7 posts tagged “swimming”

As I write this, it's not quite 8 a.m. on the longest day of the year, and I've already been to the pier and back for a morning swim in the Bay. I swam the perimeter again today, past my friend the Balclutha and the open gate of Aquatic Park that points directly towards Alcatraz. The water was exceptionally flat and still today, and cold as well, and I can only hope for similar conditions on Sunday. When I jump off that boat next to Alcatraz, and head in towards Aquatic Park, I won't care at all about the water temperature. Cold water does not bother me. But the currents are another matter.

It was a little sad for me today, when I woke up before sunrise for the last time this season. I've been doing it for so long now, and it seems fitting to me that I finished my open water training on the longest day of the year; that I got to watch the sun rise over the Bay for the last time on the day when we both showed up there earlier than either of us had all year.

I met my friends from my team--Maria, Melanie and Dave--and we plunged in together. They have all raced already. I'm still waiting. I hope we can meet like this after I finish. I like it, in the cold and the dark. I enjoy the camaraderie.  As we swam, I looked ahead at Melanie, and behind to Dave, across and over at Maria, and was conscious that this  was coming to an end. I'm not ready for it to come to an end. The next time I plunge into that cold green wet, it will be to race.

This morning I stood shivering in the dark in front of the heater. For six months I've been getting up before dawn to push myself as hard as I can, before the day even begins for most people. Today that ends.  

I'm going to miss it.

Uno
This morning I woke up before dawn, dressed quietly, and drove off into the cold dark city, blue and green lights shining from my dash. NPR. At the terminus of Van Ness, where you can go no further without driving into the deep green drink, I parked and shuffled down to the concrete bleachers in flip flops, my toes cold as joggers and cyclists passed me by going the other way. It's getting light now, but the city is still asleep, and shrouded. There I met Nate, Maria, Dave and Melanie, they are already dressed and have their blood up to get it on. I told them to go on ahead; I'd catch up. I take off my shirt and warmup pants, and shiver in the fog as I pull on my wetsuit. A runner stops and asks me the water temperature. I tell him I don't know, but that two weeks ago it was 53 degrees. He asks me if I'm training for a triathlon, and I point to The Rock off in the distance, floating in the Bay. Then I ran down the beach and plunged in. No fucking around this time, I tell myself. I threw myself under the water and swam holding my breath for as long as I could stand it, trying to use brute force to acclimate to the temperature.

Mind over body.

Fuck it's still cold. But I'm prepared for it this time, and I plugged away. No allowances for gasping. No floating on my back. When I try to look around I feel slightly dizzy from the motion and temperature of the water. At the end of the first length I stop and rest, adrift in the current. I breathe through a cramp and swim again. On my third length, I hear a shout ahead of me and pop up to peep.  There's a seal just in front of me, facing Dave, just feet from his face. No. No. It's not a seal. My goggles are foggy, and I'm slightly disoriented. But I realize it's a dog, a yellow Labrador. Everything shifts into surrealism for a moment, as I try to understand. It's cold. My brain is cold. And I realize the dog is swimming with his master; one of several people out swimming in nothing but trunks. I'm impressed, and I start swimming again.

A half hour later I swim up on the beach. Nobody else is here yet, I needed to leave a little early to pick up Harper who has worked the overnight shift. I peel off my wetsuit, and strip down naked under my towel. I stand for a moment and look out over the Bay, enjoying the sensation of being cold and feeling the air across my skin. I pull on my pants and sweatshirt, and take a deep breath.

My body feels so good, so alive. Have I ever been this alive? Yes. But I am reminded of life all over again. Fresh. Anew. It is Springtime, and I am strong and alive.

Tres
When I was about six years old, in our new house, in a new city, a new state, a new nation, I was playing in the backyard when I met the neighborhood. They yelled over the fence at me, hello, hello, and then came climbing-swarming over.  Boys, four or five of them, American boys. I had never been friends with any American boys up until that point, only girls, as that's all there were in our apartment building in Tehran. There was some sort of antagonistic air about them that I felt. Or maybe I just thought I did. I don't remember how things started, but at some point I decided to show off my plastic Spiderman handcuffs.

