They say you don’t know a gal until you swim a mile in her speed suit.
Actually, nobody says this, but my friend, Kim, an Olympic swimmer, somehow convinced me it was true. To be a good and supportive friend, I should experience the ordeal of donning a racing suit–akin to those worn by Michael Phelps and the entire swim world–with all the squirming, slithering, and sucking in it required. Also, it would be funny.
After a glass of red wine and several minutes spent staring skeptically at the suit, I relented. If watching a mere mortal wiggle into a bizarre latex superhero swim costume would get some laughs, I was in.
File under: totally normal thing to do on a Monday night.
With the 2012 Olympics a little less than a year away, the world’s best athletes are meticulously plotting their courses toward qualifying, competing, and succeeding in London. Their lives will rotate around this goal with planetary precision until next summer. And while I’ll never know the elation or defeat of achieving or missing such a lofty athletic pursuit, at least I can say I suited up.