So, today I rode my bike 2 miles today, and started my swimming training. The biking went well - I still have a hard time getting up hills, but overall can keep going. Now, swimming was a different matter. I'm starting out with a so-called warm up swim, which for me is just how I normally swim. Then, I'm supposed to do 50 yards (or 2 pool lengths) Freestyle.
First of all, who came up with the name "Freestyle"? Freestyle swimming for me is whatever I feel like doing. Second, I don't think there's another form of swimming that can drain the maximum amount of energy and breath from my body while somehow simultaneously being the slowest swimming stroke (at least for me). Maybe it just feels like forever, because my heart is beating so fast at the end of 25 yards that I thought it was going to pound its way out of my sternum. And I did this twice, consecutively?!
Anyway, I've discovered I dislike Freestyle intensely, at least for now while it's wickedly hard to do. Yet I hear from some folks that it's the swimming that requires the most training...while still others tell me that most people just walk on the bottom of the pool, because there are too many swimmers to actually swim.
Hmm, I'll have to take some time to figure this one out...
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
By the numbers?
I began what I consider "training" today. I use the term loosely, because my first goal is simply to get out there and move enough that I can breathe better. I'm actually doing better than I thought: I biked to class, perhaps 3/4-1 mile from where I live, and another half mile or so to the coffee shop (my main vice), never having to stop. There was a time when I would have had to do just that. I'm not sure what accounts for this; maybe I've been just a little more active than I gave myself credit for.
Whatever the case, I'm happy for that. I did, however, exert to the point where my asthma kicked in. Of course, I neglected to bring my inhaler, so I ended up catching my breath for 10 minutes into class, and clearing my throat for the rest of it. Note to self: use inhaler as directed!
As for the "by the numbers" title, it comes from the fact that I am not sure what my mileage is today. But I will make an educated guess, and as I progress, I will attempt to keep aiming for the next mile marker (both literally and figuratively). So today's estimated number: about 2 1/2-3 non-consecutive miles by bike. Not bad. My "have to" goal is eventually 10 consecutive miles.
Tomorrow: swimming. Will check for the yardage in the pool so I can set a goal, and report my progress.
Whatever the case, I'm happy for that. I did, however, exert to the point where my asthma kicked in. Of course, I neglected to bring my inhaler, so I ended up catching my breath for 10 minutes into class, and clearing my throat for the rest of it. Note to self: use inhaler as directed!
As for the "by the numbers" title, it comes from the fact that I am not sure what my mileage is today. But I will make an educated guess, and as I progress, I will attempt to keep aiming for the next mile marker (both literally and figuratively). So today's estimated number: about 2 1/2-3 non-consecutive miles by bike. Not bad. My "have to" goal is eventually 10 consecutive miles.
Tomorrow: swimming. Will check for the yardage in the pool so I can set a goal, and report my progress.
Day 1: Why I'm doing this
So here I am, having committed (finally!) to doing a triathlon. It's what's known as a "sprint" triathlon, and I'm thinking that means it's shorter, and maybe less intense than a traditional one.
Ten years ago I could have seen myself doing this much more easily than I can now. I was about 20 pounds thinner - not even close to thin, by any means, but I was also biking 14 miles three to five days a week as a commute to and from work. On most days I made the seven-mile trip to work in 30-45 minutes; while not ideal, I nonetheless beat some carbound co-workers who had the same distance to travel.
I was proud of the fact that I could make this daily commute on a bike, without much fuss or fatigue...until I started making the number on the scale the measure by which I achieved success or failure. That number never changed, from the time I started biking in the early spring to the time I stopped in October. That stubborn number - and the change from a mountain bike that I loved to a racing bike that I didn't even like very much (the mountain bike had been stolen) - discouraged me so much that I just stopped biking completely.
This wasn't the first time - or the last - that I'd fallen in love with doing something physical for the sheer enjoyment and passion of it. In high school I would have rather died than admitted I actually started enjoying running in my Junior year. In years previous I had done maneuvers on the parallel bars that would have me in awe now. In my late teens and early 20's I used to go dancing for hours, non-stop.
But for some odd reason, I never felt I could admit that I liked being physical, and that I was strong. Perhaps because I'd been born into a very cerebral family, with skills that typically ranged in the academic, and frequently, artistic or musical realm, I felt that I needed to limit my pursuits to those areas. Maybe it was my lack of coordination and skill in the team-based sports, with their focus on rules and competition, that put me off from participating in any of them.
Maybe it was a combination of many things, but whatever it was, I felt like my secret fascination with the endurance sports, such as marathons, was something dirty that I had to hide. I'd read a book about a girl who'd miraculously recovered from being hit by a car, and eventually worked her way up to being able to run a marathon. I've long since forgotten the name of the book, but I remember very well how I felt reading it. It sparked my imagination, and intrigued me: how could a person do something so incredibly difficult? What was it about competing with oneself that made team sports pale in comparison? How could a person overcome such tragedy, and become triumphant?
When I came across the Ironman Triathlon, years later in the late 90's, I rediscovered that fascination with endurance sports that I'd put away, folded and stuffed like last season's clothes into a drawer, to be forgotten as the years passed. There was no reasonable way I could prepare for the Ironman, so it just became one more unrealized dream.
Then, in the early 2000's, one of my friends asked me to come support her as she completed her first triathlon. I came and cheered her on, proud of her and for her, and all the while my heart ached, as I thought, "this could never be me." I was looking at the pictures of us together, her slim and athletic, beautiful and radiant...and me, dwarfing her in size, fleshy, round of face, full of figure.
