(Part 2 of My Triathlon Training Experience)
I think I am on the cusp of transitioning from a boring ol' blog writer to an intense, melodramatic soap opera writer. My soap opera is the triathlon course I signed up for in a moment of shear stupidly. Again, what was I thinking?
I am most delighted to report I survived the first day of "I-hope-I-don't-die" class (that roles off my tongue easier than triathlon preparation class). I am blessedly not writing from Davey Jones' locker.
The first class occurred at an indoor pool. Surviving was actually no small feat as there were plenty of life threatening moments, and only a couple of them actually happened in the water.
For starters, I do not have appropriate swimwear for this type of class. All of my swimsuits have skirts. I love swim skirts, but I don't love swimming. Apparently true swimmers feel skirts are a hinderance to lap swimming. Fashionistas they are not.
None-the-less, appropriate swimwear might temporarily make me blend in with others so I buy the cheapest athletic swimsuit I can find. And unfortunately by "cheapest" I also mean "ugliest." It is made of the tightest of spandex. It looks like it is made for a tiny, little doll versus an actual human being, and all of it could miraculously fit in the palm of my hand like a barbie dress. Its ability to stretch to over 8 zillion times its unstretched self size and cover my frame is nothing short of amazing. Getting into and out of this suit requires an absurd amount of agility and strength. I'm pleased I did not strain a muscle or break my neck while trying to maneuver in and out of that swimwear contraption.
In my effort to blend in and look less a fool, I also wore a white swim cap and goggles. Again, apparently true swimmers feel these are necessities. I was feeling rather proud of my faux athletic look until my swim buddy told me the cap made me look like a giant sperm. This would have hurt less if I could actually swim as well as sperm, but sadly the likeness ends there.
I'm not sure if swim caps come in sizes, but I either have an extra small cap or my head is obscenely large. That swim cap left lines on my head for hours, and I believe the lightheadedness I felt in the pool is attributed to the cap cutting off circulation to vital brain parts.
Now it's time to mention the actual swimming part.
The first part of this particular class involved swimming 4 lengths of a ginormous pool while being timed. Let's just again celebrate the fact that I survived the experience. No records were broken, but not drowning should count for something.
I think it's also important to note that I remained well hydrated during the lesson by drinking gallons of pool water. I neither planned for this nor do I recommend it as a means to stay hydrated. I just want people to know that the pool is a few feet shallower due to my heroic efforts to drink myself out of the pool.
After witnessing those 4 painfully long laps, the coach encourages us to swim like torpedoes. We need to be long and smooth and fast in the water. He then proceeds to get in the water and show us how it is done.
It becomes painfully obvious that while he swims like a torpedo through the water, I look very much like a drowning victim waiting to happen. I create enough splashes and gurgling sounds that I fully expect a lifeguard to attempt to rescue me from myself.
"Be like a torpedo. Don't be a barge," the coach says tome no one in particular.
That's when I realize that although I may look like a very thirsty, drowning sperm, I am actually a large barge. Which is worse?
Stay tuned for whether or not our heroine and her friends will survive spinning class...
I think I am on the cusp of transitioning from a boring ol' blog writer to an intense, melodramatic soap opera writer. My soap opera is the triathlon course I signed up for in a moment of shear stupidly. Again, what was I thinking?
I am most delighted to report I survived the first day of "I-hope-I-don't-die" class (that roles off my tongue easier than triathlon preparation class). I am blessedly not writing from Davey Jones' locker.
The first class occurred at an indoor pool. Surviving was actually no small feat as there were plenty of life threatening moments, and only a couple of them actually happened in the water.
For starters, I do not have appropriate swimwear for this type of class. All of my swimsuits have skirts. I love swim skirts, but I don't love swimming. Apparently true swimmers feel skirts are a hinderance to lap swimming. Fashionistas they are not.
None-the-less, appropriate swimwear might temporarily make me blend in with others so I buy the cheapest athletic swimsuit I can find. And unfortunately by "cheapest" I also mean "ugliest." It is made of the tightest of spandex. It looks like it is made for a tiny, little doll versus an actual human being, and all of it could miraculously fit in the palm of my hand like a barbie dress. Its ability to stretch to over 8 zillion times its unstretched self size and cover my frame is nothing short of amazing. Getting into and out of this suit requires an absurd amount of agility and strength. I'm pleased I did not strain a muscle or break my neck while trying to maneuver in and out of that swimwear contraption.
In my effort to blend in and look less a fool, I also wore a white swim cap and goggles. Again, apparently true swimmers feel these are necessities. I was feeling rather proud of my faux athletic look until my swim buddy told me the cap made me look like a giant sperm. This would have hurt less if I could actually swim as well as sperm, but sadly the likeness ends there.
I'm not sure if swim caps come in sizes, but I either have an extra small cap or my head is obscenely large. That swim cap left lines on my head for hours, and I believe the lightheadedness I felt in the pool is attributed to the cap cutting off circulation to vital brain parts.
Now it's time to mention the actual swimming part.
The first part of this particular class involved swimming 4 lengths of a ginormous pool while being timed. Let's just again celebrate the fact that I survived the experience. No records were broken, but not drowning should count for something.
I think it's also important to note that I remained well hydrated during the lesson by drinking gallons of pool water. I neither planned for this nor do I recommend it as a means to stay hydrated. I just want people to know that the pool is a few feet shallower due to my heroic efforts to drink myself out of the pool.
After witnessing those 4 painfully long laps, the coach encourages us to swim like torpedoes. We need to be long and smooth and fast in the water. He then proceeds to get in the water and show us how it is done.
It becomes painfully obvious that while he swims like a torpedo through the water, I look very much like a drowning victim waiting to happen. I create enough splashes and gurgling sounds that I fully expect a lifeguard to attempt to rescue me from myself.
"Be like a torpedo. Don't be a barge," the coach says to
That's when I realize that although I may look like a very thirsty, drowning sperm, I am actually a large barge. Which is worse?
Stay tuned for whether or not our heroine and her friends will survive spinning class...
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