Two hundred yards. Two teams. Two swimmers per team. Two laps per swimmer, each swimmer alternating laps.
We were almost to the end of our last Stroke Improvement class, and this was Coach Aaron's final gift to us - a relay race. We were tired from the usual gamut of drills, and it was late, but this was a good idea, right? After all, we were all triathletes, and triathlons are races. So, let's figure out the teams and get to it!
Kelly and Sally are swimming without fins and they are the fastest - they can't be on the same team. Carol is swimming with long frogman fins and I am swimming with blue zoomers - we are the slower swimmers so we can't be on the same team. Carol is faster than me, and Kelly is faster than everyone else, so the teams should be Carol and Sally, and me and Kelly.
I want to be on Kelly's team - she's the best, and years of high school gym classes and neighborhood pickup games have taught me to size up the players and covet being on the team with the best. When you have been "blessed" with no talent and fewer skills, it's the only way to have a shot at winning.
Only this time, I am having second thoughts. I've been a triathlete all right, and I have competed in 8 tri's so far. But, because I am so slow, the only one I am ever competing with is myself, and no one else much cares whether I win or lose the competition with myself.
Kelly, on the other hand, is an athlete - a superb, competitive athlete, and she goes into races wanting to win, and she often does. Suppose I am on her team and we lose? Because of me? Kelly will say, "You did your best!" and "Good effort!", but she'll be disappointed. I'll decide that I'll risk it - I want to be on Kelly's team.
Kelly is faster than Sally. Carol is faster than me. Should be a good race.
Carol and I lead off. She is a bit a head of me, as I thought she would be. I am sloppy off the wall - no flip turns for either of us - and that ensures that I can't catch her coming back in, and she touches her partner first. I am not far behind and as soon as I touch her hand, Kelly drives off the wall and down the pool. She is really, really fast and she catches Sally, and has the lead on the way back in.
I swam my lap hard and I am standing in the shallow end of the pool, watching Kelly and gasping. Then it sinks in - in class, I always swim my "melt downs" - repetitive sprints - at a one-to-one ratio. That is, I sprint a lap in 45 seconds and then I rest for at least 45 seconds before sprinting again. Kelly always finishes her sprints in under 35 seconds. I am not going to be able to catch my breath by the time she comes in.
I am terrified of going hard into the deep end of the pool out of breath. I can't do it - won't try it. I tell Aaron I can't go. Gees, one lap in and I've screwed it up.
But Aaron asks Kelly if she can go again, and as soon as she figures out what's going on, she does! By this time, Carol is yards ahead of her, and kicking furiously. She beats Kelly back in, and touches. Sally knifes forward, arms churning.
By the time I start, Sally is five yards ahead. I'm pretty sure I can't catch her, but Kelly has swum her guts out and I go hard. I am sloppy off the wall - my suit has started to slip down my hips - and by the time I am around and kicking off, Sally is still five yards ahead. I hear Kelly cheering.
I picture Kelly's swift arm stoking in my head and I try to imitate her, cycling faster and faster. I shorten my kicks, and make them tight and strong, keeping my legs together. I am going faster, but my suit is starting to slide. I don't dare reach down to pull it up.
And then, a miracle - the five yards between me and Sally is down to three! By the middle of the pool I think, "I can catch her!" I put my face in the water and keep it there - breathing be damned. My lungs are screaming, but it's ok - I've done this in practice before and I know I can make it. I see the "T" at the end of the lane line, and then I am past Sally. I touch the wall and we've won!
I flop my arms over the edge of the pool, lean over and suck in the air. As soon as I can stand upright, I turn to Kelly and she high fives me. I tell her about almost losing my suit, and she tells her boys, who are watching, that there's almost been a full moon in the pool. They laugh - I guess it is pretty funny. I don't care, though - we've won.
I can tell from her expression and her exuberance and the sound of her voice that Kelly is very happy we have won. I feel like I have just taken a powerful narcotic. I can't believe how good I feel.
As soon as I catch my breath, Aaron has us all swimming cool down laps. He tells me I don't have to do them - he knows how tired I was after the race - but I'm on a high and there's no way I'm going to quit before I finish the workout.
