Flashes of Panic

I scored a swim meet yesterday. I’ll write a bit more about that experience later, if I can organize the observations into something worth reading. (I have a love-hate relationship with Meet Manager.) This is about the swimming part.

I meant to swim the 200y free, but the combination of a nasty cold this week (my third in six months, which I’m really unhappy about,) and a plethora of deck entries (72 entered swimmers, a pretty big crowd) led me to scratch out of that event, which was early on the program, and go for the 50y/100y option instead. After all, if breathing deeply makes me cough, why shouldn’t the solution be entering races which don’t require breathing?

That was pretty much how the 50 went. I got a fair start (goggles on) kept my head down, kicked hard, and tried to bring on tunnel vision. It turned out to be a fairly effective mind set; 50y is credit-card spending, with the payment not due until well after the event is over. I’d say that the time was a PR, but I don’t think I’ve played at sprinting before so I think it’s my only time for the event anyway.

Another safe start in the 100y, and the published splits tell me I hit the first 50 of that one in 31.78—not too shabby. The most memorable part of that race was how little I had to think about what I was doing. I didn’t remind myself how to turn most effectively, how to kick, anything. I just got in and raced. What I remember was looking across the pool and trying to beat the people in the other lanes. (I did, too; I won heat 3, not that anyone’s counting.) 33.24 for the second half for a 1:05.02, just off the 1:04 which my brother reminded me I swam last year in Exeter. (How does he remember my times when I have to look them up?)

Then I hopped out and slithered over to the scoring table to announce the next heat while trying not to drip on anything significant and not to wheeze too audibly into the mike.

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