Wanted: Mental Jump Start

My brain has shut down. I've traced this problem to one of two causes: 1. its a gloomy Friday, and no one wants to think, let alone work; or 2. I'm over caffeinated. Either way, its time to get some input from my rabid, albeit 3 fans. Is there anything you'd like my opinion on--social, political, personal, random thoughts, etc? I figure this is a good way to get me thinking today.

So just how many sports clubs are in Washington?

It was almost the perfect gay date. Last night TOA asked me if I wanted to go workout with him, of course I said yes. Now we originally met at the gym--we're the two remaining gay stragglers that haven't made the switch from Washington Sports Club to Results. He was going at my usual time (8:30/9pm). Perfect. So I hurry up, tidy up my apt (just in case he needs a shower or massage after), put on a nice tight tank top to show off the guns, and bike on over to WSC DuPont. I notice his bike outside--he has a decent Specialized mtn bike (yes, I'm a bike snob), but has a big "granny seat" on it. Very odd combination. So I mosey on in and start lookin around for the hottie TOA.

Oddly I don't see him anywhere. Send him a txt, no reply. Maybe I missed him? I do the casual "I cant decide what to work on next" downstairs so I can check out all the machines and benches. Still no TOA. After 45min, I gave up all hope. My pecs were already engorged with enough blood, and my abs were tight, so I headed home.

Later that night I get a call from CSV. "Ohh...you went to Gallery Place?" Jesus-titty-fuckin-Christ! My date was ruined because of those capitalist bastards must continually expand their fitness empire. 18 WSC's in the Metro area, we obviously had a difference preference that night. grrrrr. So I sat home alone with my pint of Ben n Jerry's strawberry shortcake ice cream, Harry Potter, and porn. (no I didnt do HP and porn at the same time, that's very "dirty old man")

Dating Material

As my esteemed friend the Arian-Mexican Offspring has alerted me, my dating pool has just significantly increased. Click this link.

Where's my U-Haul?

After last night, I think I'm becoming a lesbian. No, not cause I want to chow down on some meat curtains. Instead its cause I felt that ridiculous "wow, what a perfect guy!" emotion after drinking with TOA (The Other Aries) last night at Halo. Granted, get a few Makers and Coke in me, and I'm ready to marry anyone--if their collar isn't popped. But how do I know its love and truly meant to be? We discussed Star Wars and other geeky shit for a good 30-45min. And not just the superficial Star Wars movies topics, I'm talking Star Wars Universe (plots outside of the movies). And then to top it all off...he drank bourbon with me. *le sigh*

Reality check: He's a lawyer (not real people), and apparently part of the A-List (not real people). But at least he doesn't pop his collar of fan the flames of his faggotry. So we shall see how this plays out.

I Never Take "NO" for an Answer

Hell, I don't even take a lack of response for an answer. I think everyone knows what I'm talking about already. If you don't, you're more dateless and undersexed than I am. But to be completely transparent, I mean the world of cyberdating. (though in my life it sometimes borders on cyberstalking) BEEP BEEP BEEP: News Flash just came in. It will be mentioned in Addendum #1 and #2. So yes, cyberdating/stalking. As a ConsummateAries, I am persistent and a complete go-getter. I always need my way to prevail. So ya ever see someone online or in real life and think, "I must have him!"? For me its kind of like a great tie at the store: I will dwell on it until I finally just get it, although I may not need it at the time. So after seeing someone, we go through that routine of searching on _____ (insert website like myspace, friendster, gay.com, MH, etc) until we find clues. We also post the obligatory "Missed Connection" on Craigslist, hoping that it will be the first time a real response is received. Voila! A clue: the fruits of our labor come through and we find an email or something. A week after sending the introductory email, and not hearing anything back, you wonder "maybe it got deleted with a bunch of junk", so you resend something with a catchy cover as to why you're resending.

No word.

Try again.

No word.

Give it a month or two for them to break up with Mr Right-Now. BAM! They get back to you.

This series has happened to me countless times. In fact one guy said, "You were so persistent that I had to just find out what you were like." I wasn't sure if that was a compliment, but I know he was happy he emailed me back after we met. I am, after all, cursed with a total lack of photogenicness (or photogenicity?).

