Reverse psychology

The pool is clearly trying to manipulate me into being a faster swimmer.

I know it's tricks. It's up to no good.

I've been a stranger to my hallowed Y halls in the past few weeks. Mainly because I'm lazy. And also because I have three more races this season (maybe four) and they're all range from 1/4 mile to a whole 0.85 mile swims.

And with my Operation Guns focus, I've been more about slapping on the running shoes than I have been about goggles and smelling like chlorine.

But yesterday I dragged myself there for a touch up (like highlights, but stinkier...actually, no, highlights are pretty stinky) and was surprised.

Half mile time trial in 15:30. That's a 1:46 pace. (Thanks, Team Dork Rocket for doing the math for me.)

That's not freaking bad, folks.

Let's just realize that I generally live in the 2:00/100 region of the pool when I'm swimming on a regular basis.

Hmmmm. I may just have a chance at being a gooder swimmer this year. I have to say, I'm really liking these shorter distances!

Check back with me later and we'll see if the mortgage company is using the same psychological tricks.

Bad hair day

My hair looks like crap. No "natural" (pshaw) volume, no casual toss, no flirty curls.

Why?

Tuesday night lifting + Wednesday morning "arms only" pool day = Noodle arms

I can't really, you know, lift my arms above my shoulders. Well, not without assistance.

Blow drying it was comical.

So now I'm pretty homely from that-there neck up.

Want to keep something away from me today? Just hold it up. I won't have a chance. Unless it's chocolate...I might be able to overcome the pain for chocolate.

Morning List

This morning I...

(1) talked myself out of going to the pool 3 times,

(2) talked myself into going to the pool 4 times,

(3) swam my first 25 with no breath and lived to tell about it,

(4) swam seven additional 25s with only one breath and lived to tell about it,

(5) experienced the sensation of of pins and needles creeping up my legs as I tried to swim without that fancy thing called oxygen,

(6) managed to avoid peeing in the pool (...this time...),

and

(7) saw him briefly. I always imagined him to be taller.

Smack it

That's exactly what I did in the pool this morning.

What?

Pool? THIS MORNING?

Oh yeah, you heard me right. Going to make a stab at getting all three swim sessions a week in during morning hours...that way I won't punch anyone when they try to move me from my lane. Figure it's a good plan. Know your weaknesses and all.

ANYWAY.

Back to the smackage.

On deck this morning was a set of 3 x 500s on 10:50. The goal? Get all 100s on 2:05 -- which is T+5 for me now.

Want to know where I hit?

1 - 2:05
2 - 2:05
3 - 2:05
4 - 2:05
(I swear...I'm not making this up...)
5 - 2:05

(rest)

exactly the same thing for the second set. HAND TO GOD.

(rest)

1 - 2:05
2 - 2:05
3 - 2:05
4 - 2:10 (oh, you've got to be kidding me...)
5 - 2:05

And that my friends is as close to perfect as I'm ever going to get.

Of Finding Passion and Risky Behavior...In the Pool?

Unlike many, the swimming part of triathlon didn't terrify me. I was more distracted by the running distances, since I knew they were far flung from my normal plod-around-the-local-U that I was used to.

But the swimming made some sense to me. First: get in the pool. Second: swim freestyle (or some approximation thereof) for as far as you can muster. Third: get out of the pool and try not to trip on the way back to the locker room.

Easypeasy, right?

Ah, the chuckles I get from this.

Because OF COURSE it went nothing like that. When I first started swimming, I was an awkward ball of nerves, with my attention closer on whether the suit I was wearing made me look like an idiot and whether I was going horribly slow compared to the person next to me. The senior next to me. There was a lot of thrashing and meaningful, serious glances at the big clock on the wall.

At first, I was following a plan that was focused simply on distances. One day would have a 200 warm up, 3x200 at "moderate" pace, some kicking laps, and a cool down.

Looking back, all I can think is...boooooooring.

