I am at the lake to do open-water frontcrawl in the early evening. It's windy, which means that I'd be able to get a more rigorous workout battling the waves.
Five minutes later, however, contained Apocalypse arrives: the horizon turns black, the water--unnaturally turquoise. Gusting winds suspend the multitude of yellow-beaked gulls over my head as if on puppet strings: white boomerangs against purple clouds.
Thor strikes the sky.
The lifeguard yells, "Everyone, OUT of the water!".
I change out of my beach bikini into a stern one-piece swimsuit and begrudgingly head to the overchlorinated, allergy-inducing pool instead--with enough time to only swim a mile.
A while later, I emerge, sneezing, only to come upon happy blue-skied sunshine.
I feel mocked. Slightly.
