Happy Old Year

So it has been.

With the disappointments and frustrations of 2009 came gifts large and small: perspective, adventure, and a humble little box bearing a reluctant treasure called maturity.

Turning 41 means accepting that the days of being the hot girl at the beach are long gone. It means that doing 100 free repeats on 1:25 is about the best you can hope for. It means a sore knee can break your heart. It means an Ironman goal can turn into the satisfaction of a Danskin finish.

2009 brought, for the first time that I can remember, a tiny taste of boredom. How do you fill the 16-25 hours per week you planned to spend training for the Ironman when suddenly you can't?

With layoffs of colleagues, workload partially filled that gap. Our yard looks pretty nice. I was reaquainted with old friends and made a few new. I joined Toastmasters, and am a new, better person in public when I have to be. Mike and I took in the Sundance Film Festival, watched whales off Whidbey Island, and challenged our brains, hearts, and the soles of our shoes in Washington DC. We went to Kalaloch for the first time, and our beloved Stu Chin for the sixth. I watched football on television, even when the ironing was done. I had not one Girls Getaway weekend to sunny climes, but two. I tried cross country skiing for the first time. I swam 3 miles in rough salt water. I swam 3 miles naked in broad daylight.

I woke up one morning in August and weighed 118 pounds. And never felt fatter.

I second guessed my knee and its treatment, blessing and cursing the kind of doctors who are determined NOT to stick a knife into your body unless they are sure it will help fix you.

I celebrated how lucky I am that I have the kind of friends who ask:

"How is your knee or are we not talking about it tonight?"

And understand when you answer:

"I love you for asking, but indeed we are not."

I will get better.

Over the last few days, friends have reflected on the year that was. One lost both of his grandparents, and just last week, his uncle, too. Another lost his dog, and then deck fell off his house. So many lost their jobs. Some lost their true loves, one of them very suddenly on the day after Christmas.

What about me? I lost a year of triathlons. And gained a year of experiences I would not have had otherwise.

How's that for perspective, adventure, and, dare I say it, maturity?

Happy Old Year, and Happy New Year, too.

Thankful

The last of the kneedles

I had the last of 5 Supartz knee injections on Thursday morning, and was given the green light for low-impact exercise.

Friday morning I logged 15 minutes on the elliptical machine, ramp at 1, resistance at 3.

This morning I went for 20 minutes at 1 and 4.

So far, so good.

Bobcageon

As I curled up on the blue couch this morning, with a hot coffee in hand and the fourth installment of Twilight on my lap, I looked out at the fog hanging over the lake and thought to myself: there's no way.

Of course I was torn, because I've always wanted to swim outdoors on Halloween. All Saint's Day...so much the better.

I remembered the good-natured determination on Joseph's face yesterday at practice as he cajoled DT and me to consider swimming in the lake today. He said it would be fun. And also that he felt the need for some closure to what had been such a happy and memorable swimming summer. And that resonated. I had hoped for a goodbye swim at Madison beach a few weeks ago, but we ended up swimming elsewhere and all I got was cranky.

Was a November swim was more of a story I wanted to tell than something I truly wanted to do? There was only one way to find out.

By the time I reached the beach, the fog had burned off, the sky was clear and bright, and the water, while not perfectly smooth, was invitingly close.

The costume was not glamorous. Scuba hood with tunic (excellent second neoprene layer), wetsuit, booties, cap and goggles. I think Joseph added earplugs to his ensemble, and DT went old school with just a regular cap and wetsuit.

The water was a brisk 56 degrees. The initial ice cream headache took a few minutes to subside, but once we were moving, the water was actually was fairly pleasant. I think we were all surprised how comfortable we were. After a quick gut-check at the 9 Minute Dock, the Boys of Summer went "Cove or Bust" in November, while I went as far as the red slide at the tennis club. I think I was in the water just under 40 minutes.

And when we returned to the beach, we all acknowledged that it still might not be over. Another sunny weekend morning might find us back.

Happy 50th birthday to DT, who swims like a man half his age.

No symbolism here, but this song will always remind me of today:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qxGYnZCeTY

Let Me Call You Sweetheart

I spent last weekend in Palm Springs with Julie, Megan and Kari, celebrating our collective 40th birthday.

While I was there, I finished a book about another accomplishment. It's the new Glenn Stout biography of Trudy Ederle, the first woman to swim the English Channel.

