andrew zinn is tougher than you

saturday afternoon i texted alicia.
- off to UD swim meet rite now. impressed?
- u might b bored... just coached @ drexel all morning... ugh... 9000yds. one kid passed out.
- muscled men in speedos evrywhere -- how cd i be bored? passing out after 9000yds seems entirely reasonable.
- haha. that is how i got through college... 4 years of speedos.

i went to the UD vs. Towson swim meet at the urging of my swim coach (yes i have a swim coach now, yippee!!). the freestyle prodigy glenn coached at mckean is now the rockstar sprinter at UD; dude's name is andrew zinn. not quite The Heat, but respectable nonetheless.

the natatorium was packed when i showed up, and the crowd was rumbling to the finish of the men's 200 IM. shouts rose for "ZINN ZINN ZINN" on the final leg, and presumably zinn was the man who brought home the victory.

the gentleman beside me twitched with glee. how funny to be so caught up in someone else's race, i thought, dismissing my own twitches. i watched and marveled at the beauty of the men's 500 free (the winner consistently nailing 15 strokes per length, wow; last place was @ 19) and watched the crowd visibly wilt in sympathy during the women's 200 fly, when a women who'd held the lead since the gun was touched out and lost by 0.01 seconds.

the twitchy man was talking excitedly with the man on his right about andrew this and andrew that.
- excuse me - i said - are you talking about andrew zinn?
- yes. do you know him?
- no, but the guy i swim with, for, does. he used to coach for mckean.
- you mean glenn?
- yeah.
- oh, glenn's right there - and twitchy man pointed to where glenn stood one person down the rail.
- oh he's right there - i repeated, and waved down to glenn - do YOU know andrew?
- he's my son.

that would explain the glee, and excitement. poor man, i GRILLED him for information -- when did his son start swimming (late, at age 8), is he a natural athlete (a talented runner too) and does he do monster 9000yd training sessions (no, he's on restricted yardage because his shoulders are WRACKED).

there are only 4 more meets in the regular season before championships start in feb, so zinn's swimming career is winding down. there's masters swimming but sure that's a fraction of the glory of NCAA competition. each victory must be bittersweet as it brings him one step closer to the end. as we watched zinn set a new school and pool record in the 50 free (20.44), demolishing by 2/10 sec the standard he himself'd set last year, i need to know something.

- does he still love it? - i asked andrew's dad.
- i think he'll be happy to be done. his shoulders always hurt.

much respect to zinn for gitting the job done under duress. that takes guts man.

in which i bring The Heat

FattyTime is done; long live FattyTime. it's succeeded by the more enthusiastic, yet patient brother Base, to be followed sometime in march by Speed, who cracks a jagged whip and makes you weep into your pint afterward.

but that is later; for now it's miles and meters and yards galore. a new tri team's formed in the area and i started swimming with them on saturday mornings at the ungodly hour of 7am. i've found though that there are many benefits to getting in the pool that early on a weekend, to wit:
1. it's good reason cut down on the friday night hooch.

okay, there's ONE benefit. but it's a biggie.

tomorrow will be my third swim with these guys. last week i thought my arms were going to fall off during a set of 200s, but coach promoted me a lane and though that may be temporary the other outcome i don't believe is.
- you got a nickname now - brian informed me as we stood at the wall recovering.
- a nickname?
oh dear. it can't be any worse than Moose. can it?
- yeah. eric's dubbed you The Heat.
i leaned around bri to question the dubber.
- The Heat?
- yeah - eric clarified - cos when you get into the pool steam comes off the top and the water gets warmer. The Heat. or 212 for short.
i am irrationally pleased. i feel like i'm in 4th grade and made the first round of selections in dodgeball.
- i really have a nickname??? - and a cool one at that.
- you do. welcome to the club.

my shoulders and back ached 'til sunday night, but it was worth it.

night swimming

3 days back to work and a week in st. john is already fading to mist, though i'm still lightly toasted and there are still 4 bottles of Cruzan in the liquor cabinet. they are not nearly full, as i've discovered that Black Strap dark imbues cookies, pancakes and double lattes with depth and mystery.

