Radical Immersion

Ironman Training with Life, Marriage, Children & Work

Category: Swim

2015: The Long & Short of It

There was no singular event, race or accomplishment to define the past year.  However, there were many firsts — new experiences, new friendships and new adventures.

  • For the first time, I raced outside the continental United States in March with a trip to Puerto Rico.
  • I ran a half marathon personal record by about eight minutes in April when Esme and I took a weekend trip to Raleigh.
  • Later in the year, I ran a marathon personal record during a training run and lopped about eight minutes off of that time too.
  • After more than a decade away from it, I swam the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim during a heat wave.  I crossed in about 1:46 or as fast as I ever have.
  • I had fun — and some success — with local Olympic distance races that I’d never been to in Charlottesville and Colonial Beach.
  • In late June I showed up for my fourth Ironman in four years.  By my own assessment, I was more fit and more prepared for Coeur d’Alene than the previous races.  It was far from my most successful race.  I barely dragged myself into the finish area.  Nonetheless, it was a great trip to a beautiful corner of the country.
  • I was able to see all four members of the tribe swim in the “A” meet for two consecutive weekends for their summer swim program.
  • During one four week period in the summer I raced three times, in three formats — Ironman, Olympic and open water marathon swim.
  • I volunteered at a race — a 5k — where Desmond won some hard earned recognition.
  • In July I did my first ever race in the ocean.  The nine mile course in Ocean City is worthy of the term “marathon swim.”
  • In September, my team of two years began the process of folding up.  Then in October I joined a new team — with a whole new set of people to learn.
  • During the summer, I spent the better part of an afternoon volunteering with kids in a program with the DC Parks and Recreation teaching and answering questions about swimming and triathlon.  Later in the year I guided a blind athlete during a half marathon.
  • When November rolled around, I found myself going long again for the JFK 50 — my first ultra-marathon.
  • I watched Desmond flourish in cross country and Josephine in the field events of their first year of track.
  • A couple weeks ago I ran with Esme for the third straight year at the Celtic Soltice — and she dropped nearly seven minutes from her 2014 time.

In all, I swam more than 233,800 yards which is just a bit shy of 133 miles.  Though I didn’t check, this may be the first time ever that I ran more than I rode my bike.  Cumulatively I was on the saddle nearly six days during the year covering 1,765 miles (not including commuting).  By contrast I ran the equivalent of 7.7 days for a total of 1,261 miles.

The blue dots on the chart below represent the intensity of a workout.  The closer to 1.0 the harder the session.  Each blue dot corresponds to a red dot.  The red dots along the X axis are days that I did not exercise.  Red dots above the axis show how much “work” I did that day.

There is a clear pattern with a minor peak in March for Ironman 70.3 Puerto Rico and the Raleigh Half Marathon and a major peak at the end of June for Ironman Coeur d’Alene followed an Olympic race and the Ocean Games.  Then my fitness declined; I continued to work out but without a clear plan or schedule of races.  At the end of August I decided to do the JFK 50 and the workload and frequency of sessions picked up straight through Thanksgiving.  At that point, I started “offseason” until about a week or two ago when I started swimming again.

2015 TSS

AllWet

Back to the pool last night.  I skipped track night and went straight indoors to buy a three month pass.  It has been months since I swam. I did six 500s on 7:30 alternating swim and pull.  Numbers one, three and five were 6:41, 6:37 and 6:34.  The pulls were 6:47, 6:40 and then I got […]

Bruce Lee — Be Like Water

After spending many hours meditating and practicing, I gave up and went sailing alone in a junk. On the sea I thought of all my past training and got mad at myself and punched the water! Right then – at that moment – a thought suddenly struck me; was not this water the very essence of gung fu? Hadn’t this water just now illustrated to me the principle of gung fu? I struck it but it did not suffer hurt. Again I struck it with all of my might – yet it was not wounded! I then tried to grasp a handful of it but this proved impossible. This water, the softest substance in the world, which could be contained in the smallest jar, only seemed weak. In reality, it could penetrate the hardest substance in the world. That was it! I wanted to be like the nature of water.

Suddenly a bird flew by and cast its reflection on the water. Right then I was absorbing myself with the lesson of the water, another mystic sense of hidden meaning revealed itself to me; should not the thoughts and emotions I had when in front of an opponent pass like the reflection of the birds flying over the water? This was exactly what Professor Yip meant by being detached – not being without emotion or feeling, but being one in whom feeling was not sticky or blocked. Therefore in order to control myself I must first accept myself by going with and not against my nature.

