As I continue to close my Yahoo email address, I continue to check it from time to time. As I continue to sever ties, I see things that I never noticed before.
In my Yahoo email start screen, it usually has a
quarter-page size online ad that advertises one product/service after another.
A year ago, they started advertising "Classes USA", an online degree
service. It had headlines like "MOMS MAKE $50k A YEAR!" or "STAY
AT HOME DADS MAKE EXTRA INCOME!" and it would have a graphic to support
whatever they were saying. When it was Moms, it would have a MILF with an eerie
happy, surprised look. The Stay At Home Dads would be sitting with a child in
his lap and a laptop at the center of their gaze.
Soon, the corresponding graphic got more confusing. I think it's being noticed here and there.
This past week, I received the most confusing ad yet. It boasts once again, "OBAMA ASK MOMS TO RETURN TO SCHOOL" and features what seems to be a bearded man.
Finally, today, I got the CRAZIEST ad on the landing page. What's this supposed to mean?
If only this entry could encompass everything I experienced from the dates August 19th through August 25th, 2009. Every now and then, you have to be reminded who you are and what you can do. What you can accomplish and what you're made of. Who you were and who you are. People beg for these things--Not epiphanies but a time to cleanse yourself. Not about getting back to who you were but moving forward to who you are. Exhausting every sentiment and emotion would be arduous and relentless but neglecting moments doesn't abandon them but keeps them private and important. The kind of things that you tell people about when you only feel like it's the right time.
For you, I want this time (we have here) to be about the race. This is about making something out of nothing. When the laws of nature are against you and you feel like it's a relentless pursuit to follow your gut and your heart rather than your head. Our time in this report is about what I have become rather than who I was.
I showed up to five classes in my college Beginner Aquatics Class. I was certain I failed it but, instead, I got a 'B'. Out of 36 classes, I arrived five times and received not only a passing grade but a higher mark of 'B'. During that class, I witnessed people crying. I saw people so helpless in the water. It was like going into a battlefield every time we got into the water. My indigent water skills were the summary of a culture of a family who didn't think water skills were important. That's because their parents didn't think water skills were important. Think of my fear as a trait handed down through generations.
Standing on the edge of a diving board, my nerves were thin. One summer I was left to swimming class with my cousin Arthur. I was pushed off the high dive and I don't remember anything after that. I asked my Uncle Bill about those classes and he reminded me that he took us to all those classes.
"By diving off that board," my therapist points out, "you take ownership of the choices in the water." I was pushed when I was younger but when it came to working with a coach like Jessica, she told me that I could jump off the diving board and I did.
Time and again, I would keep showing up to Jessica's open water swim class while I kept a low profile. Trying to hope that I would fit in someday, I would go about my own set of rules. Jessica, incredibly understanding, kept an eye on me. She kept me under her wing in my first longer distance triathlon. I froze up time and again. She would help me float on my back and remind me that everything was ok. She told me jokes; I laughed. I felt like she was desperate as I was to find out what was happening to me, "There's like this moment where you panic," she contemplated, "and if you can just get over that sense of panic, you'll get it."
Two years later, I swam across Devil's Lake very slowly and she told me that there wasn't any way to get back except to swim. That's when the wrestling gave away. My mind and my body found some kind of middle territory amongst Clay's Michael Jackson jokes. I competed the next day in a triathlon with no swim anxieties.
In two years, I had gone from hope to 'hell yea'. I told Jessica that I owned Timberman. People encouraged me that I'd make it. But something told me that I could do it. Something deep inside me knew that I was different. Something changed and I liked it. Only a few weeks ago, I got kicked off the Door County Half IM course because I was too slow on the swim. Timberman, on the other hand, was my race for the taking.
"You should try nightswimming," Erik told me, "it's like running with a blindfold on." I stayed at the place that his wife called the 'place in New Hampshire'. Erik, his wife MP, Kitty and Christina all were competitors in the 2009 Timberman Half Ironman. Erik and MP made us at home in their amazing home close to Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire. I was far away from everything and came alone--without wife and kids.
Staying there was like a mini-camp for the race. Every day, there was an early morning swim. Every day, there was somebody running or cycling. I was only interested in swimming each morning. My bike had to be put back together. And my run was no worry to me since I knew my legs could endure virtually any 13 miles.
