To my dearest darling International Swimming Hall of Fame,
I haven’t visited any other sport’s hall of fame, unless you count the Little League Hall of Fame (my grandparents lived in Williamsport, and I’ve done everything there is to do there—twice) and the Lacrosse Hall of Fame (which I passed frequently as an undergrad at Hopkins although never actually entered), so I didn’t have much basis for comparison when I visited you this past spring. Jim and I had gone down to Fort Lauderdale for a mini-break, and I was delighted to discover that you were within walking distance of the Hilton. I was slightly less than delighted, however, by your unfortunate architecture, your creepy Madame Tussauds waxworks, and the fact that there wasn’t a single soul in the place other than Jim and me—seriously, there wasn’t even anyone selling tickets; we just let ourselves in. I was particularly frightened by the wax figure of Johnny Weissmuller, which looked strangely like Rip Torn. But I was totally enthralled by the Esther Williams display. I knew nothing about her prior to my visit and was surprised to learn that swimming was once considered sexy and that elaborate aqua musical spectaculars were once a big draw. I’m convinced that it’s time for this art form to make a comeback—it’s the perfect way for me to combine my two major interests: swimming and karaoke. I’ve been reading Esther Williams’ autobiography, and it’s fairly delicious. I knew it was the book for me when Esther and Cary Grant were doing LSD within the first five pages.
Anyway. I’m pleased to announce that I’m the reigning national champion female 10k swimmer in the 25-29 age group. Big deal, I know. I must confess that there was only one other girl in my age group at the national championship swim in Huntington Bay this year, and my ass was kicked handily by many women twice my age, so my triumph wasn't really so triumphant. I thought the swim would only take me about three hours, but the conditions were bad (the current was strong and the boat traffic was plentiful), so it took me four. Luckily I had my friend Jon kayaking alongside me and a couple packets of Carb-BOOM stuck in the butt of my suit.
I also swam a 5k in Mashpee (at which the trophies mistakenly read “Masspee,” an appropriate name for an event in which a group of well-hydrated swimmers enter a very cold lake), a 5k in Atlantic City (at which my ass was kicked handily by several girls half my age), a mile in Seaside Heights (at which I made it to the finish line before Jim, who was WALKING but was distracted by Three Brothers Pizza on the boardwalk), and a mile and a half in Seaside Park (which had been preceded by a storm and I still can’t believe the event wasn’t cancelled because the current and surf were ridiculous and my friend Dave didn’t even make it past the break before he bailed).
I’m hoping MGM will sign me to star in a remake of Bathing Beauty. Clear a space for my wax figure next to Rip Torn.
Love,
Lauren