Broken Mile Friday

You've heard the term "Broken Arrow"? What the military calls the situation of having lost - or had stolen - a nuclear weapon? It is probably the closest thing to panic that the military would acknowledge. You've got a device capable of killing millions - that COST you millions - and you've misplaced it.

"Jesus H. CHRIST Jenkins! What the FUCK did you do with that bomb!" "I...I...I....I don't know Sir. It was right here on the dresser a minute ago. I SWEAR!"

Panic. Right?

Well, that's the same feeling I have in the pit of my stomach when "Broken Mile Friday" rolls around. Which it does. Every Friday (whoda guessed) just like clockwork...er...calendar-work? Whatever.

This is basically where you swim a nice 800 yard warm-up...and by "warm" I mean "what's that warm feeling in my swim suit?" Get it? - Its agony...followed by another 800 IM at a race pace. So...you know...8 freakin laps of Fly followed by a numb, mindless, drifting thru another 24 laps of other strokes. They may not be able to hear you scream in space but, in the pool? They can't see you drooling like a retard either.

They CAN however see you swimming thru your own vomit....just sayin'.

So now that we're good and warmed up, the fun begins. Swimming 11 150s at your race pace. Just a hint to you non-swimmers and Olympics aficionados...there IS NO "11 150s" event. This is just sadistic torture foisted upon me by an overly jovial coach.

After that we get to kick. This is where the vomiting comes in. "Come on" your saying. "Kicking? You don't have to use your arms and you get a nice bouyant board to rest your tired arms on. How hard can it be?"

Get in my lane next Friday and ask me that to my face as I vomit in your stupid face. That's how hard...OK?

See it isn't that you get to rest your arms...its that you DON'T get to USE them. How many armless Olympian swimmers do you know?

No really. I'll wait while you ruminate...

I have to skim the pool of all that puke anyway.

Kicking is SLOW and hard. And since you're already heaving for breath from the previous exertions, this just makes things worse. Then, stretching out your arms in front of you really strains your gut - hence all the vomiting.

After that there's sprinting. And drills. And lots of other fun Monastic Masochisms dreamt up during the Spanish Inquisition - minus the sexual gratification.

So how many yards today? I have no freaking idea and I don't care. Right now I'm busy looking for a Vomitorium on Google Maps....