I engaged in some deep thinking on the second laps of the latter stages of a set of 20 hard 100s in the pool. (Each 100 is two laps. You're aware of that, right? The first lap feels great after the rest, but as you go along, the second lap becomes increasingly difficult.) Questions arose, chief among them: Why am I doing this? Not that I'd rather have it any other way. Necessarily. It's just, the sense that I arrived at this strange place—middle-of-the-pack age-grouper, trying to get faster, at it going on eight years now—not by conscious decision sometimes becomes nearly overwhelming. I wonder if I'm going to wake and say to myself, dang, that was a dream strangely lacking in drama. More running, more cycling, more swimming … on and on it goes.
Little drama but no shortage of pain. Maybe I was hung over from yesterday's 20-mile run. Plus, I didn't get a great night of sleep. In any case, not until the fourth 100 did I feel as though I had a clue what I was doing. I clocked 1:40-1:42 on the next 10. Then it got really tough, and I became all deeply philosophical and introspective on the second of each two-lap interval. Luckily, in the lane next to me there was a fat girl wearing gigantic fins that allowed her to move nearly as fast as me despite her terrible technique, head all up high and out of the water continuously. God, she irked me. I wanted to tell her she was a crappy swimmer fooling herself into thinking she wasn't by wearing gigantic fins. I wanted to ask her why she didn't just strap on an outboard. What's the point, chick? Lose the gigantic fins. Anyway, I'm passing you. Ha!
Little drama but no shortage of pain. Maybe I was hung over from yesterday's 20-mile run. Plus, I didn't get a great night of sleep. In any case, not until the fourth 100 did I feel as though I had a clue what I was doing. I clocked 1:40-1:42 on the next 10. Then it got really tough, and I became all deeply philosophical and introspective on the second of each two-lap interval. Luckily, in the lane next to me there was a fat girl wearing gigantic fins that allowed her to move nearly as fast as me despite her terrible technique, head all up high and out of the water continuously. God, she irked me. I wanted to tell her she was a crappy swimmer fooling herself into thinking she wasn't by wearing gigantic fins. I wanted to ask her why she didn't just strap on an outboard. What's the point, chick? Lose the gigantic fins. Anyway, I'm passing you. Ha!
You could say it was a distraction.
Also today: A three and a one-half mile walk.
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