There are many body types in this world: average, slender, skinny, athletic, heavyset, toned, etc.There is one that I have always coveted: the gay oracle better known as the Swimmer's Build. You know what I'm talking about. This body type makes up half of the member photos on Connexion (btw: has anyone besides me noticed that the average height of a Connexion user is about 6'3oooo" ?).
What I love most about this body type (besides, yanno, the smooth rippling 8 pack abs, the tight, toned pecs, the perfectly hewn leg and arm muscles... oh goodness, my laptop just lifted a bit...)
ANYWAY what I love MOST about the body type is that it tells you, right in its name, just what you have to do to obtain it. And that is skydive. Psych!
Today I would call my body "athletic." Mostly because I've seen what people call "average" and, well, they're pretty goddamned fat. I have some tone to me. I look pretty good in a tight shirt. I would say I have a NICE build. But, of course, considering the type of guys I go after... well, that simply will not do.
Plus, I'm still losing the 15 pounds I put on in my last relationship (reasons to stay single, folks!)
Unfortunately, being a denizen of the Big Gay Apple, I have encountered a dilemma - pools are more rare than a drink that costs less than 7 dollars. Back in my shameful hometown of Bellmore, NY (on the shamefully Long Island that is too unoriginal to come up with a better name for itself) pools were everywhere. My cousin had one. My friends had them. There were four pools IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD.
Of course, when they were readily available, I wasn't looking for a swimmer's build. I was looking to climb to the top of the diving board, fully suited up in my noseplugs and goggles, looking like James Bond about to go deep sea diving for terrorist lairs, only to chicken out and descend in shame as friends and foes laughed at my cowardice.
And now that I am READY to get that beloved Swimmer's Frame, I find my efforts thwarted.
The other week I was SUDDENLY re-enthused to pursue my holy gay grail. And then I remembered - I live on the Upper East Side! This means two things:
1. I live in the most boring place in the world, where frat boys and trust fund teens go to die (or dine, there ARE some good brunch places - Alice's Tea Cup, I'm looking in your direction!)
2. I am RIDICULOUSLY CLOSE TO the 92nd Street Y!
So online I went, to the web site for that very Y. I began to click around and discovered the following hard-to-swallow truth: The 92nd Street Y does NOT want me to be able to take off my shirt this summer.
Why? Because it is IMPOSSIBLE to find the price for a pool membership. I looked at the site and FOUND the pool - a glorious web page where they told me all of the wonderful aspects of the pool (it has water, it is both long and wide, octagenrians aquacize in it on Thursday afternoons)
The site tells me what I can do in the pool.
It tells me where the pool is.
It tells me the kinds of memberships I can get to the pool.
And it tells me the benefits of the pool membership I want.
BUT IT WON'T TELL ME HOW MUCH I HAVE TO PAY FOR THE POOL!
Come on, Man! I clicked everywhere! And no matter where I clicked, not once did I find a price for the chance to use their water hole.
Why? Is the price so horrid that they need the ability to conference in a grief counselor when they tell me? Will uttering it aloud bring Voldemort back? Do they keep it in a treasure chest guarded by a Roc ?
It is odd that I need to say this in an economic recession but Hey! 92nd Street Y! Let me give you my money! Please! I have it here, counted out and ready to spend! Please let me give it to you!
I realize that I can call to find this information out, but I am a child of the Internet, phone calls to strangers unnerve me. Especially because there's a 3 in 5 chance that the person on the other end of the line will accidentally call me "Miss", forcing me to raise my voice an octave and call myself Justina when they take my name, to avoid an awkward situation when they discover my true gender.
Okay, of course I will call the Y. And hopefully the pool will be open for me to use it late at night. Because man, I can swim for hours. It's a wonderful experience that feels like I'm flying, except for the fact that I'm really swimming.
And, really, if I want to have a swimmer's body, I'll need to work for it. Why should obtaining said body be easy at any point of the process?
However, if my attempts are thwarted further by the Demon 92nd Street Y, I can always take classes from this vixen:
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