Trudy was a member of the 1924 U.S. Olympic team, the first year a women's swim team was fielded. She swam to two bronze and one gold medal in the Paris Games, disappointing because her achievements up to that point had proven her the best American woman swimmer, if not the fastest female swimmer in the world.

She was crushed, but it didn't take her long to set her sights on the even greater challenge of the Channel crossing. It took her two tries, but when she completed the 21 mile swim in 14 hours and 31 minutes on August 6, 1926, she became not only the first woman to successfully cross, but she set a record time, beating the handful of men who had traversed the Channel before her.

The book describes how Trudy would retreat into her own "sphere" while she swam. A state of almost automated bliss and communion with the water. Sound familiar, mermaids?

Another cool thing about the book was the discussion of the evolution of freestyle, which was an adaptation of an overhand breastroke style of swimming called the Trudgeon (which Kari and I tried to replicate in the resort pool in Palm Springs after researching it on youtube. We called our version the Curmudgeon).

After her swim, Trudy revealed that she sang the words to "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" over and over in her head as swam from Gris-Nez to Dover.

Trudy passed away at age 98 in 2003. She never married.

Trudy and the other women swimmers on the 1924 Olympic team were breakthrough athletes, at a time when training and participating in sports was still a considerable taboo. So in a quiet and grateful tribute, I have posted the long-promised "grinning idiot" Danskin T1 photo above.

Recovery

Still Here Dancing with the Groo Grux King

I did it.

The alarm went of at 5 on Wednesday morning, and by 5:30 I was handing a check for $195 to the coach at Mercerwood Shore Club. I am officially back in the pool, with a new home. Through the end of the year, anyway.

I liked the workout, but I am warped for pool swimming for awhile.

"How are you?" yelled Mike Shaeffer from the edge of lane 6 when he arrived.

"A little rusty!" I answered, red faced and panting after a mere 200 meters.

"A little lusty?" Mike yelled back.

Swimcaps across the pool popped up and swiveled to see what he was talking about. And hence I have a new nickname, at my new pool, before I even had a single workout in.

Tomorrow I will wear a different suit and cap and hope for anonymity.

There is a price to pay for four months of lake swimming, in the shape of 2-3 weeks of pool hell, but I will open my fitness wallet for that pleasure any day.

Today I'd hoped to swim in the lake with Brendan and Geoff, but the bank of fog that rolled in during the wee hours, combined with Geoff's last minute "I'm out" voicemail had me hopping back under the covers.

I'm back in the pool tomorrow, with plans for a mermaid swim Saturday morning. The air temperature will likely be below 40, the dew on the grass excruciatingly cold as we scamper from the sidewalk to the shore. But since the water is about 20 degrees warmer, I declare that lake season is still not officially over.

Which brings me to the Groo Grux King.

Every summer I have a theme song (last year: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KE2orthS3TQ).

It's been a funny summer on that front; it's been a hard one to peg with lyrics and a beat without biking and running.

The early front runner was Into the Ocean by Blue October. Followed by Fireflies by Owl City. And then, sometime in July, I bought the new DMB CD, Big Whiskey and the Groo Grux King. And played tracks 5-7 over, and over, and over, on the way to the beach and back, week after week.

So here it is. The theme song of the summer of 2009 is a dark horse...Driver Education by the Indigo Girls.

Reading the lyrics won't do it justice, but youtube has no quality videos. Try for me:

I fell for guys who tried to commit suicide,
With soft rock hair and blood shot eyes.
He tastes like Marlboro cigarettes,
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups,
A Pepsi in his hand, getting off the school bus.

Films and drills and safety illustrations
The crushed cars of driver education

Now its tattooed girls with a past they can't remember,
Who pledged allegiance to a life of bending the curriculum.
She tastes like spring, there she goes again,
Drinking with the older guys, tripping by the lakeside.

Films and drills and safety illustrations
The crushed cars of driver education

When you were sweet sixteen, I was already mean and
Feeling bad for giving it up to the man just to make the scene.
Where were you, back when I had something to prove,
With the switchblade set and the church kids learning my moves?

I ran for miles through the suburbs of the seventies,
Pollen dust and Pixie sticks, kissing in the deep end
Of swimming pools before I knew what's in there.
We come into this life waterlogged and tender.

The song resonates because the two things I remember my about my 15th summer were driver's education...and learning how to swim fast. Maybe because this summer was dedicated to swimming only. And because the song reminded me of things I hadn't thought about in a quarter century. Oh, and that last line says it all.

