I went to the pool this week, the first time in a very long time. As I looked at my legs through the water they seemed especially pale, and it seemed I had lost quite a bit of my muscle tone. Or at least that's what it looked like through the greenish tint. My teammate had showed me her regimen already handed down from our coach, who I haven't met with yet, and the concepts buzzed through my head as I quietly let it all sink in while she got started. I've never put this much thought into swimming before, though it makes perfect sense. Counting laps and timing them, marking the starting point to be able to document progress; this certainly appeals to my nature. Before I was just concerned about form, with the hope of not getting so tired (or drowning) during the swim portion of a triathlon, and I've never tried to correlate it with the pressure I put on myself while running to obtain a certain race time that's dependent on maintaining a set pace. I'm sure I'll get more excited about those parts when I do get in the pool with our coach, but for that first day it was just about seeing where I'm at, what I've got in me to get from one end of the pool to the other. It wasn't even a very big pool, only 25 meters, but considering how long it had been since I last swam, it felt a lot longer than that.
I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008. I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride. What a terrible experience. First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag. Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses. But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again. With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying. Literally. There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life. These races are no joke, no matter the distance.
It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.
I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components). This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!
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