I miss the swimmers.

Last night I was reading through the Splash magazine, a magazine published by USA Swimming, that anyone registered with USA Swimming receives for free every two months. (I am registered because I was a coach less than a year ago. I’m not sure how long that registration lasts, and I wouldn’t be upset if USA Swimming just kept on sending me Splash after it ends.)

I saw this picture of a group of about 5 girls in suits, some had towels wrapped around them, some had warm-ups on. They were gathered around their coach, who was sitting in a chair near the starting blocks. Some of the girls were standing; one was sitting on the floor, stretching her legs. They all had their hair pulled up into messy “swimmer” buns on top of their heads, so that, when they put their caps on, they look like cone heads. One girl was behind the coach, looking over his shoulder at something he was holding – probably a heat sheet.

I stared at this picture for probably three minutes – I don’t even know what the caption or story was about, if it even had a caption or story. I wave of nostalgia flowed over me.

Oh, I miss the swimmers! What strong people they are! I remember walking around at meets in the summer, passing huge girls with dried out skin stretching over their faces, with, of course, the swimmer “buns” – I think there’s two meanings there – and feeling intimidated. Swimmer girls are not like other girls. They have a crazed confidence – they’ll pee in the pool, then fill up their mouths with the water and spit it out at someone. Wedgies are uncomfortable, but they don’t care if they flip turn and their butt is hanging out. The Russian women water polo players, for instance, literally had thongs for the butts in their suits – does anyone else besides me remember that? They’ll walk around in a too-tight swimming suit with legs that haven’t been shaved for six months.

But, more than any of that, they have mental strength. They have to in order to be able to do the great amount of work they do with the very little, if any, reward received.

When the day came that I quit swimming competitively, I was relieved. But a chunk of my life was removed after that. And I’ve been going downhill ever since. I feel WEAK now. My sisters are constantly reminding me that my muscle mass has seriously deteriorated. But, even more disabling than that, I feel mentally weak. My crazed confidence – and it wasn’t even that great when I was younger – is gone. I often feel like I’m incapable of doing anything, even just cooking food that tastes good. I know that when I quit swimming, it was time for me to quit. I just wasn’t prepared for what exactly that meant for me. I don’t always have the best reactions to things that happen, like other people do. I mean, look at Ben. He vowed to never set foot in a pool again, and his mental capacity has grown exponentially ever since! His belly has too, though. Just kidding, Benji.

So, I’m striving to re-live my swimming years through Emily’s swimming career. But, it’s hard to do, because I never get to go to any of her meets. (USU and WSU need to trade places!! Grrr…) What am I going to do when she’s done though? Why does it have to end? I guess I should ask, why did the crazed confidence have to end? That's what I miss the most. My Dad would say, “It’s just how life is.” At least I have the memories of how it all felt.

OTHER NEWS: Ben got a brace for his wrist. He’s been having bad pain for a couple weeks, and finally went to the doctor; to find out he has tendinitis. It looks very cute on him, but is heart-wrenching at the same time.

Let it rip! (This one's for you, Ben)

During our lunch break, we were walking to our Institute class. It was also a class break for the entire university, so there were a lot of people walking about.

I said to Ben, “Did you let one in the office on our way out, cause I smelled something bad where you were standing.”

“No, Maddie. Don’t you remember what I told you last week?”

“Umm,” I tried to remember, “You said you always admit it whenever you let one?”

“No,” he responded, “I said that if I let one in that office, I’m going to really RIP one loose.”

Meaning it’s going to be as loud and rumbly as he can make it.

I start cracking up thinking about how funny/awkward that situation would be. By now, Ben’s on a roll, and continues to make noises with his mouth demonstrating some of the possibilities of the flatulence.

But he’s not being very quiet about it. I start talking about SBDs (silent, but deadlies), but he doesn’t catch my hint and keeps making the loud demonstrations of gas being passed. (Apparantly, Ben “doesn’t ever really have” SBDs, except in one situation that is probably a little over the edge to post on this public domain.) I feel people’s eyes on us, so I smack Ben on the arm, and hurry ahead, hoping people don’t realize I’m with this free-flowing individual.

Well, Ben, hopefully now we can both say that we’ve been humiliated today! I love you!

What's with Wuthering?

Has anyone read Wuthering Heights?

