“Do you know why you can’t swim here?” he asked.
He stood in front of his car, like it was a workbench. The 90’s gray Wagoneer pointed to the lake, and he pulled a few things from a gym duffle bag: goggles, a snorkel, and some flippers.
“I’m not sure. I think it’s the city’s drinking water,” I said, pausing from pumping up my SUP with a bicycle-like pump. I was on pump number 323 of 350. I count it out. Keeps it interesting.
“What are you training for?” I asked.
The Navy. He needed a 2 mile swim and the monotony of doing laps at Gold’s was killing him.
“What are you training for?” he asked, nodding towards the board.
“I don’t know. Life?”
I wished him well and paddled out, wondering if I’d paddle over him at some point, a little more curious about what goes on under the water, and hoped he wasn’t scared of snakes.
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