Rockin' Robin in the Pool- Triathlon Training

So I don’t mean to brag (yes I do), but I just have to say, I’m totally rockin’ in the pool. 

For a girl who learned how to swim freestyle less than a month ago (and from an 8 year old none-the-less), I’ve come quite a long way in a short time.

I started the journey with a pair of goggles from the lost and found at the YMCA and a decaying relic of a one-piece bathing suit of my Mom’s.  On my first swimming attempt, I could barely make it across the pool, even once.

Well folks, I’m hear to tell ya- it is possible to go from couch to pool in a month.

Each time I hit the water (I’ve been going consistently 2-3 times a week), I felt myself getting stronger, swimming farther.  I’d push myself each time (yes, I’m very competitive) to go another lap, then another.

Speaking of competitive— just as I was getting my bearings in the pool, I noticed an older gentleman in the lane next to me.  At approximately 80ish years old, this guy was as consistent as they come.  Back and forth, back and forth.  Over and over, without pausing.  Slow, but sure.

If he can do this, than so can I.

I was resting at one end of the pool as he took off on another lap.  When he got about two body lengths in front of me, I thought to myself, “I wonder if I could catch him?”

I took off, determined to not only catch him, but to pass him.  Poor ol’ dude, he didn’t even know he had someone half his age racing him or he probably would’ve picked up the pace. 

I kept racing my unknowing competitor, winning each time and building confidence and endurance with each lap.  So, thank you mucho, my unknown veteran pool compadre!

I’ve met some other interesting characters in the pool as well.

There’s Valentine’s Day Steve.  Steve comes to the pool faithfully every Tuesday and Thursday at 10:30 with his therapist.  A victim to some kind of accident with a resulting brain injury (I have decided not to ask the details and honor his privacy), he speaks very slowly and laboriously.  An obvious extrovert, Steve seemingly knows everyone in the pool and his charming and friendly demeanor draws the crowd in.

We were sharing a lane that particular day, Valentine’s Day, his one-armed backstroke slow, but steady.  I was struggling to catch my breath at the end of every lap, overjoyed to just reach the wall without swallowing a mouth full of pool water in the process.

We both stopped for a break when he introduced himself and asked my name.  He said he liked my neon pink swimming cap.  It took all my concentration to decipher the words coming from his mouth.

He asked if he could hug me.  And as I embraced him, a man approximately my age, making the very best of the circumstances life has handed him, with a tear in my eye, I simply said, “Happy Valentine’s Day Steve”.

If he can do this, so can I.  I was uplifted and encouraged.

Then there’s Sally.  Ahhh, Sally, a crusty ol' broad, likely in her 70s even though she looks 60 and has the body of a 20 year old.

My God, if she can rock it out in the pool, so can I.

Sally is a master level swimmer who graciously volunteers her time to teach newbies like me how to swim.  Along with the other wannabe Iron Girls in my neck of the woods, I’ve been taking her free hour long lessons for a couple of weeks now. 

She’s helped me to refine my stroke, my breathing technique (oh, you’re supposed to breathe on both sides?) and my efficiency.

When I told her this past week that I just learned to swim a month ago, she paused and said quizzically, “What?  I can hardly believe that.  People train for years to get to the level you are at.  You’re a natural.”

In that moment, I felt like a rock star. 

I think perhaps it’s time to upgrade from my borrowed scratched leaky goggles and my Mom’s crusty, out-dated bathing suit.  A rock star deserves rock star clothing, right?