Since Kristine strained her hip and had to stop jogging, we've been swimming regularly down at the county rec center. She's enjoying it a lot. That might be because she's finally found the sport where she can kick my butt. When we jog or cross country ski, I often get far ahead of her while exerting what feels like a modest effort. At the pool, this pattern is reveresed. I struggle to get in 50 or 60 laps, and frequently rest between sets of laps. Kristine always goes for 72 laps (a full mile, in that pool), and rarely stops while she's doing them.
If she had time, I think she'd swim every day, whereas I'm grateful for the occasional overload of papers I need to stay home to grade, as well as the evenings when the pool is closed for cleaning. I'm glad Kristine's enjoying this, though her zeal is a little surprising. Perhaps I'm getting a glimpse of what Kristine sees when I start talking about fishing.
Unlike the guy at Tippy Dam I wrote about the other day, I did not marry a fisherwoman. Instead, I may have married a fish.
Tag: Relationships
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