If you have been sort of terminally bored and, as such, accidentally wandered into the deep, dark archives of this blog, you might have stumbled upon this post: We Just Got Passed by a Goat.
(Carsick Caravan was originally started to narrate a one-week trip in a big rig. Hence the name.)
In it, we were sitting in traffic on the interstate and a perky little goat scampered past us.
We should have been rolling along at 70 mph. The goat should have had a top speed of 15 mph or so. And yet, there it was. Leaving us in the dust.
I felt that way tonight.
I know you're probably getting tired of me whining about how slow I am in the pool. But tonight I got passed by a guy walking.
WALKING.
With shoes on. In the pool. I'm not making this up.
The shoes were black with neon green stripes on the sides. The guy was doing laps, taking big steps and ...
... moving faster than I could swim. I could not keep up.
He got out of the pool before I did. I half expected to look up and see a goat in the lane he vacated.
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