It wasn't a waste of time. I think if you asked any coach, they would say time in the water isn't wasted time, especially at the beginning of your relationship with the pool. So, my pace started getting better and my confidence in the pool certainly increased. I stopped pulling at my bathingsuit and started wondering what a pull buoy was. And soon, as the road began to lead to Ironman, I started working off of plans that were more intricate -- special drills focusing on form and finishing ladders "on" certain numbers. I started wearing a watch to the pool and feel more in command of myself there.

It was all very exciting and I was building some strength in the pool.

But still, I wondered whether this was really what turned people on in the pool. I read a lot of bloggers posting about killer workouts they had in the pool and I didn't really feel like that. Don't get me wrong -- the days when I would top off 4200 yards in one effort were amazing. I don't think distances like that will ever get old.

But I was bored with my work there, and it showed in my effort. I would cut things short or skip cool downs. I just didn't have my heart IN it anymore. Nothing was new to me there -- it was just a different combination of numbers that I had to get through so I wouldn't drown at my next race. I had plateaued on my times, and was at a loss as to how to get faster. So I maintained and slugged it out.

Recently, though, I've found a new passion for the pool. And this has lead to some risky behavior. Or maybe it's reversed. Let me explain.

It coincided with my coach entering the scene, but it wasn't just because of the Elf's influence. It was because I decided that I would start challenging myself in all the three disciplines this coming year.

I would start actually pushing myself in a way that had escaped me before. No longer was it about getting through the distances. I had already felt what 2.5 miles in the water felt like, I already knew how loudly my knees screamed on a half mary trail run, and how my tail end threatened secession after the 90th mile on the bike. For some reason, I think I needed to get those experiences out of the way first.

But it was time for a challenge. CHALLENGE, in all caps.

So part of my goal to challenge myself for '08 was to pick a coach who was creative, enthusiastic, and very experienced. Well, duh. That was the easiest part. But then to follow each and every thing she told me to do.

So. I did the dolphin kick drills when she told me. I figured out what "IM" meant and became less afraid of each of the strokes. I looked up what drills were supposed to look like on goswim.tv and mimicked what I saw. I watched youtube vids over and over again to see exactly what the hand was doing at every point, what the elbows look like. I went out and got myself my first set of paddles and figured out how to use them. I learned to kick without a board to develop balance and I no longer get water up my nose when I'm backstroking (although I do tend to bump into lane markers when I'm not paying attention!).

They are all little things. All little things.

But they are making a huge difference for me in the water. No...I'm not fast yet. I'm not swimming IMs in the local swim meets and, no, I still don't impress that one guy who comes to the pool and effortlessly swims 10 stroke freestyle lengths.

No. But there is a major difference now.

I look forward to swimming. I get excited when I have a cool set in the pool with something new I've never tried before. Now I finish my collection of 2500 meters in my little lane and wonder where the time went. I kid you not.

Everything I do in the pool is looked at in a new way. No longer do I slug through 6x300s at a "moderate" tempo (what the heck is "moderate" anyway?). Now my 300s are a mixture of paddles and polo swimming (with your head out of the water), sighting practice, and different breathing patterns.

And I've actually done the dreaded FLY stroke...in public...and lived to tell the tale. Had I not tried it, I never would have known what a great core workout it was, nor would I have used those other back muscles that get left out when all of the freestyle fun is going on.

But more so, had I not tried something so far out of my normal routine, I never would have felt like a swimmer. Like a real, honest to goodness swimmer.

Each time I hit the water, I have a goal. Often I have something new to try, or at least an interesting combination of skills I already have. And I never leave bored or wondering why I even came.

All because I decided, with my coach, that this was the year to try something new. To push the envelope and really sculpt myself into an athlete.

I used to be an athletic person who participated in a lot of athletic endeavors.

Now, I consider myself an athlete. Because pushing limits is what athletes do. And that's what I do now.

So...with that said...I thought I'd include an example of one of my workouts, prepared by her majesty, Queen of the Elfen forest. Even though I no longer make my specific workouts public (it's the Elf's work, after all!), I think sharing this may inspire others to get out there and try some new things in the pool.

