Late Swimmers and Pouting Cats

I swam the big pool Monday morning. I went in at 8:00. We had an agreement, John and I, to meet there at 8:00. He was one hour and twenty-five minutes late. One hour and twenty-five minutes. I think he was proud of himself. He is a child, a seventy-six year old child. 

I swam

1,200 27:27

2 X 50 taking care of stuff

2 X 250 hard/250 easy

  4:38

  5:39

  4:39

  5:32

6 X 100 @ 2:25

200 easy

2 X 100 @ 2:25

500 small paddles

200 medium paddles

4 X 100 large paddles

2 X 50

total: 4,100 meters.

I did not do anymore training.

Surprisingly I was tired. My muscles were tired. I felt the strain in my trapezius muscles. 

Huh?  

Yeah. I never heard of that either. They are not even a prime mover in swimming but are antagonists. 

More shrugs?

I think. Balance. Muscular balance is important.

Meanwhile CC has been insatiable. For several weeks she has been giving me the treatment. I think we are made up, and then it starts all over again. Finally, I figured it out. When she greets me, it is not enough for me to speak, make eye contact, and touch her. I have to make a fuss over her. Anything less hurts her feelings. She is like that, needy, demanding, diva-ish. That is OK with me. I just wish she had told me.

Imagine this. I get up at 5:30 a.m. to use the bathroom. She comes running, meowing. I am trying to accomplish three things: not fall down, not wake fully up, and get my business done so I can catch a few more winks. Now I know I probably have to wakeup fully to give her a bunch of attention or she will sulk off pouting, and sleep in the kitchen for a week. 

We had Over 60s for the third time since COVID wrecked our world, and for the first time since starting back, the Barrentines were there. We enjoyed fellowshipping with them and the Adams and the others. The fish was very good, and we played Bingo. Junior won a pack of Reese's and gave them to me. He is a sweet man.

It was a good day, a nice start to a new week. Thank you, Jesus.