The other night I watched a documentary about Mike Tyson. He was an animal in the gym.
Even Evander Hollyfield said he never saw anyone train so hard. Tyson was in relentless pursuit of being the best and knew that happened long before he got into the ring.
Tyson destroyed everyone in his path (usually in the first round) on his way to becoming the Heavyweight Champion. At some point he got distracted by the fame and discarded his relentless training habits before fighting a relative unknown and 42-1 underdog named James “Buster” Douglas. Douglas shocked the world by sending Tyson to the canvas.
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How do we keep the fire burning?
I started running and triathlon with a simple goal: To pull me from a downward spiral and feel alive again. Three years later, I’m in an entirely different place and using the podium at Ironman Muncie 70.3 as motivation.
So, the struggle now becomes, am I going too far the other way? Racing for the wrong reasons?
I have talked so much about “racing against yourself,” and I still believe that, but “racing to win” is a motivation used by nearly everyone in sport. I can also add an entirely different toll on your brain and body. For one thing, I will have to cut at least 20 minutes off a pretty good time (5:16) from my first trip to Muncie.
But that added pressure has me the most excited I’ve been for a race since my first Ironman at Wisconsin. I’ve been focused (for me) and even opted out of 3 shorter races to stay focused on my training plan.
Anything can happen, and caution is always on my mind, but as much as an aging-amateur-triathlete can, I am going for it. And what’s wrong with that?
In many ways “wanting to win” is the ultimate test of racing against yourself. For months you build challenging moments into the training. Moments that will test your will make you familiar with the pain when it comes. So, when I say I’m racing for the podium, what I really mean is that race is happening now.
It’s far from training for the Heavyweight Championship of the World, but motivation is relative. There’s another level of fuel burning and it’s pretty cool.
I totally get the concept of training to feel better, but in all honestly, if I simply wanted to “feel great” (especially in a Zen sort of way) I wouldn’t be training for an Ironman. It’s physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining. Probably overkill in the grand scheme of wellness.
So, the competitor comes alive.
I have looked at who is racing Muncie and checked the last few years to see if the top finishers are coming back. It doesn’t really matter because every race is different, and who knows who will show up, but it’s kinda fun, and frankly, that’s what I need right now.
I’ve sliced this scenario in every way possible and it will take the perfect race. Finishing a 70.3 is definitely a major accomplishment, but I’m treating Muncie like my rematch with “Buster” Douglas.
Motivation has to come from somewhere. I suppose it could be saving the world, but I’ve kinda turned that one over to a power higher than me.
One thing that gnaws at me nearly every day is my run last year at Ironman Louisville. I honestly thought I felt good off the bike, but completely crumbled one mile into the heat. Since that day I have been searching for a reason why and may have finally shed some light on this perpetual nagging.
I was talking with a friend who cycles a lot with a woman (we’ll call her Susan) who is a six time KONA Qualifier. She was trying to articulate just how and why KONA is such a hard race, and said it all boils down to the heat, humidity, wind, and sun. She said, “You have to have your body ready for those elements, and that includes your skin.”
I’ve always been skeptical of sunscreen, in fact, I’ve always thought it causes more problems than it solves. Evidently Susan agrees.
She said, “Whenever I see Age Groupers lathering up with sunscreen in transition, I think to myself, ‘they’re fucked.”’
“What else did she say?” I eagerly asked my buddy.
Her point is that sunscreen doesn’t let the skin breath or cool itself by freely sweating. It’s like a car engine running without a fan. It keeps getting hotter and eventually cooks itself from the inside out. And the car engine is at its absolute hottest right after it stops.
Ahh, like in T2 right after the bike.
I’m not sure I’ve ever used sunscreen for a race, except at Louisville, and trust me, I lathered it on (maybe too much?). It’s a tough call when you know the 95 degree sunshine will bake you for the next 10 hours because sunburn isn’t an effective race strategy either.
The aftermath of Ironman New Orleans 70.3
I will never be certain, but this sunscreen theory makes a lot of sense to me. I “thought” I felt good off the bike because the wind in your face can mask overheating. Then I stopped and literally walked into an oven on the run. At mile one, I was cooked. Done. I can honestly say I don’t know if I have ever felt hotter in my life.
It was a persistent and brutal heat that never went away. It made no sense to me at the time. How can you not cool down when you have ice on your head, on your stomach, and in your tri shorts? I covered my arms, shoulders, and neck with a substance that didn’t allow my body to sweat and cool like it normally would. Add excessive water consumption to the equation and you can see how that could turn your stomach into a boiling cauldron.