Wed, Jan 2

Warm Up
300 swim
3 x 100 kick (50 dolphin kick on back no board, 50 free kick with board)

Drill Set
10 x 50 Distance/stroke drill (count strokes for first 25, drop 1-2 for return 25)(ri:10)

Main Set
4 x 400 on 9:00
#1 - swim freestyle, every 4th length done as backstroke
#2 - swim freestyle, every 4th done as FAST
#3 - pull with paddles, breath every 3 for first 50, every 5 for next 50, repeat
#4 - swim with flip turns* OR streamline kick off of each wall push off (hands clasped, tucked between arms, and KICK to flags before taking first breath)

* see? this is what I mean. I've never done a flip turn. Alright...not since I was, like, ten years old. Next Tuesday? I'm doing flip turns. No matter how intimidating they are, I'm doing them. Scary and fun, all at the same time. Like scun, or fary. Or whatever.

Cool Down
200 swim easy

It's not as scary as you'd think and the rewards are HUGE! Go, try it, be creative. Take a risk. I promise it will be rewarding!

Water up my nose and other beautious things

Session One -- done!

I forgot how much I totally MISS swimming! It's the only one of these dang sports that I actually like to do (alright, that may be an exaggeration, but it does come a little easier than the others). So my triumphant return to the pool last night was glorious.

Okay.

So.

There was no fanfare and, frankly, the only person there when I arrived was a bratty coed practically yelling her conversation with the lifeguard, who apparently was a friend of hers, about how she just has to make it to all her classes tomorrow otherwise she's in soooo much trouble. Thrilling, let me tell you.

But I didn't really care. Because I was in the pool again. Woot, Woot!

And here are the lessons I learned...

(1) kicking on my back is much easier than I thought,

(2) kicking on my stomach is just as hard as I expected,

(3) I'm likely to get water up my nose (buckets full, actually) at least once while backstroking for the first time,

and,

(4) Boy, do you lose a lot of swim endurance when you're away from the pool for that long.

In the end, it was a nice little 45 minute package of kicking my heart rate back off the couch and into some higher zones. I'm no longer afraid of backstroke, although I look ABSOLUTELY COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY RIDICULOUS swimming that way.

But I trust my coach implicitly and when she says 25 free/25 back/25 free, I do just that. Even if it's an awkward snotty endeavor.

Booyah.


PS -- Who starts their base training on Halloween??? It was a Herculean effort to not touch the candy last night. Huuuuge effort. But I was good and didn't crest the slippery slope. Problem is? There are at least 3 bags of chocolate goodness left at the house. Fingers crossed that Mighty M took them to work with him. Otherwise, I'm going to be the creep on the street corner trying to give away candy the day after Halloween.

What is it with Wednesday nights?

I mean, really. Recently I've been knocking my Wednesday night swims right outta the park.

Another good one tonight, so it seems. Apparently I have mid-week mojo.

When I got to the Y, I definitely had a shorter set in mind. But when I started swimming, I realized I had much more in me than a handful of 1000s with breaks. So I wound up doing a 200 warm up and 4050 straight as the main set. (The extra 50 was a breaststroke break I took early on when I had the lane to myself.)

Booyah, I say!!

The main set took exactly 1:30 and was a big confidence booster for me. There's no way I can approximate the Iron swim in reality, but the more of these long swims I have with energy to spare at the end, the more confident I am that instinct/adrenaline/luck will get me through Moo unscathed.

At least, that is, until the bike. ; )

So...any chance you think they'd move the big race to a Wednesday night for me?

Updated: Here are my times for the session, and I'm wondering how I can ward off the downward slope of times that starts around 2000-2500 meters. Any suggestions? Swim longer distances more frequently? More endurance sets (e.g., 20 x 200)? Something else?



