prairieman: swim
how did i get here? honestly, the question didn't cross my mind much that morning.
k and i arrived at joe pool lake with plenty of time to pack, rack and stretch. the pre-dawn was crystal clear and dry, moon and stars above. the week prior had all the signs that i wanted: no aches, springy runs and easy swims. the bathroom scale called out all time highs, important in helping this flyweight get through the heat.
i couldn't resist but wash the bike off saturday morning before i tucked it into the trunk of the car. if the HIM wasn't going to happen this weekend, it never would.
[...]
back in 2006, the statesman did a life/arts magazine article about the swimmers of barton springs. everyday people were profiled, many 50 years of age and up, who extoled the peaceful virtues of swimming in the frigid, clean water for years, if not decades. i read this at k's apartment one night after a 400m swim in the much warmer confines of stacy pool and thought how far i felt from that fraternity. i told k that night: "i want to be one of them... one of you."
barton springs became a regular morning destination all summer, averaging a mile per visit. the world aquatic there is now very familiar to me: i know all of the plants, the curvatures of the shelves and the color gradients at different hours of the morning. my body built a tolerance to the cold, where swim shirts and hesitations were no longer a requirement for entry. i learned where the strongest currents and temperature differentals are. i developed a disdain for wetsuit swimming, likening the experience to going camping in a luxury SUV.
get in. get wet. get cold. and feel alive.
the brain cools, the mind numbs. the sight of your pale, thirsty hands piercing through the beautiful blue. the turnover would increase. the more the turnover increased, the less you wanted to slow down. despite the oxygen debt, the burning, the fear, it all felt better than the thought slowing down, let alone the actual act. the water wrapped like a blanket and provided sheer comfort.
post-springs sensations would last for hours, ranging from intense creativity to deep relaxation. perception of time once on land was often skewed; music often sounded as if it was being played back 5-10 beats per minute faster than it actually was.
i leared about work in the springs. how most of us spend too much time looking down when we should be looking up. how others will slam into you even when you were looking for them, and how that is still no excuse for not looking. how panicking is the last thing you should do in the face of the unexpected. how strong and steady beats fast and furious. how easier everything felt whenever you stopped comparing yourself to others. how very delicate a balanced environment is.
who knew so much lied beneath the surface of the water?
[...]
our militant race director rattled off race instructions for 15 minutes. attentive to rules and regulations, these triathlete folk are. all i really cared about was not getting lost--with car-sized buoys every 100 meters, i felt confident.
i estimate the water temperature was around 85 degrees--bathwater by anyone's standards. the warmth provided instant relaxation, which bolstered confidence as the horn sounded. i set my watch timer to chime every five minutes to help me keep a sense of progress as the swim went on.
the sun rose and could be easily seen underwater. it proved to be an excellent compass as i made my way around the course, keeping it at 11 o'clock, then later at 3 o'clock at all times. aside from its utility, it proved to be a constant reminder of what awaited later in the day.
the swim felt like it ended just as quick as it began. i estimated about 50-55 minutes for this leg--a final time of 53:35 with a low heart rate left me pleased. the summer's training had served me well.
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