As I climb out of the pool at the end of the laps, Kelly's husband Craig, who had been watching the class with their boys, comes over and says, "You were very strong in the pool tonight." This, from a superb athlete, who routinely wins races and triathlons. I am touched and the narcotics kick in again.
On this night, the stars and the planets aligned, and with the help of my friend and team mate Kelly the Quick, for one brief,ecstatic moment, I know what it is like to be and feel like a winner. It's amazing!
See you out there.
After My First Tri: Pinebush '06
Me & Coach Andrea - Armed and Dangerous!
Showing posts with label triathlete. Show all posts
Showing posts with label triathlete. Show all posts
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Perhaps I Should Roll the Bottoms of my Trousers
Has to happen at some time, I guess. For me, the first time was Memorial Day at Bob's house.
It was the kind of day you pray for on the unofficial start of summer - clear and cloudless skies, with the sun pushing the temperature close to 80 degrees. A perfect day for the pool, and Bob has a great one in the backyard of his house, which is located in a suburb a few miles north of Chicago. There would be grilling and beer drinking later, of course, but first, we had to earn our calories through vigorous exercise and game playing. At Bob's house, the game of choice was Full Contact Swimming Pool Basketball.
The players were me; Bob, aged 53 - a decent athlete when he was younger, but the recent recipient of an artificial knee and the body of a consultant who gets most of his exercise getting off and on planes; his son Tim, aged 14, all arms and legs, long and lithe, a runner and high jumper and a veteran of the 7th grade basketball team; Mike, aged 12, short and solid, built like a fire plug, personable and engaging, shaking hands with people and introducing himself since he was 3, and a dead ringer for Bob; Matthew, aged 10, smallish and copper haired, the "baby" of the family and great friends with Mike; and Jon, my son, aged 24, 6'1", 185 - not a gym rat, but a consistent 9 minute miler on the treadmill, a 46er, and a citizen of the world - seeing much of it on foot, carrying a backpack and pulling a giant wheeled suitcase.
The hoop was mounted on a three foot pole, embedded in the side of the pool, near the shallow end. We play 3 on 3: me, Bob and Matthew against Jon, Tim and Mike. Ball hits the rim on a shot - clear it past the flower pot located midway on the shallow end. After a basket, losers get the ball and take it in - but not before the ball is handed to an opposition player, "checked" and handed back. Simple, right?
First play, I have the ball, check it with Tim, and immediately pass to Mike, who is not on my team. He kicks it in to Jon, who jams it home. Oops. Next play, Bob takes it out, and passes to me. Matthew is camped on the steps in the corner to the left of the basket - Bob says he has a great shot from there. I swing the ball to that side and pass to Matthew, except Tim cuts in front, snags the ball, drive to the hoop and lays it in. Oops.
After the check, I take the ball in, and hit Bob with a pass. He gets a quick shot off and swish, we score.
Mike takes the ball out and passes it to me for the "check" I don't check anything and immediately give it back to him, failing to note that Bob has come up, too. There is no one guarding Tim, which Mike notes, hitting him with a pass, leading to another easy score. Oops.
Next time, Bob brings the ball in. He passes to Matthew, but the ball glances off his hand, out of the pool. He and Mike both jump out of the pool and race to the ball. Mike grabs it flips to Tim and he bangs it home.
Bob says, "On any balls out of the pool who ever gets it, keeps it." Oops.
Bob brings it in and after the check, passes to me. I see Matthew open in the corner, and pass it to him. Only Tim out of my vision to my left, suckers me. He anticipates the pass, takes a quick step, throws out a long arm, intercepts the ball, sets and shoots. Nothing but net. Oops.
Bob takes it in and passes to me. I see Mike in the corner, but this time I also know Tim is off to the left. I fake a pass, and when Tim steps in this time, I pivot back towards Bob and, back to Tim, I hook the ball up and backwards, over my head and over Tim. Only Tim is quick and he recovers, jumps and intercepts, again sinking his shot. Matthew says, "Uncle Ron is terrible, does he have to be on our team?" Oops.
