I am really hoping I transform into a butterfly of the mornings but it is a major challenge. It doesn’t help that while I’m still lying in bed, 3/5ths of the Ironman Wisconsin team is Sweatin’ to the Oldies at the East Nashville YMCA (otherwise known as Margaret Maddox YMCA . . . which I plan to start calling it in hopes of creating even more confusion and randomness in my life).
I did eventually get to the pool by 7 am, which is pretty damn impressive, but my training buddies were DONE by 6:15. I eagerly shared my lane with a snappy little old lady and the entire time imagined it was Margaret Maddox. This seemed to help my production, and I worried the brute force of my stroke may actually splash her out of the pool, which would have certainly put my membership in jeopardy.
But Margaret was a pro and blazed her own trail. Cutting through violent waves with the precision of a seasoned quilter . . . just like you would imagine anyone having a YMCA named after them would.
Adding to the curious Margaret-dynamic was that the guy in the lane next to us was absolutely crushing his stroke. It was loud–bordering on obnoxious–and he was flying! This was truly some Tarzan shit and more than once I peered creepily under the water to steal his secrets. But there were no secrets. He was simply overpowering the water like a fan boat in the Everglades and it was all I could do to keep from overturning onto my beloved Margaret. I did, however, notice he couldn’t keep that gorilla-like stroke for more than a couple laps.
Speaking of gorillas, later today, I plan to post a scintillating story that re-caps my first trail run, the Peaceful Hill Sasquatch Trot. The tale promises to be replete with struggle, passion, fear, scenery, monsters, injury and roadkill, but unfortunately no Margaret’s.