On Sunday Jason and I did the Mt. Rainier Duathlon in Enumclaw. A bunch of our TN Multisport buddies had signed up for the race and were urging us to do the same. We had heard daunting things about the mighty duathlon course hill, so last week we decided to ride the bike route and see how formidable the hill would be.
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Yesterday, instead of doing my swim workout I sat on the couch and watched episodes of Deadwood while eating jellybeans. What was my excuse, my explanation for skipping the pool? Well, other than wanting to see if Swearengen was going to pass his kidney stones (he did), I had none. Feeling shameful, today I focused on my track workout and had my best run in weeks. Why not make up an excuse and tell myself, “You’re just resting up from the weekend’s workouts,” “You deserve a break,” or “You don’t need to swim”? Because as long as Team Hoyt is racing, I have no excuse, and neither should you.
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Like the elite athletes we are, this morning Jason and I slept in until 11:30, stumbled downstairs, watched a movie while eating a scramble full of embarrassingly massive quantities of feta cheese, and then queued up the Ironman 70.3 Championships in Clearwater on NBC. We’ve grown increasingly obsessed with watching triathlons and have caught a crapload of Kona reruns on the Universal Sports channel, so we were pretty stoked to see the 2008 Clearwater race. Unfortunately, it sucked.
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If you participate in lap swim at a public pool (whether you’re at the Y, a community pool, or your fancy schmancy gym), you’ve witnessed a spat about pool lane etiquette. Every pool has its own rules that swimmers must adhere to, and every swimmer has his or her own interpretation of these rules. Below I’ve shared three pool scenarios that my friends and I have encountered. Hopefully you’ll learn from these anecdotes and remember to play nice while sportin’ your Speedo and goggles.
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Last year was my first triathlon year, and since I wanted to do it on the cheap (well, as cheaply as I could, anyway), I borrowed a ton of gear from my friend, Christine. She lent me her old bike, swim caps, goggles, her race belt, timing chip anklet, and her old wetsuit. The wetsuit was a bit old but did its job — it prevented me from freezing to death in the chilly lake waters and it kept me buoyant. However, by the end of the season the wetsuit was starting to get even more loose fitting and tattered than when Christine had initially lent it to me — the left leg was starting to look like a bell bottom due to an increasingly growing tear, and seams started bursting all over the place. Whenever I swam I felt like water was wooshing through the suit due to its loosey gooseyness. I knew that if I wanted to race again next season, I’d have to get my own wetsuit.
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This week I got my second massage in the past couple months. I signed up for a monthly massage package and realized that I had gotten charged for March but hadn’t booked an appointment to get tenderized for an hour. I called and scheduled a late morning massage and figured I’d head into work after it was complete. Big mistake.
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