Bang the Drum Slowly (Uh-gain!)

I have been trying (largely failing, but trying) lately to re-establish some sort of disciplined regime, or training program of some sort into my every day work week.

Even the motivation to get out of bed in the morning would be nice.

It doesn’t have to be a lot at this point, of course, but I have started feeling like I should be doing something.  However, it feels sometimes that my body has ways of conspiring against me and forcing me to remain sedentary.

For example, once I started to get back into the regular habit of swimming twice a week in the mornings, for God knows what reason, my body also decided that I needed to develop an acute case of wax build up in both my ears, ultimately blocking them up entirely.

Yippie.

Now, I’ve had my ears plugged up before but it had become so that I could hear about as well my grandmother on a windy day.

Not good!

Lest we forget my traumatic perforated ear drum just three years ago (click HERE).

And, apparently, I still have a bit of PTSD regarding that incident because rather than risking another visit to the Urgent Care I decided to do nothing but simply cross my fingers that the situation would simply correct itself.

Of course, it didn’t and I’m a colossal idiot.

After a few weeks of near deafness and a voice now well hoarse from asking people to repeat themselves, I finally managed to make an appointment with my family doctor in St. Catharines.  I should clarify here by pointing out that my family doctor also runs a medical clinic, meaning that I will typically get handed over to whatever medical student happens to be on duty that day.

Unlike the buffoon at the Urgent Care, things went a smoother albeit unsuccessful.

Try as he might, using a metal Medieval-looking syringe contraption, the good doctor simply couldn’t dislodge the waxy obstruction from either of my ears.  By the time we were finished, he was huffing and puffing as if he’d just run a personal best half marathon and I was absolutely drenched from head to toe from being sloshed over with waxy ear water and sweat and, still … nothing.

Not a damn thing.

FML x 2.

As it turns out (and as history has hinted at), I have been blessed with both extremely small ear canals* as well as a propensity to generate some sort of “Super Wax” that isn’t so easily cleared from my ear canals.

‘GO ME!’ with the God-given talents, eh?

For a month or so, I subjected myself to having my ear canals flooded over and over again with special over-the-counter caustic solutions and olive oil 2-3 times a day in an attempt to break down my super wax before having them thoroughly rinsed out with syringful’s of warm water.

It was awful.

Seriously, with all the cotton balls I stuffed in my ears over the weeks, I was about one pair of white socks and sandals away from my seniors discount on the Denny’s “Breakfast Special”.

Never mind the horror this was likely inflicting on my wife for having to be the actual “applier” of said solutions and oils into my ears each night.

It was pretty nasty.

Needless to say, it got very frustrating when after multiple unsuccessful visits to the doctor I started to get rather miserable.

Then, in a moment of apparent clarity, my Kelly suggested that I visit the Hear Right Canada Ridgeway clinic that opened up shop only a few months ago down the road.

My first response: “You waited a fucking month to suggest this?”

My second response: “Desperate times call for desperate measures.  Let’s do this.”

Among the services provided by founders Jenny Fanning and Anne Boake, include: ear wax removal, hearing tests, custom noise plugs and swimming ear plugs, as well as adjustments, service and cleaning for hearing aids.

Essentially, the girls cater to old stubborn farts such as myself.

Upon arriving at the clinic, I was greeted at the front desk by Anne, a very jovial and affable woman who instantly puts you at ease because, well, after my last experience of squirting blood on the Urgent Care walls after having my ear drum perforated, let’s just say that I was in need of some “easing” shall we?

Needless to say, I was more than a tad nervous to be there and her demeanor was much appreciated as it was necessary.

Shortly afterwards, I was escorted into an examining room and introduced to Jenny, an equally nice lady with whom I also felt perfectly at ease.  Well, at much at ease as you can be with someone with whom you are about to trust not to send you skyrocketing through the roof in pain that is, but I digress.  I went through the whole sordid tale and past history with her.  I’m pretty sure that if had had a lute to play, I might even have tried to set it all to song for true dramatic effect but, again, I digress.

Finally, Jenny rolled up her sleeves, and armed with a plastic spray bottle with a weird heart shaped garlic clove sized thingee for a nozzle and a plastic rinse cup, proceeded to get to work and flooded my poor, clogged up ear canals.

Now, I would like to tell you here that I weathered this like a champ but, of course, that didn’t happen.

Not exactly.

Instead, especially, when Jenny began to really dig into my ear with some kind of lighted probe thing, I clung steadfastly to the office chair and whimpered like a frightened koala.  Truthfully, whatever that thing was she was using to scoop the indestructible goop out of my ears, in my peripheral vision – it resembled some sort of strange alien device and it did nothing to alleviate my mounting anxiety.

In fact, when Jenny called for Anne to “put on a pair of gloves and come to assist”, I thought it was going to be to hold my hand because I was being such a little Sally girl.  Instead, it was to tug at and pry open my ear even wider as Jenny really begun to dig into the obstruction.

It’s not painful exactly, but it definitely isn’t comfortable.

In my mind, it was as if they were trying to forcibly uncork a stubborn wine bottle that happened to be my head and it totally sucked balls.

All I could think of was that scene from the Wrath of Khan:

–

In reality, however, they were gentle as could be and eventually, together, they were able to dislodge the offending blockage from my left ear.

HALLELUJAH!

What she fished out and wiped off on the counter in front of me looked like some sort of nasty, waxy cocoon about the size of an affixed pencil eraser.  Sadly, the right ear – the worst of the two I might add – was proving to be much more stubborn so it was decided to call it quits for the day and just take the partial victory for what was and another appointment was made for the following week.

And, so, for another week, I dropped gunk in my ears at bedtime.

This time, however, on Jenny’s advice, I dropped hydrogen peroxide into my ears which, apparently, was to serve to soften, break down, and dissolve my super wax preceding another vigorous round with the spray bottle and probe.  Honestly, it was rather pleasant to fall asleep to the snap, crackle and pop of the hydrogen peroxide working on the accumulated cerumen in my inner ear.

It was like having a bowl of Rice Crispies poured into your ear each night and, strangely, I liked it.

Regardless, it was not with a great amount of stress that I re-entered the clinic a week later ready to do battle.  Thankfully, the office was empty because (similar to the first visit) inevitably, there was going to be lots of swearing and maybe more than a few tears.

Promptly the girls got to work in dealing with my stubborn blocked right ear.  For the next 10-15 minutes, Jenny meticulously rinsed and flushed my right ear canal with the genuine fervour of an overly obsessive-compulsive raccoon and dug at the deeply embedded blockage like a true 49er and Anne responded to each stage of the proceedings, be it positive or negative in result, with the right commentary; always delivered in the appropriate tone.

It was like having both my own play-by-play commentator and cheer leader all rolled up into one.

For my part, I mostly bitched and whined.

Jenny’s monumental labour was on par with mighty Hercules having to clean out the Augean Stables I assure you.

Fortunately, after much effort and a few near close calls, the super wax was finally extracted from my ear and sound flooded back into the right side of my head once again.  I maintain that the first thing I heard was the sound of angels singing.