The latest version of this story occurred this week. I always saw this guy at the gym, emailed him occasionally on friendster, no response. Then out of the blue he starts chatting with me as if he's never seen me before. Then asks me out to workout, drinks, and a party later on in the week. Its almost to the point that he appears to be bi-polar. 0 to 60 in .2 seconds. But of course I jump at the opportunity to go out. Lust is almost impossible to overcome.

Addendum #1: I just got a Gmail IM from him...he's buried in work, so he cant go out tonight (this is after postponing last night too). But the party is still on. That's two strikes. Three and they're out in my book. Then again, with abs like his, he gets 6 strikes.

Addendum #2: He just called and now we're back on again for drinks tonight. Amazing.

See...safer sex is bad for your health!

Link to NIH report

My Big Fat Hindu-Filipino-Italian Wedding

As a gay man, I've been to very few weddings in my life--I'd probably put the number at 7. Most of them have either been the typical Italian catholic two hour service, very formal, followed by lots of eating, drinking, and dancing, or the protestant version of that. I really did love my sister's...20min ceremony, cocktail hour, reception (lots of fun), then post-partying. Short, sweet, get to the good parts. This weekend I went out to Long Island for the wedding of one of my best college friends, Nou-nou. She is first generation Indian-American, so her Hindu/Marathi culture is still very strong. In fact, at 21 her parents threatened to arrange her a marriage if she didn't do it by the time she was 22. They gave in. So yesterday (at 29 years old), she finally got married. And the best part...it wasn't even to an Indian. You can imagine her parents' shame. He was Filipino-Italian. You can see how this sets the scene for some interesting people watching.

But before I get to the good stuff, just getting there was "fun" enough. I managed to take the first Metro to DCA at 7:30am. That gave me 20 min to get from the DCA Metro stop to the gate (thru security) before I missed the flight. No problem. Get to NY, find a taxi. No problem. Taxi doesn't know how to get to Long Island. Problem. Taxi wants to charge me $140 for the fare when the meter reads $75. Problem. The ConsummateAries goes ape shit on the taxi driver. Problem solved. All settled at 10:45...gives me plenty of time before the 1pm wedding. Walk into the hotel, announce I'm checking in with the wedding party. The clerk says that they just left and the wedding is at 11am. I'm standing in my shorts and t-shirt. Problem. I get dressed in 5min in the lobby bathroom, get another cab to the wedding. Problem solved.

The ceremony was formal Hindu, with the priest speaking in the ancient Sanskrit (a vestigial Indian language that no one speaks). He spoke at about 5,000 words per minute, so even if there was someone fluent in Sanskrit, they probably couldn't understand him. This meant that Nou's and her parents had no clue what to do, and Marc (the groom) was especially lost. His look of confusion and helplessness was priceless as he sat under the formal Hindu wedding pagoda. In all, the ceremony took 2 hours. That's two hours of listening to someone speak in a language you cant understand, while soothing Indian music is played over the speakers. Probably one of my top 10 coffee cravings ever.

The reception should be renamed "3 gays and their fag hags." Luckily I was in good company. Nou's good friend Jean brought her two gays as her date--I shoved my foot in my mouth when at first I assumed one was her husband (she was engaged and dumped a few years ago, I didnt know the last part). "Ohhh...you must be Jean's husband!?!" Nope. Definitely not. But all is good. We got shitty drunk and tore up the dance floor as all the Indians looked on in horror.

It was a lunch-time reception, so when 8pm rolled around I was starving. We went to the nice Italian place next to the hotel. Try to imagine a place run by hot Italian 25-30yr old guys, with thick NY accents. HOT! My #1 Girl, The Scorpio Sex Goddess, and I ordered food for the 19 people that came to the table with us. We both got sweet-talked by the hot host who was mulling over food ideas with us. I think he sold me a used car too. We weren't anticipating the amount of food that came out, neither were the guests, nor our wallets. After about 200 lbs of calamari, zucchini, clams, pasta, red snapper, eggplant, and fruit, the damage was done: $1100. Problem. So I had to get the balls to go around asking for donations. Some people had the nerve to think they were gonna eat all that, drink like fishes, and get to leave w/o chipping in a dollar. Strike that...they're not real people. Naturally the Scorpio Sex Goddess and ConsummateAries shared a hotel, and a large bottle of Pepto afterwards.

Next morning...flew home, skipping all the fun that was going on in Manhattan (NY Pride). Am I that old and lame now?