It’s not like I didn’t train in similar conditions, either. I purposely spent a lot of time in the Nashville sun including long floats in my pool to build a base tan.
On top of the heat issue, this article claims that 75% of sunscreens are toxic.
In this video, triathlete Ben Greenfield talks sunscreen, including why he rarely wears it, but he does say he applies it during races, but only certain kinds.
Like most things, this is a risk/reward scenario. Even Susan said she knows it’s probably not the healthiest thing for her skin, but she always tries to train in the sun and even spends time in the tanning bed. Her reward is being competitive and 6 visits to KONA. Her risk is potential skin problems, but then you have articles like this that say sunscreen may actually accelerate the risk of cancer.
Hell, I don’t really know, and I’m certainly not a doctor, but I also think a lot of doctors perpetuate concepts that fuel their business.
In the meantime, here’s a link to buy sunscreen for your dog.
The paradox of being a triathlete is that we are hell-bent on doing the best things for our body, but our methods are definitely debateable. We want to feel good, look good, and reach a higher plane, but in the process we tend to destroy ourselves.
A great example of this was on Sunday when I felt the rumblings of a summer cold or sore throat brewing. It actually started Saturday night and my thought process was sort of like, “What better way to reverse a cold than submerge yourself in an oven?
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to the 2-hour-run on my schedule. It would be my longest of the year and was prefaced coaching instructions to “leave the ego at home.” An easy two hour stroll through Shelby Bottoms in 90 degree sunshine was my idea of a picnic.
I never think about being sick as “being sick.” It’s more a sign or symptom of what’s going on in my diet or lifestyle. In this case I reflected on the full pizza and junk-food-explorations I slipped down my throat a few days earlier. Comfort food that simply makes it harder for your body to work right.
When this happens it usually re-kindles the “health-researcher” in me and he uncovered a really interesting nugget about toxins and hydration. If you’re body is clean, you don’t need as many fluids as you do when you’re loaded with toxins because the body needs more water to flush that crap out of your system. Wow . . . so simple, but incredibly relevant to triathlon training.
I felt pretty strong for the first hour and a half of that run, but the last 30 minutes took their toll. My muscles and will were shredded, but I felt that elusive state of calm. The workout did its job.
As soon as I got home, I turned on the juicer and haven’t looked back. The reason I believe in juicing (mainly greens) is because it’s based on nutrients more than calories. If our cells don’t get what they need to function, they revolt and something is bound to go haywire.
Monday was a little foggy but it was a great reminder that I was do for a reset. Much like the “base-run” I had just completed, it doesn’t necessarily feel good at the time, but it’s an investment in the future.
Just over three years ago, living become difficult for me. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I was laying around all the time, and I felt like I was leaving life on the table.
Regret is probably my biggest motivator. It scares the shit out of me to think about looking up from a hospital bed and wondering . . . “what if?”
For some reason I decided running (and walking) would be the catalyst. But real change is hard and frankly takes a lot longer than you want.
I had never been able to run for more than a short distance or a couple days in a row. But with the help of a Couch to 5k program I got hooked and running eventually propelled me to triathlon.
Couch to 5k eases you into running by combining it with walking. Slowly building your joints, muscles and tendons to the point where they can sustain a 3 mile run.
This Couch to 5k mentality has always been an important theory in my training, but it’s easy to forget.
Typical I’ll get lazy for a while, then tear off into the sunset to prove that I “still have it,” but I usually don’t. That’s when patience is tested.
Someone once told me the purpose of exercise is to “get” energy, not lose it. I really like that concept and often refer to it as an “excuse” when I cut workouts short.
Injury, fatigue, and general disinterest will kill your race far faster than under-training. There were many nights during that initial 5k training that I could have kept going after the workout, but quitting while you’re ahead does something really important: it keeps the fire burning.
Swimming is a great example for me. I am not kidding when I say the furthest I swam last year before Ironman Louisville was 2500 meters (the race is over 4,000). Why? Because long pool swims absolutely destroy my body and mind.
That said, I swam almost daily for 3 weeks leading up to the race. 1,200 here, 1,500 there, etc . . . I fell in love with swimming. By the time Louisville hit, I couldn’t wait to get in the water.
That frequency turned me into a fish. I hit the river with zero fear on my way to a relaxing 1:06 Ironman swim that left me full of energy for the bike.
Thinking you have to be wiped out after every workout is a bad theory. Ironman training puts us in a chronic-fatigue-state as it is and trying to add to that pain is masochistic.
For me, training hard means being frequent and strategic about what I’m doing.
I am always looking for ways to get faster and stronger, but with the purpose of making everything easier. Improving my stroke in the water, run stride, etc… The minute my form falls apart or I feel like the workout I’m doing will ruin the next few days, I’m done.
Consistency is how the body and mind learn. Sure, we can stay up all night cramming for our “test,” but building and retaining small doses along the way is more effective, and frankly, a lot more enjoyable.
I’m not sure anyone really cares, but a couple months back I made a big declaration that I was going to give it my all to qualify for Ironman World Championships at KONA. It was a bold decision and rooted in the fact that I needed motivation.
About two weeks after that announcement, I fell off the rails. My training was sporadic, I slinked over to Knoxville for an average (for me) performance in the Challenge Olympic . . . then I got depressed.
Even though I didn’t crush Challenge Knoxville, the effort wore me out. I slept a lot the following week and I still hadn’t signed up for Muncie 70.3 even though I “planned” to do it.
I was “this” close to throwing in the KONA-towel and casually slipped it into a conversation with Rebekah. I thought the words may slide by her.
She has always been supportive, but on this day, she got in my grill.
She agreed that it was my option to give up, but reminded me that I have been crafting my life and lifestyle for this moment. I left my job, built a sustainable business model on my terms, and created flexible training situation.
She got a little firmer.
“You have the time, desire, and most importantly, you have the ability. There are a lot of variables, but not everyone has the opportunity to get to that level. You have the talent to be in that conversation. Do you really want to look back and regret that you never gave it your best shot?”
Clang!
One of my lifelong quests has been to use the power of fear, but far too often it uses me. The only reason death scares me is because I don’t want to be lying there regretting that I didn’t go after my dreams and goals. Not always obtaining goals, but honestly going after them.
The other night I was talking with my brother about our competitive softball days (I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s true). We always seemed to do our best in the biggest, most pressure-packed tournaments. As we talked it through we came to the realization that we excelled because once the games started we couldn’t hide. We were forced to use fear’s energy or crumble under it’s negative power.
I have tossed and turned with anxiety before every one of my races, but somehow I’ve woken up in a state of peace every time. It’s like I let go, drilled deep into the moment, and accepted the consequences. I imagine it’s similar to the feeling you get before jumping from an airplane or lying on your death bed.
And I think it’s that feeling we always want our lives. Calm, content, confident. An understanding that everything will be okay and there is no reason to be afraid.
Stephen Pressfield calls it “resistance.” Resistance is simple distractions that are far easier than doing the work it takes to reach your goals.
Since that conversation with Rebekah, I have turned those negative thoughts into motivation with a focus on Muncie 70.3. My coach has me back on a plan that challenges me to be better and I have given the workouts priority. It’s amazing how much things can change with a few weeks of focus.
It’s cold, but this is where I go after every workout. My legs thank me.
EDIT: I wrote this about a week ago, but forgot to post it.
I’m sure it adds to my odd-ball-status, but I genuinely love watching triathlons. So much pain, so much exhilaration, so much, uh, down-time.
On this day, I got up early to watch my coach race the Dickson Endurance Challenge, and judging from the roads driving into the swim, “challenge” was an understatement. I mean, gauging a road in your car can be misleading, but whenever you have to floor it to climb a hill, you know it’s legit.
The Dickson Endurance Challenge is legit . . . and it starts with the swim exit.
I am not even kidding when I say I was sucking gas walking up that hill after taking a few pictures at the swim. I’m guessing 500 feet of 4% grade?
While driving in, I noticed multiple aid stations along the course and they were all stocked with staff and supplies long before the anyone needed them. They were also gracious in giving me directions. I’m glad I went this year because I never would have made it on time for the start if I were racing.
Before I go any further, I would like to say this race is really well done . . . with one exception . . . the music. And I know you’re asking, why would you even bring up the music?!? Okay, I’ll tell you.
When I first got into triathlon it took me at least 9 months to explain it to my dad. He didn’t understand, nor really care and I totally get that. But, the first time he saw me race was at Ironman Wisconsin and the one thing he always talks about is the music. For months after the race he would literally start singing “Let’s get it started” out of the blue, followed by, “I loved that music at Ironman.” Why is that so important? Because I honestly think it gave him a multi-month shot of adrenaline and made him a fan. See, he was a spectator, just like I was today.