The ball goes out of the pool again on the next play and Tim goes for it. Only this time, Bob grabs him from behind and drags him back into the pool. I begin to understand the "full contact" part. The ball skitters toward the deep end and Bob goes for it. Jon tackles him and wrestles him for the ball. I go to Bob's aid, and grab Jon's arms to steal the ball - only I can't budge him. I manage to slide my hand under the inside of his hand, leveraging his thumb away, just like they teach you in life saving, and I pry the ball loose. I move to the basket and Jon jumps on me - I can barely move him. I struggle to the basket and start to go up, but he reaches over me and slaps my arm down and the ball loose. There isn't anything I can do about it.
So it goes. Tim shoots over me, goes around me and generally scores at will. Every time I touch the ball Jon is on me, and it's 50-50 as top whether I will manage to pass it off to Bob or lose possession - scoring is not an option. If I do get an open shot, it clanks, falls short or slides out of the pool.
The game ends with Matthew crying because Mike has grabbed him in the deeper end of the pool - he doesn't swim well at all and is scared. The rule had been "No tackling Matthew" but Mike got caught up in the spirit of combat and went for him. (The crying jag continues for a long while, because Matthew, no fool, knows he is supposed to get to his homework right after the game, and he figures out that this is a great diversion.) Mike had to stop because he has scraped his big toe on the rough bottom of the pool and is bleeding - he knew better but had forgotten to wear his water shoes. Jon hobbled off because he had twisted the muscles on the back of his leg in one of the tussles.
Me? I was beat - and beat up. I still have a bruise the size of a half dollar on my left bicep.
Later, in the hot tub, Tim mentions he had gotten his fingers broken last year in a game against one of the people from Bob's firm. Seems the guy was 6' 6" and like to camp under the basket. Someone lobbed him the ball and he slammed it in for a score, his forearm coming forcibly down on Tim's fingers - Tim had gotten into position for the block, ignoring the considerable size and mass disadvantage. To Tim, it was just an "oh, well."
Later still Tim and I shot hoops at the real basket in the driveway. Tim scored often. It took me 30 attempts top sink one hook shot from the top of the key- and my shoulder felt like it was going to fall off when I was done.
I tried one more thing - a trick shot I used to make regularly in P I G games - I wedged the ball between my palm and forearm and brought my arm straight up in front of my body, snapping my wrist upwards to release the ball towards the basket. Only, I couldn't get my arm above my shoulder and the ball rocketed out directly into the neighbor's hedges.
When I reflected on my performance later over a bottle of a bottle of Spotted Cow Ale from Wisconsin - I apparently could still raise my arm high enough to get the bottle to my mouth - I remembered that I could not move or think fast enough to fool a 14 year-old, could not muster enough strength to out muscle my 24 year old son, couldn't remember the simplest rules or recognize my own team mates, couldn't sink a hook shot I used to make with ease, and that these simple things caused my body to ache.
Until this day, I felt I was doing all right. I am a triathlete, I train and compete regularly, complete every competition I start and have never finished last.
But today, for the first time, I felt old.
Thus, the title of today's entry. It's from a poem by T.S. Eliot - "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" and the lines I was reminded of go like this:
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
I know how he felt.
See you out there - maybe......
It was the kind of day you pray for on the unofficial start of summer - clear and cloudless skies, with the sun pushing the temperature close to 80 degrees. A perfect day for the pool, and Bob has a great one in the backyard of his house, which is located in a suburb a few miles north of Chicago. There would be grilling and beer drinking later, of course, but first, we had to earn our calories through vigorous exercise and game playing. At Bob's house, the game of choice was Full Contact Swimming Pool Basketball.
The players were me; Bob, aged 53 - a decent athlete when he was younger, but the recent recipient of an artificial knee and the body of a consultant who gets most of his exercise getting off and on planes; his son Tim, aged 14, all arms and legs, long and lithe, a runner and high jumper and a veteran of the 7th grade basketball team; Mike, aged 12, short and solid, built like a fire plug, personable and engaging, shaking hands with people and introducing himself since he was 3, and a dead ringer for Bob; Matthew, aged 10, smallish and copper haired, the "baby" of the family and great friends with Mike; and Jon, my son, aged 24, 6'1", 185 - not a gym rat, but a consistent 9 minute miler on the treadmill, a 46er, and a citizen of the world - seeing much of it on foot, carrying a backpack and pulling a giant wheeled suitcase.
