Fear of the Water

(Demotivational poster from despair.com--check out their site for plenty more like this.)

This morning, I received a reminder of what it's like to be a frightened beginner in the water.

• What it's like to feel short of breath.  
• What it's like to feel the uncomfortable pressure of the water pushing on my chest.  
• What it's like to feel like I was being pulled downward; struggling to stay on the surface.
• What it's like to feel too far from the shore.
• What it's like to wonder, really wonder, whether this is a good idea...

This morning was the opening day of BAM morning swims at the Boulder Reservoir.  There was some difference in opinion about water temperature--the guy at the gate said 49 or 50 degrees but I doubt it was that cold.  Mid-'50s seems like a reasonable guess.  The air temp was probably in a similar range or cooler and cloud cover kept the sun from doing it's thing.  Let's just say it was uncomfortably cold.

In preparation for this summer's Horsetooth 10k swim, today was my first day of cold-water acclimatization training.  Wetsuits aren't allowed in this event and water temps are typically in the '60s.  I'll spend around two and a half hours in the water at that event--maintaining core temp is critical to success.  I'm not breaking new ground by stating that the human body is an amazing thing.  Among its many capabilities is its ability to adjust to longer exposure to cold water if you gradually train it to do so.

My initial plan was not to bring a wetsuit at all, but I grabbed it this morning before leaving.  The new plan was to get in and swim a few laps to warm up in the suit and then swim one lap without.  I pulled on the suit and waded in.  It was cold on my toes, but the suit shielded my legs from the true temp of the rez.  I gathered my courage and splashed some water on my face and neck.  It was cold--took my breath away a little--but manageable.  A few more splashes to prime myself and then into the water to start swimming the first ~600 meter loop.

The first thing I noticed was the cold on my face, but it wasn't too bad.  Suddenly, my hands were on fire--I don't ever remember them hurting so much from the cold.  I stood up and rubbed them together and took a minute plunging them back into the water, holding them there until the pain hit me, pulling them back out, and repeating.

Another start and after a few dozen strokes, I rolled over onto my back to try to relieve the pain on my face.  A little treading water to reset my brain (and my resolve) at the first buoy (still along the shoreline) and then I headed out.  My suit kept everything it covered pretty comfortable but I was very aware of everything that was exposed as it all began to numb up.  I knew I just needed to wait out that painful time between cold and numb and it finally came by the end of the first lap.

After the second lap, I was feeling comfortable in the water.  I actually thought to myself, "This isn't so bad.  It'll be fine when I pull the wetsuit off."  So I pulled the wetsuit off, left it on the shore and waded back in.  I could definitely feel the cold hit me but I was still convinced it wasn't that bad.  This is not a water temp you want to stand around in--I started swimming right away.

The first thing I noticed was not the cold but the huge difference a good wetsuit makes.  I was riding much lower in the water.  I checked my stroke--looked and felt good, but I was moving much slower.  Then the pins and needles started on my chest, back, legs.  To be expected--I was alive with the discomfort.

All of the sudden, the water felt thick and I had a strong and disorienting sensation of being pulled down.  I kept swimming but was quickly losing feeling in most of my body and my brain was running away from me.

I was breathing every stroke and was getting enough air, but I felt short of breath anyhow.  The pressure on my torso was intense and the feeling of being pulled down was pervasive.  As I rounded the first buoy, I thought twice about heading away from shore.  Even though I didn't feel like I was in control of my arms and legs, I knew they were doing their thing.  I could hear my kick even though I couldn't really feel my feet anymore.  I could see my arms recovering and I was moving forward.  Everything was on autopilot except my brain.

I am a confident swimmer, but I don't take that for granted.  I've been around the water enough to respect it.  Water is heavy--better to be on top of it rather than under it.  As I swam out, I fought off fearful thoughts and repeated a mantra of, "You're a strong swimmer."  I also considered that this is how it must feel to an inexperienced swimmer all the time.  But without the confidence that they actually are a strong swimmer, I can see how it could be terrifying.

I survived that wetsuit-less lap and to be honest, it didn't end up being all that bad.  (It took me a while to get warmed up afterward, but I was prepared with a thermos of hot tea, warm clothing, truck heater on full-blast, and a hot shower at my nearby office.)  I'll have to do this again and maybe throw in some cold showers and baths as well to be prepared for Horsetooth.  I know what to expect from the cold.

