Poolspotting
Choose swimming. Choose a kickboard. Choose a pair of goggles. Choose a chlorine odor. Choose a fucking big parka. Choose socket rockets, chamois, water bottles, and hair conditioner. Choose good health, low body fat and intact knees. Choose your strokes. Choose boardshorts and matching sandals. Choose Speedos for your meets in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose SCY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Saturday morning. Choose sitting on that couch with a mind-numbing, spirit-crushing upper respiratory infection. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in some miserable age-group, nothing more than an embarrassment to the uncoordinated, fucked up brats that get out of the pool on their knees.
Choose your future.
Choose to swim.
(If the form of this doesn’t make any sense, see Adminspotting and their copy of the Trainspotting poster text.)