I'M GOING TO GET A TATTOO.

Okay, not really. But, after last night's swim, I know what I would get, were I able to handle the thought of needles and the dentist-drill-slash-sewing-machine noise that radiates out of tattoo parlors.

Race numbers. I would get a race number tattooed onto my arms. Why?

Because, last night, when I was swimming at the local Lafayette, LA health club, I got approached by not 1, not 2, but 3 very attractive/buff/swimmer/triathlete guys at different times. They all wanted to know what race I had just done and how it had gone and one of them even wanted tips on triathlons.

This.never.happens.

It's not like I met the guy of my dreams and I'm going to live happily ever after, but it was still kind of fun in a flirting, casual, not-everything-has-to-be-so-damn-serious-all-the-time kind of way. I giggled like a little school girl and didn't even worry about my swim cap hair, goggle eyes, or how I looked in a bathing suit. I wasn't concerned with the lack of workout I was getting (2200 in almost an hour; not so impressive), but instead enjoyed swimming outside in the evening.

There's something magical about outdoor nighttime swimming, and yeah, getting some unexpected attention wasn't so bad either.

But you know what? It wasn't really even the attention that made me feel so good. Of course it definitely helped, but as I started actually swimming (instead of talking at the side of the pool), it wasn't the guys that were on my mind. It was the race, and the fact that I could do it, and how the race numbers are proof of the person I've become. I like that person; she's confident and happy...and it seems that when I allow that person out, other people kind of like her too.

So, race numbers? I'm not even going to try to wash them off anymore. And truth be told, I won't get a tattoo, but after my next race, I might just reapply those numbers for a few nights. I need myself to remind myself of who I can be, and hell...while I'm at it, I might as well try my luck at the local pool.