Honorable mention: Shake Me Like a Monkey by DMB. Somehow I just couldn't pick a song with that name.

Still here dancing...

Love of my Life Guard

Last week Mike and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary.

And today, the man who has given me the best of everything for a decade and a half (and more, if you count all the good stuff that happened before the jewelry was exchanged that September afternoon in 1994) delivered another really great present.

I had a hard time rallying pals to for a lake swim today, but was really eager to go. It's gorgeous out, but summer is fading fast. Every opportunity to get into the water has become a precious one. As well as I know the southbound course from Madison Park, and as buoyant as I am in a wetsuit, you can't deny the dangers of swimming alone.

Mike volunteered to play lifeguard for me, hanging out with a book and a bagel on the beach while I swam for about 50 minutes. It was so reassuring to flip over as I rounded the dock out of the swimming area to see him standing in the bright morning sun, watching me.

There was a wicked little wind out there, pushing me south and creating some challenging ripples to overcome on the inbound trip.

When I returned to the beach, Mike had my NEW! monkey slippers in hand. What a sweet morning.

Wetsuit Welcome

Today I swam for the first time since La Jolla Cove. I have had to prioritize work, traveling and also giving up the pre-work swim to get in the office before 6 am.

Today's dip almost made up for it.

I wore my wetsuit for the first time since mid July. The lake temperature is still really nice; somewhere in the high 60s. Tatyana, Ruth, Jan and I enjoyed an easy round trip to the Cove, and I loved skimming on top of the water with the added buoyancy the wetsuit provides. I missed the feel of the water on my arms and legs, though.

I hope to hit the lake a few more times before flying to LA for a week on Tuesday morning and possibly hanging up my earplugs in for the season. It has been such a long lovely summer of swimming and so much more. I can't remember a happier one.

Since my last post I paid a visit to the loveable and capable Dr. O'Kane, who has referred me to a colleague who specializes in knees. Oh, and knee surgery. We are going to do one more diagnostic (something to do with a treadmill and lidocaine) on 10/14 and then we'll know for sure if exploratory surgery is the only thing that might bring me back to good.

It has taken almost six months, but I am actually starting to miss running. Maybe that's because it's autumn, the temperature is perfect, the leaves are changing, and all the stuff I'm allergic to has either died off or gone away.

I am dedicating the winter to fixing my knee -- it is my singular training goal.

I want to do triathlons again, perform well, and enjoy the lean fitness of that life.

I weigh 120 pounds today but don't think I've been this soft in a dozen years. Swimming makes me happy, but it doesn 't make me skinny.

I came home from NYC Wednesday to find a trophy from Danskin in the mail box. I guess I was third in the amateur elite category. I'll take that.

I will post the grinning idiot photo soon, and close the book on my 12th time around that race course.

Campfire Song

Allow me to begin with a brief photo essay of beautiful girls.

And our natural habitat.

Tatyana captured it best, didn't she, when she said that looking into the waves is like looking into a fire.

I have always found the ocean more mesmerizing to the ear than the eye, but I liked what she said.

The ocean has sung three words to me, commanding over and over, since I was a little girl: Return Unto Me. Not return to me. But return unto me. Somehow that extra syllable completes the musical phrase perfectly with every crash and ebb.

So over the last few days, we did just that.

Tatyana, Jan, Liz and I traveled to San Diego to take part in the 79th annual La Jolla Rough Water Swim.

There is too much to say about the magic of the weekend to do it justice. Consciousness streaming is wimpy writing, but it's the best I can do with the things I hope I'll never forget.

Lily's sparkly shoes.

Cheering for the waves, and making them bigger. (And diving into them anyway.)

Little kids being tossed on 6 foot waves and swimming on.

Having the race live up to its name, and then some.

Jan's hardware.

Liz's pace per 100: 1:39.

My pace per 100: 1:39.

Finishing 8th out of 18.

Chatting with Michellie Jones and not knowing it.

Being pictured as a horse on her twitter site.

Jan's "run through Architectural Digest."

The lifeguard towing the old local guy out of the cove on Monday morning, and wanting to be that guy, 40 years from now.

Taking pictures of random houses at Windansea hoping one of them was Raymond Chandler's. (They weren't.)

Tatyana's bikini bottoms anchored to her fins in the foamy wave ends.

World class body surfing in Del Mar.

Sand in your hoo hoo (and everywhere else).

La Jolla Love Suites.

Liz flirting with the guy with the red surf board.

The rest of us flirting with everyone else.

The best dang nachos on the planet at Karl Strauss.

The sparkle in Liz's eye when I said as day broke Sunday morning, Do you want to go for a walk?

My nose is peeling.

Return unto me.

Someone over the weekend said it was a cruel joke to have been born with arms and legs, and not a tail and fins.

Tribute to Earplugs

"There's something nuanced about them. It's like magic." -- Joseph (who wore not only earplugs, but a wetsuit this morning)

Pumpkin Spice Warm Down

So today for the first time I thought to myself, this has stopped being sensible. Not that it is going to keep me from charging into the lake in the rain and dark for as long as I've got company, but today it really seemed silly.

Geoff, Liz and I met at Caulkin's Landing in the windy rain, shuttled to Luther Burbank Park, shivered down the path to the dock, and hopped in. For the next 2.5-ish miles, I never got warm. The water was surprisingly smooth until we rounded the north end of Mercer Island and the wind turned toward us. I love swimming under I-90. Something about it seems so naughty. Liz and I swam the distance in just over 1:10.

Despite the "flashdance" shower of hot water from a gallon jug brought from home, I stayed awfully cold. Liz sat on my lap as Geoff drove my car back to LB, which was snuggly and warmed me up a little. Geoff saw I was still shivering and suggested we stop at Starbucks for some tea top off our core temps, which to me meant only one thing: a Pumpkin Spice Latte. PSL, which Starbucks serves up between 9/1 and Christmas, signals autumn to my taste buds like little else. I felt smug drinking one after a non-wetsuit swim. Fall, you can't catch me.

We ran into Mike, Tom, Tatyana and Howard chilling out over coffee after their MSC swim. Why do swimmers make me laugh like no one else? Do other sports have things like pull buoy humor, clock nazis, upside down lane dynamics and fin throwing rancor at 5:08 am? I don't know. But I'm glad we do. Dude, I think your cap's too tight.

It's been a really fun long weekend of swimming. I know our ranks will thin in the coming weeks, between chlorine addiction and diminishing daylight, but I'm in it as long as I can be. Trick or Treat.

You can Spin the Light to Gold

The same things look different.
It's the end of the summer.

For the first time in my life, I will go kicking and screaming into autumn. I will dig my heels into the thin layer of beach along the waterfront until they freeze.

They will tow the diving dock away next Tuesday. In the past I've loved this harbinger of fall. This year I don't want to face it.

Tatyana sent a note toasting a shiny new September.

Liz went back to MSC, fulfilling a promise she'd made herself to return to the pool first thing this month.

It was 5:55 before we were able to safely launch this morning. We talked of scuba lights and glow sticks.

Joseph said he would swim until DT's birthday on 11/4.

I swam to the cove today with two caps and earplugs. Thanks for waiting, boys of summer. And God bless you, Brendan.

What I did instead of IMC today

1. Swam 3.5 miles from Caulkins landing to the Seattle side of the I-90 Bridge and back.
2. Visited a neighbor who is remodeling.
3. Read about 100 pages of the new Philippa Gregory novel.
4. Worked for a few hours.
5. Cleaned the catbox.
6. Walked on the beach at Golden Gardens with Mika.
7. Had a nap.
8. Watched Jan and Tonya looking strong on Ironman Live.
9. Looked for a recipe for waffle cones.
10. Got some closure at last.

Cold Play

There's no denying it, the lake is getting colder. Yesterday at the beach, Mike said that the buoy thermometer has dipped below 70 for the first time since early July. I'd be kidding if I said I can't tell. You'd think one or two degrees wouldn't matter, but believe me, they do.

I made three round trips to the tennis club this week without my wetsuit. The two where I chased Geoff were fairly comfortable; he is faster than I am but I can keep him within a few strokes if I try hard. Exertion translates to warmth, at least for a little while.

It's one thing to swim 40-45 minutes in this temperature, it's another to swim for 1.5 hours, which I plan to do tomorrow as a perfect training session for the 3 mile Gatorman coming up Sept 13. So I called in the expert, Brendan, who is a veteran distance open water swimmer (he swims outdoors 5-6 months per year and I don't think even owns a wetsuit) to help me through it. He suggests vaseline, a silicone cap, and, wait for it...earplugs. To wit:

I prefer the basic 'silicone wax' type ear plugs that you mold into your ears. They are basically one-use ear plugs so buy a box of a dozen or so. I get them at Rite Aid but I bet you can get them at any drug store for a couple bucks.

