one's swim-suit.  We've paid good club dues to get these amenities.    I went one week without ever taking a shower in my own house because I was showering in the locker room to get the pool water out of my hair and off my skin ASAP.   I've learned where to buy the best bathing suits from locker room gossip---and the best cover-ups too. I now know the difference in polyester vs nylon swimsuits. Who knew?   I've discussed my problem of needing a long torso bathing suit because a regular just don't work on this long-waisted body.  That elicited lots of advice and sympathy.   I've learned to use spray deodorant versus my at-home favorite. I've learned to get to the showers before the hoards of water aerobic ladies finish their class.   I see friends there that I never run into otherwise.   My life is transformed and all the bad 8th grade memories are erased.  This is better than therapy or hanging out at Starbucks.

Tomorrow I will hit the pool.   Friday I plan to take a Masters' Swimming Class where those people swim a mile in the pool.  We will see if I can do it.    "Masters" doesn't mean they are a master of anything.  It is only about age.  :-(
I am sharing this picture from Jennie.  It sums up the TNT experience. I couldn't have said it any better and in the midst of swimwear conversations I like to keep this in mind.