[…]

Water is so fine that it is impossible to grasp a handful of it; strike it, yet it does not suffer hurt; stab it, and it is not wounded; sever it, yet it is not divided. It has no shape of its own but molds itself to the receptacle that contains it. When heated to the state of steam it is invisible but has enough power to split the earth itself. When frozen it crystallizes into a mighty rock. First it is turbulent like Niagara Falls, and then calm like a still pond, fearful like a torrent, and refreshing like a spring on a hot summer’s day.

Ocean Games — Part II

This is the post about what I learned in the whole adventure of doing a nine mile ocean swim.

To begin with the beginning, the start of the race is a pretty mild affair.  You might say calm, relaxed, laid back or even languid.  While an air horn did sound, the race began with a stroll into the water.  There was no manic thrashing, positioning was easy and competitors were still chatting with one another as they entered the surf.  It was a departure to what I’m used to but not uncomfortable in any way.  I dove through the first two waves and then was off headed to a turn marker with one guy on my left and two women back about five yards and to my right.

Watch the Start of 2015 Ocean Games 9 Mile Swim in a short video.

Let’s go back a bit.  I first heard of the race from Traci McNeil in March.  I registered the first week of May.  I began to “study up” last week.  Also, I didn’t change my training and counted on the general fitness developed in the lead up to Ironman Coeur d’Alene to carry me through.  I did complete the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim in mid-June but I didn’t think any lessons would apply.  The GCBS is less than two hours and half the distance.  There is no need to take in nutrition and though the Bay can have a chop, this year it was as calm as you can reasonably expect for a body of water that large.  Nine miles in the ocean would be a whole new thing.

Fortunately in addition to periodic email encouragement from Traci, I found some great resources online. Check out this site of fanatics who have done nearly everything there is to do with marathon swimming, excepting those things that they continue to seek out as new challenges.  The forums are particularly full of good information and have a nice search function.

Open Water Swimming Is Not Equal To Marathon Swimming

This observation should be a surprise to no one.  It didn’t shock me so much as hit me in the forehead like a brick after the race.  I never equated the two before the race, but I also never really thought much about it.  For those of you more land-based, think of about running.  Trail running is the analog to open water swimming.  There are natural elements — whether they are roots and rocks or currents, animal and plant life, and varying light — that change the experience from the track or road for running and the pool for swimming.  But open water swimming isn’t marathon swimming.  Ultra running, races that cover 50 and 100 miles of trail, is like marathon swimming in that it has its own special niche among athletes, its own tricks of the trade and importantly, the body reacts in whole new ways after a few hours of continuous activity.

Goggles & Equipment

I wore the new X1 goggles by Roka.  (I’ve also recently acquired a pair of the F1 goggles in dark vermillion and they work fine, but I like the X1 better despite the ugly bug-eye effect.  I’ve never been one to worry too much about appearance.)  The X1 series has the largest field of vision and very crisp optics.  The pair I have are cobalt which is ideal for ocean swims.  They were new the day before Ironman Coeur d’Alene and have only been worn a handful of times.  They never fogged or leaked though once during a feed I readjusted the right gasket.  I also went out with plenty of spray TriSlide and Body Glide and a full slathering of sunscreen.  However, I left the sunscreen off my face because I didn’t want any leaking into my eyes.  I used standard bike bottles for my nutrition.

Feeds

Where do I need to improve the most?  Right here — nutrition.  My plan was to take a feed every 30 minutes.  On the bottom of the hour it would be 10 ounces of liquid.  At the top of the hour a Roctane gel with 10 ounces of liquid.  Bottles 1, 3 and 5 — for the corresponding hours — were filled with Roctane Endurance drink which contains 59 carbohydrates.  Bottles for the second and fourth hour were filled with Gatorade Endurance which has fewer carbohydrates — about 42 per bottle.  Every two hours, just like on my bike, I would take a chewable GasX tablet to help with the byproduct of all the gels.  I took the feeds on schedule thanks to Paddy.  However, they were not quite dialed in properly.

I started the day with a normal breakfast albeit with less fruit than normal.  Too much fructose has, on rare occasion, led me to GI distress.  I made sure to finish eating about 3.5 hours before the race start to allow for plenty of time to get the protein into the system and my blood sugars stabilized after fasting since dinner.  I also ate a gel about 30 minutes before the race started, had tea with breakfast (regular black tea and a cup of ginger tea) and sipped on a bottle of water for the last hour before the start.

