High School always comes back! plus Rufus tale

High School always comes back! plus Rufus tale
20 September 2014

First and most importantly, Rufus and The Prince Consort have gone to the city dog park for socializing. Hopefully on this pretty fall day there will plenty of other dogs to play with. It’s very sad to see the pair of them standing gazing out the entrance gate waiting for playmates to arrive.

I am supposed to use this time home alone to vacuum since the sounds of the vacuum on the main floor above the Man/Dog-cave- family-room disturb Rufus. Uh huh. That translates the pair of them can’t hear the football games. -OH, RATS! I was supposed to record “Game Day” because it’s being filmed from our alma mater, FSU. Okay, it’s recording now. I’m an hour late, but there’s still two hours … ARGH! 

So home alone. Which means I’m either writing or reading, or vacuuming. Guess which one? 

This past week despite Rufus helping dig out weeds in The Prince Consort’s underbrush clearing project, TPC hurt his back. So my resolution to not only make it to our twice weekly cardio exercise class but also add in an aqua exercise session was reduced to one cardio class. Still we did walk Rufus a mile each morning. So not a total loss. And less embarrassment. 

I was constantly embarrassed in high school. I was a nerd and any attempt at anything physical was doomed. I tried out for cheerleading in high school. The team captain, NOT a dear friend, took me aside at the first try out and told me I was dancing, not cheering, and I should give up. She was right. Although decades later I believe I was actually ahead of my time. Dance away cheerleaders or dance team, or whatever.

Next I tried out for swim team, but I my lacy ruffled swim cap was not allowed. I dropped that idea as not right for me, never mind not being fashion forward. I did attend every meet to cheer on my little sister, who went from not really knowing how to swim to winning. GO PAT! 

It wasn’t until I was the mother of a teen that I next tried a sport of my own. Tennis. Years of lessons later, I could actually catch a ball, hit a ball, and serve a ball. I was on the verge of being able to walk and chew gum. Victory. Did I win at doubles? Big surprise, still no. 

So skip ahead to last December when TPC had bypass surgery followed by cardiac rehab for three months. When his rehab ended, we need a substitute, affordable kind. Diebold’s Dad (Diebold is a very personable pit bull from Dog park Saturdays. I hope Diebold and his Dad are there today.) told us about our town’s YMCA. So we went for a tour and were super impressed. Before we left the Y, we had signed up for exercise twice a week. So far I have not embarrassed myself in that class, and as I said last week, we tried the next level. TPC decided after the advanced class to go back to using the resistance machines. Apparently me face down on the yoga mat in an attempted push up was a sign to him. I’m taking it as a challenge. I will go back. 

Being a glutton for punishment, I decided to tackle the water aerobics class three days after the face in the mat class. I’d done Water Aerobics before, back in my tennis days. Piece of cake. Uh huh. Why was I the only one, despite standing in the shallow end, who ended up wet from head to toe? If there’s no drowning in water aerobics, why was there a lifeguard? 

I made it through the exercises in water aerobics, but  everything fell apart afterwards. Although I found my way back to the Ladies Locker room to get into dry clothes, I never got into the dry clothes. I could NOT get my combination lock to open. Shades of High School and my recurrent nightmare of standing in front of my locker spinning and spinning and not remembering or hitting the right numbers and not getting the $%%$^&^ lock open. And this brings up an extra worry. Since the High School nightmare came true, I am scared my college nightmare of showing up for finals completely unprepared and naked is in the offing. I guess I’ll stay out of graduate level classes.  

Not getting the lock open went on for minutes on minutes. I’d still be in the locker room, probably in tears, if one of the dry-haired water aerobic class ladies hadn’t taken over and opened my lock in one try. I grabbed my towel, bag, and TPC waiting in the lobby and went home. I was shivering in the cool all the way home. 

If I can get past the embarrassment of reappearing in the Water Aerobics class, I could replace the combination lock with a keyed one. I can do keyed locks, like on luggage. That’s worked out fine for traveling. Of course, the TSA rule against locking luggage worked in my favor. And then again my taste in clothes has never made me a prime target for theft anyway. 

TPC’s back is better. We’ll be back at our regular exercise classes. But I’m still thinking in terms of a disguise before I reappear at the water aerobics class. Do they make waterproof mustache glue? 



  1. Water aerobics is not for the faint at heart! I'm always the last one across the pool. The instructor has taken to harassing me. Tuesday he said, "Take your time Connie. We have an hour." I gave him a squinty eyed glare. That'll teach him. BTW, I may be the youngest participant. Humiliating!

    1. I made it across the pool, but again the only one not soaked like a drowned rat. And I too am the youngest in the class. Not for the faint of heart for sure!

  2. I was worse than that at high school sports -- lots worse.

    1. Ouch! I wonder if it's the nerd in myself. I did well at riding and sailing, not as team sports, not associated with high school. Nope. I go back to it's all High School's fault. Maybe


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