We had to attend the expo the day before the race. Our bikes were required to be racked on Saturday and our registration materials were waiting for us. We were given bracelets that matched the bike numbers. We had numbers for the bike. We had numbers for the run. We got numbers for our helmets and numbers for our bike.
We left at 3:40AM for the 2009 Timberman Half Ironman from their place on Lake Sunapee. Gathering our things, all of us were silent. Gathering our needed materials, we were like worker ants insuring that we were creating a good future. It was dark on the drive and we clutched onto our respective travelers mugs of coffee. Each mug boasted a white line drawing of a moose. Beneath the moose, it read, "New Hampshire. Live Free or Die." Erik had already given his choice the day before, "I choose Die."
In many ways, this race would be the litmus test to Ironman. My choice to compete in upcoming FULL Ironman competitions would rely on today's events. How long could I really compete and fail miserably? I felt like I jumped a emotional/psychological hurdle, so this would test the pudding of that accomplishment (or so-called). Ironman cut-off is 2:20, so I would have to break 1:10 to even come close.
THERE HAS BEEN A DELAY TO THE START. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. THERE IS AN ACCIDENT ON THE BIKE COURSE. WE WILL START THE RACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AFTER THEY CLEAR THE COURSE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING.
I was trying to warm up my swim my going out on the buoys of the finish. The only thing it did was make me even more paranoid. Jet Skis flew by me and people gathered along the shore. Erik and MP were warming up but turned in early. The water was calm (outside of the Ski Doo's who flew by) and I tread water. I thought that I didn't deserve to be here. I don't really need to be here. I can walk away and no one would fault me. That's when I knew 1. I was going a little crazy 2. I needed to get Happy Steve back again.
The announcement went out over the loud speaker: THERE HAS BEEN A DELAY TO THE START. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. THERE IS AN ACCIDENT ON THE BIKE COURSE. WE WILL START THE RACE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE AFTER THEY CLEAR THE COURSE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING. DO NOT MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE START LINE.
I was in my wet suit and forest green cap with goggles. Erik, MP, Kitty and I started making our way over to the start line. I went off by myself for a few moments by myself in the water. I let my body float on the shallow water in a dead man's float and shut my eyes. Like night swimming, I let myself drift.
People start suddenly. Then more. I'm in the 4th wave, I have to hurry and be prepared. I get up there. It's a clockwise swim in a 60 person wave. Every where I look, there's white men in black wet suits with forest green swim caps and see through goggles. I made the brash decision of shaking every hand of people who I thought looked nervous. I said, "Good luck" to each of them. I told myself the one and only mantra I managed to author for myself, "Define Yourself."
GO. GO. GO. GO. GO. The announcer over the bullhorn wanted to keep saying "GO" until everybody was swimming. The floor of the lake stayed with me then dropped off. It was clearest open water I've ever swam. So when it drops off, you can imagine what it made me feel.
The draft of the swimmers ahead of me as well as the excitement brought me to the first buoy in very little time. I would guess 12 minutes. Very fast. I probably sighted two times. I got to the orange triangle and was pointed way, way off. That's where the swim actually started for me.
If the mile was 1.2 miles, then the tangent after the turn was a half mile. It didn't stop. Since I veer to the left on long swims, there were lifeguards who held their oars to remind me to get back closer to the buoys. By the time I got half way through the stretch, the sun beat into my eyes. One lifeguard told me, "You're more than half way though, brotha!" A drastic change in lifeguard tone from the Door County Half IM.
I stopped for a moment to put my head up and looked to the shore and saw the huge number of people on the shoreline. How awesome. I was so far away and it felt so close. I knew I had a long way to go. Oar after oar from the lifeguard reminded me of my veering left problem. It frustrated me a bit but it wore way after I got the the second orange pyramid.
The number of lifeguards dwindled which told me that they weren't worried about the swimmers on this leg. There were three (that I saw) and they funneled you to the finish. This where I was hit and swam-over and so on. I didn't care because I was finishing.
The signals that I finished were slow coming.
C'mon.
C'mon.
Ok. There's the boat. Can I stand up? No. Not until you can touch bottom with your hands. Now? No. Now? No. Now? WTF? ROCKS. STAND UP. I just did it.
SWIM: 55 MINUTES.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Thank you, God. I have been blessed with the power to overcome and own what I want to own when I want to own when I want to own it. I am thankful. Some people talk to you when they're desperate but I am talking to you in thanks. Genuine, open-hearted thanks. Not that disingenuous prayer given every Sunday from those who muster up thanks. It is Sunday and THIS IS MY CHURCH.
