Otterly exhilarating

What a high!  Last night's swim session with my triathlon club resulted in some serious progress, which was (and still is) incredibly exhilarating!  The simple instruction from one of the coaches to alter my arm position for greater reach and paddle-like movement has revolutionised my technique.  I was reaching speeds I never thought possible, snapping on the toes of lane members as I caught them up - I even lapped someone!  I can now imagine what it must be like to be a dolphin, gliding through the water, sleekly, elegantly... in my case my husband has decided I'm more of an otter.  This morning I had to Google an otter to recall its features - brown, whiskery, with short furry limbs.  Hmm.

I have not, however, let such unsatisfactory mammal comparisons dampen my day-dreams of being spotted by talent coaches, to be drafted in as a late entry for the 2012 Olympic swim team.  This is but a matter of time.  But until then, I cannot wait to get back in the pool and try out my new found skills again, to make sure it wasn't just a bit of luck.  Little moments like this are part of the reason that sport is so addictive and triathlon so satisfying - you have three disciplines to improve in, giving you much better odds.  Now I just need to make a similar breakthrough in my cycling, if only to stop being lapped by smug men on mountain bikes.

(And sorry about the title pun - I'm still chuckling to myself about it.)

Faking it

I must admit to feeling rather flattered, and just a tinsy bit smug, after this weekend's exploits.  It's been a while since I've written - life (read: work) has been getting in the way of training in a most unsatisfactory way way over the last few weeks - and I was starting to feel a little bit like a triathlete fraud.  Managing only 6 hours of training a week recently, with races of increasing distances looming, the panic of hundreds of spectators finding me out for the beginner that I am has been rising.  And where exactly have my toned triceps gone?  They were most definitely here a fortnight ago.  Last week, mostly to get out of DIY chores and a paint-fume filled flat, I pounded the pavements, did my obligatory evil press ups (even managed some sit ups) and wriggled into my wetsuit not once, nor twice but thrice!

At 6am (yes dawn had only just broken) last Saturday, I was descending the ladder into a cold but peaceful lake at Liquid Leisure and feeling pretty darn pleased with myself.  Most people, my husband included, were still asleep!  With a spring in my step I added two running laps of the lake to my swim and felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment as I staggered back to my car.  I love this sport - it's exhilarating, healthy, friendly and there's something about wearing a wetsuit that makes you feel like a pro (even if most people warm up on the distance you strive to complete!).

To further boost my mood, a lovely couple I met later on that day at a wedding referred to me as a triathlete!  Really?  Me?  It would appear the process of faking it is now complete, and I actually might be a bona-fide, pinch-me-and-its-still-true triathlete, who gets a kick of out fitting in two sessions a day, or starting the morning at 5.30am to clock up some additional wetsuit miles.  I am tempering my bouncing enthusiasm with the knowledge that my upcoming Olympic distance (less than 6 weeks away) is probably going to break me, not to mention next year's ridiculousness, but I feel a renewed vigour for meeting that pain train head on and seeing who comes out on top. 

This Saturday will offer the latest race opportunity for me to test out my new theory, although I'm not buying into the American nonsense of 'everyone's a winner'... maybe everyone can be a winner except for the poor soul who comes last.  No one, least of all me, wants to come last thank you very much.