To Kiss and Tell?

I'm beginning to see how blogging can become addictive. Any major thought or event and I think, "wow, how can I blog about that?" Case in point: date last night. As its a current and on-going event, I wonder how much detail I should divulge. What is crossing the line as far as the privacy of the other person, especially since I'm sure other readers on here (GCC, Mexican, Arian-Mexican, JB, etc) might meet the guy if things go well. We all want to juicy gossip, but at what point is it just too much?

Double Standards

Its no secret that men have it better than women in a lot of respects. Men dont have to worry about periods, getting fat from childbirth, expectations of cooking dinner after working 8 hours, 20% less salary for the same job, etc. Two things that women always point to as being jealous of men: being able to pee standing up, and taking off their shirts in public places--and have it be socially acceptable. The former will never change, although it appears there's momentum to change the later. However, I'd like to challenge this double standard and let's see who agrees with me (I'm used to being in the minority).

Sandals, flip flops, thongs, whatever you call them, they're the ideal footware for hot summer days. Your feet are one of the most vascularized parts of your body, and thus have the ability to radiate an enormous amount of heat, helping to keep you cool. Women can take advantage of their social acceptance to wear sandal-like dress shoes to almost any occassion. God forbid if a man should appear at a business meeting in anything besides his brown or black leather dress shoes. I sometimes wish I could trade-in my ability to go shirtless for the ability to wear my flip flops to work everyday. But I'd have to turn in my gay-card to do that.

Of Course I Was Right...

...But I was wrong too. I admit it, I'm often guilty of having preconceived notions of people or places, especially gay ones, so much that I never want to experience them. For instance, gay cruises: I see them as being like Gay Days at Disney...lots of cracked out guys just lookin to hookup or dance to the monotonous sounds of drum n base techno. Actually, that was a preconceived notion of Gay Days that came to be true--at least that's the scene at the hotels and parties. But yea...the cruises. I love cruises, its the latent marine biologist in me, but I would never want to go on a gay one, though I'm sure if I was forced (i.e., peer pressured) into going, I'd enjoy it somewhat. I say the same thing about gay gyms (e.g., Main Street Wilton Manors, Results in DC, or LA Fitness in ATL), but when I end up going, I always have good workouts--I get motivated by the desire to impress.

Ever since moving to DC in Feb 2006, I've always heard of the gay beach oasis Rehoboth. Growing up as a kid in Philly I heard mention of it infrequently, just as much as any other sleepy beach town. I figured it was like Cape May, NJ back in my "str8"/gay-ignorant days. But my preconceived notion changed when I moved to DC. In my mind it became more of a Fire Island or P-town, where gays dominate the landscape and there's an entire industry to cater to them. I resisted going my first year here, partly cause I saw it being like the aforementioned cruises or Gay Days. I am also HIGHLY resistant to Mid-Atlantic beaches. Again, I remember going to Jersey as a kid, where the beaches are crowded, water is dirty and cold, and the dunes are nonexistent, instead replaced by seawalls, groins, jetties, boardwalks, cheap hotels and retailers. How many hermit crabs and salt water taffies can a person really buy? I really did enjoy my time in NC, GA, and FL because the beaches were relatively unspoiled compared to those of NJ and MD.

Well this weekend some swim teammates went to Rehoboth after participating in our (DCAC) annual Swim for Life--a charity open water swim in one of the tributary rivers of the Chesapeake. I'd like to brag and say I swam, but instead I sat on the shores, helped register people and time the swimmers. I hate long distance swimming. I also had this preconceived notion that it would be a larger/more competitive event, so I was intimidated mostly because I've never done an open water competition before and hate being the loser. Next year I'll swim a mile. So afterwards the gaggle of gays migrated eastward, destination: Rehoboth Beach. We arrived at 3pm and went right for the sands. It was a pleasant surprise. The gay beach had no surrounding crappy vendors, hotels, or other unsightly marrings of the coast. The gays seemed relatively friendly, and it wasn't even that cruisy. Fast forward 19 hours.