My bare feet ran along the grass to transition while I dragged my wet suit off my torso. The wet suit rippers stood ready, WHO'S NEXT? WHO'S NEXT?
I laid down and they ripped it right off me.
My triathlon towel draped over my aero bars. It has the sketch outline of a dead body. A joke gift that Susie gave me. But her joke has the sublime understanding that my irrational fears are actually rational to me.
Dry off. Get ready to bike. Remember to keep it simple the front 15. Reserve it.
But, first I gotta pee.
T1: 6:09
If somebody tells you that Timberman is hilly, believe it.There were people walking their bikes at three points inside the front half. I can see if it's the back half and you're out of energy but these people are already trying to either conserve or they've lost the gusto to climb.
Even though there's 1700 people on this course, I find the cyclists very spread out by mile 40. It's lonely and boring for a runner like me. Then the city creeps up on me and I'm surprised by my time. I have no computer on my bike nor a Garmin on my wrist.
The day got hotter as I turned into transition.
Bike 3:27 (16.2 MPH)
I was having some real bowel issues.
T2: 5:33
I ran out of the porta john, ready to take on the half marathon! Could I have some sunscreen? They spray me down. It felt like a very thin layer but I trusted the volunteers.
The run course was two 10K course loops. Up. Down. Up Down. The best part was seeing every one. Where Christina was. Where MP was. Where Erik was. Where Kitty was. There was something comforting in knowing they were still there racing.
I took just about every ice cube, Gatorade, Water and cold sponge they gave me. The temps were heading close to 95. I caught up with Kitty and Erik on loop 2. We discussed about the importance of the course where the "Bubble City" was.
Slowly, we separated. I thought it was important to finish together but I knew what would happen at the end. I would gain my legs. Erik would lose his. Kitty was starting to crash. Inevitably, we separated.
By the time I got to the finish line, I wasn't sure what I had to do. I simply crossed the finish line.
RUN 2:32
FINISH: 7:08:39
I knew that this was just the beginning. Just the beginning. I started crying, I was in pain. I held my eyes. They handed me a wet towel.
A camera taking photos to happy finishers, but he dropped his lens as I walked by him.
I cried. I cried some more.
My sister Annie was there with her husband and sons. I needed to sit down. They helped me out.
Not only had I just finished a lot work but I have a long road ahead of me. I have to finish something I started in 2006 and it's already 2009. Ironman Wisconsin wasn't just a race that I didn't finish but it was unfinished business.
I haven't seen the 'Calvin Peeing' stickers a lot in the past year
or so. I caught a glimpse of one this week that pretty much blew every
other 'Calvin Peeing' sticker OUT OF THE WATER.
These 'Calvin
Peeing' stickers are typically placed in the rear window of a car to
make a statement. Calvin (the young protagonist from the cartoon strip
"Calvin & Hobbes") is pictured from the back to be urinating on
something, while looking over his shoulder. Different logos are placed
at the bottom of the urine stream in order to display their disdain for
a product or person. Fans of John McCain may have put Barack Obama's
presidential campaign logo under the urine stream in order to
communicate their disdain for Senator Obama.
When I was on the
road last week, I sat behind a large red Chevrolet pickup truck, just a
lane over. I found Calvin's sticker on the back of that car peeing. He
was peering over his shoulder and the word "WORK" was being drenched in
urine. In a half arc, the words "Gone Hunting" were above Calvin's
head.
What does that dude's boss say when he pulls into work
with that thing on the back of his car? Maybe he's a contractor and
shows up this proudly displayed on the back of the car. How does his
clientele respond to this sticker?
It basically says, "Piss on work. I'd rather be hunting." Not very practical but very literal. No logos just the straight message.
Bravo, Large Red Chevy Truck.
******
After The Door County Triathlon, it became apparent that my swimming wasn't getting easier. And, as they say, "If you're not getting better, you're getting worse."
If there's something else I've learned in training, it's the fact that you can be trained by the best and coached by the pro's but the only person who knows what's effective is you. I was tired of swimming becoming a joke with me. I was tired of my swimming being the thing that adds ten minutes to my triathlon time. Swimming was torture and that had to change. I had worked all winter in Masters Swim class and hit the open water as soon as possible. It didn't seem to click.
Timberman Half Ironman takes place on August 23rd. I only have so much time. I need to take advantage of these precious weeks leading up to it. In desperation, Isent this email to a bunch of triathlon friends:
Subject: Call to Arms
After my rather frustrating Door County Half IM triathlon where they pulled me out of the water, I want vengeance.
I want to swim every single day in open water possible before Timberman (Sunday, August 23rd). As you may know, it's not safe to swim in the open alone so I'm asking for your help being there to be a swim buddy.
I don't care where I swim but being a working dad, my time is very defined.
I'm looking to swim during these days/times of the week. If you can
join me, please let me know. I'll swim anywhere...Mendota, Monona,
Quarry.
I'm swimming tomorrow morning with Ryan G. at Law Park as part of my CCMC membership (membership has its privileges!).
Thanks for any help!
-Donovan
I stuck by this schedule. Every day, there were people joining me. I was extremely blessed with friends who got in the water who haven't swam open water in months or years.Each time, I got into the water, it got a little easier but nothing remarkable ever happened. I didn't expect anything extraordinary to happen. I only wanted to keep working on it. It's only through focus and hard work do we find reward (except for the occasional $20 left in the pocket of a pair of jeans).
Time after time, I would get in the water. Perform my ritual--telling myself that I won't drown and letting my body float just to prove it to myself. Put my face in the water and try to labor through a distance. Soon, I got to a point where I would work a stretch of water then tell myself, "Now do 20 more strokes." Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. I was improving in small pieces and my time poking my head above water was still there. The fear was still there. It came in waves where I caught water in my mouth or swam into weeds and I lost my concentration. And my concentration would not get back into it.
I still hadn't swam the 1.2 miles that I needed for Timberman. This would, I believed, help me on race combat any fear that I couldn't go the distance. When my coach Jessica had offered a trip up to Devil's Lake for a distance swim (2.4 miles or 1.2 miles) across the lake, I knew this would be a great time to put in the distance.
Last Saturday, I went with about a dozen of her athletes. Many were training for Ironman and many were training for a Half Ironman. Jessica and Howard were in kayaks. As the group started swimming to the middle of the lake, I started paddling my arms. As I began, Clayton asked if it was ok if he tagged along. Keep in mind that Clay shouldn't have to ask me since he's a very experienced, fast swimmer."Of course!" Howard kayaked near us since he was assigned to the rear of the swim pack.
Things weren't very different. I would swim for a stretch and get caught up in what was happening: deep water with me in it. Fear controlled my body every now and then. I would let it go and continue on. Time and again, Clay would tell me his favorite Michael Jackson jokes. Howard would give me tips on my swimming. One included such loving pearls as "The only difference between you and those guys," he pointed to the swimmers ahead of me, "is that you stick your head up and float around."
Howard also told me, "When you get your head above water take 2 or 3 deep breaths then get back into the water!"
He told me to swim to the boat. As I continued to swim, he slowly nudged the boat backwards every stroke. I stopped and put my head up, "STOP MOVING THE BOAT! I CAN'T GET TO YOU!"
"When you stop, it slows you down. Put your head above water and grab a couple breaths and put your face back in the water!"
"I would but I have to argue with you and waste my time and breath!"
Clay stuck with me through the whole mile/mile and a half that it took to get to the other side of the lake. He reminded me of things like what the difference is between Michael Jackson and a plastic grocery bag (One's dangerous for kids and the other holds groceries).
We got to the other shore line where Jessica was in her kayak. He and I took a little break and talked to Jess. I wondered how I got from this shore line back to the parking lot across the lake. I think she was confused by my question. Maybe wondering why I was asking this. There was no other way. There was only water. Walking back was a possibility if you can find your way. Her kayak was not going to take me across. There was no other way. At least no other convenient way.
Clay and I started back. Howard was long gone and Jess was keeping an eye on another pair of swimmers. He and I kept swimming and something just started clicking. I'm not sure what. Either my emotions just gave up or I found a rhythm or some other type of revelation. I kept going. There were long stretches of swimming that didn't seem to end and I didn't mind. I wasn't going fast but I was lumbering on.
I kept going and when I hit flora, I had never been so happy to see weeds. It had signaled to me that we were finishing up the swim. I stood up and my arms were immediately tightening. I pulled my goggles off. I pulled off my cap. I swam over two and a half miles--some possibly predict three miles since I kept zig zagging across the lake. It was an amazing feat. I was in serious shock over what I had accomplished. I was quiet but happy.
Something changed in the middle of the lake. Maybe it took all that work or maybe it took a long distance with no choice. Frankly, I'm not too terribly concerned. Because since that day, I've been swimming circles around everything.
The next day, I had the Ripon Medical Center Triathlon. The whole swim was a can of corn! I was passing a bunch of people at the first turn. I got to the second turn and I was run over by the next wave's leader and it didn't phase me (much). I knocked it out in twelve minutes--seven minutes off my last sprint triathlon swim.
This makes the 1.2 mile swim on August 23rd seem easy. Amazing.
There was a time when I put my triathlon bike up on Craigslist and vowed that I would never do another triathlon ever again. Today was the first day that I told somebody that I was doing Ironman 2011 and felt like it could be done. No problem. Seriously, WTF just happened?
They pulled me out of the water. To my surprise, I tried to argue how I wanted to stay in the water. STAY? Did I say STAY in the water? Yes. Yes, I said I wanted to stay in the water. I argued with the lifeguard and she took no hesitation to tell me 'no'.
I was fairly calm at the start of the Door County Half Ironman. Usually, my heart races and I feel ill. I can't stay focused on one thing and my mind darts from thought to thought--eyes darting everywhere. But last Sunday, I was swimming in the water as a warm up and it seemed to be fine. After all, I've been training since (about) January.
But as I made the first turn in the Lake Michigan swim, the waves became bolder. It wasn't ripping or creating white caps. Rather, the water made 18 inch swells that pushed me up and dropped me down over and over again. I worked to find some kind of mental rhythm, a calming place to put myself. My heart raced and I kept stroking much too quickly. I found a lifeguard and was able to rest on a kayak or a short board for a minute or two.
As usual, the people behind me were beginning to pass me. I've been used to this as long as I've been swimming in triathlons. I let everyone pass me and remind myself that it's my race. I would remind myself that I have no time limit on this race. There is a course cutoff at 5:30PM but I surely could make up the time loss on the bike and run.
I got to the next lifeguard and asked to hang off the kayak for a minute.
"Sure but we're taking you in," he tells me.
"What?"
"You're done. But you can do the rest of the course."
"I'm done?"
"You're going too slow. We're taking you out of the water. You're only a third of the way through it. This jet ski will take you back to shore."
I thought it would be easier to debate with the lifeguards on the jet ski.
The lifeguard says, "Grab onto the back of the jet ski and pull yourself up."
I grab onto the back of the water transport, "I know I can finish this. Can't I get a second chance?"
"No. It's too dangerous and you're way behind."
"I can do it. I can see the yellow turn buoy."
"We can't have you out here. Get up on the back."
This was obviously over. I got up on the back of their ride and the guy running the jet ski said, "Hold onto her waist and hold on tight." I put my arms around her life vest's waist. He sped off to the dock and pulled up to a metal ladder welded to the side. I started to get up and he said, "He's tipping the boat. He's tipping the boat."
I actually apologized. Then my goggles dropped into the water and floated down.
"We can get them," the woman whose waist once boasted my grasp.
"Forget it." I got on the ladder and the jet ski left me to climb the ladder. I reached the top where an older woman had a Door County Triathlon shirt and white cotton pants with glasses that had lenses so large that it covered much of her face.
She looked at me those two portholes, "What's your number?"
"298." I thought only for a moment about lying.
"Did you give them your timing chip?"
I thought again for a moment about lying but resisted, "No. I still have it on." She knelt down and ripped the velcro apart and took it off, "You're welcome to enjoy the rest of the day in the bike and run."
I wondered what to do. It didn't take me me long to decide that I should continue. I walked over to the transition area. I had been pulled so early in the swim that the leaders of the race had just left the transition area to continue. That would mean that I would be biking with the elite wave of triathletes.
When I saw this, I knew I had a few minutes to gather myself. I stood, looking at all my transition materials laid out, ready for use. They were neatly place to afford efficiency. Bike materials in front of run. Run materials in back. A place to put my wetsuit while it drips wet. My bike, ready to be unhooked. Bottles of liquids and nutrition packets stuffed in secret pockets of my bike and run shorts.
I took a deep breath and started to unzip my wet suit. Took off the top then slid my legs out and it all dripped. One by one elite and race leaders ran into transition. I was moving much slower but I got my bike materials on. My shoes and helmet and sunglasses.
Got on my bike. Rode away. Failure makes for a long riding companion.
Swim DNF 56 Mile Bike 3:02 13.1 Mile Run 2:04
I realize that I have another shot next month in New Hampshire when I race the Timberman Triathlon.
I received an email yesterday that read, "Need anything?"
I've recanted the story a few times but I haven't thought about what I need now. But I happily answered, "Yea, get the lifeguards at DC to lighten up.
I'll
be hitting the water probably tomorrow morning with Ryan G. at Law
Park. He's a bit faster than me but he's a patient dude. I'll be at OWS
class on Friday.
Then this weekend I'll probably hit the water for distance if I can
find somebody to join me. If I can go both Saturday & Sunday, then
I will.
I'm doing nothing but swimming and some light, light biking & running. I'm going to smell like my wet suit come August 23rd. I'll be black from the stains that it's left behind because I've worn it so much. Employees at Monona Terrace are going to know my swim cap. Every day that I can get in the water is a good day."
Mr. Incredible: You know I'm retired from hero work.
Edna: As am I, Robert, yet here we are.
I'm very fortunate that Ian has changed his new favorite movie from "Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie" to "The Incredibles". When he takes on a 'new' favorite, he will play it almost non-stop from the car to the living room to the car to the living room to the office to the car and where ever it will go. He will question me when I tell him, "We can't watch it here." He is relentless. When he finishes with a movie's fascination, I have just about memorized the whole thing.
Mr. Incredible: Call off the missiles! I'll do anything! Syndrome: You're too late. 15 years too late.
Open water swim classes continue in the wee hours of 6AM on Tuesdays and Fridays. It continues to stay around 50 degrees during that time, no matter the day's forecast. This makes it cold conditions to get into water. Since my wet suit is old, it has been gaining cracks in different areas including my crotch.
This makes it easy for me to slowly slink into the water and expose my most sensitive areas to cold water immediately. Since I have such a long ritual of getting into the water, I try to get in first before the rest of the open water swim class.
They will typically stand on the edge of the water, curious how cold it will be or even hesitant to just get into the water. I will usually cry out when the water hits those three cut slots and my fists clench up.
Edna: Men at Robert's age are often unstable...prone to weakness...
My attitude to open water has seemingly improved. I float more easily. I swim farther though not much more. My endurance needs to help and I still get scared easily. But I find that it's just putting my face in the water that is the hardest part. At least I've identified where the bulk of the problem lies.
I go through of ritual of being spooked then I simply put my face in the water without paddling and it seems to comfort me instantly. If I can breathe easy under water, then I can easily continue.
Violet: Weeeeeelll...I think Dad made some excellent progress today but I think it's time to wind down now.
I competed in the Lake Mills Triathlon last weekend. I have made excellent progress but it's still a very much a living, breathing fear of drowning in a race like this one. It's happened in the Devil's Lake Triathlon. In the words of my buddy Erik, "It's a very rational fear." Thank you. I'm glad I'm not nuts.
As I approached the first buoy of the swim, a voice yelled out in the distance THIS GUY NEEDS HELP THIS GUY NEEDS HELP THIS GUY NEEDS HELP. I look up to see a young man's face pointing up as his body seemed to be lost under the water line as if his face were floating by itself, gasping for air, struggling for words. I hear the splash and see the lifeguard jump in to retrieve him. As this takes place ten feet ahead of me, the rescue motor boat slowly motors up to pull him inside. A horn blows and I look back to see the next wave of swimmers start. I was trapped.
My heart raced and I breast stroked over to the motorboat. I asked to hang off it for a moment while the cold waves slapped up against everything around me. The crowd of swimmers drew closer as this boy was helped into the boat. I saw the opportunity to start back up again with this wave of racers. I started back up again and spent a long time finishing the swim.
Mr. Incredible: It's psychotic! They keep finding new ways to celebrate mediocrity but if someone is genuinely exceptional...!
The movie is ingrained into my memory.
Frozone: Super ladies? They're always trying to tell you their secret identity.
At one open water swim class, I ran into a fellow deep water phobe. This gal has found a way to live with it. During class, we had "starts". These exercises helped us simulate triathlon starts with groups of swimmers. I hadn't run into her in a long time. She told me, "Of all people, I didn't think I'd see you out here."
Unfortunately, I've let my swimming lapse a bit. Like a week and a half lapse. I'll have to get back on the horse here soon.
I biked the Ironman loop on Saturday with Killebrew, followed by a short run. Wind and cold made it difficult to finish. A welcome stop in Cross Plains made the bike ride enjoyable.
The night before, I sent Killebrew a text message after two beers, "bring your wet suit and lets [sic] see what the waters [sic] like at firemans park [sic]". I believe he replied something like "Your [sic] crazy" or something close to that, then he turned to mention, "I like it".
We returned to the parking lot after our brick workout, we put on our wet suits. It was still a bit windy and cold. Our bodies, though, had worked hard enough that cold water would be a welcome relief. It might have even been that we put on our wet suits because neither of us wanted to back down.
Walking down to the water, I could feel it getting colder. The water was actually emitting cold air. When my feet got into the water, I felt like I was putting them into a glass of ice water. I slowly put myself into the quarry's water while Shawn finished putting his wet suit on. Little by little, I knew that it was not the best idea to swim in this thing. It had to be close to 45-50 degree water.
"Let's just swim across and back," Shawn told me.
"No. You can. I'm getting out after a little while."
"Just over and back."
"No."
"20 Strokes. C'mon."
"No."
Shawn begins swimming across. By the time he made it to the other side, I was beginning to head back. I think I only made it out to the middle of the lake when I decided that my lungs were contracting and breathing way too fast to swim.
I stepped out of the water and I see Shawn look across the water at me. He swims back and hits his watch, "Two and a half minutes."
"Awesome." I shiver.
My open water swim classes started today but there was no way I was going to make it in THAT water THIS morning. I'm getting the chills just thinking about it.
I spend two hours a week in an instructed swimming class. Some people find that this a lot, some people aren't a big deal.
When class began a few months ago, I had a really big problem coughing problem. My coughing at the end of the pool had some concerned. Just about every 25 yards, I would stop to cough. Many in the class didn't talk about it. I thought nobody really noticed until one when a classmate patted me on the back at the end, "You're not coughing as much as you used to." She smiles and nods.
During a math class in the 7th grade, Mr. Miller allowed us to work alone on a packet of papers. Though it was typically a quiet scenario, he let some work in groups. Soon after this assignment, the working groups started getting louder and louder. I wasn't part of any of the groups since I was happy to work alone. The volume of the classroom was building and I felt comfortable singing to myself while I worked.
Knowing lyrics to George Thorogood songs was part of my musical landscape at the age of 12 or 13. I sang, "I ain't seen my baby since I don't know when. Gotta get high, man. Gotta get bent. I want one bourbon, one scotch, one beer..."
One other guy who was working alone overheard me. In his case, he was working alone and not at all while he crossed his arms at his desk. He leapt out of his angry pose, "Hey, do you know that song?"
"Yea."
"I love that song, man. I WANT ONE BOURBON, ONE SCOTCH, ONE BEEEEEEEER. Yea." He smiled and nodded.
He walked up to Mr. Miller's desk with his homework packet, camouflaged as a curious student, "Hey, Mr. Miller, what do you get when you mix one bourbon, one scotch and one beer?"
Mr. Miller is stunned for a moment and turns the ingredients into a question again. He finds a quick answer for him, "Sick. Get back to work at your desk."
I watched him walk back to his desk while he smiled and sang the song a bit more.
On Monday, I was in swimming performing drills printed on a sheet of paper and place in a plastic baggie at the deep of the pool. As I tried to finish one drill where I was told to keep your hands by your side and roll left to right to left and so on, I took in more chlorinated water than ever before. It didn't really bother me too much until I started feeling nausea. I stopped and the instructor had to perform the duty he had performed so many times before to me, "Are you ok?"
"I'm ok. I'm feeling a little sick."
"Just get out and try to let it pass," he continues instructing the 16 or 17 other swimmers.
As soon as he turns away from me, I make a straight line to the locker rooms and throw up. The gatorade I drank before class turned from acidic to highly acidic. It went from going down my throat to out my mouth and nose.
I groaned and paused. Shuffle over to the sink. I draw some water and splash it on my face even if I'm still completely drenched from swimming. I cup my hands and try to drink some cold water. I spit it out. I drink from the cupped hands over and over again. I keep spitting it out. OK. Now I'm ready to get out there again.
I stop the instructor, "I just threw up. Do you think it's a good idea to get back in?"
"If you're feeling ok, I think it would be ok. Just stay here until you're sure."
