Well, I'm doing swimmingly, thank you. / by vanessa

Because I work for a company and because companies like to do "team" events, one of our corporate team-building thingies this year is the Malibu Triathlon. If we were really team-building we'd do each of the three events tied to a partner, like a three-legged triathlon. Instead we are grouping in relay teams with each person completing 1 of the legs. I signed up for running, as did apparently every other person in my company. When word got around that everyone signed up for running and no one wanted to do the swim, I switched camps. "You're awesome," is the response I received from our event coordinator. Hold the accolade Matt, there are a couple things you should know: First, I am not a swimmer. I think I can maybe do like 2 laps in a pool. With a kickboard. Second, I *hate* cold water. I've been to Barton Springs like about 100 times and actually in the water maybe twice. I'm bettin' the Pacific is colder than the Springs. I'm trying to tell you that by the time I get out of the water, it may have turned seasons.

My roommate, (who I'm now calling The Coveter for reasons I won't disclose here), thinks I'm a glutton for hardship. She presented the cleanse and this swim bullshit as evidence. I reminded her that I'm just "slow". In truth, I like a good challenge. Fortunately, my friend Denean is a super swimmer and she's graciously responded to my pleas for help with tips about vestibular-something, cochlear-this-n-that, and spacial stuff. I'm in good hands.

Day 8 of my cleanse is nearly behind me and speaking of behind, I've lost 6 lbs. Which I gotta say is only barely worth the horrible shakes I've been enduring from the candy withdrawals. If methadone was part of this cleanse, I'd be all over it. The first few days were a breeze, and then I got handed a bunch of Visio work, and Visio is enough to push anyone over the edge. I'd build a few steps, add some connectors, and then start picturing the taste of a dark chocolate caramel. The thing is, I wanna shake this sugar monkey. I don't want to just hold out til the end of 21 days, swiftly returning to its clutches. No, no, no. I want to drop it like last year's skinny jeans, never to return again. (Please God, no more skinny jeans. Or sugar.) And now, I'm a third of the way through and my determination still has a pulse. It's quiet, but I poked it with a stick and it gnawed back so that's I think enough to get me to the other side.