(I swear!)

I almost broke out into a full on Footloose calibre dance party right there in the empty office.

So, what have I learned through this whole spectacle; what’s my ultimate take away here?

Well, aside from the obvious fact that I need to clean out my ears more, I am proactively assuming a “self-care” preventive plan for my tiny ear canals involving my dropping mineral oil into my ears 2-3 a week to hopefully assist in turning my hard, dry super wax into a more soft, pliable, liquid substance which (fingers crossed) will allow the wax to drain from the ear on its own.

How friggin’ awesome will that be?

Okay, it’s a bit gross too but, once more, I digress.

I guess then that if long distance swimming is going to be the name of my game, so to speak, then like poor Prometheus who was similarly forced to endure having his liver ripped out and eaten daily by an eagle, so too will I just endure my regular ear drops.

(Not to mention my wife, for whom, this will become a new part time job**.)

Likewise, it would appear now as if Jenny and Anne at Hear Right Canada Ridgeway will be having a new, regular client every three months or so for regular ear cleanings because Lord knows I am NOT going through this again.

Onward and forward …

*Thankfully, there is no urban myth associated with guys with “small ear canals”.

**Love you, dear!

My Favorite Workout

I suspect that every triathlete has a favourite arrow in their quiver, a preferred “secret weapon” if you will, when it comes to their off-season training regimen.  Maybe it’s a specific fartlek workout you do once a week to enhance your overall run game, one day being dedicated to hill repeats, maybe a unique set of intervals to do on your trainer every Sunday morning, or maybe you just sign up for yoga classes.  Perhaps it’s a new piece of equipment to spice up ordinary daily workouts.  What it is, these “secret weapons” in our training programs that makes our training programs “unique” and therefore – well, we believe anyway – better…for whatever reason.

These are the workouts we brag about.

Mine just happens to fall on a Saturday.  After my morning breakfast, coffee, poop routine (I call it the “morning triumvirate”), I head off down the Friendship Trail on my bike to the Port Colborne YMCA to complete a long swim, and then I cycle home again afterwards.  Essentially for those of you who like numbers, I cycle 17.6 kilometers to the pool (20.3k if I am feeling energetic and take certain scenic back roads), swim another 3000m-5000m, and then cycle home another 17.6 kilometers.  All winter.

It’s not just any of those specific workouts I do on Saturday which I refer to as my “secret weapon” per se, it’s the entire day.

And it includes soup and beer so, yeah, recognize.

Let me try to explain why I love this day so much.

For starters, I’m guaranteed at least once a week to ride my bike outside instead of on a trainer.  Fuck, Zwift.  Sure, maybe it’s only just up and down the Friendship Trail on the weekends but you know what, that’s nearly two hours of being outside, breathing fresh air and enjoying a peaceful, leisurely spin instead of virtually competing with Lance Armstrong and three dozen other MAMIL’s on a simulated race program in front of your computer monitor.

No, fucking thanks.

Now, don’t get me wrong, these “easy” rides to and from the pool are not necessarily “fun” or “easy”, as often I’m forced to cycle through everything from cold mist and rain (as it was today), to gale force Arctic-like winds and driving, blinding snow.  But regardless of whatever it is that the weather happens to be come Saturday, rest assured I will ride those 17.6 kilometers both ways (and swim)…without fail.

So what is so special about this particular day?  Why is this my special go so “secret weapon”, per se.

1. Mental hardness

There is nothing so daunting at waking up to see cold rain falling from the sky on a chilly November Saturday and thinking to yourself, “shit, I have to cycle and swim today”.  Instantly your brain begins to craft out clever schemes and elaborate ruses in order to trick you into believing that it’s actually smarter to skip the ride/swim altogether and instead stay home in your jammies nursing a hot cup of Cocoa and a plate of hot pockets.  Wouldn’t that be nice?  But no, you tune out that little bitch voice in your head, cinch up the ól applesack and after the usual morning triumvirate, grab your swim gear, gear up, and get your ass outside to the bike and you start to ride, sissypants.

Fuck, Zwift.

Being indoors is too easy.

I believe it’s that kind of mental discipline to get outdoors regardless of the weather that by proxy, also helps develop a certain mental hardness to endure when the going starts to get tough.  I pride myself on being a tough rider, someone the others can count on to immediately go to the front and work just as soon as the going starts to get difficult or challenging.   On certain days, I will emerge from the pool and have to then cycle home (17.6k) in fresh, foot deep snow which has since accumulated while I have been swimming.  Oh, and it’s probably also going to be in near white out conditions so, yeah, believe me, there’s a masters course being taught on ‘Mental Hardness 101’ right there at that moment.

2. Practice race day nutrition

One of the other perks of this day’s worth of workouts is that because, I’m essentially laying down three workouts on top of one another (the ride out, the swim, and then the ride back again) I need to make sure I stay adequately hydrated and fueled enough that I don’t end up bonking in the middle of fucking nowhere and becoming a frozen late night snack for the coyotes.  Not good.

This starts first thing on Saturday morning come breakfast, and I bring a both a pre- and post- swim snack to keep my energy levels up.  For example, on my rides this afternoon I spent exactly 1200 calories (I can expect to add another 300-400 calories to that once the temperatures drop below zero, the snow starts to seriously fly and I have to switch to my mountain bike), and my swims can burn anywhere from another 500 to 1000 calories on top of that depending on what I’m doing that day (ie. longer distance, or intervals).

That a lot of energy being spent that needs to be replaced.

These types of training days then help me to really begin dialing in on the perfect formula that keeps  me performing optimally and that’s a key thing to know about yourself come race day, believe me.  Good thing then that I’ve been practicing it, tweaking it, and perfecting it for the past five months of weekend riding and swimming.

3.  It’s just better outside

Seriously, fresh air, birds…leaves…squirrels…chipmunks…what have you, that’s still shit tons better than looking at other virtual riders asses in high def, isn’t it?

4.  Strength

I may not be the most “gnarly” of mountain biking dudes, but I do know that my legs are sure as shit more tired after I’ve been riding a mountain bike; more so if I’ve been cycling through snow.  That basically equates to two hours’ worth of cycle-specific strength conditioning, brah.  I essentially use this workout as my sole “long ride” workout in my off-season training program, something I would have typically done on a trainer at the gym or in my basement until my brains were dribbling out my nose from extreme boredom.

5.  Beer and soup

As per custom, my ride home stops at Brimstone Brewing for a bowl of hot soup and a pint or two of fine local craft beer.   Yes, some of you might think of this as being foolishly in instantly replacing all the calories I just finished burning off but, to this I say:  “Bite me”.  Live a little.  Personally, I subscribe to the popular belief among cyclists and long distance endurance athletes (the Germans primarily) that a little beer is good for you after a long or difficult workout.

In fact, it actually aids the entire recovery process (click HERE or HERE).

I know, right?

