My best finish in a tri was 2nd, because it was for kids 14 and under (something like this, if I recall). I was 14. I was also playing on 7 different teams year round and, this being before I developed a clue about who I actually was inside, was a super competitive quiet fireball. You did. not. talk. to. me. on game day. An offense punishable by death*. Duh. It was all about focus. Lead by example. I’d add ‘visualize everything’ and ‘waste no movement’ but the latter I did a lot of, and none of the former. Thinking back, I have no idea how I was regarded as so good at this stuff. I wore the C on many jerseys, but it was not for my pre-game speeches. I only learned to talk and relate to other people properly in my early 20s. Not that long ago, I know. I’m a little slow with people stuff.
First event in a triathlon, if you are unfamiliar with the format, is a swim. Since we were kids, and nowhere near a body of water you could swim in at the time without growing extra arms, we were given a start time and a lane at the pool.
First lap: I’m killing it.
Second lap: Still a good lead.
Third lap: Blew a tire.
Fourth lap: Remaining tires commit suicide.
I was so far in last place at the end of our group’s swim that they were getting ready to kick me out of the pool to let the next group could start. I was absolutely burning with embarrassment about the whole thing. I couldn’t maintain a proper front crawl and ended up having to resort to a backstroke. Serious competitors try to use their arms more than their legs in the water since the legs do all the heavy lifting in the bike and run. Well, I had to get out of the water some time that day, so I was kicking up a storm. I was furious as I barely crawled out of the pool thanks to my useless and now very dead arms. I sprinted to the bike transition area and flew out onto the road. Even at that age group, some of these kids had wicked light road bikes. I had my trusty mountain bike — my beloved heavy green tank. It later died an honourable death at the bottom of the cliff, as my bikes are wont to do — and showed them what-for. Fine, the bike weighed more than I did. I didn’t know how to use gears. But damn if they were going to stop me after how stupid I felt in the water.
You’d think I would have taken my little trophy and immediately marched back to the pool to sign up for lessons. Nay. That would have been smart. I did train my arms up a bit after that. Switching to guys hockey full time and learning how to hit the hard way also played a part. Hey, I wanted the best hockey possible but I also wanted to survive it! Instead I only remembered how stupid I felt as a wee little one. Swimming lessons were done by colour and my grandma would take me to Eringate Pool on weekends for the weekly torture. Outdoors and freezing, no matter the surrounding temperature. I assure you, no swimming instructor was excited to see me either. Yellow was the first level. I passed by virtue of it being impossible to fail. Were you in the water? Here’s your badge. Orange follows Yellow; now you have to stick your head underwater and open your eyes. HahaNO. They eventually let me do it plugging my nose. I’m not even sure I opened my eyes, but the mean lady let me go through like that… the second time I was in her class because I failed the first one. Time for Red. Full laps of the pool with a semi-crawl technique. No nose plugging.
I wish I knew how I talked my parents out of having me repeat Red a third time. Money might have been an invisible (to me) deciding force, rather than my mad negotiating skills. Either way, it was the last time I went through any formal water instruction… until I was in grade twelve on my first real vacation in the Dominican Republic and I took scuba diving lessons in an attempt to be less wary of water. It was a great idea right up until it was a horrible one. Last day, last dive, my mask implodes and crushes my face. I didn’t have to do an emergency ascent because I didn’t panic, could actually open my eyes underwater since I absolutely had to, and didn’t take in too much water through my nose. Amazingly.
That was really the end of my water training. It was super fun to go through the first months of OAC with all the burst blood vessels around my eyes and a badly bruised nose, let me tell you.
Honestly, I’m not sure what steps to take from here. It’s easy enough to go to a pool and swim, but then I’ll just be enforcing old mistakes. It’s tricky to look for instruction since most of it is for kids or adults who’ve never seen water before in their lives. I’ve found some private instructors, but they all work between noon and four-thirty. Uh, that’s going to be tricky with a day job. If there are private non-city instructors that are willing to work around 9-5, I think that’s the way to go!
Note: I got better. Now I’m much too far the other way and I’m working to find that balance between ‘THOSE IN MY WAY SHALL PERISH’ and ‘phoning it in while making sure that everyone else has an awesome time’. Don’t get me wrong, I love making sure that other people are happy, regardless of score, but I need a teeny tiny competitive voice back so I can get that discipline I was talking about on Monday back on my side.
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