Just swimmingly...

So, I'm signing Ryan up for the YMCA swim team this fall.  He just doesn't know it, yet.

Rather, he doesn't know I'm seriously doing it.  He thinks if he just keeps saying, "Mom, do you want me to drown?!" I'll back off.  Nice try, son.

But here's the deal: Ryan doesn't like team sports.  Or Wii Sports.  Or even being a good sport.  But he needs exercise.

The only activity Ryan takes part in with minimal grousing is his weekly bowling league. When I pick him up from school, he normally launches into how he has a headache.  How he got no sleep the night before.  How his throat hurts and, by the way, some kid puked in class.  That's his minimal grousing.

Luckily, he always makes a miraculous recovery by the time we get to the bowling alley, by which time he's switched into "snack" mode.  The other bowlers routinely pile their tables with something fried or cheesy -- or fried AND cheesy.  I relent to a hot pretzel.  

Ry: "I want a soda, too."
Me: "A water bottle."
Ry: "A Diet Coke."
Me: "A water bottle and no pretzel."
Ry: "Wait, they have cheese fries, you know."
Me: "You need to stop making sounds now."

The pool, on the other hand: No snacks.  No drinks.  This oughta be a cake walk.

Don't Mess with the Wo-man

So I belong to Female Fitness, a women's only gym in my town.

It's great because you don't have to listen to men sounding like they're herniating themselves with the free weights.  And you don't have to feel self-conscious about looking like three shades of shit before, during and after a workout, as I tend to.

The only males that frequent the place are usually pre-school age and heading for the baby-sitting room.  Rare is the moment when a man enters, and then it's usually only to check on the plumbing or air conditioning.  They carry a tool box, are escorted by one of the associates and keep their heads down.

Last week, however, a man -- a dad-and-husband-type man -- was standing in the middle of the gym, looking around.  Appreciatively.  Which his wife didn't seem to appreciate.

Wife: "This is a women's only gym."
Man: "Okay."
Wife: "So... you have to leave!"
Man, continuing to take in the view: "It's not illegal for me to be here."
Wife: "Just GET OUT!"

Not one other club member took pause or even gave their exchange a first glance, nevermind a raised eyebrow.  You know why?  If Chuck E. Cheese is where a kid can be a kid, then a women's-only gym is where a woman can be a woman.  We're not waiting on anybody, we're not cleaning something, we're not soothing somebody.  And we're definitely NOT on display trying to impress anybody!

Which reminds me: the dude that was crackin' wise about my Zumba ability?  I have to go lay down the law with that 4-year-old.