I’ve heard a little about it from my sister-in-law, but after watching about 20 minutes of it – that’s all I could handle – on Masterpiece Theater (I think that’s what it’s called) on Sunday, I’m kind of afraid of it now. I think it’s because Heathcliff had a huge nose, long ratty black hair and gigantic pale blue bug eyes. He looked like he smelled like something that had been rotting for a year, and he was just scary. He was a big man with big thighs, and ran around and yelled at people. Is that how he’s supposed to be? It seems like he should be a little romantic, but what do I know?

But really, this is all about Edward. Well, mostly. My curiosity in Wuthering Heights comes mostly from Twilight. I’m pathetic. Edward often relates to Heathcliff, and has lines from the book memorized. So that sparked my interest in the book. BUT, Edward is not the only reason I want to read it. (I like speaking about Edward as if he really exists.) I noticed the author is Emily Bronte. Is she related to Charlotte Bronte, who wrote Jane Eyre? If she is, I know it’s got to be an interesting story. I don’t know if Emily Bronte could come up with anything as great as monstrous psycho wives hidden in the attic, though. Finally, I want to read it because I think it’s just one of those classics. If Stephenie Meyer, who majored in literature at BYU, mentions it in her books along with Pride and Prejudice (one of the greatest of all time) and Sense and Sensibility, it’s got to mean something.

Maybe after I finish reading Breaking Dawn (this is only my second time through the series – see, I’m not that bad, like, cough cough, EMILY) and Midnight Sun (sigh), I’ll venture away from Meyer literature to the library for something that doesn’t involve steamy vampires. (Not that I think they’re steamy.)

Boxelder bugs are out to get me

It’s the middle of the winter! Come on! Why on earth are there still boxelder bugs roaming around?

This morning at work there was one over by the coat rack. My heart starting beating feverishly and my adrenaline pumped up. I cannot handle any kind of creepy-crawley, and boxelders just seem to be the worst. I’m told they are “harmless” but I don’t believe it. They always fly in my face and crawl down my shirts!

So, by the coat rack, I pushed the ugly buggy to the floor, but when I went to step on it, it was gone. That’s another thing I hate – they blend in to everything! I gave up (mostly because I think people were wondering if I was OK crouching around nervously by the coat rack).
I went to my desk and all was well for a few hours. But then, out of nowhere, the horrid thing was above my head, on the shelf over my computer!!!!!! Panic, panic, panic, panic!!! Why can’t I have a calm reaction to this?? I get a Kleenex and grab the boxelder, but of course I don’t dare to actually smash it. I throw it away in the trash can under my desk. Yeah, BIG mistake.

I was hoping that somehow it got killed. But, sure enough, it started crawling up my “cubicle” wall. WHAT DOES IT WANT WITH ME?!?!?! My armpits are sweating by now and my hands are shaking. I get a post-it sticky note and push it to the floor once again. DUR! How come it can disappear? I spend about 5 minutes searching under and around my desk for the bugger, but could not find it.

I try to go back to work, but I’m so shaky. I know it will come back for me. I know it, I know it. My eyes dart around my little 2 X 2 foot “workspace” like a paranoid heroin addict.
After a while, I am able to calm down a little, though. Whew. Maybe it’s really gone. But, of course it’s not. I see the tiny black, blurry movement from the corner of my eye first. Then I see it all: about 3 inches from my typing arms the boxelder is coming for me AT TOP SPEED! I’ve never seen an insect move so FAST!!! Have mercy! I’m sorry I tried to kill you! Please, just leave me alone! I won’t do it again! I moved my arm and it changed it’s course. It was CHASING me!

Somewhere, something within me clicked. I worked quickly. I scooped the bug with the post-it again, and followed it carefully to see where it landed on the floor. AND I CRUSHED IT’S LITTLE EVIL GUTS!!!!!!!!! I BEAT THE BOXELDER! YES!!!!!!!!! VINDICTION!
But, I swear the thing is haunting me. Ever since I killed it, I swear, I’ve been feeling creepy-crawley tiny insect legs ALL OVER MY BODY. Down my shirt. On my leg. On my neck. On my head. I can’t stop flinching everytime I feel it, but of course, there’s nothing there when I check.

Am I going to make it through this day? Am I going to let a tinsy tiny black and red bug with long hair-like legs ruin my life? Um, I think it already has. Sure, I won this time. But I know that buggy is talking to all his friends from the buggy heaven. I know they’re going to come after me for revenge. I know it. I know it.