1000 m 20.58

500 m 10.17

500 m 10.08

500 m 11.17

500 m 11.32

500 m 11:39

500 m 11:47

Breaking Through

I've heard about these breakthrough sessions. I have. But I don't think that I've had one of them until yesterday.

But, oh boy, did I have one!

Backtrack two days -- I'm in the pool, first swim of the week and had 1000's on the plan. I start with a warmup and about 800 yards into the main set, WHAM. Headache.

Not a normal headache, mind you. A head in a vice, kill me now kind of headache. I literally hit the end of the lane, lifted myself out of the pool and headed straight for the locker room. Clothes over my wet suit and keys in hand, I squinted my way home and prayed I wouldn't throw up.

It was bad.

After a little research and ruling out things like nutrition, hydration and bad head form, I found what was likely my issue. Um, a thing called oxygen.

Seems my fancy 5 stroke bilateral stroke of choice doesn't give my grey matter what it needs. And when your grey matter gets mad...well, it's hard not to notice.

Fast forward to last night. Same set on the roster: 300 warm up, 3 x 1000 mod (ri: 90), 300 cd.

So I warm up and go straight into the first 1000. Four stroke breathing and careful pace. Feeling good. Hit the 1000 mark and think -- hey, let's get race specific and switch my break out with 100 of breaststroke. I don't hold onto buoys in races for rest. I breaststroke. So that should be my break.

I finish that and convert right back to free, this time topping out 1500 meters. The plan was another breaststroke set as a break, but I was joined by another swimmer and didn't want to kick him in the kidneys. Feeling strong, I kept on going and going.

By the end of the set, I had finished the 300 warm up and 3600 straight meters. The main set took me 1:14. And I felt like I could go forever.

And then, headache free, I came home and logged onto the online conversion page to see what that was. And, assuming my pool is meters, I completed 2.4 miles.

Just a random Iron distance swim on a random Wednesday night.

I needed that to build my confidence a bit.

Boo-yah. Wisconsin, here I come!

The Monongahela

Here I am.

I wonder if my wedding will be like this. Or the birth of my first child. So fast -- smeared lines and peripheral edges. The turning point to life's most important experiences where you are no longer simply planning for life, rather life is happening to you. It congers up words like 'whisked' and 'flurry' and 'blur.' It's the happening. It's the verb, the action. The authentic moment.

There's no more time to contemplate the inevitable, only time for the movement. Goggles on -- check. Swim cap -- check. Don't forget to smooth the fold so it doesn't roll up. I find my way down the long ramp to the smaller dock area where the first waves are already in the water, starting out one by one.

It's stunningly beautiful out. The sun is shining and the air is perfect. A fellow yellow cap approaches me -- where do we go? Will someone tell us? We walk together. She tells me how nervous she is and it lifts a heavy weight from my shoulders. She's nervous? Well that makes two of us. Perhaps things would be alright after all.

First the toes go in and then a graceless splash. For once, the wetsuit feels familiar -- warm and like a second skin. I drift over to the right edge of the group, where we were starting to form our own colored cluster of caps. We laugh nervously and float. I have a hard time catching my breath. I focus on the in and out.

And wait.

"90 seconds until you're off!" The announcer stands there will a bullhorn and enthusiasm to spare.

"45 seconds..."

"30 seconds..."

Beeeeeeeeeep!

And, magically, I start swimming. First a crawl to get my bearings, and then freestyle. No panic getting my face in the water. No freaking out about not seeing the bottom or seeing too much of the bottom. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

My poor ticker is going a mile a minute -- it's not used to this anxiety. I'm breathing every other stroke, which is odd -- so different from the pool, so different from everything. It'll all smooth itself out soon, I think, so long as I can steer my way back to the buoy without adding too many yards.

Whew, buoy number one down -- now heading away from shore for a little and then it's time to turn it on. Turn what on? I can't remember exactly what, but I know it has something to do with that second turn. That long straight away, carefully scoped out the night before. Something is supposed to happen then.

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

Buoy number two -- check.

