In the middle of the lake

I went out for an easy swim today, with my new teammate Naomi. She hasn't been out in the open water for a couple of years and was ready to re-tackle that part of triathlon. A couple weeks ago I did the same with my friend Paul - first time back out in the open water. My friend Laura just posted to her blog about hitting the open water (the ocean!) for the first time this year.

That first unusually warm-ish day in March, I suspect we all race home, liberate our bikes from the trainer in the basement, and without regard for the wet roads, the winter gravel, the wind conditions, or even who's coming with us, we blast out onto the streets for the first ride of the season. I don't seem to hear much apprehension about these rides...

But the water holds its stigma. Water is bad-ass and it knows it. It's able to change phases and turn to solid ice! You can't live in it. If you tire out in it, you don't fall off, you keep going or drown. It can knock down houses. Try to knock down a house with a bike.

One interesting thing about completing the Ironman is that upon finishing, you are declared "an Ironman" - you've done the deed and the title is permanent. (Yes, this is cool). However, it can hold some responsibility, whether real or implied. See, when "you are an Ironman" in the permanent sense [Spanish even has two words for "to be", one for the immediate present and another for an ongoing state: "soy el campeon del mundo!"], people who know seem to somehow believe that you are also prepared to complete an Ironman triathlon, or any combination of its parts (like, say, a marathon) at any given time. This is probably true for some athletes who perpetually train and maintain a super-high level of fitness, but I know that I would need to put in a lot of seriously focused training to do that distance again. As an aside, I quite like this perception, because the title helps keep me keep myself accountable to sticking with my own permanent fitness.

There are some parts to the perpetual "Ironman" title, however, that do indeed persist regardless of current race-readiness - this is where the middle of the lake comes in. Those parts of the race for which I trained mentally and spiritually as much as physically seem to be permanently ready. When I spent an entire year gaining an appreciation for the water, a comfort with this medium, cultivating peace in my mind in the midst of darkness or waves or splashing bubbles, I effectively came to a definitive conclusion about the water. That is, my arms might get tired sooner if they're not exercised as regularly, or I may not be able to swim as far in one go, but I am comfortable in the water. I certainly respect it, but it's a realm I know I can enjoy.

When training schedules are based on goals, and the goals are defined in concepts, the training not only creates strength in a sport, it creates competence and confidence in those concepts. If I focus on training not just "ladder to 200 by 50's", or even "build up to swimming 4000 yd", but "become comfortable in the water", the latter will be the first to resurface the following spring, even as the offseason rust slowly wears off. Let's hit the lake.