Other than that - the thicker 'silicone' caps are also a bit warmer. The kind that come down over your ears and cover the back of your head down to your neck. When your head is warm, you can feel a lot more comfortable.

Last thing you can do is grease up a bit - just bring a jar of vasoline and lather it on. Arm pits and joint behind your knee lose a lot of heat. Be sure and have a rag to wipe your hands off because its a mess if you get that on your goggles. It usually washes off by the end of a 3 miler.

Well, nobody ever said open water swimming was a glamorous sport.

Today I ran 35 minutes on the elliptical machine. My knee hurts, but I am sick of feeling floppy.

Secret Sunday Skinny Dippers

I am a library felon. On a fairly regular basis, Mike and I discover messages on our answering machine that go something like this. (Cue automated voice) "Karin. Maria. Gardner. This is the Seattle Public Library alerting you that you have TWO. Overdue. Items. Please return them to your neighborhood branch as fines are accumulating daily."

I am also a parking gambler. I park on downtown or Greenlake-area streets a few times per week, but rarely bother with the paid parking sticker rigamarole. Tickets are rare, and I figure if I get a $30 parking fine once or twice a year, I am still coming out ahead.

So today, as we launched from Day Street beach just as God made us, I wondered, am I racking up another small misdemeanor? It turns out that public nudity is not illegal in King County. But, ironically, I discovered that open water swimming, at a greater distance than 50 feet from shore, IS.

Good to know. I guess if we had gotten caught we could have said we were swimming so deep for modesty's sake.

I am going to resist poetry here. And simply say if you are like me, and believe the water is your true habitat, you have to try it one day. Even if you are a grown up and you think you're past this sort of childish pleasure. Believe me. You're not.

I should tell you that 3.2 miles is a long way to swim in any case -- in a wetsuit, in a swimsuit, and in, well... nothing. We were chattery and spent coming out of the water (I was shaking so hard I could barely untie our swimsuits from the buoy line at the finish, which had been secured by a kind friend earlier in the morning -- not to mention trying to wiggle into the thing when it finally came free), but I loved doing something new and so undeniably mermacious.

Carpooling

So I picked up my neighbor Geoff at 5:15 this morning on the way to the beach.

"You've gotta love swimmers, we're always on time," he said, as he folded his tall frame into the passenger seat of my Miata. "There are three things in life where promptness matters. Swimming, fishing, and going to church."

Which made me think of the relative insanity of what we do. Some would say it's nuts to leave the warmth of your bed, drive across town in the dark, jump into the lake when the water and the sky are barely more than contrasting shadows (we are sighting off dock lights for the first quarter mile or so these days), braving chop and chill and who knows what other conditions...just to partake in our delicious ritual. Today, we already had 1.5 miles behind us when the sun came up.

I can't think of much else that would get me out of bed this early, or this gladly. I think I am blessed that there is something in my life that I love enough to make me do it.

Rise up, Rise up

If you had told me yesterday (or last week, or a month ago) that things would go down at the Danskin the way they did today, I would never have believed you.

Coffee in hand, I picked up Megan at 5:15. It was still dark as we arrived at Genessee Park, where we, and over 5000 other women, had racked our bikes yesterday in anticipation of today's event, the 20th anniversary Danskin Triathlon.

Megan and I have done this race together since 1998; she has missed 2 of the 12 years anticipating the births of her kids, and one of those years she came and cheered me on. Our Danskin is meaningful on so many levels, we love this race for many of the same reasons, and some personal ones, too. One of the reasons I love it is simply that we get to spend the morning doing something that makes us feel great, and doing it together.

My game plan today was this: Rock the swim (and try to win it), spin happily on the bike, and walk the run. Though I have finished as high as third place in this race, today was going to be my day to just enjoy the ride.

Following the national anthem, the elite wave hit the water at 6:45. I used my tried-and-true system of cranking hard for the first 100 yards to shake people off my feet and carve out some space. One woman swam alongside me for that distance and perhaps a little further, but to my surprise, in less than 500 yards I was alone out there, pointed straight at the first turn buoy. I was winning the Danskin!

Well, that of course was very motivating, and the half mile swim flew by. I came out of the water first, in a solid 11:27. Then came something I bet I will never, ever forget. The hundreds of spectators lining the swim chute started yelling and cheering. Hundreds of voices. For me.

