Trouble with a T, and that rhymes with P, and that stands for Pool

I've mentioned before how I love to run. I'm a running and walking fool. Every babysitter, nanny, and relative that ever took care of me has two recollections about me: I loved books, and I loved to run. Even when I've obviously pulled some muscle, agitated a ligament, twisted a joint, or just flat-out wounded one or both legs, I'll still at least go for a fast walk. Guy makes fun of me by putting his hands on his hips all sassy-like and saying in a high shrill voice, "My name's Mile High Pixie, and my leg hurts, so I'm gonna go for a run!" (My voice isn't as high as he makes it. He makes me sounds like the bus driver with the bird in her hair on South Park. However, my voice is as loud as hers.)

Last summer, after moths of aching joints and muscles earned while trying to run away the stress of Wheatlands, Guy suggested I start swimming in the pool in our condo building. I fought the suggestion for a long time, but once I started using the pool, I realized he'd been right all along. (He'll really enjoy reading that, I'm sure.) The pool in our condo is actually on the top floor of our 15-story building and is surrounded by a stucco wall on one side and glass walls on the other three sides. The water is heated in the winter, and there's a canvas roof the building manager pulls over it when it rains in the summer or is really cold in the winter. During the summer at 6am, though, when I work out, it was just me and the dawn breaking over east Denver and the occasional traffic chopper flying overhead. I found that I could get an amazing cardiovascular and strength workout and not be unbelievably sore all day after 45 minutes of activity. It also helped trim the last few pounds off me, and I looked and felt great. However, once the weather got cold again in the fall, I had to return to running. No biggie, right?

Well...yes and no. I wounded myself yet again in early January, and I couldn't even go back to swimming because the pool roof had been damaged, leaving the pool uncovered and chilly. To keep the heat in, the manager would put down a plastic sheet on the pool's surface. There are instructions on the glass door leading to our rooftop pool saying that only the manager is allowed to remove the pool cover to prevent damage.

Just this past Wednesday, I came up to the gym to clock a little time on the new elliptical machine (yay low impact!), and I realized that the pool roof had been repaired and was stretched over the pool. Big yay: while it's 25 outside at 6am in Denver right now, the roof and glass walls kept in enough heat rising off the heated pool to make it about 45 or 50 in the pool area with no wind...and the pool felt soooo warrrrrrrmmmmm.... I thought, "That's it; I'm swimming on Friday!"

So, yesterday, I came upstairs in my robe and bathing suit...and the roof is off. Er? Huh? Perhaps they were predicting snow for Friday and didn't want to risk damaging the roof again, but I didn't recall.... Well, I was already there, so off goes the robe, and let me say that 25 degree air at 5:30am in Denver is a tad uncomfy. But the pool was soooooo waarrrrrrrmmmm and the swim felt great. It felt so great that I decided to do it again this morning....

And the roof was off...and the plastic cover was down. And residents aren't allowed to remove it. And I was really looking forward to getting a swim in. And here I am in my robe with a Nalgene bottle of water and a towel over my shoulder and...oh, forget it. I stomped back downstairs and was surprisingly pissed about it for a long time. And obviously, I still am.

I'm pissed about it because I'm trying to take care of myself while also staying active, and swimming best does that. I think I'm even more pissed about it because of the randomness of the roof/no roof/plastic cover pattern. Why is it covered now? Is it because there's only part time help on the weekends and they don't want to be caught unawares in case it snows on Sunday, which it kinda sorta might? The building manager lives in our building, for crying out loud. Is it that big of a deal to come upstairs in the elevator and put the cover on and pull the canvas roof back? I fear that I suddenly sound like one of those hideous residents at Wide Lawns that poor Subservient Worker has to deal with, but I'm just frustrated. If I understood what the reasoning was behind the decision to cover or not to cover, I could better decide whether to lay out a bathing suit or running shoes for the next morning and not get my hopes up unreasonably.

Some days, working out is the only thing that goes well for me. A shipment of drywall is delayed out of Lincoln and Wheatlands gets behind schedule, Wanda does something crazy with the Pomme de Terre sheets, DA loses power and no one can work, we get lousy service at our favorite brunch spot when we go in to celebrate getting the bathroom painted...whatever. At least I ran 4.75 miles in 50 minutes today. My body still works. I've lost 25 pounds, even if it took me a little more than four years to do it. My blood pressure is normal again for the first time since 2001. Some days, that run, that yoga asana sequence, that set of bench presses is the only thing that goes right. And when not even that goes right, it makes me a cranky little Pixie. And then what? I ask you, O Lord of the Plastic Thingy Covering My Beloved Rooftop Pool, then what?

PS: I know I owe y'all a Detail of the Week. I'll double up next week.