Grumpish

So, I finish my run tonight, and I am hot and sticky and grumpy.
The cloud cover that had deceptively intimated a coolish run had, instead, supported a scirocco-like wind.
I am tired of the heat.
And I am irritated.

There's a knock on the door.
This has been happening with increasing frequency in the evening.
The front lawn, which has been growing unfettered (sorry Muffin), is attracting all manner of itinerants wanting to make a few dollars.
Generally, I ignore the knocks.
But this time, I am on the phone with T, which somehow makes me a little braver, so I pull the curtain aside to look out the window.
There's a man standing there, white T-shirt, long, brown hair in a pony tail to his mid-back, sunglasses. He has a bag over his shoulder.
I say (grumpish) "Can I help you?"
He just stands there and looks at me.
I repeat myself.
He says he can't hear me.
I raise my voice and say, I don't want want anything, please go away.
He raises his arm and points above my front door and says he wants to know if I want (something unintelligible) stripped.
I say "What?" Because whatever he is saying makes no sense. And, besides, most people want to mow the lawn, and I wasn't expecting him to point above my front door. Then, I immediately say (remember I was grumpish), "Go away, I don't want anything."
He says, "Huh? I can't hear you." Just standing there and not moving. So, I repeat myself and he says he can't hear me again. And, again, not moving.
Since I am on the phone with T, I am only partially analyzing this conversation but somewhere in the back of my head I'm sure I've had conversations through this front window--and the recipient has been able to hear me.
A bit confused but tiring of this, I drop the curtain and turn away, feeling rude, to resume my conversation with T.

When I get off the phone, it dawns on me, that perhaps the man was trying to get me to open the front door.
Do you think?

Swim Thoughts...

Having the nose piece to my goggles literally fall apart just as I touch the wall at the end of my last lap--must be some significance here.

Allergies in New Mexico--learning to sneeze under water.

Stretching my neck every chance I get--especially after hearing the story of the triathlete who damaged a disc in his neck after doing a 6000 yard session, resulting in weakness in one of his arms. Of course, I don't swim 6000 in a session...

Drills. Still feel as if I'm drowning.

Getting excited when I pass someone in the pool, then realizing that it's pretty pathetic to take satisfaction in passing someone slower than me. It's not that I'm any faster, it's just that some poor soul is caught in a time warp bubble and the slow swimming is really just a functional illusion caused by the expansion of the universe resulting in a relative decrease in velocity.... As a frame of reference, just know that everyone swims faster than me.

And, finally,
After wearing contacts for more years than I care to admit (I saved up and bought my first pair when I was 15), and wearing contacts in the pool under goggles for maybe half those years, and using them during triathlons in the early 90's and then again starting in 2001... I finally lost a lens during a race. Those goggles which broke (see above) did so just before a race, so I grabbed a pair of goggles I was unfamiliar with, squinched them on to my head and eyes so tight that there was TITANIC suction (really uncomfortable, but I'm paranoid of drowning, and felt safer keeping the water out...), so that when I pulled off the goggles, I guess a lens went with them. I didn't notice until half way into the bike when I realized I couldn't get my right eye to focus. C'est la vie. It was a lens that had been giving me trouble for a long time. Even though it was a gas permeable, permanent (not disposable), pricey little thing, I was almost glad to see it go. I went home, dug out my old contacts (dare I say, from 2006), cleaned, scrubbed and rinsed, and voila, I'm almost good as new. It's just that now, I might look at you sideways--you know, one eye popping out, angled and fractured, like Picasso in his Cubist phase....