The Shrinkage Factor

There's a gym near my home which belongs to the council. It's more like a health centre, with yoga classes, work out rooms, and a swimming pool. In the Summer of 2002, when my brother came to visit me in England, we sometimes went swimming there. You pay £2.40 for each session and get to share a few lanes with people who can barely float.

After going to the temp agency yesterday (which went amazingly well - my typing speed is 66 words per minute!) I decided that I should get back into exercising, much like I was before I went to Brazil. Only this time, I'm not going to lift weights. I want to do proper cardio exercises: run, swim, treck, walk, maybe go bike riding during the weekends. I'm tired of the routines in gyms, of the preying gay men, the desperate mid-life crisers, the corny pop music overplayed to death, the sweat stains, the pimply gym staff... I really love the feel of water around me, of pushing my body through it and letting my mind go.

When I came back from the pool, the temp agency called offering me a job... and I declined! Weehey! I'm being picky, but you know what? I'm worth it. I'm not going to take any mind-numbing job out there. They were almost glad that I was honest and asked for something else. The woman told me they were "working on my case" and I should call them tomorrow at noon.

Tomorrow, at noon, I'll be in the swimming pool. I'll call them afterwards.

*everybody says together: you go bitch Ollie!*