But I hadn't expected the fear.  In some ways, I hope to feel that fear again in future swims.  As a swim coach, it's a great reminder of what some folks deal with every time they get in the water.  As a person, it's not such a bad thing to feel this way once in a while.  I built a little confidence by overcoming the fear this morning.  The next time will be cold again, but I'll survive that swim too.

CU Triathlon--National Champs!

It’s Sunday—the morning after the University of Colorado Triathlon Team won the national championship.  I’m up early, as usual.  The kids were out celebrating until the early hours and are sleeping heavily.  I quietly lace up my shoes and head out for an easy, long solo run with no real plan.  As I take my first few steps, I decide to head down to the race site. 

I want to solidify my memories of yesterday.

As I approach the Tuscaloosa Amphitheater, I’m on the road and path that made up the last couple of miles of the run.  I can imagine the effort and speed that was left along this way yesterday—I’m outputting embarrassingly less.

I run past the swim start. The little park is empty and quiet except for the workers taking out the last section of the temporary dock that served as the starting line yesterday morning.  Up the short, steep hill that I sprinted up and down yesterday in a wild eyed panic as Jess realized a few minutes before the start that she had left her timing chip in the team tent.  Made it back with the chip and about 30 seconds to spare.  Might just log that as a workout—2x 300 at panic pace.

Then past the swim exit and the locked, empty amphitheater.  I peeked inside to see the spot where the finishing chute stood and where we later celebrated in our cowboy get-ups.  I could picture all the great finishes—Rudy, exhausted; Ryan, elated; Chris, in his usual throes of pain from having given it all.  The women heroically going all out to the line then wilting from the heat on the very next step.  I anxiously waited for each of them and walked them to the medical tent to the ice baths.  I remember my relief as our last athlete came in.  It was hot.  It was dangerously hot.  Safe finishes were more important than fast ones.  (Of course, we wanted both.)  There was no shortage of women staggering across the line—I’ll admit, it was a scary and emotional at the same time.  And then Nate falling to his hands and knees across the line after the sprint, throwing up, and then spraying himself down with a bottle of Gatorade—somehow simultaneously horrifying and hilarious.

Over by the area where CBS had interviewed some of our contenders for their broadcast of the race.  Rudy speaking eloquently about the importance of “team.”  Jess, poised and polished beyond her years—an ambassador and advocate for the sport.  Chris, showing off his goofy sense of humor—his relaxation and ease a complete juxtaposition of the violently competitive effort he laid out on the course.

The transition area is now completely gone.  Some chalked phrases on the ground and a locked USAT trailer are the only hints that a race happened here just a day ago.

I turn toward the hill by the train trestle that the racers came down at full speed.  Every step must have been agony but our athletes looked smooth and fast—ignoring the pain.  I ran through the intersection where Mike and I stood in the heat and humidity and yelled at our girls to drink as we watched them come through the halfway point of the bike with nearly full bottles.  Then up the hill where we nervously counted the women and measured splits.  They were all working so hard (and looked so thirsty)—it was going to be close.

I turned on University and ran by the sandwich and bike shops and then over to The Strip where on the first night, Corey nearly killed Andy from laughter as he told a story about a short Vegas stop a few years ago.

I ran past the grocery store where I found peanut butter, bananas, and just the right wheat bread for Rudy’s lunch.  The cheap, poofy kind, like white bread—but wheat.  Apparently I speak the language of wheat bread because I managed to find exactly what he was craving.

Back along the edge of the University of Alabama campus (Roll Tide!) where the kids commented on the massive football stadium and big red brick fraternity houses every time we passed through.

Down some stairs and a turn onto McFarland for a short spur.  I pass the hospital where Bryant and I had retrieved Will and Steve the night before.  Will collapsed on the course with less than a mile to go on the run.  People talk about giving 100% (or more) but very few actually deliver.  Will nearly ran himself to death with his effort.  Literally.  Think about that.  Of course, we’re all thankful that it turned out okay.  After we busted Will out of the hospital, the four of us spent a solid 5 minutes circling the parking structure trying to figure out how to get out.  We may not be the smartest guys in the world, but that shouldn’t have been so hard.  A light moment at the end of what was a scary trip to the hospital.

