Saturday, January 21, 2006

Things You May Not Know, Or Want to Know, About Me

I write this entry in memory of my favourite evil-bird, who is not dead, but just lives in another city and I don’t talk to her as much as I should.

I used to be a competitive synchronized swimmer. If you laugh, or say that synchro isn’t a sport, then I’ll wrap my massive ex-swimmer thighs around your neck and snap you like a twig!

Synchro is a sport, fo shizzle. But I’m not sure why. It does take a huge physical capacity, but it’s also both fucked-up and hilarious. It starts out as hilarious because most kids who do recreational synchro are fat, unpopular, or too klutzy for sports and too un-graceful for dance. The mothers of these rejects of the earth place their children in synchro thinking that their beautiful babies will find their niche, at last!

I was one of these rejects. I wasn’t fat or unpopular, but I was a klutz with the grace of a tourettes on roller skates. I was afraid of balls, so most sports didn’t pan out for me. I had one dance lesson the day before my class skiing trip. During the class skiing trip, I broke my leg in 3 places when I rammed into another kid in my class. That ruled out dance and any winter sports. I liked running, but then in grade 6 some kid told another kid that I ran “just like OJ Simpson” in gym class. I never got over that insult, whatever the shit it meant.

So there I was, 11 years old, and a reject of the athletic world. So obviously my mom put me in synchro. I only wish she had done it 5 years earlier. I took to it right away, and was the best in my class of 6 year olds! I can still remember my first show – me and the seven 6-year olds in my class waddling like penguins to “rockin’ robin” (which really makes no sense at all when you think about it – who the shit choreographed that thing??), splashing in the water, and turning somersaults both backwards and forwards. Jesus Christ, I hated my mom. I think the other moms hated her, too. Because when you’re videotaping your adorable 6-year old's first swimming show, do you really want a tall, gangly, akward, yet strangely graceful-in-water 11 year old grinning at the camera with her big 11-year-old buck teeth? And her mother weeping in the background and muttering things like “such grace, such beauty – it’s like she IS the robin!”.

Luckily, I survived rec., moved up to my age group, and, eventually, into a competitive league. No fatties to be found! Only socially awkward teenagers who may or may not be in the sport exclusively to touch other girls’ bodies or get cozy with the water jets and hardcore nazi synchro-moms yelling at the coaches and bringing their daughters bottles of Gatorade any time they look ‘winded’. And, of course, EvilBird. The toughest biatch in the sport who had no qualms with telling the coach to fuck off or the possible-dykes to fuck themselves. Obviously we were best synchro-pals. Bitches stick together. It’s evolutionary.

We swam about 9 hours/week usually and usually more when we had a meet. Funny things happened at these practices.

Like the time we tried a human pyramid on the deck. Just guess who the fuck was on the top and who the fuck fell onto the deck torso-first when the fucking pyramid collapsed under its own weight. If my left tit is slightly smaller than my right, that’s why.

Or that one time we tried this boost (aka pushing the anorexic ones out of the water by using the weight of those who consumed food to propel them) with EvilBird on the bottom, but my coach thought we should try it upside-down (go figure…she’s French) and EvilBird was propelled by the weight of all of the eaters head-first onto the pool floor. Ah, the swearing I heard that day took me back to my mom’s wedding! Note that this incident was probably not funny for EvilBird, and probably caused her some permanent damage.

The practices were a real treat and may have caused me some physical pain, but it was the competitions that gave me permanent emotional complexes. You’ve heard of models having fake tits, celebrities having fake smiles, and so forth? Well, at competitions, I had fake bun. That’s right. I needed hair enhancements. My hair was too thin and my wee little nubbin-sized bun didn’t match the full, meaty buns of my team-mates. So I had to stuff it. Do you know the humiliation that is wrapping nylons around your bun to make it “plumper”? I am willing to bet that I am the only person who can say that she does. I told you this was a fucked up sport.

And then there were my nippons. These were a cause of great alarm to my coaches, and probably to my several possibly-dyke team-mates. I don’t know what was wrong with the other girls on my team, but hours in cold water + titties…you do the math. Except it was only me. Of course. And it’s not synchro if we don’t all match! As if stuffing my bun wasn’t humiliating enough. So, every time we went to any swim meet my coach had to make sure to pack nylons and nipple-sized bandaids for me, the limp-haired reject with the nippons.

Here is a typical last-minute conversation between my coach and the team:

Coach: Does everyone have their nose-clips?
Team: Yes.
Coach: And you’ll remember to turn into your leg and boost extra high when the time changes in the 2nd number?
Team: Yes.
Coach: And did Peach put on her bandaids?
Peach: Yes.
Coach: Well, I can still see your nipples.
Peach: But I’m already wearing 2 on each! It’s all I have! And we’re up in 5 minutes!
Coach: Go ask that young, hot lifeguard who you go to highschool with for more bandaids.
Peach: I’m fucking cold! We’ve been in the water for 2 hours! Our bathing suits are lavender! LAVENDER! I’m sick of this futile fight with nature!!
Coach: Go ask the lifeguard for more bandaids, put them on, and then swim 10 laps to warm up.
Dyke Team-mate: I’ll help her.
Peach: Fuck you.

In conclusion, Synchro is a real sport mainly because it has lesbians, as most sports do, EvilBird is wicked-awesome, and to this day I use volumizing hair products and wear nice, thick bras.

The Peach


TheNurse said...

Peach afraid of balls? not since i've known her!

Cass said...

Oh lord. I'm a blog addict now. well, I mean, just reading yours of course. I'm far too lazy to write my own. Although I am contimplating copying and pasting yours and adopting them as my own so people can be facinated with my made-to-be-a-movie life...

I have to add a couple of highlights to the synchro memory list that you can reflect fondly about:

- when I was mouthy on a trip and as punishment was forbidden to do the end-of-the-year circus routine. punishment or reward, I ask.

- how sometimes I could literally hear you crying cause you were so were so in need of oxygen during the routine, but you still had a huge synchro smile (think ear to ear smile, bright red lipstick and Asian eyes cause one's hair (or nylon) is pulled so tightly for those of you unfamiliar with synchro)

- when we joked around that I was pregnant cause I had to pee one practice and then the coaches came to my house to break the news to my mom

- you-know-who. L. Scrimgeour. No wait, that's too obvious. Laura S. what a girl. the swan solos she would do by herself, the beached whales into the pool, the fabricated boyfriends she used to tell us about. Oh, and we can't forget Marcia. SMOKESTACKS!!

- Plaza 69

- when we didn't want to poop in our hotel room so we went to some executive ballroom floor of the hotel and did our business there

- the clowns that lived at the bottom of the Sportsplex pool and stole our goggles

- Peggy Van Vliet who probably attempted to kill me in my sleep. the most pretencious cafeteria worker I know.

- the country music routine and the bathing suits that were made out of a homeless person's tablecloth which only accentuated your nips even more

- that 12 year old who used to swim NKB and we could never stop looking at his ginormous package

- when we took you-know-who's ginormous penis shaped cucumber into the bathroom and had a photoshoot with it while posing on the beday (spelling?) with face masks on

Haha, oh the memories that I will be able to tell my grandchildren as I drive them around with my four light blinkers on.... haha. Thanks for being the best synchrobitch I could have ever known.