Some say a parent should teach a child to swim.
The Talmud
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Withdrawal Symptoms
I guess we're down to the practical things now.
Dear Phil has stepped up with interest in my Penticton accommodations, which could be great because it would facilitate a quick transaction that I wouldn't need to think about much. I need to yank off the bandaid and minimize the drama.
The next step is to go to the IMC Web site and officially withdraw. I have time to do it -- right now, in fact. I even have motivation -- I want to get it overwith. And yet, I just can't seem to bring myself to type in the URL and read the fine print.
Tomorrow, maybe.
I've re-arranged my emotional furniture about this summer's race plans and for the most part it is starting to feel like home.
Swam well today despite being out of the water since Tue. I'm looking forward to a solid week ahead, though I left my swim suit at the pool (drat) this morning so will need to do at least 1 GLAD workout to retrieve it.
Speaking of water fashion, I need a new wetsuit. Mine feels like a pair of pajamas. I know I didn't shrink, but that thing got humungous over the winter. And open water swim season starts soon!!
Dear Phil has stepped up with interest in my Penticton accommodations, which could be great because it would facilitate a quick transaction that I wouldn't need to think about much. I need to yank off the bandaid and minimize the drama.
The next step is to go to the IMC Web site and officially withdraw. I have time to do it -- right now, in fact. I even have motivation -- I want to get it overwith. And yet, I just can't seem to bring myself to type in the URL and read the fine print.
Tomorrow, maybe.
I've re-arranged my emotional furniture about this summer's race plans and for the most part it is starting to feel like home.
Swam well today despite being out of the water since Tue. I'm looking forward to a solid week ahead, though I left my swim suit at the pool (drat) this morning so will need to do at least 1 GLAD workout to retrieve it.
Speaking of water fashion, I need a new wetsuit. Mine feels like a pair of pajamas. I know I didn't shrink, but that thing got humungous over the winter. And open water swim season starts soon!!
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Swimming Like It's 1996
Last week I swam five consecutive days. Each workout was over 3000 yards. I don't think I have done that in over a dozen years.
I used to live to swim. But then, after getting serious about triathlon, swimming became a 2-3x weekly "recovery" session between cycling and running workouts. While the summer lake swims have always been heavenly, especially over the last few years I have carried a lot of fatigue with me even into open water.
It feels good to be swimming for its own sake, and watching the clock become increasingly generous. There's a threshold for everyone; we'll see where mine is at 40. When I was 15, I set the Mariner High School 50 freestyle record at :25.2, and could hold race pace 100s around :56. When I was 28, I came within a second of each of these times. Not sure what will happen with a dedicated effort 12 years later, but you never know. Think of Dara Torres and what she has achieved. I have no aspirations for fast sprinting these days, but love how my 500 times keep dipping.
This week's highlight was "breastroke day" at the 5 am GLAD workout Thursday. I kept up with Bill (OK...I so I just streamlined in his wake for most of the workout) then was able to hang with the speedy John S during side-by-side 50s as the session wrapped up.
I am going to Las Vegas Tue for a couple of days, and am hoping to connect with the UNLV Masters while there.
I used to live to swim. But then, after getting serious about triathlon, swimming became a 2-3x weekly "recovery" session between cycling and running workouts. While the summer lake swims have always been heavenly, especially over the last few years I have carried a lot of fatigue with me even into open water.
It feels good to be swimming for its own sake, and watching the clock become increasingly generous. There's a threshold for everyone; we'll see where mine is at 40. When I was 15, I set the Mariner High School 50 freestyle record at :25.2, and could hold race pace 100s around :56. When I was 28, I came within a second of each of these times. Not sure what will happen with a dedicated effort 12 years later, but you never know. Think of Dara Torres and what she has achieved. I have no aspirations for fast sprinting these days, but love how my 500 times keep dipping.
This week's highlight was "breastroke day" at the 5 am GLAD workout Thursday. I kept up with Bill (OK...I so I just streamlined in his wake for most of the workout) then was able to hang with the speedy John S during side-by-side 50s as the session wrapped up.
I am going to Las Vegas Tue for a couple of days, and am hoping to connect with the UNLV Masters while there.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
15 Minutes of Fame
Today I did a timed swim: 1100 yards in 15 minutes. Nice to have a benchmark.
And it wasn't even a little taxing.
And it wasn't even a little taxing.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
I Can Only Imagine
Why oh why was there triathlon on TV today, the day my resolve not to race finally took a solid shape?
And why oh why did the coverage have to bring this beautiful thing back to me?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GphmdhLMGE
And why oh why did the coverage have to bring this beautiful thing back to me?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GphmdhLMGE
Steeley Dan meets Iron Man on Easter Morning
I know what happens.
I read the book.
I believe I just got the Goodbye Look.
Last week a friend of mine asked me what I was going to do about the Iroman, and for the first time I uttered the words out loud: "I don't think I can do it."
There is something powerful about saying things out loud, isn't there? You can love someone quietly through your actions, but until you tell them, the sentiment lies a little dormant, doesn't it?