Now, time to swim. And I do, at least for a little. Twenty yards along I try to sight, with little success -- switch to breast stroke. Okay, you're on track. Back to free for a while. Getting a little tired, but almost half way there.

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

Goodness I'm getting tired. Where am I? Am I close? Half way? Half way?

Oh good lord. I can't even see the yellow buoy in the distance and unfamiliar caps are at my heels. Someone starts tugging at my right ankle. Tugging! Lay off, buster. I'm trying to not drown here, alright?!

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

Breaks for breaststroke become more frequent, yet the puffy yellow goal seems impossibly far away. I start looking for yellow caps to my left. None. In front of me. Only some. And behind? None. I barter down my expectations. Now it's about getting to the next marker. Forget the bike. There will be no bike. I think about everyone's disappointment. How will I explain? It's an indulgent distraction -- first I have to just finish the swim.

Oh god, I'm last. I'm last in my group. I can't do this.

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

The distance feels like miles and miles, but I slowly make my way to the buoy. As it grows in size, I realize that a current has somehow pulled us into the middle, slightly off course. It takes a little time to correct, but we do and I make it around the buoy.

I promised myself I wouldn't stop.

I want to stop.

The last buoy is easily forgettable -- I'm so closed to the end that I want out of the water now. This wasn't strong. This wasn't part of The Plan. This was slower than molasses and I eyed the flat bottom barge that waits in the wings for the swimmers in distress.

But I wasn't in distress. I was fatigued and surprised. I was blown away at how far away one single point in the distance could feel. I concluded my powers of estimation were gone and the only plan was to get to that damnable dock. But I wasn't distressed. No, I was swimming.

Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe.

Swallow.

Blech -- river water.

I look around again for another yellow cap -- this time to feel as if I'm not the very, very last person in the water from the HIM distance. Something to grab onto for these last 200 yards. There was one I could see, to the left of me, and she was motoring. Apparently, she liked less the idea of being dead last. I was just pleased to not be dead.

100 more yards. Felt like a 1000.

50 more yards. Ten minutes go by, or is it 20?

No concept of time anymore. No concept of distance. Only "in the water" and "out of the water."

Soon my arms are reaching out to the two volunteers, who pull me to dock like a drunkin fish. "Graceful," I laugh. They laugh, too. I push forward and shakily stand. Ha, sea legs.

Relief. A brief moment of relief.

One foot in front of the other, I manage to shuffle up the dock ramp and search the crowd for Mighty M. Was he looking for me in transition? On the bike? I must have been in the water over an hour. He's worried about me. Where is he?

The towpath by the river is magically under my feet and something in my brain says STRIP. Shuffle and pull, yank and move forward. The top of the wetsuit is off and I'm running. A 100-yard dash for transition and I'm running. Strangers are cheering and I'm running.

Wait,

I'm running!

It dawns on me. I'm doing a triathlon. I'm doing a half iron triathlon. Me. Right now, this very moment.

I am actually doing this.

__________________

Swim time: 0:43:06
Pace: 2 min 14 sec/100 m
Overall Rank: 283/305
No. yellow swim caps actually behind me: 4

Boat Ramp

I'm standing on the towpath trail, in my wetsuit and gripping a half eaten Espresso GU, and I can't, for the life of me, remember why I signed up for this.

What was I doing here?

In a panic, I tried to find a single statement -- any statement -- that would reassure me that there was a thought process behind this. That I was supposed to be here. And I came up empty. Nothing. My legs shook and I focused on that nothing with wide eyes.

What was I doing here?

Mighty M and I had arrived in West Virginia the night before, after carefully planning what to bring and making sure not a single contingency was left unattended. Wetsuit and nutrition were duly packed, as were emergency arm warmers and extra pairs of socks. Careful lists had been made days before, and even more carefully checked over and over since Friday night. I had thought of everything. There were no surprises.

We had laughed a lot on the way down, as we tend to do when cooped up in a car together. He had suffered my detailed race plan. It was still far enough away to talk easily about transition plans and what to eat when. We were relaxed and eager, on a unique mission.

