This morning in the pool, I was not exactly lively. I would have enjoyed chatting more with my swim-lane partner, but she was motoring. (Though I did find out that she's training for an Ironman--her second; I asked after she told me that she swims three times a week, and is bumping it up to four times starting this week; aha! That's an awful lot of training for a shorter triathlon).
It was a "goggle" morning, and I spent the first fifteen minutes fighting with my goggles. I don't know what I'll do in the middle of a lake if my goggles suddenly fill with water. It totally throws me off, and changes my breathing. The breathing is such a big part of the swimming: when it works, it's extremely rhythmic and soothing. I tried to keep my arms strong the whole time; they tend not to power through the water in quite the same way by the end. But I was so worn out near the end that I decided to count laps just to distract my mind: I went 500m in 12 minutes. Slow! But I'd like to think I'm faster at the beginning. I was really feeling slow today, and reminded myself that this swim could be like my long slow runs, the main purpose being to build endurance. I swam for an hour, so at that pace, I did 2.5km. Not bad. And who knows, maybe it was actually just a little bit further.
I biked to the pool--at last! (Not on my road bike; on a mountain bike). I also biked yesterday to run errands, pulling the kids in the stroller, and pulled them in the stroller again this morning to nursery school. Every little bit counts. Plus, for short distances, it hardly takes more time than driving. I don't like when they ask me questions, however; I'm puffing too hard to answer and have to keep reminding them that mommy's the engine powering their ride.
I also fit in an extra run yesterday evening (no yoga, due to soccer schedule). My eldest daughter had to be at her soccer game 40 minutes early, and because it was in a different city, I left extra-early, and we got there with nearly an hour to spare. Luckily, I'd brought my running shoes. While the girls practiced, I went for a run on unfamiliar trails. "Don't get lost!" my daughter told me, and her words were ringing in my ears as I tried to keep track of which side trails I was turning onto. It was a little bit creepy because the trail felt isolated and there was no one on it. I'd left my phone behind too, thinking it would be a short, quick run. I never really got lost, but it did give me something to think about: next time, I would definitely carry water, and possibly my phone, just in case. Part of the trail led through this quite thick woods, and all I could think of was being mauled by a rogue cougar (probably impossible, but hey, we're encroaching on wilderness, so why wouldn't wildlife encroach right back on us?). So I picked up a stick and ran with it the rest of the way. Why did that make me feel safer? But it did. I also felt slightly ridiculous when I did eventually pass some people walking their dogs. Hi, just me and my stick, yup, special arm-strengthening program, running with sticks.
I got back to the field in time to see almost the whole game, and my daughter's team won. She didn't let any goals in, and when she played out, she set up an awesome goal with great footwork and passing. I had this strange sensation watching her (she's eight). She just looked so tall. So separate from me. So big and so herself. I was bursting with pride and also with a kind of awe--at being a mother, I think. That this running girl on the field was mine. I remember her as an infant, clear as day. And there she is: becoming and being herself.
Which is totally off topic. I couldn't sit down or relax the whole game, so I did some stretches by the sidelines. Again, feeling like a bit of a fool, but my body needed to stretch. And it's hard to watch my kid play goal.
Anyway, that's it for my week, because I'm off to spend two days with friends at a cottage. There will be cheese! But I'm not planning on complete sloth and debauchery: I'm bringing the wetsuit to try it out in the lake. Wish me well. I can't even tell if the darn thing is inside-out on the hanger right now. Maybe my friends will help squeeze me into it ...
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