I ran along the busy boulevard to the Starbucks where Mike, Steve, Eric, and I arrived before opening and waited for the doors to be unlocked so we could get a caffeine fix.  Next door is the yogurt shop where we celebrated after the awards ceremony.  The team thankful out of proportion to the value of the yogurt Mike and I treated them to.

As I ran the last mile or so back up to the hotel, I reflected on how this group came together to support each other during this trip.  The chant before the swim start (with Nate spelling Colorado correctly on his first try).  Jess, after a disappointing (but still outstanding) individual result, breezily commenting that she was more than satisfied—the day was about the team.  Bryn riding 30k on a flat tire and finishing the race because she didn’t know if the team might need her points, however far she fell in the standings.  Letting the little stuff like delayed (and disabled) flights roll off our backs, cheering each other on, packing and unpacking bikes, getting everyone to the multiple venues throughout the trip on schedule (well, for the most part), and simply being there for one-another.  I’m blown away by this group.

I started coaching this season with the idea of helping Mike out—not much more.  As the season has progressed, I’ve become more and more attached to this group of outstanding people.  Of course, they’re tremendous athletes, but I expected to be impressed by how fast they can swim, bike, and run.  What has surprised me is how attached I’ve become to them.  I fully expect to see future leaders of our community and beyond coming out of this group.  I know I’ll someday be saying I knew him or her way back when…before the whole world knew. 

I’m honored to be a part of this team and hope I’m adding the smallest sliver of guidance to the big picture of who they’ll become—on and off the race course.  

Havasu Triathlon Race Report

Okay, I have to start this post by noting that the smacktalk that led up to this race was great fun.  I started it, and (spoiler alert) by getting beaten, will be paying for it for a while.  Mike and I went head to head for bragging rights and double-or-nothing on the burrito he owes me from Loveland last season.  Now we're even.

We raced the sprint tri--500m swim in Lake Havasu, 20k bike, and 5k run.  For a lot of reasons, this race favors Mike: he'd raced here twice before (to great results), the swim (my specialty) is shorter than the normal 750m, the run (his specialty) is unusual including up and down about 50 stairs and about 200 meters of running in soft sand each direction, and there is a long, uneven barefoot run on rocky dirt out of T1 and back into T2.  Despite these challenges, I was persistent in baiting Mike into a bunch of facebook smacktalk which was fun, but left a few folks wondering about the status of our relationship.  Let it be known that I love Mike like a brother--the talk was never personal even though he sometimes gets it (seriously funny stuff like "With 4 weeks to go, you might want to start going to church.  That's going to be the best use of your time at this point.").  Sometimes he swings and misses ("Quitters don't win.") but it's always interesting.

My race plan was simple and not a secret--drill it from the start and build as big a lead as possible in the water.  Hold or possibly extend the lead on the bike, then hang on for dear life on the run and hope he runs out of road. I knew transitions would be key--Mike and I are usually pretty close here, but he's often a few seconds faster.

I warmed up well and was ready for a fast start.  At the gun I blasted out to the front and was gasping for air and wondering if I'd made a mistake by 100 meters but held form and found myself out front with one other guy next to me and a gap already starting to form.  We swam side-by-side for a short while and I decided to drop in behind him at the first of two buoys.  Halfway to the second buoy, he simply swam away from me.  I came around the turn a few seconds behind and took a breath to my left to see what was going on behind us. There was a nice gap, but Mike was the next swimmer.  I pushed hard to the beach and came out several seconds behind the leader.  He made a wrong turn into transition and had to come back so I was down by 2 seconds on the lead with  the second fastest swim of the day.

I was fast and focused through transition in 31 seconds--the fastest T1 split of the day (out of all 500 racers).  As I was running out, I saw Mike running in.  I knew the math was no good--I guessed I was 30 seconds ahead and there wasn't much chance of holding that lead to the end.  That notwithstanding, I set out confident I could extend my lead on the bike.  You never know what can happen.  I didn't know it at the time, but my swim split was 39 seconds faster and he had trouble with his wetsuit, turning in a fast, but slower than usual transition.  Out of T1, I was ahead by 52 seconds.

