Tag: racing

But I’m In Shape!

Sport-specific fitness means
Your lap-pool yards are not worth beans
When transferred to a running shoe,
Whose miles are worth exactly boo
While pedaling a 10-speed bike.
Complain and argue all you like
But if you don’t rehearse your race
The course will put you in your place.

Stopping Near A Pier On A Muggy Morning

My racing friends might think it queer
That after training hard all year
I don’t intend to race today.
They’d argue, “But, that’s why you’re here!”

It isn’t, though, is what I’d say.
I’m here because this darkling bay;
The sun behind those mountains there;
The air, this thick, hot tropic day;

Because the volunteers who care
For everyone from everywhere;
This flock of lean, athletic sheep;
Our sweat, the language that we share.

The lava’s hot, the sea is deep,
But we’ve all promises to keep,
And miles to go before we sleep,
And miles to go before we sleep.

Cutting The Anchor

Yesterday I learned that we
Would swim a timed 500 free
In practice Monday (that’s today)
Inspired by the Fifth of May.
The “postal” masters swimming race
Looked easy on its goggled face:
Just twenty lengths of our short pool
In 6 to 7 minutes. Cool.
But, lurking somewhere deep inside
My lizard brain, the skink of pride
Unwarranted began to wake
And led to dread I failed to shake.
500 isn’t all that far–we
Smash that warming up! Bizarrely,
Though, I know my gut will tighten
As the swim begins. To frighten
One who’s raced four decades now
(And then some) should be hard; somehow,
To my chagrin, I find it’s not.
I trip myself this way a lot.
“It’s masters,” colleagues say. “Relax!”
I’m levying a mental tax
Upon myself that I don’t owe
To anyone, yet even so,
I find it hard to just submerge
Anxiety and swim. The urge
To sabotage my effort swells
Inside me like the sound of bells
That echo in cathedral vaults
And amplifies my many faults.
The seven right-arm pulls (or eight)
I take each 25 inflate,
When trying to swim fast, to ten;
Post-race, they drop back down again
To seven-ish, although my pace
Is just as fast as when I race.
I hold myself in check (I think),
Try not to take too deep a drink
Of precious energy too soon,
And yet, before the end, I swoon.
Or, worse: The end comes up so quick
I find I’ve saved too much! The trick,
I know, is not to overthink
And simply swim. It’s just a blink
In any normal workout. Let it
Hurt, then let it go. Forget it.
Didn’t work this morning, so
I’ll try again: I’m letting go.

Rest Day

No endless climbs, no mad descents
From dizzy heights, no angry sprints,
No breakaways, no off-the-backs,
No broken bones or ribcage cracks,
No calculating effort’s cost
Or stressing over seconds lost,
No jersey chases…just relaxing.
Watching Tour de France is taxing!