What I failed to realize - what the pictures and the number on the scale can never possibly show - was that my being there to support my friend was a huge source of strength for her. A big reason for the smile on her face was the fact that she saw me, cheering her on, telling her she could do it, believing in her and watching her cross the finish line. She'd had her own overwhelming odds to overcome...burdens and barriers that weighed her down, nearly crushing her spirit, as heavy as any weight I carried on my body. Yet for her, in this season of her life, somehow I had helped to lift some of her burden, enough for her to shake off that heaviness, and run toward achieving one of her dreams.
A woman I respect recently told me that I was very strong. She didn't disqualify me because of how I looked, or the number on the scale....not the way I had for many years. She believed in me, and what I was capable of, the way I had believed in my friend. What makes this so powerful is that this particular woman has been bodybuilding for over 30 years, winning award after award for her passion. She, and other friends planting little seeds of their faith in me, have begun working a change in my thinking that has finally grown to the point where it is strong enough to overcome several years of negative thinking.
I finally believe I can do this, with appropriate and diligent training. I don't know that the number on the scale will change any, or if my appearance will shift to a smoother, less "fluffy" appearance. But after long last, it's not about that anymore. It's about life, and the pursuit of dreams that I have shelved, or shamed myself about, all so unnecessarily, because I was distracted by the fantasy of being some perfect, "flawless" woman that has never really existed. That fantasy, and the accompanying shame of not achieving it, has got to go, because it stands in the way of my achieving my truly worthwhile dreams.
What are those? you ask. Well, if you stick around long enough and be my friend, you'll see. And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get to see yours, too.
Ten years ago I could have seen myself doing this much more easily than I can now. I was about 20 pounds thinner - not even close to thin, by any means, but I was also biking 14 miles three to five days a week as a commute to and from work. On most days I made the seven-mile trip to work in 30-45 minutes; while not ideal, I nonetheless beat some carbound co-workers who had the same distance to travel.
I was proud of the fact that I could make this daily commute on a bike, without much fuss or fatigue...until I started making the number on the scale the measure by which I achieved success or failure. That number never changed, from the time I started biking in the early spring to the time I stopped in October. That stubborn number - and the change from a mountain bike that I loved to a racing bike that I didn't even like very much (the mountain bike had been stolen) - discouraged me so much that I just stopped biking completely.
This wasn't the first time - or the last - that I'd fallen in love with doing something physical for the sheer enjoyment and passion of it. In high school I would have rather died than admitted I actually started enjoying running in my Junior year. In years previous I had done maneuvers on the parallel bars that would have me in awe now. In my late teens and early 20's I used to go dancing for hours, non-stop.
But for some odd reason, I never felt I could admit that I liked being physical, and that I was strong. Perhaps because I'd been born into a very cerebral family, with skills that typically ranged in the academic, and frequently, artistic or musical realm, I felt that I needed to limit my pursuits to those areas. Maybe it was my lack of coordination and skill in the team-based sports, with their focus on rules and competition, that put me off from participating in any of them.
Maybe it was a combination of many things, but whatever it was, I felt like my secret fascination with the endurance sports, such as marathons, was something dirty that I had to hide. I'd read a book about a girl who'd miraculously recovered from being hit by a car, and eventually worked her way up to being able to run a marathon. I've long since forgotten the name of the book, but I remember very well how I felt reading it. It sparked my imagination, and intrigued me: how could a person do something so incredibly difficult? What was it about competing with oneself that made team sports pale in comparison? How could a person overcome such tragedy, and become triumphant?
When I came across the Ironman Triathlon, years later in the late 90's, I rediscovered that fascination with endurance sports that I'd put away, folded and stuffed like last season's clothes into a drawer, to be forgotten as the years passed. There was no reasonable way I could prepare for the Ironman, so it just became one more unrealized dream.
Then, in the early 2000's, one of my friends asked me to come support her as she completed her first triathlon. I came and cheered her on, proud of her and for her, and all the while my heart ached, as I thought, "this could never be me." I was looking at the pictures of us together, her slim and athletic, beautiful and radiant...and me, dwarfing her in size, fleshy, round of face, full of figure.
What I failed to realize - what the pictures and the number on the scale can never possibly show - was that my being there to support my friend was a huge source of strength for her. A big reason for the smile on her face was the fact that she saw me, cheering her on, telling her she could do it, believing in her and watching her cross the finish line. She'd had her own overwhelming odds to overcome...burdens and barriers that weighed her down, nearly crushing her spirit, as heavy as any weight I carried on my body. Yet for her, in this season of her life, somehow I had helped to lift some of her burden, enough for her to shake off that heaviness, and run toward achieving one of her dreams.
A woman I respect recently told me that I was very strong. She didn't disqualify me because of how I looked, or the number on the scale....not the way I had for many years. She believed in me, and what I was capable of, the way I had believed in my friend. What makes this so powerful is that this particular woman has been bodybuilding for over 30 years, winning award after award for her passion. She, and other friends planting little seeds of their faith in me, have begun working a change in my thinking that has finally grown to the point where it is strong enough to overcome several years of negative thinking.
I finally believe I can do this, with appropriate and diligent training. I don't know that the number on the scale will change any, or if my appearance will shift to a smoother, less "fluffy" appearance. But after long last, it's not about that anymore. It's about life, and the pursuit of dreams that I have shelved, or shamed myself about, all so unnecessarily, because I was distracted by the fantasy of being some perfect, "flawless" woman that has never really existed. That fantasy, and the accompanying shame of not achieving it, has got to go, because it stands in the way of my achieving my truly worthwhile dreams.
What are those? you ask. Well, if you stick around long enough and be my friend, you'll see. And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get to see yours, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
