Learning to Fly

The butterfly stroke has always intrigued, and eluded, me. My childhood swim lessons – two weeks each summer at the small community pool – covered basic strokes only. I watched with awe whenever the pool manager’s children, both college students who had learned to swim elsewhere, occasionally did a length or two of butterfly. From observing them, I understood what the arms were supposed to do, but I couldn’t figure out the kick. Eventually, whenever I tried to butterfly, I did a sort of aborted breaststroke maneuver. It was neither pretty nor efficient for the ten feet or so I could manage it.

Last week in Masters class, though, those of us in the “baby” lane focused on proper butterfly technique. First, we concentrated on the kick. To keep my feet from going awkwardly awry, Coach D. said to visualize my big toes tied together tightly. After a few lengths I began to feel more “dolphin-like” as I undulated through the water. Next we added arms – one at a time, then both. I was more moth than Monarch, but I could fly.

Considering Spring

As I was shoveling the last bits of snow off my sidewalk today (because I was tired of waiting for it to melt), I noticed my daffodils have started to grow. Those one-inch green shoots were the perfect tonic for my winter-battered psyche. Of course, the imminent arrival of Spring means no more excuses for the weather-induced inertia I’ve had for the past several months. I’ve been doing some indoor cycling, strength training, and swimming, but not with the same intensity as in past years. And I’ve just started to run again. I’d wanted to do the Smithfield Sprint on March 27, but I’m not ready for competition yet. Stuck in the depths of winter, I was wondering if I’d ever be ready, but, like my daffodils, it’s time to start blooming again.

Making “Ice Cream” from Ice

Last weekend I’d planned a full slate of activities – indoor cycling followed by a few laps around the indoor track at UR and a massage on Saturday, swimming on Sunday. Plus, I wanted to go by an antiques mall where a friend has a booth, and I thought I’d check out some new bikes. The Specialized Ruby Expert got a good review in the latest issue of Bicycle. I test rode a Ruby Pro model in 2008 and liked it, but it was way out of my price range. The Expert is still more than I reasonably should pay for a bike, but it’s less than what some of my non-tri friends spend on exotic vacations and interior decorating, so I figured there was no harm in “just looking.” However, Saturday brought snow, lots of snow, and nothing I’d planned happened.

This weekend is shaping up the same way. The storm here doesn’t appear to be as bad as last weekend’s was, but it’s still cold, the roads are a mess, and since I really don’t have to go out, I won’t. Instead, I’ll try to find something constructive to do, like start on my taxes. Maybe my expected refund could be the start of a “new bike fund.”

Acclimations

January has been a month of adapting to changes. Of course, there’s the ongoing recovery of my foot, as I strive to regain some of the fitness I used to have. And I’m making some progress – today I wore cycling shoes on both feet, clipped in and out on my trainer, and pedaled while briefly standing. I’ve returned to the Master’s swimming class at UR, and I’m wearing dressier shoes than sneakers to work.

Other changes have been bittersweet. With the swearing in of the new Governor and Attorney General last week, I said farewell to several co-workers who have taken new jobs and greeted a new boss and his staff. So far the transition has gone smoothly, but I do miss the tasty treats the mother of a former co-worker sent to the office on Monday mornings. Mrs. G. made delectable cinnamon coffeecake, brownies laced with extra chocolate, and the best-ever pumpkin bread.

One change was totally unexpected, however. Two weeks ago I came home to find my oldest cat, a purebred Himalayan who was nearly 15, dead under my bed. O. was sweet-natured and quite loveable, and I’d had her for nine years. I adopted her from a friend of a friend of my sister’s when her original owner married a man allergic to cats. Even though I miss O. snuggling next to me on the sofa, I have to admit there’s less cat hair on the furniture now that this is only a two-cat household.

A Long, Slow Way Back

Last Thursday my orthopedist pronounced my foot/ankle sufficiently healed to resume my regular fitness routine. It’s a good thing, too, because jeans that fit fine three months ago are now too snug to wear in public. I rode my own bike at cycling for the first time on Saturday morning. I couldn’t get a cycling shoe on my left foot because I was still wearing a brace, but it was the best ride I’ve had in weeks. Then I decided to try a short “walk/run” at the UR fitness center indoor track. Ten times around is a mile – I did five laps, two at a sort of running pace, in 8:40. A big WOW! That’s about my speed for the first 5K I ever did, with little training about ten years ago. Of course, it’s been nearly three months since I did any running, or even brisk walking, but it’s discouraging to be so very slow, again. I suppose I should be satisfied I could do the laps at all, but I’ve never been a very patient person when it comes to my own performance.

Housebound

My foot has finally recovered enough that getting from the locker room to the pool, and back again, no longer seems like an impossible feat, so I’d decided to try swimming this weekend. But, alas, 11 or so inches of snow has foiled my plan. The main roads may be clear today, but my driveway is not, and there’s still the pool parking lot to navigate. About the last thing I need to do is fall and break something else! So, my return to swimming has been postponed. I’m about a half mile short of my revised, as of mid-November, “distance swum” goal for 2009. Of course, under normal circumstances, those few yards would be accomplished easily; but the longer I’m away from the pool, the more daunting they become. And the weather just makes it easier to be like a bear and hibernate.

New Shoes

The big boot in which my left foot and lower leg have been encased for the past three weeks has been replaced with a smaller ankle brace that is designed to be worn with regular shoes. It’s certainly less cumbersome than the three-pound boot, but I had no shoes, except an old pair of bedroom slippers, that I could comfortably fit my foot into with the brace on. Since I doubted I could wear the slippers every day for the next six weeks, I had to go shoe shopping. I figured a slightly larger size in a wide width would work. When I entered the store, I expected to find an array of wide size shoes in their own special corner -- after all, women’s clothes are organized that way, but I soon discovered that while wide sizes were marked with a green “W” on the box, they were mixed in with all the other sizes, according to style. I also learned there were not many wide shoes in small sizes. If only I wore a 9, or a 12, instead of a 6. And since I was at a discount store, there were no helpful clerks to facilitate my search, but eventually I found some pseudo “running” shoes to try on. Of course, the companion shoe for my right foot was much too big, so I decided I should buy a second pair in my regular size so my feet would match. I didn’t really care what my feet looked like, but I was concerned walking would be more difficult with different type shoes on each foot, and they were on sale. Then I had to search for that pair. There weren’t any in my actual size, however, so I compromised with a half-size larger that’s a little long in the toe, but seems to fit okay otherwise.

The best thing about having shoes on both feet again is that riding a stationary bike is much easier. I cycled twice last week wearing my boot, managing an average speed of about 6 mph – 4 mph with both feet, 8 mph right foot only. Today, my pedal strokes were much smoother and I averaged 10-12 mph with both feet. That I soon might be riding my own bike on a trainer seems much more possible.