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.
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.
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