But not to be outdone, let me also say that that bowl of hot, steaming homemade soup courtesy of CRAVE LOCAL FRESH is the thing that I start fantasizing about each and every time I start to peddle on a brisk Saturday morning or afternoon…particularly on the way home.  Even more so if it’s been snowing.  And if good beer and good soup doesn’t motivate you, then I don’t know what does.

After all, every success needs a little reward.

Frank & Friends 10k Swim for Strong Kids (2017)

It has become one of my habits now to set a few goals through the off-season to work towards and which, ultimately, serve as benchmarks leading up to the accomplishment of the master plan being Ironman.  One of these regular goals is the completion of the Frank & Friends 10k Swim for Strong Kids at my local YMCA.

This has been my fifth year participating in and completing this charity swim and it has become the hallmark of my off-season training program; not to mention my motivation for getting my ass out of a warm bed at 5:00am on cold winter mornings.

Here are the particulars of my 2017 swim plan to date:

• 182,025m covered in total (2,500m more than last year)
• That’s an average of 14,205m per week for an average of 4 hours and 33 minutes (per week)
• Which equates to 61 hours and 34 minutes spent in the pool
• Over 47 different workouts

That’s not too shabby if I do say so myself.

I was particularly motivated this year as I was sharing the task with a friend and past training partner Steve, whom I met back in the early days of my triathlon quest.  I don’t necessarily remember how this partnership came about but I know there was definitely a beer in hand at a Christmas party where he actually committed to do the swim with me.  How many were consumed by that point is anyone’s guess but, true to his word, Steve took up the gauntlet and launched into his own preparation for this year’s event (click HERE for a little deeper insight into Steve’s rather “unique” training plan).

Besides getting to share this experience with someone it also meant that I wouldn’t have to deal with the hardest part of long distance swimming as far as I’m concerned:

B-O-R-E-D-O-M.

Seriously, when you’re spending the better part of three hours staring at the little hairs floating on the bottom of the pool, your brain tends to liquefy and slowly drain out your ears.

Let’s just say that it becomes very tedious indeed simply watching the black line endlessly pass underneath you and there’s a reason why I use this event to build up my overall “mental toughness”.

Believe me.

Usually, the last hour or so is just me – alone – simply trying not to go crazy.  So having someone to keep me company and share in the tediousness and general pacing was a huge benefit and I couldn’t really have been luckier in who offered to join me.

In past years, my 10k swims have clocked overall times of 3:22:50 (2016), 3:11:05 (2015) and 3:11:57 (2014), and 3:16:31 (2013) respectively.

Clearly, last year was a real struggle.

This year: 3:00:40.

That’s a difference of 11 minutes and 25 seconds over my best time.

Boo-yah!

Different from past years where I went it alone, Steve and I stopped every 500m  for a sip of water and a quick glance at one another before pushing off the wall again.  All in all, each break was only 4-5 seconds each.  Over the course of three hours, we only spend 4 minutes and 59 seconds resting and refueling.  Again, this represents a huge improvement over the 10 minutes or so between longer intervals in previous years so this plan seemed to work out much better.

Likewise, since we were splitting the pacing duties out front every 1,000m we managed a better average pace of 1:49min/100m and, really, it was only in the last 2,000-3,000m or so that our pace began to fade.

Some other interesting statistics for those of you who care:

• I covered the distance in exactly 4,302 strokes
• For an average of 23 strokes/minute
• Burning exactly 2,400 calories in doing so

So what now?

Well, from here I begin pulling back on the distance and begin focusing more on speed and tempo work at the 4,000m  distance given my next swim goal is directly aimed at being among the first few out of the water at Hudson Valley (click HERE).  I will also be doing the Lake Okanagan Swim with HRH on July 15th (2,000m) – but that’s more of a fun bonding thing than it is any significant challenge.

Steve, however, is going to continue with the distance with – hopefully – designs on competing in a few open water events around Ontario meaning, of course, that we can both continue to motivate and train together in the open water come next month.

Well, that and getting rid of the pull buoy.

(Sorry Steve, couldn’t resist)

Anyway, seeing as how the Frank & Friends swim has now been reassigned to November we might even be doing this same swim again sooner than anticipated so there’s always that motivation to keep going as well.

The Harpy

The ancient Greeks and Romans believed in mythical creatures called Harpy’s.  Harpy’s were thought of as a female monster in the form of a bird with a human face.  Their purpose was generally to wreak havoc on their victims by stealing food and otherwise antagonizing and tormenting them throughout the day.

Their name literally means “snatchers”.

Most famously, Harpies are remembered in the Greek legend of Jason and the Argonauts, where they were sent by the god Zeus to torment the blind seer Phineus.  Here they were portrayed as winged demons; voracious, malodorous, and snatching away souls to carry off to Hades (click HERE).

Of course, we don’t believe in Harpy’s any more, unless you consider politicians as those who were put upon the earth for the sole purpose making our lives a living hell, but I digress.

Myself?

I absolutely believe in Harpy’s.

In my view, Harpy’s still have the same purpose and effect as the ancient mythological ones in that their main mission in life is to antagonize, torment and other otherwise annoy the living shit out of me.  I further believe we all have one and in my case, my own Harpy visits me every morning in the pool.

Yes, I know, I complain a lot about the different types of schmucks you encounter in the pool (click HERE  for a few reminders).

It’s true.

But in this case, it’s not some random moolyak who I happen to cross paths with.

No.

In this case it’s every…freaking…day!

Now for the sake of anonymity, I will refrain from using this particular person’s name (*cough*cough*BILL*cough*cough*) and simply refer to him them as “the Harpy”.

The Harpy has been a long standing regular at all the local pools over the years and the Port Colbourne Aquatic Center is simply his latest hunting ground, however, to call him a “swimmer” would be a bit of a stretch.

I’m sure outside of the pool the Harpy is a nice enough guy.  I mean, sure he has that rather odd look about him that simply screams any number of lonely and angry lighthouse keepers from Scooby Doo, but don’t all old dudes?

Be that as it may, when the Harpy enters the pool 40-50 minutes into my swim, all those misgivings I have about him being a harmless guy go right out the window and I begin to see red.

I literally begin to go all Bruce Banner as soon as he steps on the pool deck.

You see, the Harpy’s main mission is to get in my fucking way as often as possible.  For the last half of my swim (an hour or so), it’s all I can do but stay out of his way.  No easy feat I assure you!  And it’s not like there’s a lot of people in the pool at that time either.  In fact, there may be one, maybe two  other people there at that time meaning that between the 3 or 4 of us we more or less have the entire pool to ourselves.  So how then the Harpy manages to get in my way as often as he does is a mystery right up on par with the Pyramids, Stonehenge and who kidnapped the Lindbergh baby.

For example, the Harpy likes to choose the lane right beside my own and then proceed to do this weird sideways swim right down the middle so that his feet are kicking squarely in the middle of my lane.  On several occasions I have been scratched by his gnarly, sabre-like toe nails.

But does this deter him?

Fuck no.

If I move over to another lane to avoid him, he will inevitably cross over to the lane beside me again and proceed as he was.