The run to the bike mount line included about 100 yards across a rocky dirt field.  I went as fast as I could, but it definitely hurt.  I was running alongside the guy who came out of the water ahead of me.  He looked at me and asked, "Are you 19 and under?"  (The wave that started ahead of us.)  I answered "No."  "Are you a relay?" "No." In a deep, raspy voice he yelled, "Then let's do this thing!"  Cracked me up and I was game.  I had a terrible mount--took me three tries to get my foot on my shoe and was sitting on my top tube at one point, but kept it together and probably only cost myself a few seconds.  Slipped quickly into my shoes and set off in pursuit.

We passed the 19 and unders that were out in front of us along the slightly rolling straightaway with a tailwind pushing us along.  I never looked back--just stayed focused on the guy ahead of me.  He was pulling away slightly but I was going as hard as I could sustain.  At the first corner, we headed to what I thought was a quick turnaround but ended up snaking up and down through a neighborhood for several miles.  (Thanks Mike for conveniently "forgetting" those few difficult and technical miles when we previewed the course the day before...)  At a u-turn at the top of the neighborhood, Mike was coming in as I was going out.  I estimated I was ahead by 15 seconds or so.  He looked calm and strong--I tried to mirror that confidence, but the idea that he would catch me on the bike, this early in the bike, hadn't occurred to me as a possibility.  He was now really in my head and I decided to take some chances to stay ahead.

My energy source was fear at this point--fear of embarrassment.  I'd never live it down if he caught me this early.  I took a quick peak behind me a little later as I exited the neighborhood and didn't see him.  Back out onto the straightaway with the tailwind again (after a close call with a collegiate who had overshot her corner and came by me head-on to my right!).  At the final u-turn, Mike and I passed again--I had a little more lead this time but again, he looked strong and controlled.  The whole way back to transition with the headwind, I never looked back--just drilled it as hard as I could manage without destroying my legs for the run.  We passed the front of the collegiate men's race on their way out and CU was at the front in large numbers.  Cracked a quick smile and then came back to the task at hand.

Good dismount and a painful run in the dirt and rocks back to transition.  Again, moved quickly and had one very minor fumble but cleared T2 in 33 seconds.  Very happy with my transitions--a definite bright spot on the day.  I didn't see Mike during my transition or running out but I knew he must have been close.  Turns out he outrode me (including the runs out and into transition) by 22 seconds.  My transition was a little better than his so coming out of T2, I was leading by 34 seconds.  No way that would be enough but again, you never know what can happen so I wasn't conceding.

The run started with about 100 meters of dirt followed by 200 or so meters of soft sand as we dropped down by the canal.  I kept my stride short and quick--trying to maintain speed, but especially conscious of not getting sand in my shoes. Mission accomplished as I strode onto the concrete of the river walk and fell into a fast pace to the bridge.  Up the 50 or so stairs and I peeked down as I made the u-turn at the top to see Mike at the bottom.  How long could I hold out?  Not much longer.  Across the bridge and onto the bike path at the mile mark.  I could hear the volunteers cheering Mike as he came through the aid station behind me--I didn't look but guessed 10 seconds at the most.  Closing in on the turnaround, the leader came by the other way (out of reach and looking strong) around the same time Mike pulled up next to me.

We exchanged a quick hand slap and then I fell in behind him, matching his stride and cadence step for step for the last few meters to the turnaround.  I knew he'd try to drill it as soon as we turned so I dug in and pushed but couldn't stay with him when he went.  He quickly had 5 seconds on me but I was still moving well and he didn't pull away.  Back over the bridge and down the stairs--our positions were now almost exactly the same as on the way out.  I was at the top and he was at the bottom, but he was now in the lead.  At the bottom with about a half mile to the finish, I could see Mike moving strongly ahead and tried to pick up my pace to shut down any gap at all to no avail.  Onto the soft sand and up the hill--even if I could have gone faster, I was simply out of road.  Downhill on the dirt as I saw him make the turn down the finishing chute.  I kept pressing and came in 20 seconds behind--he outran me by 54 seconds.