Sunday we hit the sand bright 'n early, around 11am. We ventured to the gay beach along the boardwalk that's spotted with cheap hotels, retailers, crappy video games, etc. Got to the crowded beach that later became inundated with DC gays. The amazing thing is you can take the gay out of DC but you cant take the DC out of the gay. Everyone formed their respective cliques, and rarely intermingled. I thought that the relaxing beach atmosphere would break down those barriers a bit. Not so much. But you cant expect everyone to open up as soon as I arrive to a new city--though they should, dammit! I guess one needs to be indoctrinated into the local Rehoboth fold. Maybe next year. But all in all, I had a great time and am really enjoying hanging out with my fellow swimmer!

Addendum 1: I totally agree with GCC...the guys at DCAC SFL2007 Rehoboth Weekend are all awesome and I love having them as my friends!

Masochists

Just had to share this. Its amazing how some people open themselves up to insult.

Trick: wanna play again soon? it's been awhile
ConsummateAries: yes it has. to be honest, probably not
Trick: aw how come [Here is where he's just asking to be insulted, but I resist]
ConsummateAries: Just not really interested. Sorry...moment of weakness I guess

I wanted to say..."You're not my type. Maybe lose a few pounds, or gain muscles like you looked in your pictures and I'll reconsider."

The Baskin Robbins of Orgasms

As I mentioned before, I've recently ratcheted up the N for those DC individuals that I've conquered in bed. In a more romantic sense, I refer to them as my victims, like Aries the God of War who lines his bed with the hides of those he's vanquished in battle. And after all, isn't sex a battle? If you disagree, you've never had two tops vie for "total top" position. And during my latest sexcapades, I've enjoyed observing the biology of orgasm. No, not from a fetish aspect, more like Alfred Kinsey. Though don't get me wrong, I love a good orgasm.

One recent conquest, I'll call him Monkey Man (MM) almost made me stop mid-fuck and ask, "what the hell are you doing?" The whole time he had this intense look on his face, but in a howler-monkey way...rounded mouth, moaning and giving me 'verbal encouragement.' Unfortunately, he wouldnt let me just fuck him from behind...insisted on looking at me. So there was no way to avoid the monkey face. The finish was just as good...he kept the total howler monkey face the whole time, as if it was this amazing cum shot and he was so proud. It wasn't.

Fast forward a few conquests to Pride. I found this hot outta-towner. Shaved head, piercings, a few tats--love that. Great kisser and huuuuuuuuu...well, you get what I mean. Let's just say I love mushrooms on my pizza. He was a top too, so I'd just enjoy his oral skills. Granted, I'm willing to bottom some day, but it better be aerodynamic the first couple times. So yea...as he was getting close, he kept convulsing. This isn't odd, the occasional body twitch. However, afterwards as he was lying in bed for several minutes, he continued to spasm--somewhat violently. I wanted to ask him if he took his phenobarbital, cause it was kinda freaky. But still, I'd rather have sex with Katharine Hepburn than a howler monkey.

I'm sure in the fog of my memory there's many more instances I could add here, but as I said in my first blog, the fog is the reason I'm writing this down--I forget too much. So have you observed any really weird orgasms lately?

Good Pickle Tickles

In one of my first blogs, I addressed an issue very dear to my heart: pickles. You'll be happy to know that Ts Grill has seen the light of day and reinstituted the use of "good pickles"...though they've cut back from 2 or 3 to just 1 per lunch. I guess I was right about budget cuts due to my relative over consumption of the delicious green condiments.

The Supreme Chancellor

I love the term "Chancellor"...I think it conveys more power than any other title, even viceroy (probably #2). Today's local news has included Mayor Fenty's appointment of Michelle Rhee as the new Chancellor of DC Schools--Fenty's attempt to seize control of the languishing DC School District and hopefully repair it to at least a moderately functional status.

As a former teacher, I'm left somewhat apprehensive about this choice. DC Council Chairman Gray said, "She hasn't had a vast amount of management experience...There will be a wait-and-see period." I couldn't agree more. Apparently she only has 3 years of public teaching experience, then left to form a non-profit for teacher training. Over the course of these last 7 years I've tutored, TA'd, taught high school and college, and sit on our Education Council, but don't think I could ever handle the role of Chancellor. Hopefully she'll prove me wrong; luckily I don't have kids to worry about.

"Sure I can get laid...

