Open Water Hell

The husband and I took our three small children on a mini-staycation this week.  We stayed at an adorable, fully equipped, AIR-CONDITIONED cabin at one of the local lakes.  It was such a fun trip and we made some sweet memories in our two short days there.

Except for one thing.

Swimming.

My kids had a blast, don't get me wrong.  They are still at the age where a too-warm lake and some fish bones floating by are interesting, and not gag-inducing.

I, on the other hand, nearly cried. 

This was to be my first practice at open water swimming.  It was just me and my non-judgmental family, the beach was completely empty of other swimmers.  I had never been one to be freaked out by bodies of water, no matter how murky or fishy they might be.  I floated the entire length of a dark Mexican River in a life jacket on our honeymoon, surely I could handle a little Kansas lake.

The first problem was the temperature of the water.  It was so HOT.  It made me feel like the water was too stagnant and shallow.  Then, the foam.  Every few minutes some dirty frothy stuff would float ashore and my kids would exclaim "Look mom, more foam!"  I then would yell frantically at them not to touch it.  I have no idea what this stuff might of been.  And if you know, don't tell me.  Unless it's something innocent, like baby shampoo wash off or something. 

So I waded out with my pink goggles on.  I looked back at my husband on the shore and yelled out "I can't do this!" and he, ever supportive, yelled back "Then don't!"

I swam out a ways, how far out I'm not even going to guess (it was not far).  I looked up like Patrick taught me to sight my buoy, and saw that I was nearly perpendicular to the direction I was wanting to go.  I knew it was easy to get off course, but seriously?  This made me even more anxious.  I felt out of control.  I was swimming in random directions in the middle of a large lake of cappuccino.   Complete with the frothy foam on top.  I was so anxious I could not focus on my strokes or breathing and was seriously getting out of breath.  I redirected myself back on course once or twice and then ended up turning around and swimming back with my head out of the water.  I was super disappointed in myself.

My husband told me (I don't know if he was lying or not, I don't care) that if it made me feel any better, he would not of swam at this particular beach, either.  Yes, dear, that did make me feel better.  He says that the lake that I will be required to swim in on race day is fed by an underwater spring and is a little cooler and clearer.  That also makes me feel a lot better.  I have not given up, but it is going to take a lot of practice to get over this new obstacle. 

One Kilometer

So my very good friend, Hillary, who is into her third year of triathlons, has three kids, and works as a PICU nurse, has kicked me into gear.  She signed up for the same Olathe Triathlon as me, at which time she will be roughly five months post-partum from her third sweet baby.  That, my friends, is amazing. 

I was chatting with her the other day, asking novice questions like "What should I wear?" and "What if I have to pee?" and we got into a conversation about swimming distances.  I know that I have to swim 500 meters for this race and had pretty much set my training goal right at 500 meters.  When I first started, I was doing well to swim 50 meters without stopping, so 500 as a goal seemed just right.  Well, Ms. Hillary said that HER goal before her very first race was to be able to swim TWICE the distance that she would be swimming at race time....1000 meters!  So this made me think I needed to kick my butt into a higher gear. 

So today, at the gym, I forced myself to swim 1000 meters.   One whole kilometer.  Twenty back and forths.  Forty pool lengths.  For me, that is a huge amount of swimming.  But I did it and I feel...fabulous.

On another vein, my husband gave me just about the best compliment he could of ever given me.  We were getting ready to swim side by side at one of our weekly lycra dates.  I was asking him about drills I could do to improve my form and this is what he said to me: "Your form is pretty much fine; now you just need to work on your speed and endurance."  My form is okay?  Really?  God bless that man.  He has no idea how I cling to the smallest things to keep me going.

I Love My Bike....and My Husband

I love this bike.  It is SO fast.  I was scared of it at first.  I felt like it's speed was too much for me to handle.  But I now understand the attraction to fast bikes.  The wind in your face, even on a 95 degree day, can't be matched.  I've become a bit of a bike snob.  Which is sad, because the furthest I've ever ridden is 10 miles.  When I see a fellow biker, I secretly judge their bike brand in my head.  Usually my untrained eye decides that mine is cooler.

I was very intimidated by the shifting at first.  My poor husband tried to explain the correlation between the small right shifter and the back gear blah blah blah.  This in turn served to make me a whole lot more nervous.  So he made me this simple reference guide, printed it up and taped it securely to my handle bars.  I love it so much.  Even though I feel quite a bit more comfortable with shifting gears, I will never take this guide off.  When I look down, I smile a little bit, because the man knows me.  And loves me anyway.

It's like the time he marked a turn-around point with a big brown rock.  He was out running with his fancy Garmin mileage thingy and stopped to lay a rock at the two mile point so when it was my turn to run (we go in child watching shifts) I would know where to turn around.  I picked that big rock up and carried it home with me and keep it on my dresser.  It makes me smile and keeps me going to know how supportive he is.