A great race and a fun rivalry that I know makes me better.  I hope it pushes him as well.  We'll probably race 3 more times head to head this summer.  I hope our friends can live with the smacktalk because this should be fun.  I know Mike could have gone faster if he had needed to so maybe it wasn't as close as it seemed, but 20 seconds isn't much (especially when you consider the short swim).  We'll both be faster by the start of the "regular" season.  I love the process of working hard, learning, and getting better and it's fun to have a friend/rival who you know is out there doing the same.  I'm a better triathlete because of it.  Thanks Mike--the Summer Open is next.

CU Triathlon--MCTC Champs!

Just a quick post to recognize the outstanding college athletes I've been helping coach this season.  I was awed this weekend by the University of Colorado Triathlon Team.  My friend Mike Ricci is the head coach of the team and he has done great work preparing the kids to race.  He is clearly a role model and mentor to many (hopefully all) of them and the team is lucky to have such a talented coach.  My contribution has been substantially smaller than his, but I'm thankful for the opportunity to assist and make an impact.

This past Saturday was the regional championships at Lake Havasu, AZ.  A group of almost 50 team members traveled to the race and completely dominated!  CU swept the podium in the men's division and placed 5 of the top 7 overall.  On the women's side, CU podiumed 2nd and 3rd and took 4 of the top 7 places.  CU won both the men's and women's team titles as well as the overall team title.

As individuals and as a group, they have blown me away.  Their performance on and off the race course is very impressive.  Sure, there's a bit of stereotypical college behavior here and there, but these kids are outstanding representatives of CU and our community.  I'm honored to be a part of the program.

Big Catch

For this morning's swim workout, I hadn't planned anything out in advance.  The goal was to go easy but do something meaningful and I ended up with only 35 minutes available.  I stumbled into an idea for a drill set that ended up working out really well for me so I thought I'd share.

The entire set was focused on my catch.  Over the past year, I've been working to hardwire a big catch with a solid early vertical forearm position.  It has taken a lot of reps and it's not perfect, but I think I've got it about as close as I can get to where I want to be.  So this morning's set was a progression of sorts--from isolating the catch one arm at a time to ripping out a fast swim with great form.

I don't know that there's any real support for this workout accomplishing what I wanted it to, but it sure seemed like it did.  The workout, with commentary:

300 warmup
200 surfboard drill (isolate catch one arm at a time)
200 single-arm/head lead (isolate catch and work on proper rotation)
200 catchup (isolate catch one arm at a time and put a focus on balance)
200 fist (forces good forearm position or else you don't move forward)
200 mdps (control big water at catch, coordinate arms, stay long)
200 easy (lock in catch while fully connecting upper/lower body)
200 moderate (simulate smooth swimming at long endurance pace)
200 hard (not max effort, but push speed and keep stroke from breaking down under pressure)
200 cooldown

I felt really technically strong by that hard 200 and I swam it pretty fast.

Definitely felt like I got a nice workout and accomplished my goal for the morning.

Likely, not everyone has the patience for a drill progression like this, but I'd suggest you consider making time for this or something similar every now and then.  Focus less on logging lots of yards.  Focus more on swimming with technical excellence.  Even if you don't swim a drill set like this, think about every workout, every set, every lap, and every stroke as an opportunity to improve your technique.

Pentathlon & Pool IM Race Report

Trying to be better about posting race reports.  With this post, I'm 1 for 1 on the year...

Yesterday I participated with a friend in a swim meet that included an Ironman pool swim.  We were asked to do a writeup for another group so that's included below for your reading pleasure.

The meet was a pentathlon--I chose the longer option (each swimmer does 5 events--100 yard butterfly, 100 backstroke, 100 breaststroke, 100 freestyle, and a 200 yard individual medley.  This was followed by a 2.4 mile swim.  Most folks did either the pentathlon or the IM swim.  Of course, I did both...

Here's the quick breakdown:

In general, my goal for the pentathlon was, with the execption of the 100 free, just to survive and save my energy for the IM swim.

100 fly: Got assigned to an end lane so this was a rough swim with all the backwash off the wall.  Got into a nice groove anyhow, and beat my estimated time by 2 seconds.  Happy with 1:08.

100 back: This used to be a pretty decent event for me but I just cruised it to a 1:12 (2 seconds slower than my estimated time) and managed to keep my sinuses clear--a secondary goal.

