Tonight I swam at the local outdoor pool. It was chilly. I know, it’s not like it was 15 below here and you could walk across it on a hike, but for us thin-blooded folks, it was cold. I did not want to take off my sweats. When I asked a guy in the lane next to mine, “How’s the temperature?” his response was “Not bad, once you get going…”
On a good night, there’s steam coming off the water in the winter. Tonight was not a good night –– just cold inside and out.
In the first 200 yards of my warm-up, I couldn’t help thinking this would be a lot more comfortable in a wetsuit.
As I went through my first set of 50’s, I felt goose bumps on my goose bumps, all stacked up.
On my second set of 50s, I thought of my friend Lynne Cox. How did she swim in Antarctica for a mile sans wetsuit?
During my third set of 50s, I surprised myself, consistently swimming faster than my coach’s suggested time. There was no doubt about it. I wanted out. But then again, I didn’t want out at all. In fact, the hardest part of this 1900-yard workout was getting out of the pool – wet, cold, shivering, fumbling for my clothes in the changing hut. I hope Friday goes better.