Really?

It's like those voices picked me up and carried me into the transition area and out onto the bike course. I can't even describe how powerful it was. I just can't.

"You were grinning like an idiot," said Megan later. I am not surprised.

So off I went onto the 12 mile bike course. As I headed out onto Lake Washington Boulevard, the race escort motorcycle pulled ahead of me. I followed the flashing red and blue lights out to I-90, over the bridge, through the tunnel, down to the turnaround point, up the hill...and back to the tunnel. At about mile 8, Courtenay Brown, who is 30 years old, a pro, and who eventually won the race, swept past me with her mischievous smile.

With all of this motorcycle excitement, I forgot my race strategy of "spinning on the bike." Considering I have ridden my bike 6 times all summer, I am feeling sorta zooty about the fact that I held nearly 21 mph for the 12 mile course and ended up with the 6th fastest bike split in the race.

By the time I returned to T2, my knee was throbbing, and the banana I ate before the swim had started to talk to my tummy.

But...I was in second place. The red ribbon can't give up, right? So, without giving it much conscious thought, I didn't walk the run.

"Of course you didn't," Mike said later. "We all knew you wouldn't." Really?

So I started to sort of shuffle along. And through my head went this:

And take my hand. You know I'll be there if I can. I'll cross the sky for your love. Give you what I hold dear. Hold on, hold on tightly. Rise up, rise up, with wings like eagles. You'll run and not grow weary.

That's U2. The song is "Drowning Man" which is sort of ironic.

Which made me think of this:

But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary.

That's Isaiah 40:31.

I was passed by two other athletes before finally crossing the finish line. I shuffled at a pace just under 9 minute miles. It was enough, when all was said and done, to net me a 6th place overall finish in my 12th consecutive Danskin.

Ta da.

Catch Up Drill

Eek. It has been an awfully long time since I've been here.

I am committed to reserving this space for racing and training related musings (more or less) so when Mike and I spent the last week of July in Washington DC and my focus shifted to other things, so did my blogging habit, I guess.

The trip was great. I didn't train at all while we were there, though I think we walked 5-8 miles per day, which was a good thing and a bad thing. Good, because those many steps brought us to new experiences and knowledge; bad, because all of that foot travel threw my knee back to about April from a recovery standpoint. I have not run since before we left, and am back on the ice and ibu train. I ran into Dr. O'Kane in the Blockbuster parking lot the other day (as I was trying to get the chocolate cupcake icing off the butt of my jeans, nice) and we decided I should pay him another visit soon.

Since returning, I've had some memorable swims. The "religious experience" point to point with Kelly, Jim, Liz, Tatyana and Mike from Madrona to Madison on a gray Sunday. The chilly cove swim with dear Rob who gave up his speed for my safety Thursday morning and stayed with me stroke for icy stroke for nearly an hour. Rob, if you are reading this, I have a Starbucks card with your name on it. Thank you.

I am still loving the wetsuit-freedom, though the lake has dialed its temperature down since July. The weather is warming up and no doubt the lake will follow over the next week or so. I still hope to make it through Labor Day without suiting up except to compete.

Today was the 25th anniversary Emerald City Open Water swim. This event brings together top swimmers from around the area, including lots of kids. I have been thinking lately about my open water habit and wondering how long my friends and I will sustain it. Will we still love it when we're 50? When we're 60? My pod ranges from mid 30s to mid 50s...it was great to see the next generation of open water swimmers hit the beach today.

I finished a surprising third. Surprising, because (shame on me) I really thought I had a shot at winning the thing. I swam a :27 flat, which is my slowest time ever on that mile course, even though I felt strong throughout the race and hammered past a woman who swims for Whitman College in the last 100 yards (old age and treachery makes me the second loser).

Just checked the ceramic hardware from ECOs past and noted a :26.08 written on the mug from 1997 and a :25.33 for 1998. I didn't record my times for 2000 and 2004, but they must have been OK, because I have the mugs to prove a decent performance. Measuring open water distances is a fairly inexact science, I know, but when I stood up as the clock flipped to :27 I thought WTF??? It was still a fantastic morning with friends in and out of the water, but the clock was a downer.

Tomorrow is the Danskin. I felt like such a poser racking my bike with the elites today knowing I am going to walk the run. I'm sure the pink power will get me through; the Danskin is always my favorite day.

Le maillot jaune de mon coeur

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBjp1lsCaGs