Some of my triathlete friends share chapter and verse on every ache and pain, filling the air with negative energy. Don't they realize that by talking about it, they are making their iss
ues REAL? There is some mixed Velveteen Rabbit metaphor in here, but I refuse to dig for it, even in tribute to the Easter Bunny on this special day.
Back to Steeley Dan. Today the Ironman gave me the Goodbye Look. I know I need to meet its gaze soon. My knee hurts. I'm tired of fighting and waiting.
Yesterday we all went up to my parents' house on Camano to celebrate Easter and help get the yard in shape. My 14 year old nephew Jake and I got to talking about things as we snipped away at the dead ferns surrounding the driveway. He was excited about the rhododendron their family had brought to add to the yard. "We can't plant it until tomorrow," he said. "Because Easter is about new life and all that."
Right you are, kid.
This morning I compiled a calendar of summer open water swim races.
I read the book.
I believe I just got the Goodbye Look.
Last week a friend of mine asked me what I was going to do about the Iroman, and for the first time I uttered the words out loud: "I don't think I can do it."
There is something powerful about saying things out loud, isn't there? You can love someone quietly through your actions, but until you tell them, the sentiment lies a little dormant, doesn't it?
Some of my triathlete friends share chapter and verse on every ache and pain, filling the air with negative energy. Don't they realize that by talking about it, they are making their iss
ues REAL? There is some mixed Velveteen Rabbit metaphor in here, but I refuse to dig for it, even in tribute to the Easter Bunny on this special day.Back to Steeley Dan. Today the Ironman gave me the Goodbye Look. I know I need to meet its gaze soon. My knee hurts. I'm tired of fighting and waiting.
Yesterday we all went up to my parents' house on Camano to celebrate Easter and help get the yard in shape. My 14 year old nephew Jake and I got to talking about things as we snipped away at the dead ferns surrounding the driveway. He was excited about the rhododendron their family had brought to add to the yard. "We can't plant it until tomorrow," he said. "Because Easter is about new life and all that."
Right you are, kid.
This morning I compiled a calendar of summer open water swim races.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
6:55, 6:50, 6:45
Small triumph today of descending 500s at swim practice. Did them all pull to save my knee and was suprised I could push steadily deeper under 7 minutes without my feet. Fantastic pink power lane dynamics at Seattle U with Princess Maybe and Lauren. Her majesty promises a "reprise" in the morning.
Sunday I ran 2 miles and spun through a 42-minute long episode of House on Netflix. (Does that mean there are 18 minutes of commercials when House airs on network TV? Please, God, who has time?!?)
I felt reasonably good throughout Sunday's workouts. I did an easy swim at Meadowbrook before I saw Dr. O'Kane Monday morning. There's nothing really new to report (maybe this is ITB after all?), but he gave me the medical "all clear" to ease back in to real training. Phil gave me the spiritual green light. Now it's up to me to get on the bike (outside for the first time since Jan) and do some running next week. I'm aiming for a short ride Saturday unless it is raining like crazy. Phil says no big hills. I hate the pancake-flat Burke but maybe it will grow on me like the dreadmill did. Hope so.
Sunday I ran 2 miles and spun through a 42-minute long episode of House on Netflix. (Does that mean there are 18 minutes of commercials when House airs on network TV? Please, God, who has time?!?)
I felt reasonably good throughout Sunday's workouts. I did an easy swim at Meadowbrook before I saw Dr. O'Kane Monday morning. There's nothing really new to report (maybe this is ITB after all?), but he gave me the medical "all clear" to ease back in to real training. Phil gave me the spiritual green light. Now it's up to me to get on the bike (outside for the first time since Jan) and do some running next week. I'm aiming for a short ride Saturday unless it is raining like crazy. Phil says no big hills. I hate the pancake-flat Burke but maybe it will grow on me like the dreadmill did. Hope so.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Save Yost Pool
Where did you learn to swim?
Family lore has me learning to swim the old fashioned way -- My Dad tossed me gently but firmly ito the icy Index River on a camping trip and let me figure it out on my own. I was three. It worked. And I loved it from the start.
This debut was followed by a series of swimming lessons. I had the desire but didn't have a clue what to do with it. Swimming lessons were the highlight of every summer, growing up in the idyllic suburban Seattle of the 1970s. My mom would take Kimberley and me to Yost Pool, nestled in the hills above Edmonds, the small ferry-boat town on Puget Sound.
Kim, who is 16 months older than I am, was a strong, coordinated swimmer. Driven by the pressures of her schedule, or maybe a motherly over-estimation of the talents of her second daughter, my mom was convinced that we should be in lessons at the same time. That meant that if there was no class for less experienced kids at the same time as Kim's lesson, I had to step up and join hers. (Back then, the Red Cross was not nearly so stringent about swimming lesson progression as we are today!)
So, picture me as the scrawny, blue-lipped kid, tagging along. I remember being frustrated sometimes. Would I ever master chicken-airplane-soldier? I remember the sunny, cold mornings. That shocking sweetness of first immersion. I remember patient instructors, small victories, and learning to love the smell of chlorine in my skin.
