Thick white fog hung over the East Texas lake early that sultry, steamy summer morning. The ground clouds mirrored the layer of gauze of sleep over my still slumbering eyes. We’d been awakened at the butt crack of dawn a bit too gleefully by the Scoutmaster or one of his slightly sadistic and sycophantic Scout leaders. It was the Big Day. The one we’d been dreading, anticipating, and otherwise talking about all week. It was time for mission impossible: the Mile Swim.
Slowly our shivering selves made our way to the shore, shedding shirts, shoes, and sleepy heads. Safety spelled out in a speech, suddenly it was sink or swim and shut the hell up time. The rest is mostly a blur, but somehow I and most of my Scout siblings, suffering silently in solidarity, finished the damn thing. One thing is crystal clear though: there were some alligators in that water. I swear I shit you not… seriously!
New Years resolutions have gone by the way side for plenty of folks a month later now that Punxsutawney Phil has (or hasn’t) seen his shadow on Groundhog Day. It seems like a good time for re-evaluating fitness goals. For me, after many, Many, MANY! thousands of miles on my bicycles – in the last four years especially – I’m still a fathlete (fat + athlete). Well, I’m athletic-adjacent. I know I ain’t no Mahomes, holmes. Point is, adaptation is a real thing, so after many years of not being a member of the Y, I asked myself “Why not join back up?” I enjoyed it before, so maybe I would again.
At first, I could only list the usual downsides: the hassle of getting there and back, showering, wiping (the machines, not my ass, silly goose!), paying monthly, fighting other people for a spot, worry about athlete’s foot and so on. I consulted with gym members and sometime riders Rhodney and Saurabh. Then, on the day I used a guest pass to take the place for a test drive, all those excuses just kinda melted away. Especially when I got into that hot tub after a nice swim. Mmmmm… melty.