bookworm, schmookworm

The Bookworm Challenge has been the one challenge I’ve been looking forward to the least. I don’t even have time to read the novel I’ve been trying to finish for months, much less a book about swimming. I purchased my book a couple of days before this blog officially started, and still have only gotten about five chapters in. This is mostly due to lack of time, but also partly because the book is terrible - and that is being generous. The information isn’t bad, but the writing is the most horrendous thing I have ever had the displeasure of reading. There is a picture of the author, whose name I will not mention to protect his dazzling literary reputation, in the back of the book. He might have had his glory days, but I wasn’t expecting a book about swimming to be written by an obese dude with thick glasses and a dirty 'stache. Call me crazy. Also, anyone who refers to swimmers as the “perpetually wet” should not be allowed to write books.

One thing that I did manage to learn from the book this week is that I’ve been counting my laps incorrectly. Apparently, one lap is down and back. Not just down. So the other day when I said I swam 70 laps, I really only swam 35, which sounds much less impressive. I kind of knew this already, but I guess I just like lying to myself. It’s definitely not the first time.