At the first feed, I more or less drank fluids but the hand offs were sloppy and clearly we were amateurs learning by doing.  At the second feed I did not eat the gel so much as aspirate the gel.  I may have eaten part of it, but the majority ended up coating my lungs.  In the very least, it felt that way.  I also drank a good deal of the Atlantic’s finest offering and some more of the Roctane Endurance.  Paddy worked out a system where he would come around to my left and let me swim right up to the kayak and that worked a little better but I still couldn’t find the right position for eating or drinking.  I tried floating on my back.  I tried floating on my back and kicking.  I tried sidestroke.  I tried treading water.  I tried modified breastroke.  Each time the waves were lapping over my face, my legs were sinking and I’m sure it was comical in the extreme.  Despite being offshore, I couldn’t even muster good swearing, like a sailor, because I was too busy drinking the ocean or choking on sticky gels.

My longest feed was at the two hour mark as we approached the six mile buoy.  I took the gel and more or less failed with it.  I took a GasX tablet and noshed it down with seawater.  I then drank as fast as I could and tossed the bottle back at Paddy.  Just as I was about to start swimming, I paused.  Something was off.  Then suddenly I projectile vomited.  More came out in a second blast a few seconds later.  I’m sure the fish were non-plussed with the eggs and dried fruit pieces that sprayed.  It felt like someone had put a hose at the base of my esophagus and sprayed out the stuff the dentist uses to clean teeth.  It made the back of my throat burn and my eyes tear but my stomach felt much better.  While I could see the bits of food, the sheer volume of spray suggests that I let go of about 31 gallons of sea water.  I took off slowly and within a minute or two was able to get back into a groove.

  • Lessons — Next time I’m going to develop a nutrition plan that is 100 percent liquid.  I’m not coordinated enough for the gels unless I can get them into a bottle.  Even then the combination of “chewing,” swallowing, breathing and avoiding waves may be too much for my skill set.
  • Next time we’ll use the rope-and-carabeener system that I set up but we didn’t use.  We didn’t use it because we tried to err on the side of simplicity.  Fewer moving pieces meant fewer chances to mess up.
  • Next time I will practice at least the motions of the feed process if not the actual nutrition plan.
  • After the race, I learned from the winner that he is able to take in 10 ounces in about 20-30 seconds.  He noticed, and diplomatically asked about, my circus-like performance on the first three to four feeds.  My feeds were measured in minutes, not seconds.

After Effects

I came out of the ocean and ran up the beach with no trouble.  As soon as I crossed the timing mat and tried to stop moving, the woozy took over.  Everything around me kept moving even though I was standing still.  A nice volunteer helped me over to a chair in the shade where I hung out for about 20 minutes until I was confident that my landlubber legs would not betray me.

I was tired after the race but not totally wrecked.  We had the good fortune of Cinema Del Ray scheduled for that evening so as soon as I got home and showered, I walked a couple blocks to meet Dana and the tribe for a community viewing of a Penguins movie.  Laying on the ground for two hours may sound like torture, but it was fine.  The movie was funny too.

My lower back was pretty stiff and my neck muscles were achy.  I knew they would be sore soon.  In addition to my lower back and neck, which I attribute to insufficient training, my shoulders developed soreness late on Sunday night.  It lasted about a day or two at the most.  I found two abrasions from friction.  They have both melted back into nothing already.

I’ve already found myself wondering what I should do next.  Should I try one more of these in 2015 — perhaps late in the year to close out the season.  Should I regroup and fold marathon swimming in to my plan for 2016?  A plan, by the way, which has not taken shape at all.  I don’t think this is a one and done type adventure.

 

How the Race Developed 

I made it to the turn first and was joined by one other guy.  He was slightly behind to my left and his kayaker was immediately to my right.  After a few hundred meters Paddy joined us and we basically proceeded this way until the 30 minute mark.

After a half an hour, the other swimmer took over the lead as I struggled through the feed.  He ended up about 30 meters in front of me and for the next 25 minutes I chased.  As we approached the one hour mark, we were side by side and I was passing him back.  I kept it going but didn’t really stretch the lead more than 10 or 15 meters before it was time for another feed.  At this point, he swam past me and put more than 30 meters into me.  While he went out of sight due to the waves, I could still see his kayaker and began chasing her for another half hour before she was gone too.