Anyway . . . so, yes, the race was really cool, but playing the entire side of Billy Joel’s “The Stranger” was a bit much. They almost saved the day, with Britney Spears’s “Work, Bitch,” but for some reason they played the G-rated version that doesn’t say Bitch. I don’t know.
Ah yes, back to the race. My coach won, and here are the pics I took, many with hard-hitting captions:
The evening before Challenge Knoxville, I ran into David, who I met at last years race when we had a guarded pre-race conversation in transition. We played a bit of cat and mouse intimidation but eventually figured out we were in different age groups. We became good friends over the year that followed.
Now, a year later he was in my age group, and I knew he was the one I had to beat if I intended on winning. We chatted casually while listening to the mandatory athlete meeting and I wanted to see if I could get into his head.
“How are you recovering from the Boston Marathon?,” I asked.
“Oh, I’m feeling good,” he replied with his standard confidence.
“Well, those marathons have a way of creating deep fatigue.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I mean, DEEP fatigue you may not even be aware of.”
He just laughed.
Later, on my way back to the hotel, I saw him walking the other way and asked where he was headed.
He said, “Grabbing some dinner.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be eating?”
The seeds were planted.
SWIM
After another crappy pre-race sleep I sauntered to the start line around 7:30 with my wetsuit. As usual, it was raining as I stood along the Tennessee River warming up before the horn. The water temperature was 73 degrees and I had serious doubts about wearing my wetsuit, but it was a little chilly and decided I would rather risk using it.
I ran into David and, not expecting an answer, asked his swim strategy. Without missing a beat he said, “I’m going to start in the front, get to the turn buoy as fast as I can and be the first one out of the water.”
Our strategies were quite different.
I planned to ease into my swim as usual then hope for a mid-swim-burst to finish strong. I too started in the front, which was a mistake.
I always forget how hard people swim at the start of a race. I was getting the shit beat out of me by overzealous age-groupers. Slamming my left, my right, even swimming over the top. The best is when they swim past you, take 3 strokes, then stop to sight right in your path. I was bred to embrace contact, but it makes finding a groove difficult.
I expected to be out of the water in 25 minutes or less. But for some reason I couldn’t find a pocket. I’m sure it had something to do with not being used to my wetsuit but that’s just an excuse. I didn’t have it that day, but it could have been worse. Actual time was 28 minutes (1:57/100), which burns my asshole, but whatever.
Later, I found out David swam a 22 minute leg, so I didn’t know it, but I was already 6 minutes behind.
—-BIKE—–
I didn’t feel “bad” leaving transition, but definitely sluggish. I had the same strategy on the bike. Start under control, be nice and warm by the first hill at mile 7, crush the climb, then kick it into gear.
My stomach was acting up in the swim, to the point where I thought I might get sick in the water and that feeling continued for a while on the bike. It’s always something in these races and I knew I couldn’t think about it too much or it would ruin my race.
I walked a fine line with hydration and sour stomach. Sipping as much as I could versus big gulps. Somewhere around the halfway mark of the ride, I started to feel better, but my legs were far from explosive. I climbed under control and used the big ring to build speed off the top before coasting the second halves of downhills. My run was a BIG question mark.
Around mile eighteen I saw another guy I met in transition last year named Cliff. He was on the side of the road messing with his bike. I passed him climbing the hill, then he passed me two minutes later only to pull over again. I saw him after the race and he was a bloody mess. Just after that climb, we hit a long and fast descent. I passed a cyclist laid out on the ground, who I later realized was Pro Triathlete Eric Limkemann. It was in that very spot that Cliff took his spill. I’m sure they both were well over 30 mph.
The last leg of the bike was fairly routine. I drank as much as much as could stomach and following my coaches orders to push my cadence for the last two miles so my legs were ready for the run.
(1:13/20.3 mph)
—–RUN—–
I always chuckle at the feeling I have off the bike while tap dancing in bike shoes back to the rack. I had no idea what to expect and hadn’t ran well in 3 weeks or so.
In a spur of the moment decision I opted for no socks on the run and threw on my Pearl Izumi Streaks for the second time this year. I’ve kinda decided that they are not the best training shoes, but I love to race them. They are light, responsive, and make me feel faster.
Short, ginger steps were the name of the game for the first mile until I realized I felt pretty good. My legs were moving fast and my breath was under control. That’s when it happened.
I couldn’t believe my eyes, but David was walking toward me on the right hand side. He was obviously out of the race and I yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”
He said, “I’m done. Injured.”
Damn.
As I passed him he yelled, “You look great, go get it. Only two guys in front of you!”