It’s maddening.

If I’m doing 50m  sprints, he will decide that this is a great time to go into the opposite end of my lane and begin to bob at the wall.  Never mind that he has the whole fucking pool in which to do this, but he has to choose to do it in my lane!  Sometimes I do flip turns so close to his head that my heels are practically grazing his ears and the sheer force is all but parting what few hairs he has on his head …but does he take the hint?

Of course not!

If I’m doing long continuous swim sets, he will decide to change lanes – in the middle of the pool – at the exact moment I’m passing by.

As it is, he changes lanes about a kajillion times and each and every time he somehow manages to get in my way or interrupt my workout.

In essence, in true Harpy fashion, he literally “snatches” away my focus and motivation.

There are times I have actually stopped my workout outright and glared at him expecting to see him snickering to himself, but then I look into his eyes and this is what I see:

–

The lights are certainly on but, clearly, nobody is home…if you catch my drift.

FML.

So what other option do I have but do my best to ignore him?

I mean, trying to explain my frustration to him would be like climbing a tree to catch a fish…

Pointless.

Fortunately, in most cases the regular morning lifeguard will step in and promptly restore order whenever she notices that he’s becoming erratic or beginning to get under my skin.  Either she’ll chase him out of my lane, or lure him somewhere else so that’s he not in my immediate path.

I love her.

But when she’s not there to act as a buffer (as has been the case all this week), it’s all I can do stop myself from having a nuclear-sized meltdown and bludgeon him to death with my kickboard.

The Shark

I first started swimming at the Port Colborne YMCA and Aquatic Center about 2-3 years ago.

Now, it’s never easy being the new guy on deck at a new pool.  Here the swimmers were typically older (seniors most of them) and had obviously been swimming together in the mornings for quite some time.  Before that (I have since learned), they swam at the now closed Centennial Pool in Port Colborne.  In other words, they were all very familiar with one another as well as each others swim pace and specific routines, and they already had a predetermined order to the way in which they organized themselves in regard to who swam with whom, and in what lane, so on and so forth.

And this young buck in Speedo’s with the Santa’s sack of fancy swim toys shows up and everything is completely FUBAR-ed.  It’s made only worse that he also happens to swim at double the pace of those currently using the Fast Lane.

Needless to say, we didn’t necessarily all get along well in the beginning.

However, over time they grew to know me, and I them, and I have more or less been accepted into the common collective of local swimmers in Port Colborne and we have reorganized ourselves accordingly in that we can all successfully get to the business of swimming without it feeling like Mortal Combat.

It took some time but we eventually did it.

During that initial “getting to know you” phase though it was, well, let’s just say that it was ‘awkward’ at the best of times.

One of the first swimmers to make an effort to get to know me was an English woman named Margaret.  One morning, out of the blue, she invited me into her lane which we then proceeded to split down the middle so that we wouldn’t be in each others way.  To me, this was kind of like Diane Fossey being accepted into her troop of mountain gorillas on some remote mountainside in Rwanda somewhere.  At last I was accepted as one of their own.

Well, with Margaret anyway.

The others?  Maybe not so much (at that point anyway).

We continued sharing a lane for some time after that and even started chit-chatting at the wall periodically between sets.

She was curious about the kind of workouts I was doing, the distances, and of course all the weird-looking pool toys (pool buoys, fins, paddles, etc.) I brought with me (click HERE for but a small sample).  She even became a little interested in how they worked so I invited her to try using some of them which she did before politely nodding her head that, “yes, that’s definitely different, isn’t it?”  in that adorable English accent before going back to doing whatever it was she was doing.  However, I did notice sometimes that while I was doing my sets she would occasionally reach into my bag of swim tricks on the wall and help herself to a pair of small paddles, or maybe my fins, do a few lengths, and then replace them again carefully.

I was only too happy to oblige.

Sometimes we would even race each other.  I would try to complete a 100m interval in the same time it took her to swim 50m.  It was a way of pushing ourselves through a little friendly competition.  She usually completed her interval seconds before I could finish mine, but I was getting closer.  And of course there was just the proper amount of egging one another on at the all as well.

“You just got beat by an old lady!”, was her favorite.

Funny that my swim partner would turn out to be an 70+ year old lady with penchant for trash talking.

Rather appropriately I think, I nicknamed her “The Shark”.

But then Margaret stopped showing up altogether.

Now it’s not terribly unusual for one of the old timers to go AWOL at some point.  Usually, one at a time it seems, they will inevitably head off south on vacation for a few weeks at a time, but they all eventually come back eventually looking like an old boot; such was the ebb and flow when swimming with seniors.  So I half expected Margaret to come waltzing back onto the pool deck as some point as well all tanned up.

But she never did.

In fact, months passed and no Margaret.

I figured that maybe she had moved onto something else, or moved away altogether.  It happens.  By this time though I more or less owned the Fast Lane and the other regulars stayed out of my way (except Bill, who I am sure has been sent here by the gods like some sort of a Classical pool harpy, to interrupt all my workouts by getting in my way as often as possible).

More months passed.

Then this morning, low and behold, there she was.

She looked a little confused and proceeded to plop herself into a completely different lane (not ours), but when she saw me she smiled broadly and announced “I remember you!”

Umm, hey…thanks?

She mentioned to me that she hadn’t swam in two years and, again, there was that confused look.  When I congratulated her for being back, she just shrugged her shoulders and started swimming…zig-zagging down the middle of the lane…without her goggles on.

Long story short, Margaret has developed Alzheimer’s and recently lost her driver’s license and therefore, her ability to get to and from the pool every day.  This morning, however, her husband must have brought her so that she could finally get back in the pool.

She didn’t immediately recognize everyone else but I am thrilled that she remembered me and our “workouts”.  She even started to ask how my swimming was going, what distances I had gotten myself up to and if I was still planning to race again this year.

In other words, it was as if we had just picked up where we left off…trash talk n’ all.

It was a real joy for me to see her swimming again and, clearly, she both loves and misses it judging by the HUGE smile on her face.  And while we might not have shared a lane this morning, I will definitely be sure to return the favor and invite her into my lane (whether she remembers me or not) with me if she continues to show up in future mornings, just as she originally did with me.

Welcome back, Margaret.

And for the record, in her absence I’ve only gotten faster.

As she said this morning:  “I see I have some work to do”.

You bet your sweet bippy you do, Shark.

Getting the Raw End of the Crocodile

So here’s a bit of a progress update on my Frank & Friends 10k Swim for Strong Kids training program.

My (our) annual charity swim has been planned for April 15th at the Port Colborne YMCA and Aquatic’s Complex and my training has been going well.  On the average I am swimming anywhere between 15,000 to 17,000 meters a week with my long consecutive swims on Saturday’s (after riding 20k out to the pool on my mountain bike no less) so far stretching to 5,000 to 6,000 meters without any breaks.

And it feels good.