Stroke rate is a good proxy for how peppy I was feeling.  There are three clear sections of this chart.  The first hour I was above 35 spm, the second hour I dropped down a little each of the 30 minute segments.  And then after the two hour mark I got back to 35 spm and managed to pick it up for the last 50 minutes to get back over 35 but not quite to the same level as where I started.

Stroke rate is a good proxy for how peppy I was feeling. There are three clear sections of this chart. The first hour I was above 35 spm, the second hour I dropped down a little each of the 30 minute segments. And then after the two hour mark I got back to 35 spm and managed to pick it up for the last 50 minutes to get back over 35 but not quite to the same level as where I started.

A swam alone for the next half hour.  It was not lonely or isolating, but I was alone.  While the chart above is not speed or pace, it clearly demonstrates where key events happened in the race.  After the first downward spike is a half an hour where I chased but didn’t have the same turnover as the first hour when I swam equal to the eventual winner.  It is also where he pulled away.  After the next downward spike, the next feed, you can see the turnover drop down again below 35 averaging 33 spm.

At this point we came to the Great Displacement (of my stomach).  The chart shows a marginal improvement for the next half hour and then from approximately 2:30 onward, it appears that I finished well.  However, a race cannot be understood from the charts only.  What was happening?  At the 2:30 feed I was passed by two people.  I repassed and the work required to get back to the front of the group lifted my pace and stroke count and really gave me something concrete to focus on. As we approached the 3:00 mark I was still in the lead of the group who would finish second through fourth and took only a very short feed that was incomplete.

Moments later, the woman who went on to finish second caught me.  I put her kayak between us thinking that I could put in a good, strong five to ten minute dig and pull away without her seeing me go if I “hid” behind the kayak.  I put in the dig but all it did was keep me even with her and put me in a hole.  Initially slowly and then steadily, she pulled right away from me.  From the surface, it must have looked like I didn’t see it happening but really I was trying to respond thinking there was an outside chance that she’d cramp or break.  Meanwhile, we were passing pods of swimmers who were competing in the three mile race.  With that, the line up was established and we made our way through the last few hundred meters and up the beach to the finish.

Other Lessons

  1. I’m pretty sure I lost my stomach because of too much salt water, not because of what I ate or drank.
  2. I need to work on my mental game.  When I was in the same neighborhood as other swimmers, I swam better.  This is true for the first 90 minutes as well as the the last two miles of the race.  However, the middle third of the race was the weakest segment and where I spent the most time alone on the water.
  3. I won something!  I didn’t go to the race to win and didn’t think about it until I found myself swimming at the front of the race.  The Ocean Games folks gave me a cool water bottle and beach towel.  Winning something isn’t everything or even the primary reason to do these things, but it is fun.
  4. After the race, I overheard other swimmers going on and on about stroke rate. I’m totally unaware of how to use stroke rate to train or race.  I’m used to pace per 100 yards or heart rate.  This is something I’ll have to look into especially after looking at the chart above and how it matches so closely with the developments of the race.
  5. Swimming in the ocean is much more difficult than a lake or river.  The waves and the swell are irregular not conducive to staying in a rhythm.  Swimming this far is all about getting in a rhythm.

 

The Single Best Thing I’ve Read on Open Water Swimming in Years

Jodie Swallow is now going to write for Witsup.  Her first article is on swimming well in the open water.

She starts out strong:

It isn’t an absolute correlation that speed in the pool equals speed in the sea. Open water (OW) is to pool swimming; what mountain biking is to road racing; what Xterra is to triathlon; what cross country is to athletics.

And it keeps getting better.  Well worth the effort to clip and save.

Puerrrrto Rrrrico!

We’ve been married 15 years.

They have been hard, wonderful, enriching and life-filled years.  We’ve loved, lost, doubted, grieved, moved and grown.  We have made big life decisions and been wrong.  We have made life-altering changes that have been rewarding beyond expectation.

What a ride.  We rented an efficiency apartment and then a tiny one-bedroom house.  We’re now on to owning our third house — and at 8+ years have lived in it for longer than all the other places together.  We have four wonderful children who everyday remind me how crazy, exotic and surprising they can each be in their individualism, generosity and sheer wackiness.  We have jobs, hobbies and passions, enviable health and enough resources to keep paying the bills every month.

Monday morning in the Ocean Park neighborhood of San Juan.

Monday morning in the Ocean Park neighborhood of San Juan.

We have also been through a failed adoption, five miscarriages, sudden job loss, a catastrophic accident for a close family member, death of loved ones and the ongoing challenges of aging parents.

We’ve had a life, and we’re just getting started.