And yet... .

We rolled into Morgantown after an uneventful trip. It was a beautiful drive. We checked into a perfectly acceptable hotel, with a wonderfully unexpected fridge to house my bottles and Uncrustables safely until this morning. I had signed in for my registration packet, picked my tee-shirt size, and made the obligatory impulse buy at the expo.

And yet, I was still confused by it all. Standing there with a stomach full of nerves, in an awkward wetsuit, and focusing on the ragged edge of the plastic GU sleeve I was trying to stomach.

What exactly was I thinking? Who did I think I was? I don't do things like this. I'm not strong, nor am I exceptionally athletic. All these people around me are chiseled and confident, laughing even. They see friends in the crowd and I desperately trying not to puke my breakfast on my bare toes.

I'm not this person. I'm someone who used to be a mess. Someone who used to give up. Used to bail out. I'm that person who left the long line at the last moment, skipping the roller coaster of experience for the comfort of my own shell. Don't worry, I'll wait for you on the other side...you can tell me all about it then. We'll laugh together like I was there with you.

I spent years upon years learning how to avoid moments like this. How did I find myself literally on this shore? I am no reflection of my peers, of those surrounding me. I'm broader and self-conscious in my tight racing suit. I am shaking all over. I'm uncertain and afraid. I am, yet again, that 29 year-old, woven together with dashed hope and abject disappointment.

How did I get here?

I was flooded with doubt. My long ride the weekend before became an opaque wall directly before my eyes -- the tiring miles and the painful end, that was so unexpected and unwelcome after months of solid training. If I can't finish 50 without crying, how can I do this?

I looked down at the Monongahela River, where the pro's had already begun their swim and my peers were slowly lining up for their chance and all I could think about was my open water swim in New Jersey the week before. How heavy the wetsuit arms felt. How awkward and unbalanced my stroke was. How I felt like I had just learned how to swim. My stomach turned again.

All I wanted to do was to leave. Walk away. Find some reason or none at all, just get the heck out of there. Away from the challenge and the unknown. Back to somewhere soft and accepting. Somewhere safe.

And, for the umpteenth time, Mighty M reached around my neck and forced me to look him straight in his blue eyes and said, "Honey, you're going to do just fine. Don't worry."

And I didn't believe him. I couldn't even respond. And I didn't feel better. But at least I knew that there was no reason to run away. I knew that my soft place to land was standing right there with me. There was no way out of this. And somewhere deep inside of me I realized that I trusted him. If he said so.

It was time to get into the water.

So I handed M the half eaten, sticky GU packet that smelled sharply of synthetic coffee and smiled weakly. "You're going to do fine." I distractedly zipped up my back and tucked the wetsuit tail the way I had been taught. "I'll be over on the shore, by the first buoy." I stifled my surging stomach with a strong swallow and looked for others wearing yellow caps and their own distracted smiles. "You've trained for this. You'll be fine." I could barely feel his lips when he kissed me goodbye, and then I was on the ramp to the dock.

"I love you."

I can't remember who said it.

It was time.

Lucky Ducky

This week I indulged in the inevitable.

I bought a wetsuit.

It's been on my list of things to do for the HIM/IM craziness -- along with booking hotels and flights for family, actually registering for my key races, blah, blah, blah. And the tax man, as we know, came-ith...so a wetsuit shall, too.

She'll look a little like this:


And getting into her will be like stuffing this:

Into this:

...Which should be fun...

And, the coolest part is that her debut will not be (as originally presumed) at the Half! Instead, I found a fun little swim in Jersey that is PERFECT to test out not only my swimming, not only my swimming in open water, but my swimming in open water with the ultimate suck-em-in!

Now, I've never done the "Nav-E-Sink or Swim," but it gives you the option of the 1.2 or 2.4 mile distances and is el cheapo. Which is a bonus. Because I am...yes, you've got it...el cheapo.

Talk about a lucky find!