More swimming this morning. 2000 meters. Just me, my ugly swimsuit and my cute TYR pull buoy, hanging out with a few lonely, lap lane water joggers.
The swim was nice. I felt good, but swimming with a float for 2000 meters is a wearing down of the shoulders. Boy, am I sore. But I am glad to have moved around a little this morning.
Grief: The broke foot has required a certain mourning process. Yes, I know the correct grammar is “broken” foot. But I like broke foot. The broke foot has required a metaphorical burial of my dream of New Orleans 70.3, a farewell to the fact that I could run 13.1 miles just a month ago, and a sadness that really does feel like a good friend has passed on. The good friend being my relentless and savage triathlon training. The warm blanket of barely-hanging-on toenails and my foam roller.Coping: Ah, the Coping Phase. The phase which I am proud to report current residence. Sort of. The time when I realize the sky is not completely falling, there are ways to move forward (always), and to keep the chin up (but not too high, so I can see where I am walking). My coping is consisting of swimming,swimming and more swimming. And lots of sitting for the rest and healing.
I met a woman in the locker room today who is doing the Warrior Dash in May for one of her big goals. We chatted a little. She asked me if that was my boot by the pool. Yes, I said, yes it was.
She had great swim technique, so I spent time trying to convince here (yet another complete stranger) to begin triathlon training. Life Time should really hire me for motivation. I could sit in the hall with my pompoms and my boot, and recruit.
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