The hoop was mounted on a three foot pole, embedded in the side of the pool, near the shallow end. We play 3 on 3: me, Bob and Matthew against Jon, Tim and Mike. Ball hits the rim on a shot - clear it past the flower pot located midway on the shallow end. After a basket, losers get the ball and take it in - but not before the ball is handed to an opposition player, "checked" and handed back. Simple, right?
First play, I have the ball, check it with Tim, and immediately pass to Mike, who is not on my team. He kicks it in to Jon, who jams it home. Oops. Next play, Bob takes it out, and passes to me. Matthew is camped on the steps in the corner to the left of the basket - Bob says he has a great shot from there. I swing the ball to that side and pass to Matthew, except Tim cuts in front, snags the ball, drive to the hoop and lays it in. Oops.
After the check, I take the ball in, and hit Bob with a pass. He gets a quick shot off and swish, we score.
Mike takes the ball out and passes it to me for the "check" I don't check anything and immediately give it back to him, failing to note that Bob has come up, too. There is no one guarding Tim, which Mike notes, hitting him with a pass, leading to another easy score. Oops.
Next time, Bob brings the ball in. He passes to Matthew, but the ball glances off his hand, out of the pool. He and Mike both jump out of the pool and race to the ball. Mike grabs it flips to Tim and he bangs it home.
Bob says, "On any balls out of the pool who ever gets it, keeps it." Oops.
Bob brings it in and after the check, passes to me. I see Matthew open in the corner, and pass it to him. Only Tim out of my vision to my left, suckers me. He anticipates the pass, takes a quick step, throws out a long arm, intercepts the ball, sets and shoots. Nothing but net. Oops.
Bob takes it in and passes to me. I see Mike in the corner, but this time I also know Tim is off to the left. I fake a pass, and when Tim steps in this time, I pivot back towards Bob and, back to Tim, I hook the ball up and backwards, over my head and over Tim. Only Tim is quick and he recovers, jumps and intercepts, again sinking his shot. Matthew says, "Uncle Ron is terrible, does he have to be on our team?" Oops.
The ball goes out of the pool again on the next play and Tim goes for it. Only this time, Bob grabs him from behind and drags him back into the pool. I begin to understand the "full contact" part. The ball skitters toward the deep end and Bob goes for it. Jon tackles him and wrestles him for the ball. I go to Bob's aid, and grab Jon's arms to steal the ball - only I can't budge him. I manage to slide my hand under the inside of his hand, leveraging his thumb away, just like they teach you in life saving, and I pry the ball loose. I move to the basket and Jon jumps on me - I can barely move him. I struggle to the basket and start to go up, but he reaches over me and slaps my arm down and the ball loose. There isn't anything I can do about it.
So it goes. Tim shoots over me, goes around me and generally scores at will. Every time I touch the ball Jon is on me, and it's 50-50 as top whether I will manage to pass it off to Bob or lose possession - scoring is not an option. If I do get an open shot, it clanks, falls short or slides out of the pool.
The game ends with Matthew crying because Mike has grabbed him in the deeper end of the pool - he doesn't swim well at all and is scared. The rule had been "No tackling Matthew" but Mike got caught up in the spirit of combat and went for him. (The crying jag continues for a long while, because Matthew, no fool, knows he is supposed to get to his homework right after the game, and he figures out that this is a great diversion.) Mike had to stop because he has scraped his big toe on the rough bottom of the pool and is bleeding - he knew better but had forgotten to wear his water shoes. Jon hobbled off because he had twisted the muscles on the back of his leg in one of the tussles.
Me? I was beat - and beat up. I still have a bruise the size of a half dollar on my left bicep.
Later, in the hot tub, Tim mentions he had gotten his fingers broken last year in a game against one of the people from Bob's firm. Seems the guy was 6' 6" and like to camp under the basket. Someone lobbed him the ball and he slammed it in for a score, his forearm coming forcibly down on Tim's fingers - Tim had gotten into position for the block, ignoring the considerable size and mass disadvantage. To Tim, it was just an "oh, well."