I waited for a few minutes and kept watching my lane partners continuing with the workout. I had to at least give it a shot.
I got back in and started swimming with no hands, rolling side to side. I just barely got to the other side of the pool. I took a moment to breathe and started back to the other side. I got out of the pool.
I walked straight to the locker room and threw up again. By that point, I needed to get dressed and get out of there.
Those three things work for swimming as separate entities but I wonder if they make you sick if you combine them together. Sorta like bourbon, scotch and beer. You gotta take one thing at a time.
It's usually difficult getting back to something after you've taken a long break. This journal, for example, has been left dark for a few weeks. Somebody once told me that the opposite of love is not hate. Rather, the opposite of love is apathy.
Her argument contended that apathy is the thing that provides the image that you don't care. Letting go for a while looks likes it doesn't matter. This look at apathy is also a comparison to 'hate' as a feeling that still has strong emotions behind it--a driving passion. And while there is passion, there is a fight that is still being made.
I'm getting around to it. Stay.
Since I didn't have swim class for a week, getting back into the water was a bit difficult. Losing practice and drills made for a clumsy swim. My warm up was very slow and my technique had suffered. I let people pass me at pool's end. I would get to the end and swallow a mouthful of water time and again.
All I could do was hope that the drills would agree with me. It started out ok until we got to a set that called on the swimmers to go 50 yards with tennis balls in your hands. At the deep end, you were expected to tread water with just your tennis ball holding hands for at least 15 seconds. This was the drill that was destined to take me down.
My technique got so bad and my speed decreased so bad that I was continuously stopping. After only two laps, I had to stop and collect myself when that old survival instincts started back. I felt like I was drowning and had to save myself--my heart was racing and my stomach was doing backflips. I collected myself and tried to start back again. During this time, my stomach was getting more and more upset.
I got to the other side of the pool and fully expected to throw up. Thanks to my training in college, I knew how to hold back from "tossing my cookies". I swam back a length and got out. I checked in with Jerry and told him that I didn't feel good and stepped away from class.
It was probably not something that most athletes should do. Choosing in between 'fight' and 'flight', I chose flight for my own health. Or, at least, what I thought was a better way to take care of myself.
This decision could be interpreted as apathetic and wimpy. But it was only made to help me come back stronger on Wednesday. And I could have brought up a banana and a bowl of Cinnamon Life into the Verona Natatorium's Masters Swim Class water.
I think it was in the best interest of everybody involved.
As the melting and recovering of snow struggles, the hassle of digging your way out of this horrible weather continues. People tell me how ready they are for Spring. I'm ready too. I also feel a sense of not wanting to speed things up.
"Over the past month you've improved immensely." I was told at last night's swim class. I didn't answer him but nodded as I cleared up my goggles that continuously fogs up. We had many more laps of swimming at a high speed left.
After the speed swim, I had yet another couple laps of swimming on top of a kickboard. This drill tests your mental capacity to stay focused on your body keeping the board under you while you move forward. Last week, I was left with my board popping out from under me about three or four times per length. It would stay in my lane sometimes and other times it went into other lanes. My record is two lanes.
I struggled keeping the board under me and I made the personal oath that I would just move forward. I tried to tell myself, just maintain the long neck and straight back (at the instructor's suggestion) to keep it under me. The board wiggled and twitched and found its way out from under me and popped up to the first lane--two lanes away.
In horror, I spotted it and knew I had to grab it before somebody swam into it and became annoyed with my regular incompetence. I looked across the two lanes at the orange board floating. Swimmers drove their bodies up and down lanes disregarding anything around them. Typically, you don't have to worry about people swimming perpendicular in the pool.
Today, though, I had to get across to grab my board. I look both ways and crossed. Ducking under the lines, I made it to the first lane. In the second lane, I waited for the traffic to pass and I swam under the line to grab the board and try to swim under both lines back to my area. It had suddenly turned from a game of position my body into a game of underwater Frogger.
I was a mess and continued to let the board pop out from under me. I spoke the word "Sorry." more times than I think I ever have.
Last night, I was surprised to find myself finishing a lap while keeping the board under my torso the whole length.
But I was so tired from the speedwork. My shoulders and arms are sore today. The work I'm accomplishing in this class is great but I worry about what lies ahead. I look foward to warm weather and I need it but I worry what it brings. I don't think I need more heartache that I got from past triathlon experiences but I have to remain poised to be challenged.
