Enjoyed the pool this morning. I followed my usual pattern: strangely panicky at first, staring down at the deeps, taking in water, gasping. It's weird. The first 100m are far and away the very worst. And the second half hour, when I'm probably heading into my second kilometre, is the best. I didn't count laps till the toward the end when I swam the last 1,000m in approximately 25 minutes, getting smoother and smoother as I went (at least, that's how it felt). I stopped thinking. That seems to be the key. I wasn't thinking about anything at all; and most particularly, I wasn't thinking about swimming--how to swim, how to move, how to breathe, how not to choke, how to bring my arms around, how to kick, how to turn, how fast to go. None of that. I was just going, ploughing through the water like I could have kept going forever. Though in truth I was happy to stop at the end of that kilometre, happy for the clock to tell me I'd been at this for an hour. I hope on race day that I can find that feeling more quickly. I am also glad that the swim is first. I'll bet they do that on purpose. If you're fatigued and your technique is fading fast, you're not going to die during the running portion of the race. But you don't want to be deeply fatigued and struggling in the water.
Just remembered a memory that surfaced early in my swim today, which might account for some of that panicky feeling. I remembered nearly drowning in my cousins' backyard above-ground pool. I was about seven, and not a strong swimmer. The pool was chockful of kids, most older than me. I was wearing a blow-up device around my waist, that also required me to stick my legs through a harness. Somehow, the device flipped me over and pinned me upside down, and I could not right myself. I remember the feeling of being trapped underwater and beginning to open my mouth to breathe, even though I knew I shouldn't. Because the pool was so full, no one noticed, everyone went on playing around me. Suddenly, I was dragged out, choking. My mother, who had been in the house at quite a distance, had looked out the window and seen what was happening. I think it was a psychic mother-moment. She tore out of the house and pulled me out, and my uncle did some chest compressions (as I recall) to get the water out of my lungs.
It never stopped me from playing in water. I loved playing the ocean. But all the strokes I learned were strokes that didn't require me to submerse my head under the water. Maybe that feeling of dreadful panic is triggered by a subconscious memory of that near-drowning. While in the pool this morning, I remembered, and thought about accepting the feeling and moving through it. Just understanding why I might be feeling what I was feeling was helpful.
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And that's it for my hard work this week. Sigh. Spin on Tuesday, run yesterday, swim this morning ... now a blank slate till Sunday morning. Maybe I'll get a run in Saturday afternoon if my husband gets home early. Yes. I'll aim for that. It's too depressing to imagine two full days without getting out and doing something.
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