I put one boy's wrists in the cuffs, and locked his arms around the pole that held up the awning. I told him to try to get out. With a quick yank, he was free, the broken plastic cuffs dangling from a single wrist. Everyone laughed, and I told my father, who was working in the back yard. I think I was crying. He told me, more or less, that I had told the other boy to try and get out, and that's what he had done, and that I needed to work it out for myself. This was good advice, though at the time it only made me angry. If I had taken it to heart, I would have had a much easier go of it  for years to come in Alabama. But I did not. Instead, I was a sissy. I wanted my parents.

The other kids laughed at me. When my back was turned, one of them hit me with a tennis ball. I spun around, really pissed now, and they laughed more. One of them, the boy, Benji, who lived in the neighboring home, called me a helicopter and they all went swarming back over the fence, mocking me while I wailed at the sight of my broken plastic handcuffs.  Benji was a year older than me, and for the remainder of my childhood he would be my nemesis--though I doubt that he ever saw it that way, or gave me much thought. Years later, when I was 15, we would become friends while working together in a warehouse over the summer.

He liked Hank Williams Jr., and I listened to The Sex Pistols. We never talked about the handcuffs.

This weekend, I swam two miles, then jumped out of the pool and ran a 10K. The next morning I got up and rode a tough 35 miles, and drank beer on Monday. Tonight I'll swim 1.59 miles and tomorrow I'm running the workout below at a track. I think I'm finally in shape, but holy crap, I don't know that I can keep this up through the end of June.

Unbelievably, the hardest part is the fundraising. If you'd like to help, please click here to donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and help me reach my goal of raising $3000.

Tomorrow's Run:
1x1600 @ level 3 (60" R)
2x800 @ level 3 (90" RI)
3x400 @ level 3.5 (90" RI)
Run alternating up/down steps 1.5x*
4x200 @ level 4 (2 min RI)
5x100 @ level 4 (2 min RI)

*Completing all of the steps on both sides of the track counts as 1 time, 3 sides counts as 1.5 times, 1 side counts as .5 times, etc.

Warm Up
300 choice

Main Set
10 x 50 (Odd laps 25 yards kick on back with arms at side and 25 yards catch-up drill. Even laps -- 50 yards free.)
4 x 300 free on 1 minute rest
3 x 100 free on 30 seconds rest

Cool Down
200 easy choice

Total 2500 yards / 1.42 miles

(I'm participating in the 2007 Escape from the Rock Triathlon in an attempt to raise $3000 for the The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.  If you'd like to help, you can contribute online via my Team in Training fundraising page.)

I went back to the Koret Center last night, determined to make a little more progress with my swimming. Jessamyn's comment on my last post was pretty encouraging, and Harper went with me last night, which set a nicer tone all around. But I'm still wary of the water.

Prior to going there, I went to Sports Basement and purchased an embarrasing pair  of swim trunks to replace my board shorts. This was largely due to the coaches at our last TNT training session telling us "don't show up in board shorts."

Gotcha.

I still didn't understand the notations on the training sheet (having missed the first coached pool session due to my trip to Florida) but I decided to try to swim the "pro" (there are three training levels: pro, elite and age) distance anyway without worrying about specific strokes. 2 x 100 free on 10"? I have no idea what that means.

But I knew the total was 1800, so that's what I shot for. I did the freestyle, the sidestroke, the backstroke, the breast stroke, and used various floatation things in the same ways that others were using them. An hour later, as I dragged my weary body out of the pool, I realized that I hadn't counted my warm-up, and so I'd actually swum 1900 yards (although, at the time I was under the impression I was swimming meters).  I'd done it. Crazy.

At home, in bed last night, I was wondering exactly how much 1900 meters was in miles. I knew a kilometer is roughly 6/10 of a mile, but I was exhausted, and couldn't force my brain to do math. I'm going to have to swim 1.5 miles in the open ocean, I know that. But what fraction of that had I swum at the Koret Center? I fell out of bed and crawled over to the computer to ask the google, and was completely re-energized when I got my answer: I'd just swum a mile!*

Wow. I can do this.

Finally, once again, I'd like to encourage you to donate money via my Team in Training fundraising page.  I'm trying to raise $3,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Since I paid the $200 race entry fee myself, none of your money will go to race overhead, rather it will go directly to the society. 

*First I looked up the Koret Center pool's distance, and discovered I was swimming yards not meters