...But no one will ever love me. " That was our theme from IGLA. And it really does carry over into my every day life. Lately I've really begun to reflect on that quote, by my quasi-twin brother GCC. Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly content with my current life, but I'm always plagued with the question, "why are you single?"...and its true, I always am. Granted, I'm very picky in relationships: I cannot abide snorers, guys who are at all effeminate, primpers, the song/dance crowd, or those reallly into money. I need someone who can hold a conversation but doesn't talk my ear off constantly like a chick, athletic, and outdoorsy preferred. Not toooo much to ask for is it?

Before this sounds like yet another personal ad, let's get back to my self-analysis. I remember clear as day many years ago one of my friends having a drunk confession: I'm a mean drunk. He meant that I picked on him too much. I'm sorry, that's my sarcastic, witty personality. I thought it was part of my charm. Prince charming I am not, apparently. You see I grew up being the shortest guy in the class, characterized as 'gay' as a kid (even had a lisp before speech therapy), and had a last name that was easily mispronounced as "Piss it"...so you can imagine how I had to develop a thick skin and learn to roll with the punches early on. I guess I assume that other people have a similar leathery hide (and not just from fake baking). They don't.

Recently I was labeled as emotionally cold (thanks GCC). Maybe that's due to being constantly single, or dealing with moving around a lot and losing contact with those people I care about. I think I should just make a new t-shirt that says, "If I insult you, its only because I love you." Maybe that will solve my problems of seeming to be a lil asshole and unloving.

There And Back Again

In one of my first blogs I discussed occupational bulimia: periods of intense work (binge) followed by periods of complete non-productivity (purge). I’ve now found another bulimic aspect in my life: sex. It should be noted that the two cycles are definitely independent of each other. My occupational bulimia occurs over a full 2 week cycle; sexual bulimia often occurs at a temporal scale of many months.

Like most newly out gays, I went through the characteristic whore phase when I was 22-24. Countless numbers of men fell victim to my sirenous smile, abs, and butt. *Binge* Of course, that was back during the Clinton era, when we were all expected to get blow jobs from every Mark, Rick, or Steve. I look back in fright about how stupid I was back then; so naïve. Well it all came to a head with a couple visits from Venus in rapid succession, along with my best friend getting “sick.” It definitely scared a sense of responsibility and chastity into my life. *Purge* I went through a period where I’d only hookup with guys I was dating. On average I’d get laid about once every 6 months or so. And since my average dating longevity is 2 months, there wasn’t even much of an oasis between the deserts. It looks like that period has ended.

And hopefully I will have learned something from when I was 24’ish, and not need to revisit the doctor as frequently as I approach 30…less I fall victim to the resurgence in HIV that has plagued the gay community due to complacency.

The Excitement of Days Past

It intrigues me, as I go from youthful 20's to old-man 30's, to take stock of my life and how its changed. One thing that I really noticed this past weekend during Capital Pride 2007 was my total lack of excitement for the event. It almost became more of a chore, something I felt obligated to attend. Granted, I was more than willing and happy to help out the swim team, but when not working at the booth, I wandered aimlessly around the crowd occasionally getting some fattening food or a beer, wondering where all the excitement has gone in these 7 years since my first Pride.

I still remember it as clear as day. I was 22, just finished my BS in Marine Bio from UNCW, was about to start my PhD at Georgia Tech. That weekend I signed the lease for a shitty lil apartment in midtown Atlanta off of Cheshire Bridge Rd. It was the summer of Britney and N Sync; Oops I did it Again vs Bye, Bye, Bye. It was June of 2000. It was my first Pride. You can only imagine what it was like after having lived in the ultra-conservatism that is North Carolina for 4 years. I just came out to myself the previous year, and here I was...the gay mecca of the South. I met who I thought was the hottest guy online (AOL m4m chatrooms...remember them?). We were dating during my back n forth b/w NC and ATL. He introduced me to all his friends in ATL, and they accepted me like family. What a great feeling; I never had a gaggle of gays before. And to top it off, they all lived in a gay apartment complex (Sutton Place)--something that would NEVER happen in NC. We went down to Piedmont Park for the festivities...all drunk, gayed out, and ready to cruise. That year 300,000 GLBT's crowded the park to socialize, hear politicians, see the B-52s, and watch the drag show. And then there was the clubs. Heaven on Earth. I'm sure I smiled the whole time.