Also, I have just recently just set a bench mark personal best at the 100m  distance by finally getting my time down under a 1:30.  Probably not a big deal for other swimmers but for me, this is HUGE progress.  My daily core workouts are inevitably helping to make all this possible and all things considered, right now I’m feeling very strong in the water…more so than where I have been in previous years at this point with my 10k program.

In other words, things are going great.

What is different this year, is that I have enlisted some help in a friend who will be joining me in this whole 10k swim madness, Stephen Apps.  Steve was one of the first people I met through the TryForce club years ago and was one of the big motivators and inspirations to train for and complete my first Half Ironman distance triathlon in Welland (click HERE), culminating with my competing in Cancun (click HERE) the following year and eventually the full Iron distance Wales (click HERE).  So, although he may be surprised to hear it, Steve has been a major influence on my life over the past 8 years or so.

Now, we usually just bond over beers with is significantly more fun.

Anyway, this year Steve has graciously offered to join me for the Frank & Friends swim and has jumped back into the pool and launched into his own training plan for the April 15th event date.  However, this week he has been taking a bit of a much-needed break from the program and relaxing somewhere in Costa Rica.

(lucky bastard)

I’m envious.

Of course, I figured the only training he’d be doing this week might be the one arm curls he performs every time he hoists a tequila shot to his lips, but then this video pops up in my Facebook feed suggesting that Steve isn’t actually relaxing at all:

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I just don’t know what to say.

Here I am up at stupid o’clock every morning suffering through endless intervals and grueling paddle workouts, and here is Steve doing obscene things to a floating crocodile in a tropical paradise.

Clearly, he has the better training program.

Good on ya, bud.

“Stop me if you think you’ve heard this one before…” (Part 9)

I’m sure it’s happened to every swimmer at least once before.  In fact, it’s happened to me on a number of occasions actually, just never on such a grandiose scale or under such inauspicious circumstances.

But, hey, at least it’ll make for a good story at my expense.

Today is our family Christmas seeing as how HRH  is home again after spending the Christmas weekend with her father.  So while Kelly was off making “the exchange” and dropping off to visit the grandparents I decided to slip in a nice, relaxed long swim seeing as how I didn’t have any real time constrictions today as I’m still on holiday leave from work.

Part of my planned workout this afternoon was a series of 200m interval sets in the pool which, after a lengthy warm-up of drills, I launched myself into.  I practically had the pool to myself.

Beautiful.

The first few intervals went by relatively easy and uneventful.  Everything was turning over great through the water and I felt smooth, sleek and powerful; just the way one likes to feel when doing their swim intervals.

I was reveling in this feeling when my mind started to wander a bit to other things (as happens).  What should I have as a snack when I get home?  I wonder what I’m going to get in my stocking later on?  Did I remember to wrap everything I meant to?  What on God’s green earth is that weirdo doing over there in the corner?

The usual.

Anyway, around the 4th or 5th 200m interval I began thinking to myself that my swim trunks were feeling kind of loose.  Which at first I was happy about.  I mean, after all this working out who wouldn’t to lose a little weight after the holidays, am I right?

But by the sixth interval I realized that I hadn’t really done much working out in the past three days other than drink and eat my fill of holiday indulgences and there was likely no way in hell I had actually lost any actual weight.  In my Speedo’s, my ass probably looks like two raccoons fighting in a sack of corn as it is.

So by the next interval I started to worry.

Something definitely wasn’t right in the state of Denmark.

It’s probably best at this point if I break down my thought process over the next 200m for you lap by lap.

The first 100m :

“Huh.  The water suddenly feels a little cooler.  I wonder what’s up with that?”

100m :

“Oh shit.  I wonder if I have a hole in my swim trunks.”

150m :

“Please Lord don’t let there be a hole in my swim trunks”.

I knew I needed to quickly assess the situation.  So on my next flip turn at the 175m  point I reached down between my legs for a little feel around and what I felt wasn’t good.

To put it bluntly:

Nothing but sack!

Oh.

Shit.

In truth, I didn’t feel any material at all.  Just a whole lotta bare ass and, well, you get the idea.  In other words, I had been mooning the entire pool each and every flip turn…seven of them to be exact.

Now I’d like to say that this last 25m sprint back to the wall was my fastest ever and I set a new PB but given the added “drag” I was now pulling through the water (ie. my dick) this wasn’t likely the case.  By the time I got back to the wall and really checked out the damage, I was dismayed to learn that the hole was freakin’ huge.  My swim trunks had pretty much burst at the seam at the back from the waistband all the way down and around my taint and even up into the front.

Really, I was now wearing a pair of nylon/elastane chaps.

FML.

But then I realized something else, even though I had made it back to the wall without anyone seemingly noticing my shameful display of buttocks, my embarrassment was only just beginning.  Now I had to get out of the pool and over to my towel way over on the far wall…

Way.  Over.  There.

FML x 2.

And by now the pool was full of screaming kids and parents, whereas when I had started the workout I more or less had the pool to myself.

This wasn’t good.

I carefully hopped up and sat on the pool deck with my legs still dangling in the water.  Okay, so far so good.   Nobody had noticed.  But I still had to get over to the towel on the far wall and if I stood up my cock and balls were surely going to drop out and expose themselves like a boxer’s punching bag.

Instead, I started to scooch backwards on my ass to the wall.  At this point, the female lifeguards (who aren’t exactly personable to say the least) started to notice my peculiar behavior and all three of them suddenly fixed their gaze solely on me inch-worming my way backwards across the pool deck on my ass.

Uh, ‘Hi‘?

I probably looked like one of those little dogs dragging it’s ass across the carpet.

Not exactly my finest moment to be sure.

I tried to give them my best “there is nothing to see here” look, but nothing doin’…they keep their gaze firmly locked on me.  I decided that, hey, maybe I could get a little help over here so I tried to casually motion for one of them to come over and, you know, possibly just hand me my towel.

But, nope.

They just ignored my pleading looks and continued to stare.

Thanks girls.

(Bitches)

Thanks for nothing.

I wasn’t about to call out across the pool deck and call more attention to myself so, fuck it, I stood up, turned around and casually walked back my towel with my bare ass clearly in full view of God and everyone.

I hope they enjoyed the show.

Lord only knows if I’ll even be allowed back in the pool again.

So if anybody should ever hint to you that I have any shame, I want you to kill them and do it slowly.

Very, very slowly…

My Life in Swim Paddles, or “My Weird Obsession with Paddles”

I think everyone has obsessions of some sort, whether it be simply collecting things (of which I have many different collections ranging from vinyl records to bread clips), or Cacodemonomania (the constant belief that you are possessed by a demon, if only so you can say, “Don’t blame me.  It’s Cthulu’s fault I’m running late”).

Whatever it is, it completely consumes you to a certain degree.

Triathletes are no exception.  We are the Batman of the sporting world with absolutely no limit to amount of technological gizmos that we will own and use to enhance our racing and training programs.  As such, we are easily obsessed with these different nuances of our sport; especially given the extreme amount of data, information and equipment that is readably available.  Some of us will obsess over our bikes and biking paraphernalia, insisting on having the most state-of-art aerodynamics and performance-enhancing devices, others will obsess over the amount of data they record during their different blocks of training as a means of evaluating their progress.