I recall the day Nixon resigned, and the news coverage we watched that August morning in 1974. My parents remember me getting very upset and asking, If there is no president, can we still go to swimming lessons? Indeed we could. So we packed our suits and towels and headed for Yost Pool. The country may have been in turmoil, but I was going to get another shot at the elementary backstroke.
Yost Pool sits in a beautiful park-like setting. Sometimes, in the afternoons, we would take the bus or ride our bikes there and swim to our hearts content with our neighbors and friends, dreading the "clear the pool" clarion that would signal the end of yet another summer day. Then as now, I never want to get out of the water.
Today, budget issues have plagued the pool and indeed the city of Edmonds itself. Without help, Yost Pool will close. A grassroots effort to raise funds for the pool is underway, though about $20,000 short of its goal. If you remember Yost Pool, or if you remember a place like this from your childhood, please help if you can.
http://www.saveyostpool.com/
Family lore has me learning to swim the old fashioned way -- My Dad tossed me gently but firmly ito the icy Index River on a camping trip and let me figure it out on my own. I was three. It worked. And I loved it from the start.
This debut was followed by a series of swimming lessons. I had the desire but didn't have a clue what to do with it. Swimming lessons were the highlight of every summer, growing up in the idyllic suburban Seattle of the 1970s. My mom would take Kimberley and me to Yost Pool, nestled in the hills above Edmonds, the small ferry-boat town on Puget Sound.
Kim, who is 16 months older than I am, was a strong, coordinated swimmer. Driven by the pressures of her schedule, or maybe a motherly over-estimation of the talents of her second daughter, my mom was convinced that we should be in lessons at the same time. That meant that if there was no class for less experienced kids at the same time as Kim's lesson, I had to step up and join hers. (Back then, the Red Cross was not nearly so stringent about swimming lesson progression as we are today!)
So, picture me as the scrawny, blue-lipped kid, tagging along. I remember being frustrated sometimes. Would I ever master chicken-airplane-soldier? I remember the sunny, cold mornings. That shocking sweetness of first immersion. I remember patient instructors, small victories, and learning to love the smell of chlorine in my skin.
I recall the day Nixon resigned, and the news coverage we watched that August morning in 1974. My parents remember me getting very upset and asking, If there is no president, can we still go to swimming lessons? Indeed we could. So we packed our suits and towels and headed for Yost Pool. The country may have been in turmoil, but I was going to get another shot at the elementary backstroke.
Yost Pool sits in a beautiful park-like setting. Sometimes, in the afternoons, we would take the bus or ride our bikes there and swim to our hearts content with our neighbors and friends, dreading the "clear the pool" clarion that would signal the end of yet another summer day. Then as now, I never want to get out of the water.
Today, budget issues have plagued the pool and indeed the city of Edmonds itself. Without help, Yost Pool will close. A grassroots effort to raise funds for the pool is underway, though about $20,000 short of its goal. If you remember Yost Pool, or if you remember a place like this from your childhood, please help if you can.
http://www.saveyostpool.com/
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Mile Marker 1
Driving home from work last night, I decided it was time.
The treadmill had waited patiently, like a forgotten toy in the corner of the playroom, since mid-January. It's funny how much I've missed it, this implement of torture that I've refered to as the "dreadmill" for years, until last December's snows and short dark days -- and the remarkable amount of fitness I was gaining -- taught me to love it.
Last night, I set it up to run 1 x 12 minute mile, 4 whole minutes slower than the last mile I clocked.
The first 6 minutes felt good...a no issues from a cardio standpoint, of course, but the discomfort in my knee was pretty similar to...well...how it felt during the 8 minute mile mentioned above. I ran the last 6 minutes in a pretty significant amount of pain.
So...is it possible that after everything, I'm worse?
I iced my knee after I ran, and it felt fine by about an hour later. I spun for 30 minutes this morning...that niggling discomfort was there, but no real pain.
What does all of this mean? Should I go ahead and work back into training knowing that ice and ibuprofen are just going to be part of the journey this year?
Since virtually all medical avenues have been exhausted, and "nothing serious seems to be wrong" shouldn't that be all right?
The treadmill had waited patiently, like a forgotten toy in the corner of the playroom, since mid-January. It's funny how much I've missed it, this implement of torture that I've refered to as the "dreadmill" for years, until last December's snows and short dark days -- and the remarkable amount of fitness I was gaining -- taught me to love it.
Last night, I set it up to run 1 x 12 minute mile, 4 whole minutes slower than the last mile I clocked.
The first 6 minutes felt good...a no issues from a cardio standpoint, of course, but the discomfort in my knee was pretty similar to...well...how it felt during the 8 minute mile mentioned above. I ran the last 6 minutes in a pretty significant amount of pain.
So...is it possible that after everything, I'm worse?
I iced my knee after I ran, and it felt fine by about an hour later. I spun for 30 minutes this morning...that niggling discomfort was there, but no real pain.
What does all of this mean? Should I go ahead and work back into training knowing that ice and ibuprofen are just going to be part of the journey this year?
Since virtually all medical avenues have been exhausted, and "nothing serious seems to be wrong" shouldn't that be all right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
