Everything's going swimmingly

I have mentioned before that a little over a decade ago I was a member of the W.B. Ray High School varsity swim team. I was never awesome by any stretch, but I was decent enough. Back in those days, I'd swim for a couple hours a day, five days a week. I was in pretty good shape, if not a wee bit scrawny.

Today, those memories feel prehistoric. I'm tipping the scales nearly 25% heavier, and I find myself gulping air after just a dozen minutes on the elliptical. I haven't been swimming, either. I tried to take it back up while in college, but never got back on track. I wasn't sure what, but something kept me from returning to the lanes.

Honestly, I think I was afraid. Failing at running doesn't cost me any real pride. I've never been a runner. Not lifting weights particularly well causes me no great grief. I've never been that guy (more on this later). I think I've been afraid that I'd get in the lane, goggles ready, and just not have the juice to move the way I once did.

This week, inspired by some encouraging words from a friend at work, I decided to return to the water (not the least dissuaded by the threat of a Jaws sequel).

This morning, after a really quick turn in the Summit's new weight room (so nice), I made my way over to the pool. I was happy to see that there was not a big crowd. It's not that I had any fear of drowning (My fat reserves make me to buoyant to sink). I just didn't want to embarrass myself.

So, I hopped into the water, pushed off of the wall, and fell into my stroke. It didn't feel difficult. It didn't feel scary. It felt like going home. The cool water enveloped me like a blanket. "Where you been?" It asked.

I didn't try and push it. I wasn't trying to test my speed at all. I just wanted a nice even pace. After my first hundred yards (the point I had been worried I'd hit some kind of evil wall), I felt great! I didn't stop. I didn't stick my head up to look at the clock. The clock didn't matter. I just fell into my rhythm and let myself glide through the water. I tried to focus on my form and my technique, the process feeling more like meditation than a workout.

I will admit that after that first 100, I did notice the preteen girl in the lane next to me pull ahead of me by about a foot. "This isn't a race," I told myself, but that didn't stop me from wanting to destroy her. She never lapped me, but she did hold there just a few feet ahead.

"Oh yeah," I wanted to yell at her. "well all the Jonas brothers are going to marry prettier girls that you! BAM!" I did take a small amount of pleasure when she quit after just 500 yards, though.

If I could burn calories by being mature...I'd weigh exactly what I do now.

For the sake of time, I called it quits after 1000 yards. Sneaking a peak at the clock, I saw that it had taken my about 21 minutes (not great but not awful). What matters is, I wasn't feeling gassed or sore or the least bit beat up. How had I let myself be away so long? Why did I waste so much time afraid to fail at something I loved. I had missed this without even knowing it.

I'll tell you right now, with lap swim times offered five mornings a week at the Summit. I'll be back. I'm not going to let myself fall out of practice with my swimming. It's too fun.