One day last weekend, there was a meltdown over the rules of a board game, a band competition, the first soccer game of the season, track practice, drop-off for a sleepover, going out to the local burger joint and frozen custard shop and more games and reading before bed.  That is just the kids.  In between, Dana did her thing and I mine — which consisted of 95 minutes on the trainer, a four mile run and some strength exercises.  I fell asleep on the couch with one of the Narnia books at my fingertips — reading time abbreviated by Papa’s inability to stay awake.

I wonder how we ever left for a weekend.  But we did.  Dana and I went to San Juan to celebrate our anniversary.  She was able to spend time — twice a day most days — with her favorite teachers taking part in a special workshop in an airy studio blocks from the beach.  I raced.  The Ironman Puerto Rico 70.3 is on a fantastic course.  We swam in a protected lagoon (with manatees!) while the bike course quickly exits San Juan via closed highways and puts the Atlantic over your shoulder for a good portion of the ride before you turn south and find mountains on the horizon.   The run course is also spectacular.  It is hot, largely unshaded, full of hills and it takes you through Old San Juan and past two towering forts.

We stayed in a hotel with a balcony overlooking the lagoon where the swim took place.

I love her and cannot wait to see what comes next for us.

My favorite picture from the race.  A friend always says about challenges, "Make sure you are running to something and not just away from something.  I'm running headlong into the next 15, no 50, years together.

My favorite picture from the race. A friend always says about challenges, “Make sure you are running to something and not just away from something. I’m running headlong into the next 15, no 50, years together.

Ticket to Ride the Bullet Train to Pain Central Station

Tonight I have several odds and ends to get down but really only one genuine insight.  Running a 5k is torturous.

A few weeks ago at the urging of the good people at NOVA Running Club I entered the Jingle All the Way 5k.  It is local, the race is short, and it has a cute name.  How bad could it really be?  It was my first ever 5k that wasn’t accompanied by a minor or a part of a sprint triathlon.  (Early this summer I ran a 22:28 at Montclair as the last leg of a 1:08:+.)

Answer: It can be really hard.  At least I got a nice long sleeve shirt for my effort of 20:53.  Pro Tip — If you go out too fast the last mile is tremendously uncomfortable.  Underscore tremendously and double underscore uncomfortable.  My splits were 6:10, 6:39 and 6:58 before finishing the last couple blocks at a 6:45 pace.  As context my best ever “mile” before this race was a 6:09 by running 1600 meters on a track.

Turning past the Capitol around the 2.5 mile mark it was like I had a ticket for a supersonic train that was taking me to an ugly, ugly place.

I punched my ticket to Pain Central Station and still had almost a mile to run into the freezing wind.

I punched my ticket to Pain Central Station and still had almost a mile to run into the freezing wind.

But I think I get it.  I understand the attraction to the 5k.  Certainly it is a “starter” race for many people.  They can imagine themselves going from the couch to a 5k.  It is a reasonable goal for someone who is inactive or coming off of an injury.  It can be walked in an hour by most everyone.  It is also a good distance for people that really don’t want to race but want to participate in an event.  Thus, it has joggers, strollers, dogs, costumes, dogs in costumes and is also the distance for a variety of color/mud/urban/whatever type races.

Yet, if you want to really put yourself in a hole the 5k is perfect.

In her book length love letter to all things aquatic, Swim, Lynn Sherr recounts a telling conversation with Olympic champion Cullen Jones.  Jones is a sprinter and specialized in the 50 and 100 meter freestyle.  At that level, the men swimming the 50 are like human rockets.  The whole race is over in about 21 seconds.  Jones described for Sherr what it feels like to go from perfect stillness on the blocks to the absolute maximum of performance in the span of a few strokes.  He doesn’t breath and after just four or five strokes his every muscle is at its limit — screaming out for mercy from his brain and begging for a respite.  He must overcome the natural signals to keep the pressure on in the face of maximum discomfort.  It is difficult to train for that feeling because rarely in training can you make it hurt — can you bring yourself to exert as much — the way you can in a race.

That is what the 5k does to your body.  It gives you a race situation where you will go to the pits of muscular and aerobic hell and then have to keep going, and going and going.

