It has been said that the hardest part of any workout is the first step you take in order to do it. I have said those words myself but I would like to take this opportunity to revise my position. The hardest part of any out of shape swimmer’s work out is shimmying (not at all what happened) back into her speedo. Which is exactly what I survived this morning.
My pal Stephanie is a runner. She is a marathoner and a triathlete and all around bad motha (it should be noted that she is also a terrific mother to three kids, you know where I was going with that, though). She has asked me to meet up for coffee and for one reason or another we couldn’t make it happen the last 40 times it was suggested. But today, that 41st time, it worked out. Only she wanted to skip the 500 calorie cappuccinos I prefer in order to get our steps in and maybe even some pool time. Oy.
The back story is that I grew up swimming and regularly belonged to a swim team in my youth. I even swam on the team in high school. The problem with this is that I still think my current ability will be on par with my fifteen year old inner athlete.
After our three mile walk and talk we went to dress out and swim some laps. That’s when things got ugly. I knew that my suit didn’t have “a lot of give” and trying to put in on in a bathroom stall would be impossible. I would need room to move. I would need the changing area. What I hadn’t factored in was the suit’s refusal to glide up my knees and blatant disregard for the saddlebags I packed on over the last few months. Rude.
As I held my sweaty sweatshirt in my teeth as a poor attempt to cover the train wreck that was happening, I simultaneously hopped on my tippy toes (because I forgot flip flops)as I did a semi-hula hoop motion while attempting to inch up the suit. After I cleared my hips I was exhausted and ready to call this a completed workout. I kept my sports bra on underneath my suit as the thought of trying to dislodge it was unbearable and off we went to swim.
Pushing off the pool wall while kicking my hardest and hearing the woosh of water against my head is weirdly still absolute bliss for me. The last 50 yards of that 500 I kicked with all of my might, waiting to inhale until every fifth stroke, my lungs burning, my arms quivering and I felt unstoppable. It was the minutes spent in between those that almost killed me.
It wasn’t pretty, but we did what we set out to do. I am tired for sure but there is a welcome feeling of homecoming anytime I have worked out in the pool. At some point I will have to extract myself from the suit (Yes it is still on. Yes it’s been over an hour since I got out of the pool. And if my mom is reading this: Yes, Ma, I know better!). But I am not complaining one bit.