For a brief moment I felt guilty about the Boston fatigue comment, but quickly forgot when I saw my first age-group-victim 20 yards in front of me. I lurked for about a 1/2 mile before making the decision to pass. I fixed my hair, zipped my top, then gave him a big smile as I blew by with immaculate form in hopes of sucking the wind from his aspirations.
For the next mile I stayed strong, but kept waiting to bonk. I kept repeating, “Just run your race and breathe” to myself. I wasn’t wearing a Garmin, but my chrono watch estimate was that I was sub 8 minute pace through 2.5 miles. And that’s when I saw the other guy I was chasing. He was at least a mile ahead of me, so I knew first place was out of contention.
Second place sounded good to me, but the guy I passed was hanging on.
I stayed within myself and told myself that if he passed me at this pace, more power to him. By mile five I felt like I held him off. I looked back a couple times and knew he was too far away if I could just stay true to my plan.
The run course ends with a long hill to the finish line and I got a tad delirious as I pushed the incline. I was breathing harder than I had all day and thought for sure he was going to make me sprint to the finish line. But he never did. I would cruise down the finisher’s chute for an easy second place.
The crew dropped a medal around my neck then graced me with a soaking wet Gatorade towel. I limped through a few handshakes, then walked over to print my results. It was all an illusion. I was not 2nd, nor 3rd, nor even 4th! I had perfectly executed my 2nd place plan into a 5th place finish.
Karma is a bitch.
(47 min/7:43 pace)
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Follow me @miketarrolly on Twitter and sign up for Crushing Iron by email to get many more reports from Challenge Knox including hotel and restaurant reviews, new friend stories and a disastrous tale from a first time triathlete.
I came up early to Challenge Knoxville for some reason, possibly because I don’t have a job. The first person I saw was Cameron Dye in the Holiday Inn lobby and I tweeted my appreciation, but I haven’t heard back from him . . . yet.
Next was off to check in. It was likely the earliest check in of my career for anything. I’m number 817 if you want to track me in the Olympic.
Here are some beautiful photos from my day.
I thought I was the first one to check in, but this was actually the Tennessee Book Festival set up.This is Cristina from PowerBar. I tried to talk her into a Crushing Iron sponsorship, but it didn’t go very well.Beautiful sky above the Challenge Knoxville finish line. Let’s hope it comes back on Sunday.Remember the World Fair in Knoxville? Me either.This is exactly where I will be taking a bath after the race.This girl in the backpack pretty much slammed the door in my face.This is the haunted ghost tour machine and it’s legit.Does this even need a caption?Always a lot of biscuits around this weekend.This is Challenge Knoxville’s new swag
Not many endurance sport activities are more awkward than “running along to support someone in a marathon,” and that’s what I did this weekend in Nashville.
I’ve run exactly two marathons, both at the end of Ironman, and Saturday I jumped on the Country Music Marathon course at Mile 18 to support my friend Mark for his last 8 miles. By then, he was a veteran soldier and I was a well-rested, baby-faced-rookie dishing my new-aged arsenal of annoying cliches.
“You look great, buddy!”
“You got this!”
“Your tougher than this course!”
“Car up!”
Most of my inspirational quotes were met with a soft grunt or groan, but I know he appreciated my company.
It’s just so weird!
Last year at Ironman Louisville I had a someone join me at the 13 mile turnaround and I literally didn’t remember who it was. I was telling this story to one of my buddies on our Wednesday night group runs.
ME: “Yeah, I was so out of it I could barely stand up and some guy was walking with me, asking me all kinds of stupid questions and trying to get me to talk about LIFE when all I wanted to do was lay in an ice bath.”
HIM: “That was me, you asshole!”
Oh…
So, that’s how I felt when I was running with Mark. It’s kinda like trying to cheer up a heavy sleeper the minute they wake.
I’d been running for two miles when he hit mile 20. A spring chicken cruising at a pace just out of Mark’s comfort zone. “We’re gonna have to slow down a bit, man.”
Okay.
In retrospect, it was fine and I’m sure it helped him, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that I felt like a party crasher who didn’t bring a dish to pass.
Three miles from the finish line we saw a woman lying in the fetal position on the side of the road. She had her left arm in the air with a “thumbs up,” like she was in great shape. She was not.
I kneeled down to touch her shoulder and asked if she was okay. She rolled over onto her back with a thud and said, “I’m from Canada, it’s sooo hot!”
I held her hand and her body temperature was through the roof. My fingers must have felt like ice cube on hers and I told runners to send back help.