Later still Tim and I shot hoops at the real basket in the driveway. Tim scored often. It took me 30 attempts top sink one hook shot from the top of the key- and my shoulder felt like it was going to fall off when I was done.
I tried one more thing - a trick shot I used to make regularly in P I G games - I wedged the ball between my palm and forearm and brought my arm straight up in front of my body, snapping my wrist upwards to release the ball towards the basket. Only, I couldn't get my arm above my shoulder and the ball rocketed out directly into the neighbor's hedges.
When I reflected on my performance later over a bottle of a bottle of Spotted Cow Ale from Wisconsin - I apparently could still raise my arm high enough to get the bottle to my mouth - I remembered that I could not move or think fast enough to fool a 14 year-old, could not muster enough strength to out muscle my 24 year old son, couldn't remember the simplest rules or recognize my own team mates, couldn't sink a hook shot I used to make with ease, and that these simple things caused my body to ache.
Until this day, I felt I was doing all right. I am a triathlete, I train and compete regularly, complete every competition I start and have never finished last.
But today, for the first time, I felt old.
Thus, the title of today's entry. It's from a poem by T.S. Eliot - "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" and the lines I was reminded of go like this:
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
I know how he felt.
See you out there - maybe......
Monday, March 17, 2008
Hearing, Seeing and Not Believing
I suppose one of the reasons I take on tough goals and hard things - most recently Sprint Triathlons - is that I love the reactions of some people when they find out that I am a triathlete. After 7 tri's in two years, I can say that truthfully - I am a triathlete. I've finished every event, I've never been last, and I am improving in each event. But, I don't look like a triathlete.
I recently attended a national conference in Phoenix for a professional organization, the leadership of which had asked me to make two presentations and participate in a two hour open format Q&A session. I still marvel that at my age I get paid to go to really nice places and talk.
Over the years, I have gotten to know a number of the members, including a woman who is the president of this year's Board. Last December at an event in San Antonio, she and I got talking one evening after all the meetings were done for the day and I learned she recently took up running, and she learned that I recently took up triathlons. I think she found this just short of amazing, a fairly common reaction for people who don't know me very well. While we are not too far apart in age - she is a few years younger - she is petite and looks like an athlete. I am not and do not.
At the opening reception this year in Phoenix, she told a number of people that Ron (me) had participated in a number of triathlons. One of the members couldn't believe his ears - or, apparently, his eyes. He stared over at me in disbelief and said, You mean Ron, from New York? He's participated in triathlons?"
When she said "Yes", he stared over at me again and said, "Recently?"
Like I said, got to love those reactions!
If seeing is believing, here are links to some event photos:
Southern Saratoga YMCA Indoor/Outdoor Tri, May 2007
Pawling Tri, June, 2007
Pinebush Tri, July, 2007
Pinebush Tri July 2006
I recently attended a national conference in Phoenix for a professional organization, the leadership of which had asked me to make two presentations and participate in a two hour open format Q&A session. I still marvel that at my age I get paid to go to really nice places and talk.
Over the years, I have gotten to know a number of the members, including a woman who is the president of this year's Board. Last December at an event in San Antonio, she and I got talking one evening after all the meetings were done for the day and I learned she recently took up running, and she learned that I recently took up triathlons. I think she found this just short of amazing, a fairly common reaction for people who don't know me very well. While we are not too far apart in age - she is a few years younger - she is petite and looks like an athlete. I am not and do not.
At the opening reception this year in Phoenix, she told a number of people that Ron (me) had participated in a number of triathlons. One of the members couldn't believe his ears - or, apparently, his eyes. He stared over at me in disbelief and said, You mean Ron, from New York? He's participated in triathlons?"
When she said "Yes", he stared over at me again and said, "Recently?"
Like I said, got to love those reactions!
If seeing is believing, here are links to some event photos:
Southern Saratoga YMCA Indoor/Outdoor Tri, May 2007
Pawling Tri, June, 2007
Pinebush Tri, July, 2007
Pinebush Tri July 2006
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Swim the Hudson River? Not Me!
