Into The Mist


When I arrived at the pool last night, it was about 45 degrees. If this steam and fog came off a big black caldron, you’d swear it was some sort of witch’s brew.

A cold and holiday festivities kept me out of the pool for a couple of weeks. I was excited to get back in there. Coach Mary gave me some instructions for a set, “Okay, I want you to leave on the :40.” I suspect I wasn’t quite that punctual, but I really have no idea.

I was having a Lucy/Miss Magoo moment out there. I couldn’t see the clock through the fog at the other end of the pool. I couldn’t see how much time elapsed on my lap counter. And I was fumbling with my Polar to get it to stopwatch mode because I couldn’t see the numbers on that either. Rather than draw attention to my inability to see, I just swam as fast as I could and tried not to dawdle too much in between.

I swam until I had goose bumps on my goose bumps and my left calf and right toes cramped. Mary still made me do a cool down with a pull buoy. I knew she was right, but it sure didn’t feel like I needed a cool down with the onset of hypothermia. I managed to go 2,050 yards.

After a nice hot shower, Sharkbait invited me over to her house for some ham-and-split pea soup. Is there anything better on a cold night? It reminded me of snow days in Massachusetts, when school was cancelled and I could sled for hours in the backyard.

When I arrived at her house, Sharkbait lamented, “I couldn’t see anything in that fog! I couldn’t make out the clock or see the numbers on my watch.” I felt so relieved that it wasn't just me. Now, if Barracuda could just come out with foggy night-vision goggles next.