Wednesday, July 30, 2014


Along with my new swim team I am going through my first-ever complete swim taper.  Everyone who is still training (and hasn't already started their end-of-summer break) is drawing down for, shaving down for, and staring down this one last weekend.  And those left feel like crap.

Yes, that is actually the technical term for it.

I'm not even swimming this meet because of how late I came to the party, but I think the taper kool-aid has dissolved in the pool water.   Everything feels kind of easy (because the sets kid of are), but everything makes you feel so tired.  Doing a race piece is taking a gamble: it could either be a personal best or add 10 sec.  It's like having wings spread for take-off and a brick tied to your ankles.

The goal is to drop the brick off the blocks of your first race in the meet and only spread your wings wider from there.  Might as well launch a dart at a side-of-a-barn-sized map of the world with the goal of hitting Liechtenstein.

But right now it's too early to dream of Liechtenstein.  It's time for damaged corpuscles to rearrange themselves into a more perfect union (and time for readers to guess in the comments from which book that last line comes).  It's time to feel weirdly both in and out of shape every time something physical needs to be done.

It's time to feel fanhorribletastic.

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