So have I become jaded? Probably. I sure as hell don't want to be surrounded by all the crack queens I befriended that first weekend. Capital Pride surely doesn't inspire a sense of community like it did all those years I was in ATL. Maybe that is what's really missing. The best part of the weekend was marching in the parade with the swim team...and there you have the sense of community. So maybe I havent changed, just the city has.

Will Elvis leave the building?

Its a beautiful, sunny, 88 degree day out today, and I'm sitting in the office all alone. Note: I have all the guys working with me in a big open area, which facilitates idea sharing and improves productivity--how Japanese. So when no one is here, the usual level of energy is quite depressed. Now I know that if it was me that was gone, the peons would leave too. So should I do the same, or be good and get some work done? This will be my last day of rest at work for the summer. Between a new intern starting Monday and hurricane season, things are gonna get crazy here. So, as the Clash aptly asked, "Should I stay or should I go now?"

It Puts the Lotion on its Skin

Its amazing how two people can be so similar in some respects, right up to a point where it just all falls apart. Take, for instance, GCC and myself. Besides being blessed with 5'6" height, athletic bodies, muscular abs that naturally jet out giving us the appearance of a slight gut, exercise fanatics, we're also both biologists and aggressive tops who have a slight bent for the creative side of sex. So we're twins, right? Or at least I'm the MUCH younger brother.

Wrong. This really struck me while comparing our two reactions to Le Depot in Paris...what he calls a "backroom" bar, I call a "dark, seedy, windy den of debauchery." I guess officially its a cruising bar. However, when I first entered the...how should I put it...foyer of the lounge, I already knew this wasn't for me. I then proceeded downstairs. It was here that I was struck with a deep sense that I'd been here before...not in real life, but by proxy. It WAS the basement of Jamie Gumb, aka Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs.

As my beloved Kathy Griffin would say, "Let me break it down." You go in and there are relatively bare cement brick hallways. Its very dark except for the eerie red light that casts a dream-like haze over the entire space. If only it was green light, it would be just like looking thru Bill's night vision goggles. You then meander through what seems to be a nonsensical series of small hallways with tiny cubby holes. Did I mention its REALLY dark? The amazing thing is that guys are hanging out in the hallways...and actually leaning on the walls. I wouldn't touch any surface of the place even if I had on a full biohazard suit. And you know some freak there would get off on their biohazard suit fetish if I walked in wearing one. (I never understood the whole gas mask fetish...unless they're realllly ugly.)

So like Clarice, I explore the dark, seedy, windy den of debauchery, every once in a while popping back into the bar room (imagine the SOTL dungeon pit room) that is well light. And as I quickly turn each corner to find another dark cubbyhole, I hear the breathing of nasty mean, just like Jamie Gumb, behind me. Though that could've been The Mexican. What really scared me is that even considering my physical bulk, I could easily be abducted into one of the rooms that actually had a door, and some guy would devirginize my ass (I consider my ass virgin since its been untouched for about 4 years now).

So like I said below, I stayed a whole 15minutes...while GCC "had fun...[and] nailed some willing bottom like there was no tomorrow."

IGLA History Makers

As my esteemed teammate GCC wrote in his latest blog, he set a new record for the 1400 m freestyle. Congratulations! It was one helluva way to start of the first day of the competition. The next day was my first race: 50 m backstroke. Now all my life, I was always a breast and fly guy...until high school. When you have a team of 12 guys and 5 are really good at breast, you find something else to do. We tried distance: I was ruthlessly lapped every time. So I tried backstroke once for shits n giggles...just to get out of doing the 500. Who would've known...I was good at back (my arch-nemesis in childhood).

Fast-forward 13 years to Paris. "Take your mark (though it sounded like "Gen..tlemen" with the french accent)...BEEP". I, being a flawless Aries, have a great start (a relic of my days as a diver) and underwater kick, surface and am swimming great...neck and neck. I see the backstroke flags, take my three strokes, then flip on my stomach. BAM!! The wall is still 10 m away. FUUUUCK ME! Somehow I mistook the 15 m line across the pool (where you must surface for backstroke) for the flags at the last 5 m. So there I am...middle of the pool, turning onto my stomach. Waaaay to impress all the hotties in the crowd with my backstroke prowess. Luckily, I wasn't disqualified, but ended up with a bad time :-( One more IGLA bonehead record, I'm sure! From now on, I'm going back to breast.

Luckily the next swims went much better. To be continued...