- what was your favorite part of the vacation? - laf posed last night at the track, as i creakily eked and he fluidly spun out 400s. i thought for a moment.
- i loved running the trails, for one.
- because you were flying solo?
he knows me too well.
- but the best i think was when we went night snorkling.

night snorkling is a different experience entirely. we rented lights, which are like alien ray guns that you carry around and point at the new creatures that emerge from their hideyholes when the light bleeds out of the water. black sea urchins come out in armies and ease across the coral, while the more colorful sea cucumbers inch slowly across the sandy floor. since your field of vision is limited to a funnel of light without peripheral vision it's a bit of a wake-up call when a stingray undulates into view beneath you.

- but that wasn't the best - i explained to laf - the best was when D's light died after 20 minutes.
we were swimming off the edge of a state park, so the only lights we saw were distant points in little maho bay and the constellation of st. thomas 5 miles away. if my light failed, we wouldn't know if we were swimming toward shore or into the caribbean.

since D's the naturalist, i offered him my light and shoved the dead one in the back of my suit. i took a couple experimental strokes into the dark: i was tired of veering away from D's flippers that always seemed dangerously close to my face. the beauty of the salt water, i thought, is that you don't NEED flippers. the water just holds you and multiplies any effort expended so you feel bionic moving over coral reefs and schools of blue tang and swirling sergeant majors protecting their egg spreads.

so i was tired of dodging and i struck out and with the first stroke into the dark was rewarded with something utterly unexpected: an explosion of sparks, an s-curve of fireworks tracing on a second's delay my catch and pull, and my whipping kick behind. THAT, that was the best, swimming straight into the dark, flying solo, striking out into a shower of phosphorescence. there was no temperature difference, air merged into water and i felt free, light and so pregnant with possibility that i could have swum all the way to st. croix.

but heavy with reality i eventually returned to the light, and later, in silence, we emerged clumsy and oafish from the water at maho bay. i was the ungainly 150lb penguin tottering toward my sandals with a sad nostalgia for the water's grace. D was shivering and yanking a fleece over his wet body. a couple walking along the beach stopped.

- we wondered what that light was in the water - the woman said - we thought it might be someone night-snorkling. it's a beautiful night. i looked across the bay where i imagined i still could see traces of my journey - did you have fun? without hesitation we answered simultaneously. NotReally. YES.

february is come early.

Finn and the Frog

this morning, for the first time in months, i had to share my lane in the pool (for it is MY lane. Bernie knows it, Grumpy Gary knows it, and so do The Juvie Whisperer, Enthusiastic Splashing Woman and Happy Go Lucky Man who leaps into the water with the joy of a child. everyone knows Lane 7 is Finn's Lane).

so imagine my surprise when i encountered my visitor mid-lap – a terrible breach of swim etiquette which prescribes dangling your feet at the wall while the incumbent approaches. entering an occupied lane without warning is an invitation to a head-on collision, especially if you hop in with me.

so yes, midway into my set of broken 400s, i was looking straight down at the pool bottom when i saw movement. i pulled to a halt and sculled while scanning below. again, there! long kicky legs, short little black body: a frog! -cruising the bottom of the pool right under me. poor froggie, trapped in a big bowl of chlorine while clumsy humans sputter like wasps above him. i look meaningfully at the lifeguard, hoping she'll notice i've stopped mid-lap to splash about in the middle of my lane, but she's oblivious. she is our Singing Lifeguard. whether she sings to entertain herself or to stay awake at 5am i don't know, but she's lost in her singing world right now and i'll get no help from her.

it's up to me to save the frog. i take a deep breath and drop to the bottom, slowly caving my hands around the unfortunate amphibian. with gentle deliberation i gather up the body which lies passive in my hands for about 3 seconds, then explodes into muscular motion, causing me to revert to girl-ness, squeeeee and release him abruptly. liberated, the frog zooms off and takes up residence with Enthusiastic Splashing Woman in lane 8.