The good folks at the Y try really hard to motivate the members towards healthful lifestyles. They offer an array of classes - everything from ballet to spinning to yoga. They have a pretty impressive array of equipment - stability balls, free weights, computerized strength machine, treadmills, recumbent bikes, elliptical machines - you name it.
And to further keep you motivated and on track, they have Fitlinxx, ( http://fitlinxx.com/brand.htm ) a really cool computerized system that is hooked into most of the strength machines and automatically keeps track of every pound and every rep of every exercise you do. You can keep track of all the exercise you do off the system, too, like running, biking, even shoveling snow by hand, and enter it on-line. To top it all off, you earn Fit Points for everything you do. Keep accumulating Fit Points, move up the color bars on the graph. After one year, I am in the Red Level (that took 50,000 points ) and 19% of the way to the Brown Level ( 75,000 points ). At this rate, I have a shot at making the top level (Platinum, 500,000 points) about 5 years after I move into the Continuing Care Faciliy, and just before I shuffle off this mortal coil (Hamlet, I think.
But the folks at the Y, just like the folks at the NYS Lottery, know that they have to keep changing it up if they want the consumers to keep buying, or in this case, buying into, the product. For instance, this month, if you take 15 classes before the end of the month, you qualify for a free "prize"! Free being a relative term, because you most certainly will pay with time, sweat and a bunch of sore muscles.
Which brings me to Swimming the Hudson River. No, not the actual Hudson River, but the virtual Hudson River. The idea is to log every lap you swim, yard by yard, mile by mile, until you swim 150 miles, the length of the Hudson River. A bunch of people I know have signed up and have been swimming pretty diligently towards that pretty worthy goal.
Not me, though. I know what you're thinking: "How come a driven, compulsive, Type- A, goal-driven neurotic like me isn't all over this challenge?" Because I figured out what it means:
1760 yards to a mile times 150 miles = 264,000 yards.
264,000 yards divided by 50 yards to a lap = 5,280 Laps.
5,280 laps divided by one minute per lap divided by 60 minutes per hour = 88 hours.
88 hours divided by 2 hours per week = 44 weeks.
In other word, to reach this goal, I would have to swim for one hour, twice a week for ten months! That would be in addition to the running, biking, lifting and competing I will need to do to complete the tri's and 5 K's I have on the agenda for this year. Not to mention work and the endless "honey-do" list.
Nope - can't do it - Won't do it. Which just goes to show, even for me, there are "lenghts" to which I won't go.
And to further keep you motivated and on track, they have Fitlinxx, ( http://fitlinxx.com/brand.htm ) a really cool computerized system that is hooked into most of the strength machines and automatically keeps track of every pound and every rep of every exercise you do. You can keep track of all the exercise you do off the system, too, like running, biking, even shoveling snow by hand, and enter it on-line. To top it all off, you earn Fit Points for everything you do. Keep accumulating Fit Points, move up the color bars on the graph. After one year, I am in the Red Level (that took 50,000 points ) and 19% of the way to the Brown Level ( 75,000 points ). At this rate, I have a shot at making the top level (Platinum, 500,000 points) about 5 years after I move into the Continuing Care Faciliy, and just before I shuffle off this mortal coil (Hamlet, I think.
But the folks at the Y, just like the folks at the NYS Lottery, know that they have to keep changing it up if they want the consumers to keep buying, or in this case, buying into, the product. For instance, this month, if you take 15 classes before the end of the month, you qualify for a free "prize"! Free being a relative term, because you most certainly will pay with time, sweat and a bunch of sore muscles.
Which brings me to Swimming the Hudson River. No, not the actual Hudson River, but the virtual Hudson River. The idea is to log every lap you swim, yard by yard, mile by mile, until you swim 150 miles, the length of the Hudson River. A bunch of people I know have signed up and have been swimming pretty diligently towards that pretty worthy goal.
Not me, though. I know what you're thinking: "How come a driven, compulsive, Type- A, goal-driven neurotic like me isn't all over this challenge?" Because I figured out what it means:
1760 yards to a mile times 150 miles = 264,000 yards.
264,000 yards divided by 50 yards to a lap = 5,280 Laps.
5,280 laps divided by one minute per lap divided by 60 minutes per hour = 88 hours.
88 hours divided by 2 hours per week = 44 weeks.
In other word, to reach this goal, I would have to swim for one hour, twice a week for ten months! That would be in addition to the running, biking, lifting and competing I will need to do to complete the tri's and 5 K's I have on the agenda for this year. Not to mention work and the endless "honey-do" list.
Nope - can't do it - Won't do it. Which just goes to show, even for me, there are "lenghts" to which I won't go.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Hope Floats
Some times the simplest things can lift your spirits. For me, it was a few words from my friend Kelly, in the middle of our swim session at the Y yesterday evening.
There was no Stroke Improvement Class last night, since we are between sessions. But, since we set Thursday nights aside for class anyway, Kelly emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to the Y and swim. I thought that was a good idea, and I arranged to meet her in the pool around 7:30, after she finished a half hour run upstairs on the track.
I got there a little before 7:30, found the frogman fins in the equipment closet, and did some warm up laps. I swam on New Year's day, but only for 20 minutes, and I was really feeling the post holiday bloat and the two week layoff since the last time I attended swim class. But hey, I was moving.
Kelly came down right on time, and just like always, I was glad to see her, and I felt better because she was there. Since there were 4 or 5 other laps swimmers there, we split a lane.
She said she was a little sore from lifting the day before - she had done a couple of exercises specifically designed to strengthen her the shoulders and lats, muscles you use a lot when you swim. (By the way, today I tried the two exercises she showed me, 15 reps of each with only 5 pound hand weights, compared to the 7 or 8 she was using, and I can understand why she was sore)
As usual, she was quick and smooth and strong in the pool, although when we talked between sets, she was quick to point out the flaw in her right arm movement during her crawl stroke, and her "terrible" backstroke. She only does the backstroke - she said - because Coach Aaron makes it part of our classes. Swears she would never do the stroke on her own, especially not during a tri. In addition to the crawl, back, breast and side strokes, she used a kickboard to isolate her legs, and then she used a pull-buoy http://swimming.about.com/cs/swimequipment/l/aa_swim_gear.htm to isolate her legs. She is almost as graceful in the water as she is when she runs, and that is say, it's a joy to watch her.
I ran through a similar workout, initially just kicking with the fins to isolate my leg muscles, first lying on my front and then on my back, then adding in my arms, doing laps with the crawl, breast and back strokes - but not the side stoke: I hate the side stroke. It was fun to swim with Kelly, but I felt leaden in the water beside her.
And then I started channeling Donna, who in two short 7 week Beginner's Sessions with Coach Aaron and Coach Bob has gone from breathing during the crawl stroke with her head out of the water, swinging it back and forth like Stevie Wonder doing Fingertips, Part 1, to doing beautiful, powerful strokes - with bi-lateral rotary breathing. That is, I decided to work on bi-lateral breathing.
Back and forth I went. It's easy to breathe to the left - for years I have turned my head that way while rotary breathing. The turn to the left has been complemented by my out of water activities, too. Because I play baseball and golf right handed, swinging both a baseball bat and a golf club require strong hip rotation to the left side. This makes left side breathing in the water comfortable and natural. Turning to the right, on the other hand, is hard. Can't seem to get enough hip or head rotation, I'm lifting my neck and head out of the water to breathe, I'm not getting nearly enough air, and more annoying, I am actually swallowing water way too often. I'm feeling pretty frustrated and wondering why I bother.
Kelly's been watching me, and asks me what I'm doing, I tell her. Then she asks why, and I tell her that, too - to try to get stronger on that side to overcome my tendency to drift left while doing the crawl stroke, and to help me sight better in during tri's with open water swims.
I swim another lap and when I get reach the end of the pool where she has been watching me she says, "You are swimming so much better than you were a year ago." No big deal to her, just a casual comment. Very big deal to me. In an instant, I remember that a year ago I could not even swim the crawl for more than a few yards without tiring, that I did all my tri's with the breast stroke. An in an instant, she has buoyed me far more than a thousand laps could ever do.
Because I am energized, and I feel light and strong, I do more laps, concentrating now on snapping my hips to the right, getting my head parallel to the water, and holding that extended arm for just a beat more. And it's working. Pretty amazing for just a few words. Wonder if they can bottle that?
So, Kelly, here's to you: Thanks! You're a great training partner and an even better friend.
There was no Stroke Improvement Class last night, since we are between sessions. But, since we set Thursday nights aside for class anyway, Kelly emailed me and asked if I wanted to go to the Y and swim. I thought that was a good idea, and I arranged to meet her in the pool around 7:30, after she finished a half hour run upstairs on the track.
I got there a little before 7:30, found the frogman fins in the equipment closet, and did some warm up laps. I swam on New Year's day, but only for 20 minutes, and I was really feeling the post holiday bloat and the two week layoff since the last time I attended swim class. But hey, I was moving.
Kelly came down right on time, and just like always, I was glad to see her, and I felt better because she was there. Since there were 4 or 5 other laps swimmers there, we split a lane.
She said she was a little sore from lifting the day before - she had done a couple of exercises specifically designed to strengthen her the shoulders and lats, muscles you use a lot when you swim. (By the way, today I tried the two exercises she showed me, 15 reps of each with only 5 pound hand weights, compared to the 7 or 8 she was using, and I can understand why she was sore)
As usual, she was quick and smooth and strong in the pool, although when we talked between sets, she was quick to point out the flaw in her right arm movement during her crawl stroke, and her "terrible" backstroke. She only does the backstroke - she said - because Coach Aaron makes it part of our classes. Swears she would never do the stroke on her own, especially not during a tri. In addition to the crawl, back, breast and side strokes, she used a kickboard to isolate her legs, and then she used a pull-buoy http://swimming.about.com/cs/swimequipment/l/aa_swim_gear.htm to isolate her legs. She is almost as graceful in the water as she is when she runs, and that is say, it's a joy to watch her.
I ran through a similar workout, initially just kicking with the fins to isolate my leg muscles, first lying on my front and then on my back, then adding in my arms, doing laps with the crawl, breast and back strokes - but not the side stoke: I hate the side stroke. It was fun to swim with Kelly, but I felt leaden in the water beside her.
And then I started channeling Donna, who in two short 7 week Beginner's Sessions with Coach Aaron and Coach Bob has gone from breathing during the crawl stroke with her head out of the water, swinging it back and forth like Stevie Wonder doing Fingertips, Part 1, to doing beautiful, powerful strokes - with bi-lateral rotary breathing. That is, I decided to work on bi-lateral breathing.
Back and forth I went. It's easy to breathe to the left - for years I have turned my head that way while rotary breathing. The turn to the left has been complemented by my out of water activities, too. Because I play baseball and golf right handed, swinging both a baseball bat and a golf club require strong hip rotation to the left side. This makes left side breathing in the water comfortable and natural. Turning to the right, on the other hand, is hard. Can't seem to get enough hip or head rotation, I'm lifting my neck and head out of the water to breathe, I'm not getting nearly enough air, and more annoying, I am actually swallowing water way too often. I'm feeling pretty frustrated and wondering why I bother.
Kelly's been watching me, and asks me what I'm doing, I tell her. Then she asks why, and I tell her that, too - to try to get stronger on that side to overcome my tendency to drift left while doing the crawl stroke, and to help me sight better in during tri's with open water swims.
I swim another lap and when I get reach the end of the pool where she has been watching me she says, "You are swimming so much better than you were a year ago." No big deal to her, just a casual comment. Very big deal to me. In an instant, I remember that a year ago I could not even swim the crawl for more than a few yards without tiring, that I did all my tri's with the breast stroke. An in an instant, she has buoyed me far more than a thousand laps could ever do.
Because I am energized, and I feel light and strong, I do more laps, concentrating now on snapping my hips to the right, getting my head parallel to the water, and holding that extended arm for just a beat more. And it's working. Pretty amazing for just a few words. Wonder if they can bottle that?
So, Kelly, here's to you: Thanks! You're a great training partner and an even better friend.
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