While I don’t necessarily have all the latest devices and gizmo’s and, truthfully, I am beginning to lean more towards the “less is better” methodology of training, I am certainly guilty of having a few obsessions and when it comes to swimming, it seems that for whatever reason, my obsession lies with owning swim paddles.

In fact, you could consider this post then as “my life in swim paddles” as certainly, this weird obsession with paddles is very representative of my own development over the past six or so years as a serious swimmer.

It’s true, my swim bag is cram-packed with stuff so that I likely look more like Santa lugging around his toy sack between lanes.

All I’m missing is the beard and a reindeer leading the way (which, now that I think about it, might be a novel idea on how to better pace myself through long intervals).

This obsession all started innocently enough about two years into my journey as a triathlete-slash-swimmer (click HERE for a taste of those early days).  Our swim coaches at the time Bill and Roberto used to talk about the importance of incorporating some “paddle work” into weekly swim workouts.  Of course, at the time I was just lucky to not drown so I never paid it a second thought.  Eventually when I became a little more proficient in the water, a fellow TryForce member (Hi Chantelle!) mentioned that she was going to the Team Aquatics store in Burlington, Ontario to pick up a pair of paddles and offered to grab me a pair as well.

“Yeah, why not?”, I figured and readably agreed.

These are what I was handed a few days later:

These little babies are aimed at allowing you to focus on your catch and your pull and vertical forearm.  Likewise, they are good for lengthening your stroke and overall keeping good focus throughout most phases of the stroke.  In other words, they are perfect for developing your “technique” and, yes, they can also be used for backstroke but, seriously, I didn’t do a lot of that anyway so who cares?

These worked great as I was in my development stage by that point.  But fast forward a year later and I’m swimming with The Coach and she suggests we do some paddle work.  So upon pulling out my teeny weeny paddles she begins to laugh uncontrollably.

Mocking definitely ensued.

It was kind of like that moment in Crocodile Dundee when a street hood decides to pull a knife on him:

–

It was some time before I lived that one down.

So, I decided to up the ante and invest on what I figured were the next level up paddle.

These beauties:

Tech or technique paddles are designed mainly for aiding water-feel.  They have a nice, comfortable clam-shape to them that were easy to put on and comfortable to wear.

They kind of looked like what this chick is riding on:

They are designed to aid catch, early vertical forearm (EVF), strength and pull; a bit of a Jack-of-all-trades as swim paddles go.  They are useful for building up shoulder strength primarily and I used these semi-religiously leading up to my 1^st and 2^nd Frank & Friends 10k Swim for Strong Kids.    I largely credit these for having the strong shoulders I developed over those two years.  I still use these from time to time but then I noticed that they weren’t quite as difficult to use as they once were and started becoming a little, well, bored with them.

But then one day Kyle Jones jumped in the lane beside me and he was using a pair of these:

These Finis Agility paddles are now my favorite paddle and I regularly use them regularly.  They have no strap and fit on each hand using a simple thumb hole.  In order to keep them on your hands during the stroke you must keep a good catch and pull through on every stroke.  Everyone who has tried these has felt the immediate technique feedback and, likely, these may just be the best paddles on the market. And if you want just one paddle, I’d recommend these.

But did my obsession stop there?

Oh, HELLS NO!

I still wanted to incorporate regular strength building into my weekly routine beyond what my old Tech paddles did so, recently, I made another trip back to Team Aquatics and purchased these bad boys:

Specifically, these Speedo Power Paddles are designed to create enough water resistance to build up your upper body strength.  They also help encourage you to keep your elbows high as you work through your stroke, for a faster, more powerful swim.

Plus, they look pretty bad ass.

There is absolutely nothing fancy-schmancy about them.  It’s basically a flat, plastic swim paddle that is fitted over your hand by mere pieces of rubber tubing fitted through small holes in the paddle itself. In other words, there are no bells and whistles to these things which is keeping to my more minimalistic “no frills” approach to training these days.

But am I done yet?

Not likely.

Not even close.

Now I’m eyeing these paddles for the very near future.

Specifically designed for freestyle training, the Freestyler Hand Paddles plane the hand forward through the water, improving reach and distance-per-stroke.  With a long fin shape and unique “skeg design”, the Freestyler Hand Paddles promote a strong pull through, better hip-rotation and increased efficiency. An adjustable finger strap offers a perfect fit and the narrow surface area helps prevent shoulder strain.

Maybe Santa will be good to me this year.

**fingers crossed**

Bang the Drum Slowly

I get that injuries and ouchies are a part of triathlon.  I get it.  Really I do.  I have an entire category dedicated to them in this blog alone (click HERE).  But worse than the stupid self-inflicted injuries that come of my either doing too much, or doing it too soon, or just my being a dumbass, whatever, are those injuries that I unfortunately incur at the hands of someone else; another dumbass, if you will.

Those injuries, well, they tend to really bug me.

I have recently fallen to one of these types of ouchies which is now threatening to set back my regular swim training.

–

It began about two weeks ago when after one of my pool workouts, my right ear became plugged with water.  This in and of itself, is nothing to freak out about and I have long become accustomed to it happening periodically.  I figure that when one tends to spend stupid amounts of time submerged in contained bodies of water it’s bound to happen eventually – and it does.  What typically happens then is that a day or two will go by before that little pocket of water in my ear shifts and drains out my ear canal in a teny tsunami of warm fluid which, truthfully, feels awesome.  I figure most swimmers will liken this to a total “eargasm”.  Once this happens, usually after we’ve been lying down on that blocked side for a spell, all is right with the world again.

Sometimes, however, that blockage is a bit more stubborn and simply refuses to give up its stored up bounty of fluid – this is what is referred to as “Swimmers Ear”, or acute otitis externa.  This is highly annoying and exactly the case I found myself in exactly one week after that original blockage.  The symptoms can stem from echoing, itching or clogged feeling in the ear – and lots of discomfort (often a signal of an inflammation of the skin within the ear canal that occurs when water gets trapped there).

I my case it was “all of the above”.

Of course, I could have been doing lots of stuff during that week to be proactive (click HERE) but, as I’ve stated before, I’m a dumbass, and often when the opportunity to be smart and act accordingly comes along, I tend to fold like a Renaissance triptych.  I figured it would just unblock itself eventually.

It didn’t, and so a week later, on a Thursday morning, bright and early, I got up at 6:00am, poured myself a coffee, grabbed my book and headed to the local Urgent Care to have tie issue, hopefully, sorted out.

After about two hours, I was met with by the attending physician in an examination room who proceeded to attempt to flush out the blockage with a syringe full of warm water; not an altogether pleasant experience, believe me.  What he was trying to do was wash out a build-up of excessive wax that had gathered in my ear naturally, as protection against moisture and infection.