I’m sure that it is very hard and uncomfortable for the people who run even splits.  I messed up my tactics; my pacing was amateurish at best and as a consequence was passed left and right as we charged down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the finish.  Regardless of my mistakes, I don’t think other distances are quite as good for guaranteeing that you’ll put yourself in a bad, bad spot and then have to hang on, stay in that bad spot for some time before the finish line even comes into sight.  The 5k is the best thing going if you want to practice the mental strength it takes to try to lift the pace at mile 22 of a marathon.  Sure your marathon pace may be a minute or 90 seconds slower per mile than the 5k pace, but the anguish of trying to drop someone after 2 1/2 or 3 hours of running can be approximated in a 20 minute race.

Odds, Ends and Such

  • I swam 6×100 on 2:00 the other night.  I started at 1:02, did several 1:04-5 and finished with a 1:06.  It was hard and I really hauled the piano at the end.  But it is nice to swim fast instead of always dragging along at a hard aerobic pace.
  • I wore my new New Balance 890s tonight.  They were designed as a special edition for the 20th Rome Marathon.  When I enter them into Training Peaks, I think I’ll label them my Gladiator Shoes.
  • For tonight’s run I tried something new.  I decided that I’d attempt to descend every mile until failure then I’d start over.  I failed on number five after running 8:48, 8:47, 7:57, 7:23 and dropped back to 7:29.  I immediately walked for about 25 seconds and then finished the sixth mile in 9:04 before coming back down to 8:43.  It was a good set and I’ll try it again.  Ideally, I’d like to be able to run by feel and bring the pace down by 10-15 seconds per mile instead of having such large jumps.
  • I’m overweight.
  • Three times I’ve taken Esme out running — two of those times with some girls with whom she ran track/cross country in the fall.  She seems to enjoy the outings and we’ll try again this Friday.  We go between 2.5 and 4.5 miles.
  • I’ve finally figured out how to ride the trainer for more than an hour.  I need to use headphones for the computer.  Without them I cannot hear over the trainer and need subtitles but reading subtitles from the bike gets tedious after about 45 minutes.

Someone out there knows what I’m talking about — The Flow.

1:11s from turning it all the way to 11

Tonight I did a 500 freestyle all out.  There was no one next to me to pace off of or chase and I finished  in 5:56.  In another month or so I should check again to see what the cumulative stress of biking and running does to the time.  My bet, 6:15.

75s and 25 Years Gone

Tonight I went to swim for the third time at a new pool.  It is a little farther away from home and costs marginally more to use because it is just over the border in Arlington.  But, it is well lit, deep, and has eight lanes.  The past few years I’ve grown accustomed to 25 meter pools and though this one is yards, it doesn’t strike me as odd to reach the wall “so soon.”

I swam last night too.  Last night I did 10×200 rest :15 and hung out right around a 1:15/100 pace.  I followed it with 10×100 pull with :10 rest and stayed close by coming in with about a 1:16 average.  Today’s main sets were 10×150 pull rest :10 followed by 5×75 rest :30.  The second half of the 150s descended from the first without really trying and overall the 150s were at about a 1:15 or 1:16 pace.  Perhaps I need to check the math because it just seems too fast given my workload and recent times.  The final set of 75s were lung busters.  I went :48, :49, :49, :49 and :50.  Their pace was between a 1:04 and 1:07 which brings me to a pair of observations.

  1.  Endurance training really robs you of the ability to do any sort of top-end sprinting.  While the times were far faster than anything I was doing a few months ago, there was no oomph in my turnover.  I couldn’t accelerate off of the turns.  I was simply churning through the water faster but still churning, not doing the sort of hovercraft awesomeness that comes with genuine sprints.
  2. The set of 75s, with a full 30 second rest, is probably the fastest I’ve swum in years.  I was at my limit and taking a big amount of rest.  Yet, it was still a few seconds per 100 slower than my regular aerobic pace as a teenager.  In high school we would swim sets based off of a 100 time.  Mine was usually between 1:02 and 1:07 depending on the year and what point in the season.  We’d do a main set of between 1800 and 3000 every afternoon based on that time.  If the set was 100s, it would be something like 25xyourtime rest :05 or rest :07.  The 16 year old me could beat the pants off of me now and I’m okay with that.  Although, I’d love to get that 100 pace down under 1:10.  That would make me competitive with the 14 year old me.

NB — At some point I need to get a post up about Ironman 70.3 Austin.  I raced at the end of October.  The swim was slow.  I just felt a bit off and thick though I bettered my age group peers.  The ride was great for 30 miles but then it wasn’t.  The run was steady.  The consistency paid dividends in the form of a run split personal record of about four minutes.  Seventh in my age group and for the first time ever I moved up during the run (from ninth to seventh.)