You Don’t Have to Go Home…

…but you can’t stay here etc etc. As was previously mentioned, I’ve been mentally making the transition into triathlon-ing. Well, not wanting to let my brain get too far ahead, my body decided it was time to hop in the pool. Now, anybody who’s anybody knows swimming isn’t exactly my jam. For me it isn’t even a matter of “swimming” as simply “not drowning”. But all irrational fears aside I knew that in order to commit to surviving completing a triathlon I’d have to get my swim on. And so I did.

I’ll briefly let you know that my first dunk in the big outdoor pool went better than I could have hoped. I swam farther than I thought* and everything went… swimmingly. But that’s not what I’m here to complain blog about. In my second foray into swimming I was feeling pretty good. Left arm, right arm, kick kick kick and all that business. I’ll admit, the low 30-degree temps outside made it a bit interesting getting from the car to poolside and then taking off several layers of clothes before hopping in the pool. At least 65 degree water feels like a bath when it’s double the air temperature.

Anyway, I woke up early (like 5am early), drove out to the pool, braved the cold, and hopped in the pool, all to face my nemesis (aka swimming). After a few lengths I got into a rhythm and started to feel pretty good, which coincidentally is exactly when someone decided to ruin my day. Apparently there is a policy that the pool must close if the temperature drops to 32 degrees or below. I knew of this little policy while driving over to the pool so I kept one eye on the road and the other on my car’s thermometer. 34 degrees — perfect.

Well, as I was finishing my 16th length (out of a planned 64) an exceptionally friendly and polite pool attendant caught my attention and reminded me of the 32 degree rule. I did my best to explain that it clearly felt like 33 degrees, but he wasn’t budging.

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I was forced to get out of the tropical 65 degree water into the frigid supposed 32 degree air. Rather than wait for Mother Nature to warm things up (or for the pool staff to replace their obviously broken thermometer) I left feeling unfulfilled.

Since that fateful day I have already been back twice to knock out a pair of 64-length workouts, though wanting to avoid a repeat encounter from an incoming cold front meant rescheduling my whole training week. I know, a real sob story. Well, I’ll leave you with some key takeaways: silly rules should not be enforced, swimming isn’t that bad, and you’re willing to read a 500-word rambling complaint about nothing of any particular significance.


p>*who knew pools came with 33.3 yard lengths instead of the standard 25 or 50? I did my 64 lengths (impressive) thinking each was 25 yards, totaling a mile, but actually ended up at 1.2 miles (impressiver).

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