In this case, though, my bodies wax manufacturing system was working on overdrive and had instead build it up to the point that it was not allowing what water that did manage to breach its defenses, back out again.  I guess when it comes to wax manufacturing, by body runs with the efficiency of a Japanese auto factory.

What came out of my right ear as a result of the doctor’s “syringing” looked like something you might place on top of a birthday cake and light except, well, much nastier.  Almost immediately afterwards, I was rewarded with that warm gush of fluid out my ear and – low and behold – I could hear normally again.

Winning.

But then it all went horribly wrong and downward spiraled into a total Yakov Smirnoff opening for the Spin Doctor’s at the Iowa State Fair-like shit show.

You see, we decided that, hey, we may as well do the other ear while we’re at it.  After all, if one side is totally gummed up with wax then the other side can’t be too far off, right?  So we opted to give my left ear the same working over with another syringeful of water.

Unfortunately, this did not go as smooth as the other ear.  Within seconds of blasting the water into my ear I experienced an intense pain that was on my Top 5 of all-time painful moments.  Ladies and gentlemen, over the course of my life I have shot an arrow through my hand, subjected myself to being tattooed (click HERE) and endured being kicked square in the Charlie Brown’s by a scorned Eva Roditis on the schoolyard playground back in Grade 3, and this pain was definitely worse than any of those.

Much worse!

If the pain wasn’t enough, hearing (well, barely hearing the doctor that is) the doctor mumble “uh oh” definitely didn’t help matters any.  I definitely felt warm fluid coming out my ear but, but this fluid ended up not being water or another wax build-up, but blood…lots and lots of blood.

“I think I just perforated your ear drum”, he says casually.

FML.

Not winning.

A ruptured eardrum is a small tear in the thin membrane that separates your outer ear from your inner ear.  That membrane, known as the tympanic membrane, is made of tissue that resembles skin.  The eardrum serves two important functions in your ear.  It senses vibrating sound waves and converts the vibration into nerve impulses that convey the sound to your brain.  It also protects the middle ear from bacteria as well as water and foreign objects.  Normally, the middle ear is sterile, but when the eardrum is ruptured, bacteria can get into the middle ear and cause an infection known as otitis media.

Yay.

The doctor then informed me that I wouldn’t be able to swim for at least a week.  Shit sticks!  Furthermore, I would also undergo injecting four drops of antibiotics (which, as an interesting side-note here, my loving wife would place under her boob to warm up for me prior to dropping them in my ear – meaning my drops would now become affectionately known as “mommies boob juice” – how emasculating is that for an aspiring Ironman swimmer?) into my ear every morning and evening and then see my family doctor for clearance before getting back in the pool.

FML x 2.

Anyway, another week goes by of being injected twice daily with “boob juice” and I’m back at my family doctor’s (yesterday) to learn that a) there’s still wax in both ears, b) my ear drum is likely not healed yet, and c) I still can’t swim for approximately another two weeks.

FML x 3.

Needless to say I’m pretty discouraged at this point and now looking for viable options to protect my ear temporarily while it heals so I can at least get back in the pool, meaning, I need ear plugs.

Yay, again.

Remember this idiot (click HERE)?

Yeah, I just took another colossus step to becoming them.

Not really knowing anything about ear plugs, I stopped by the local pharmacy to see what options were available.  In fact, there was a whole cornucopia of options; an entire rackful located inside an entire aisle of ear and hearing-related products.  It was like the pharmaceutical equivalent of a “Turducken“.  Who knew there was such a profound market for ear plugs?  But then again, come to think of it, my grandma probably kept her local pharmacist driving around in a Rolls Royce for the last 10 years of her life given how much stuff she had crammed into her ears on a daily basis.

Unfortunately, none looked very promising.  Most were either the variety used for noise protection, sleeping, or as my grandma used to claim, “keeping the wind out of my ears”.   I’m pretty sure one was just a little baggie of candy corn.  However, there was this one waterproof variety of which I was still a bit skeptical:

They’re essentially little wads of soft, tacky silicon that you warm up by rolling in the palm of your hand and then stuffing into your ear to create a waterproof seal.

Like so:

I was dubious but I gave it a shot (at home) anyway and, honestly, it felt like I had just stuffed a Gummy Bear into my ear.  Likewise, I was doubtful that they would ever really stay in place in the water and, even then, they were only for a single use only.  Needless to say, I didn’t feel safe actually testing these things in the water so they were more or less tossed into the bottomless abyss of shit under my bathroom sink.

Then I found these TYR molded ear plugs at Team Aquatics in Burlington.  Besides being manufactured by a recognized swim equipment brand name, they weren’t the disposable variety. Instead they were marketed as “long lasting silicone” plugs made for swimmers, by swimmers.

These definitely looked more promising.

Among the other benefits listed on the package was “allows hearing during use”.  I like hearing stuff when I swim, so this was a definitely bonus.  I couldn’t hear shit with the other soft silicon Gummy Bear variety in my ears.

However, they were a little more complicated to insert as opposed to just cramming a wad of silicon into your ear.

From the instructions:

“Top straight edge of the ear plug core should be in a perpendicular line with the face.  Outer rim fits into the hollow depression behind the ear canal.”

Umm, okay.

Who knew shoving soothing into your ear could be so difficult?

But then again, the instructions did also add:

“DO NOT PUSH THE EARPLUG SO FAR INTO THE EAR THAT YOU’RE UNABLE TO GET IT OUT.”

Gee, thanks.

Anyway, with a little twisting and prodding I did manage to maneuver them into what I think was the proper “perpendicular line (my) face” :

And – get this – I could still hear fairly well.

Cool!

For good measure then, I also threw a swim cap on which I never really wear in the pool just to help keep them in place (hey, I already have plugs in my ears to I might as well go whole hog and look the part of the total swim geek) and entered the pool to give them a trial run (swim?).

Upon my first few laps they felt pretty comfortable actually.  However, that “allows hearing” thing went right out the window as everything sounded more, well, in utero I guess…which, truthfully, was very relaxing.  Maybe it was just because I also couldn’t hear the Ariana Grande bullshit they were playing on the pool deck between strokes anymore, whatever, it didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.

I was a bit worried that maybe they weren’t completely watertight and that water was now leaking into the gaping hole of my tympanic membrane and I – unbeknownst to me – going deaf with each additional stroke so I kept my swim short to a few drills only (1300m).

Upon finishing, I unstuck the earplugs and everything immediately returned to blissful normality; no muting, no sloshing around in the ear, no nothing.

Beautiful!

Besides making me look like a total swim pussy, the plugs had done their job and held tight in preventing water from entering into my ear, meaning, that I can now get back to my usual weekly swim workouts while my ear drum continues to heal for another week or so.

Back to ‘winning’ again!

Oh, and what does the remainder of this “healing” process look like?  Well, absolutely nothing for the next 10 days while the membrane rebuilds itself and then I have start adding basic cooking oil into my ears to begin loosening up whatever wax that might still be lingering around in my ear.   Doesn’t that sound like fun?

Yeah.

Not so much.