i mournfully watch her pummel by, knowing i don't have the chutzpah to invade her lane and attempt to catch the frog again. plus, i'm still slightly skeeved out by the feeling of that froggy body in my hands. i finish my lap and turn at the wall, and when i come back the frog is gone. i figure he's off visiting bernie or grumpy gary and while i finish my set i keep my antenna up for the commotion i anticipate my frog will cause; but the next half hour passes without incident.

i passed the lifeguard as i left.
- um, i think there might be a frog in the pool - i informed her.
- oh yeah, we know about him. he's a regular - the lifeguard said lightly.
- a regular? you mean he's okay in there? in chlorine?
- seems weird, doesn't it. doesn't seem to bother him though; neither does hanging out with you guys swimming over top of him.
- and he can get in and out? - poor dude must have been freaked when i tried to "save" him.
- oh sure. we've found that trying to catch him stirs you people up more than he does. this weekend one of the lifeguards went after him with a skimmer net and a little kid got so upset that he climbed out of the pool, raced across the deck and ran straight into the pace clock. probably had a nice shiner the next day.

hah. there you go. i'm braver than a 6-year-old.

cure for draggy booty

the aftermath of the hubbubed memorial day weekend finally hit, and the alarm rang far too early this morning. christ, i could have slept until... 6:30, i'm sure.

drove to the Y listening to off-mixes of Hurt because anything more upbeat would have, well, hurt. shuffled sleepily into the locker room. ann, one of the pool faithful, cocked an eyebrow.

- somebody got a draggy booty?
- nnrrrr draggy bootyyyyyyy.
- so get into the pool. that'll set you right.

ann works with retarded juvees, so i should know fishing for sympathy gets me nowhere, but i still test her now & then.

took a quick birdbath in the shower because there's no way i can corral my hair into a swimcap dry, then stumble through the outer doors to the pool. holy mother of fuck. they've taken the bubble off and our indoor pool is now outdoors. steam rises off the water's surface because as the goosepimples all over my body will attest, the air is a lot colder than the water.

i whinny plaintively as i truck toward my lane. ann is already in the water, doing her lazy long stroke and probably clearing her head in preparation for another 10-hour day at ferris. bernie, another pool regular, slips into the water and commences his sculling backstroke. he winks at me and i bare my teeth in something like a smile. the lifeguard is bundled up in a chunky sweatshirt; she looks tiny inside it. she hunches over a cup of coffee like it's a hot brick.

i sit down on the lane wall, stuff my hair into my cap and situate my goggles, then slide off the wall. i've been out of the water for over a week and it feels wonderful to be back. after a long warmup and some kick and pull, my booty feels less draggy; then alex shows and we do a set of 4x400 free, changing up the pace every 100. that ginormous bowl of haagen dazs i downed last night in FMC's honor last night provides good fuel.

while we swim, the sky lightens. birds sing, and the scent of honeysuckle wafts across the water. ann was right: swimming is such a good way to wake up. it's a right cure for draggy booty.

not convinced? well, check out this collection of Things you CAN'T Do When You're NOT in a Pool.

benefits of being a multi-sport athlete

this morning terry and i left the Y's shower room at the same time.

-- hi! haven't seen you for a while -she said brightly. were you on vacation?
-- nope. just sleeping in.
-- oh, that's nice. did you come in later?
-- no, just stayed lazy for a couple weeks.
she looked at me blankly.
-- what, don't you ever do that? - i asked.
-- oh no. i'm afraid if i did i'd never come back.

much respect to the terrys of the world, for whom fitness is work and diligence. it is easy to do something you love.

after 2 weeks it was soooo nice to get back in the water. like a little kid on christmas eve i DREAMED about swimming last night and was not disappointed this morning. sure i'm slow and i didn't even attempt fly, but that will come back.

in february.
it's still FattyTime.
and i'm looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow.