I woke up feeling more focused and responsible, and as it occurred to me that I've been around a lot of sick people lately, so maybe all that restless rambling was the effects of a virus and not a midlife crisis after all.
Good, because it's been really nice outside, I have quite a bit of work to catch up on, the kids need attention, M.H.'s book ain't gonna edit itself, we have to cook if we want to eat Paleo, and I'd really like to get back into the swing of going to the gym every day. But this morning I decided to swim with the GATORS and this happened:
The story: Okay, so there's a new guy who doesn't circle swim in a way (to phrase it as accurately as possible) that's predictable to me. We were swimming a timed 500, and I was determined to break 7:30. About halfway through—with too much focus now, I suppose—I tried to pass him rather aggressively on a turn and instead got a chest full of fingernail. Fortunately, it didn't hurt either of us (mine looks worse than it feels). And I had time to apologize profusely and still swim a 7:22, so that was good.
Next goal: Break 7 minutes without trying to kill my friendly lanemates.
Note to self: Dig out some higher-neckline shirts so M.H. doesn't have to think about whether other people are thinking about whether I am a victim of spousal abuse.