“It’s just so hot,” she said in a distant voice, then she said, “I’m gonna get sick,” before turning away to do just just that.
It didn’t look good, but she still had a sense of humor, so it calmed me a bit. She was also a little salty about bonking so close to a PR. It wasn’t meant to be.
I ceremoniously removed her race belt and fastened her watch around it. I had no idea what to do other than just be there while we waited.
Two cyclists came to the rescue with full bottles and a pack of ice to hold on her forehead. Eventually an ambulance showed up and they put her on a stretcher.
As they slid her into the van, I heard her ask, “Can you at least let me run through the finish line?”
The EMT smiled and said, “Let’s just work on standing up first, Jill.”
Her name is Jill Libby and I would love to hear how she is if you know her.
——–
As the ambulance pulled away, I wished I had asked her to cut off her timing chip and let me run it through the finish line. Hopefully there wasn’t too much worry at home.
And Mark did just fine without me. Battling the last 3 miles to finish his first of two marathons this year. I’ll be running his next one, but it will be at the end of Ironman Chattanooga.
Countless times I have been the guy, standing patiently at the end of the pool, hoping the gentleman or lady swallowing one of the two lanes at the East Nashville YMCA would do the right thing. Depending on the pool, I learned sharing-offers from in the water can be few and far between. I vowed quickly not to be that guy.
Today, I was lucky enough to get my own lane (it’s a lot easier when you don’t have a job and go at 3:00). I’ve been winging workouts lately, so I stared at the water and decided I would simply swim 2,000 without stopping. Sometimes you just want to see if you have distance.
I warmed up slowly and by lap 10 I felt outstanding. I mean, it was one of those grooves where I barely felt like I was breathing. Just cruising along against the odds of gravity and resistance.
This feeling continued through lap 32 and I couldn’t have been more excited. I was visualizing that river in Knoxville and eating up the downstream assistance on my way to a Challenge Knoxville podium.
Lap 33 was heaven . . . until I hit the far wall to turn around. That’s when it happened.
Suddenly, the lifeguard was blowing his whistle uncontrollably. The shrieking sound cut through my ear plugs, but I kept swimming thinking it was some tomfoolery in the play area. But he didn’t stop, so I sighted him in the chair and he was pointing right at me. I did that little dog-paddle-slow-down, lost my pull buoy, and awkwardly sank under water in the deep end.
“What???, I asked in a confused but semi-salty tone as I came to the surface.
“I need you to share this lane with her.”
“What???,” I asked in a confused but semi-saltier tone as I sunk again.
“Can you share your lane with her?,” he said pointing to the end of the lane.
“Dude, really? You’re stopping me in mid-swim to ask if I’ll share? Of course I will.”
I pulled myself together and side-stroked to the end. My groove was gone, my temper was tested, and my desire to quit the East Nashville pool once again pierced my frontal cortex.
I assured my new lane-mate I was happy to share and pushed off to finish my forty. Three laps later, I was right back in the pocket.
When I pushed off the far wall on lap 37 I heard the whistle again. This time it was more urgent, maybe even multiple whistles. It sounded like the pool might have been on fire.
By the time I surfaced and started to slow down I felt another body swimming right over the top of me. Now, thanks to my coach’s intense open water training, contact doesn’t bother me, but when I came up for air, I realized it was the other lifeguard. She kicked me in the head, then jumped the ropes like she was saving someone.
My anger turned to fear as I sunk below the water to see if someone was at the bottom. I held the edge and scanned the water for someone struggling to survive. It was a scary moment that humbled me in an instant.
I was dazed, confused, and losing my mid-swim high when the same lifeguard who asked me to lane-share walked up and said, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it was just a lifeguard test.”
I couldn’t believe it and gave him the kind of glare that makes my dog sheepishly wag her tail. “Seriously??”
I gathered my composure, tread water for a second, then launched my pull buoy the length of the pool at my gym bag.
Yeah, I was that guy and immediately regretted it.
I walked to the end of the lane and waited for my “lane-mate.” I told her I love to share lanes and wasn’t dissing her on purpose. She told me it was fine, and that I only swam about 4 laps while she waited. I must have been in a zone because I have no idea how I didn’t see her, especially because I don’t do flip turns.
I stared at the ceiling and decided thirty six and a half laps would be enough for the day. I climbed out of the pool, then slowly walked to the lifeguard . . . and apologized.
Anything can happen, and caution is always on my mind, but as much as an aging-amateur-triathlete can, I am going for it. And what’s wrong with that?