Thankfully it’s not forever.

(edited:  10/19/16)

So after Sunday’s “trial swim” I was up early and in the pool at 6:30am ready to get my swim on.  Unfortunately, after the first 300m or so, one of the war plugs slipped out and, yeah, nowhere to be found, meaning that I was now forced to abandon my planned workout and doing a stupid amount of kicking drills instead so I could keep my head above water.

And you just know how I love  my kicking drills!

After informing the lifeguard what had happened, she put out the APB to all the other bobbers and floaters in the pool.  Basically, the whole pool was not on Amber Alert for my missing plug.

After 20 minutes or so, they were found by an old lady…four lanes over…on the opposite of the pool…on the bottom.

So much for “floats in water”.

Thanks, TYR.  Great job there.

NOT!

Attack of the Swim Doofi (Part 3): Revenge of the Doofus

The nice thing about swimming is that you don’t immediately have to deal with idiots.  It’s not like, say, the gym, where everyone is front and center and quite often in your face.  I mean, they’re there, of course, but because you’re swimming (and by happy consequence, trying not to drown) you don’t necessarily have to acknowledge them; much less have a conversation with them.

But every now and again, some moron will try to assert himself by engaging me in some ridiculousness or other.

Today was just such a day.

For the first 45 minutes or so, my swim workout was going according to plan; warm up, a few drills and the beginning of my main set complete with paddles and fins.  I have long now established myself in the morning echelon of pool regulars and, typically, we have all sorted ourselves out by speed to fit neatly into the Slow, Medium and Fast lanes as we are all apt to do.  It took some time of course, but I like to think that we’ve all since sorted it out and have moved past those initial few hiccups when I first started swimming at the Port Colborne YMCA.

In other words, we all get along now.

It’s not like I don’t like sharing a lane, but if you’re one of those people – “Floaters especially” (click HERE for more info on ‘Swim Types’) – who like to do God-knows-what at a relative snail’s pace, well, stay out of my Fast lane.

But, again, all the morning swimmers (myself included) have now sorted these issues out and we all play nicely within our own designated lanes in blissful harmony with one another.

It’s glorious.

Until the Swim Doofus shows that is…such as he did today.

I knew I was in trouble the second he plopped down ceremoniously (read that as: nearly on top of me) as I coasted into the wall after one of my 250m intervals.

Not wanted to compete with him, I asked him if we could just split the lane and he nodded in quiet agreement and set about arranging his snorkel and those silly “aqua gloves” that regular aquafuck aquafit patrons like to use (click HERE).

Yes, I could have mentioned that he was in the Fast lane and might be happier in a slower lane, or even the UNUSED lane further down the pool but I decided that silence was the better part of valor and simply figured that he would either be done early, or just move over on his own accord after I raced past him half a dozen times.  That notwithstanding, I only had about another 20 minutes of intervals to endure before I would be exiting the pool myself.

Begrudgingly I carried on and the Swim Doofus proceeded to seizure his way down to the other end of the pool.

After another interval I coasted into the wall (breathless I might add) and the Swim Doofus was also there, apparently resting after his 50m of near drowning.

Swim Doofus:  “So you like to swim, eh?”

Me (after 10 seconds of gasping for air):  “Sure.”

Swim Doofus:  “Me too,”

Umm, that’s great?  I think classifying whatever it was he was doing as “swimming” was questionable but I digress.  I support his form of healthy activity, nonetheless.

Swim Doofus:  “How far you going?”

Me:  “I’m not sure.  I’ll tally it up at the end”.

And then I pushed off the wall to begin my next interval.  And, hey, it’s not that I intended to be abrupt or rude, but my plan allows for 10 second breaks and 10 seconds were up, like, 15 seconds ago.  A plan is a plan and so, no offense, I gotta go, dude.

And we both went back to our routines; me to swimming and he to whatever the hell it was he trying to do.

As I finished my next interval two and a half minutes later, the Swim Doofus was there again.

Swim Doofus:  “So, how fast are you going?”

Me (after the perquisite 10 seconds of regaining my composure):  “I’m not sure”.

Swim Doofus:  “Well, it sure looks fast.”

Me:  “Thanks.”

What I was really thinking in my head was:

“Well, gee, thanks for the validation that I am in fact swimming in the right lane, so how about you move your slow ass over a few lanes, eh?”

But again, I opted for silence and simply pushed off for my next interval.

For the next 2 or 3 intervals, I missed the Doofus at the wall completely as he was somewhere mid-lane splashing around, inevitably trying to keep himself afloat with his stupid gloves and snorkel and shit.

Thank God.

But, eventually, fate caught up with us again and there we were at the wall again.

Swim Doofus:  “Hey, you would definitely know…”

Now, this type of introduction to a topic kind of annoys the shit out of me.  I mean, I give myself credit for being a clever fella but there’s certainly no guarantee that I definitely  know anything, so just ask the damn question already without the whole dramatic set up that will only result in me feeling like a total ape if I can’t in fact answer that query.

But I digress…

Swim Doofus:  “How many laps are in a mile?”

I looked at him incredulously.

Is he fucking shitting me?

I just shrugged my shoulders (as politely as one can when they’re currently incapable of speech, gasping for air and, really, don’t give a flying shit) and simply pushed off the wall for my last interval.

Of course, that wasn’t before I heard the Doofus also mutter:

“Fine.  Be that way…idiot.”

Motherfucker!

I flew – flew! – the next 250m  with the intent of being back at the wall in time to set this moron straight.  Unfortunately, I guess he’d had enough of his near-drowning and decided to exit the pool so I didn’t get that opportunity.

Here is what I wish would have said:

1. As last I understood it, Canada is a metric country so I really have no idea of how far a mile is, especially considering that…
2. This is a metric pool, meaning that….
3. I’d have to do the necessary calculations in my head which is currently impossible given that I am…
4. Trying to complete my work out…
5. My heart rate is about 156bpm…
6. I can’t breathe…
7. And, lastly – and most importantly – I don’t give a shit. So…
8. Get out of my face…
9. Quit interrupting while I’m trying to get my swim on…
10. And do your damn math.
11. You tool.

Not don’t get me wrong, I think I’m actually a pretty nice guy and I think that I genuinely get along with just everybody in the pool.  I even don’t mind sharing a lane if it’s busy and, hey, I even like to chitchat when I’m on a break at the wall…providing I’m resting and not mid-interval.

However, I do not like being interrupted when I’m clearly not resting and, for all intents and purposes, I’m (get this) working out…strange as that may seem.

Needless to say, I don’t appreciate the distraction and this doofus clearly wasn’t getting the message.  I mean, would he stop a marathoner mid-race to ask how far he’d gone, or how fast he’s running?

Likely not.

I don’t see this as being any different, so you can either wait for me to be done and ready to entertain your silly bullshit or just piss off altogether and simply don’t ask me dumb ass questions mid-workout.

This isn’t social hour.

Oh, and as far as your leaving all in a huff:

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Okay, so maybe I can be a bit of an elitist asshole.