100 breast: I've never really had a legal breaststroke kick so I've never competed in a breaststroke event without getting disqualified.  In preparing for this event over the past few weeks, I've developed a kick that meets the technical requirements, but doesn't really do much to move me forward.  Goal was simply to survive without getting DQ'd.  Check.  1:24 (6 seconds faster than my estimated time).

100 free: This was the only event I was looking to push--this was one of my signature events back in the day. I got out to a good start and built a good race.  Had a sloppy 3rd turn that messed up my timing. Came into the finish on a half-stroke (which rarely happens to me in a freestyle event).  Despite that rough last 25, I won the heat going away and finished in a respectable 58.65. Quite a bit off my all-time PR, but I'm an old dude--will never see PR numbers again.

200 IM: Goal was to save energy and survive (and not get DQ'd on my breaststroke kick).  Mission accomplished, sort of.  Got DQ'd on the back to breaststroke turn.  The rules say that you have to turn according to the finish rules for the stroke you just finished.  So coming off the backstroke, you can't flip over and do a freestyle flipturn--you have to stay on your back until you hit the wall.  I had practiced a "bucket turn" because that's what we used to do back in the day.  When I got to the meet and watched the earlier 100 IM, every swimmer grabbed the wall at the end of the backstroke--not one bucket turn.  So I decided to go for the wall grab at the last minute-- without ever practicing it.  If there's a takeaway from this--it's the simple old rule: never try anything new on race day.  In the race, I missed the grab so I couldn't pull my feet into the wall.  When I extended, my toes barely touched the wall and I lost all my momentum-- I was basically standing still underwater.  Knowing the rules but not being very experienced with breaststroke, I took my one butterfly kick to get moving and then started my stroke.  Turns out I didn't get my hands started before I took that kick and that got me DQ'd.  (You have to start your pull before you start your kick.  The ref said it was close, but no dice.)  My time, which didn't count, was 5 seconds under my estimated time so that's nice.

Here's the writeup that Jenny and I did on the IM swim (long, but mildly entertaining perhaps...):

Pool Ironman = 169 laps (168 flip turns)

Jenny Georges & Dave Sheanin took on the 2.4 mile swim at the Inaugural Colorado Swimming Hall of Fame Pentathlon and Ironman Swim fundraiser meet at George Washington High School on January 22.  For a couple of triathletes with strong swim backgrounds, much longer swims under our belts, and appropriate yardage in the bank this winter, the challenge of this race had little to do with the distance.  Swimming 169 laps in a 25 yard pool is a long way for sure, but the big challenge was mental—could we manage the boredom?

Dave’s plan: Swim the first mile steady but easy.  Focus on form to keep my brain occupied (count strokes most laps).  If feeling okay, begin to push the second mile.  Finish strong.

Jenny's plan: Initial plan? Prevent Dave from trying to talk me into this.  Day before race plan? If I'm feeling good, go for the women's win by swimming as strong and steady as I can. If I'm not feeling all that great, do whatever I can to finish and try to keep my brain occupied.

Based on the estimated finish times that we each submitted (separately), we were seeded into the same lane.  We usually swim a pretty similar pace so having company felt like a good thing.  But with the unknowns of swimming this type of race, before we started, we agreed not to set pace off one another.  We would swim our own races. If we ended up together at 4,100 yards, we agreed to shoot it out for the last 100.  The lap counters would notify us at 1 mile, 2 miles, 500 yards to go, and 200 yards to go.

Dave’s first mile: We got out a little fast over the first 100, but settled in quickly.  I was feeling very comfortable at the pace, but knew I could go faster.  I was concerned about pushing early, so kept it consistent until the mile notification.  We hit just about every flip turn together.  This was both a blessing and a curse.  The upside: It actually felt like I was swimming with someone, like I had company in my head.  The downside?  I rotate off the turn from my right side, Jenny from her left—so we were facing each other off every other turn.  I had to close my eyes when we were facing each other so I wouldn't start laughing.

Jenny's first mile: After a funny comment from Dave right before the start (he does this a lot before sets when he's coaching the D3 swim practices), I finally got my breathing under control. We started out strong and I was feeling good. As far as I could tell, we were in the lead and setting the pace for everyone around us. Unlike Dave, I just wanted to hold a steady pace until I knew whether it was going to be a good or mediocre swim for me. I tried to keep my head in the game, so when Dave and I did face each other on those turns, I tried to look away as soon as possible. It's hard to not be a goofball, so to use a favorite statement of my four year-old niece ... Awkward!

