I'm not sure when, exactly, I began training. When Harper hurt her back in May 2005, I had to take care of pretty much everything, and I had no time for regular exercise. Or so I told myself, at least. I grew sedentary. I put on nearly 20 pounds. Yet sometime last year I got back on the bike, and I began running again. Both of them, sporadically. Fitfully. For the past two months, I've been doing both regularly, ramping up over the last couple of weeks. So, I'm not sure exactly when I began training as it was a gradual thing.
I do, however, know exactly when I began tri-training: yesterday. Yesterday was my first day in the pool. Swim. Run. Bike. I'm fine with the last two, it's that first one that scares me. I'm not really a swimmer.
Sure, I grew up swimming. I even worked as a lifeguard at Boy Scout camp and at the YMCA. But these days I don't "swim" as much as I "float" when I'm in the water. To me, pools are outposts of leisure and relaxation, not exercise.
Yet on June 24, I'm going to ride a boat out to Alcatraz island, where I'll jump off of The Rock into the frigid waters of San Francisco Bay, and swim 1.5 miles to the mainland. Am I kidding myself? Am I really going to do this? Well, yes.
So last night I found myself at the Koret Center, easing myself into the water in one of the lanes marked "slow." Lap swimming is intimidating to me. There are all these floaty things people affix to their legs, or hold onto with their arms*. I'm not sure what all the clocks are for, or what kind of etiquette people follow. My board shorts aren't exactly the norm at the pool--and I dread the thought of squeezing my fat ass into a Speedo. Do I need a hairnet? Is it even called a hairnet? What do you call that thing?
1000 meters later, I hauled myself out. I couldn't remember the sequence of swim strokes I was suppossed to follow, so I just winged it and tried to mix things up. Hell, I'm not even positive I swam 1000 meters. It could have been 800. It was hard to keep track. I did, however, blow past the 500 meter base-level training, so I was proud of myself for that. I'm pretty sure the lifeguard was staring at me the whole time, probably trying to figure out if I was swimming or drowning; so pretty, my form.
I swallowed several cup-fulls of pool water. Another tablespoon or two remains in my ears. Then men's showers were... how should I put this... creepy. My legs were jelly walking back to the car, sore in weird places. When I got home I wasn't sure they'd carry me up the steps.
But I did it. I fucking did it. The swimming has been terrifying to me, but I got myself wet, and this morning--aside from stiffness in my shoulders and in odd places in my legs--I'm fine.
Which is a lot more than most people who suffer from Leukemia or Lymphoma will be able to say when they wake up in the morning. I'm trying to stay focused on that when I feel sorry for myself. I could have just plunked down $200 bucks and done the tri on my own. But I wanted to try to Do Something Decent in the process. This is largely inspired by my friend Lisa White, who was diagnosed with Leukemia last year. By my neighbor Bruce Johnson, our across the street neighbor and my parents' best friend, who died of bone marrow cancer when I was a kid. If you'd like too do something, there's a national bone marrow registry you can join. Registration is easy; it's completely painless and you can do it at home. I'd also encourage you to donate money via my Team in Training fundraising page. I'm trying to raise $3,000. And in the meantime, maybe I'll see you in the pool.
*I had always assumed these made swimming easier. That they were for when you wanted to relax. Last night I learned they actually make things harder. I used one to work my legs. Wow. Hurt.[back]
Originally posted on mat.vox.com