At the mile mark, there were four of us who were pretty close together.  The women in the lane next to us were slightly ahead, but it was definitely a race among equals.

Dave’s second mile:  I was feeling pretty good and, hoping Jenny would come with me, decided to begin to push, according to my race plan.  I could see the woman next to Jenny was about half a length ahead and I set out to reel her in.  As I reached her, she picked it up to stay ahead, but I pushed the pace and she quickly fell off.  At that point, I thought I was leading the race—I hadn’t been able to see the other woman on the far side of the other lane because Jenny and I been side by side at the beginning.  I eased back into my new pace, shook off the beginnings of a few calf cramps, and waited for the 2 mile notification.

Jenny's second mile: I was having a hard time keeping anything interesting to think about in my head. Sometimes it's a song, sometimes it's a good memory, but as my confidence slipped, so did my ability to get in the zone. I realized I had over 100 lengths of the pool to go and my thoughts started to go something like this, "Did they really have to have a barbecue lunch for everyone right here on the pool deck? My stomach kind of hurts. Could I just stop the race and walk out of here like I didn't care if I quit? No way. Push through. Well, there goes Dave. Is that nail polish I feel coming off one of my toes? That feels weird. Great Odin's Raven! Is this race ever going to be over?!?"

At this point, Dave was increasing the lead he had on everyone. There was one other woman not far behind him, Jenny behind them, and one other woman stealthily surging to pass each of them.

Dave’s final 0.4: At the 2 mile mark, I started to push even harder. I felt like there wasn’t much to lose so I might as well finish as hard as I could.  I hadn’t set a hard time goal, but figured 57 minutes was pretty reasonable.  At 500 yards to go, I took a peek at the clock and saw 49:30.  At that point I revised my goal to 56 minutes and then set out to get it.  I felt surprisingly good picking up the pace and finished at 55:59.  Felt good about that time, and thought I had won.  Turns out, the woman on the far side of the other lane had been out ahead.  I never saw her at any point in the race so I had no idea she was in front (she finished 25 seconds ahead).  Bad race management, and something that never would have happened in open water.  I don’t know that I could have caught her, but I’m disappointed that I never gave myself the chance to take the shot.

Jenny's final 0.4: Somewhere near the end of mile 2, I actually started to feel a little bit better. My nausea went away and even though I realized I wouldn't be able to catch up to the swimmers ahead of me, I knew that I was going to be able push through to the finish. I really had no idea how much I had left to go because I couldn't see the counter when my timer put it in the water to let me know. I kept steady and when I knew I only had about 100 yards to go, I hunkered down and began to think it wasn't so bad. I finished in 57:28. I didn't have my best day, but the swim reiterated to me the fact that the mental part of racing is just as important as the physical, and that I can't be so hard on myself this early in the year.

A few takeaways:

•     This is not something we want to do every weekend, but was a good physical test and a great mental test.

•     When you’re swimming this kind of distance in a pool, there are definitely advantages and disadvantages as compared to open water.

     o      It’s much more interesting to swim in the open water for sure—easier to stay focused, easier to see the race develop, and easier to manage the mental.

     o      But in the pool, you can focus on your form, consistency of pace, and stroke count much more easily.

•     This type of event serves as a reminder to occasionally take on goals that frighten you (for whatever reason).

•     If you have the kind of friend who will come to watch and cheer you on during an event like this, the least you can do is buy her lunch and frozen yogurt afterward. (Thanks Lindsey!)

Tentative 2011 Race Calendar

Here's what I'm thinking about for 2011--thoughts?

Havasu Sprint (to dethrone the 2x reigning AG champ) 3/19
Aquathlon Nationals 5/21
Summer Open Sprint 5/22
Boulder Sunrise Oly 6/5
USMS Open Water 6k National Championships 6/19
Loveland Lake to Lake Oly 6/25
Cochiti Oly (NM) 7/9 or Boulder Peak Oly 7/10
Alcatraz Challenge 7/17
Horsetooth Open Water 10k 8/7
USAT Age-group National Championships 8/20-21
Oktoberfest Sprint 9/25

Looks like a swim focus this season.