Thursday, July 3, 2014

"Raise Your Hand If You Were Alive For This Music"

One of the best ways for me personally to put my central governor to rest is to train.  My brain has a better chance of feeling normal when my body feels normal, and normal means tired and dehydrated, and not in the I-just-got-off-a-transatlantic-flight kind of way.

Replacing Longhorn Aquatics was my biggest concern, because swimming has been my activity of choice for the last six months, and provided me with focus and an outlet throughout all of the planning for these recent changes.  It took trying out several different groups and with one, experiencing the single most toxic swim practice environment I have ever had to suffer, but I have found a team that I can be excited to call mine for the next few years.  

It's a age-group team.  I am the oldest swimmer by 13 years, and I am the oldest person at practice by 4 years.   That's including the coach.

My first practice was all sprinting, much of it with a parachute.  The coach put on an 80's rock/metal/hair band playlist - "because that is what you listen to on sprint days" - and I said "raise your hand if you were alive for this music."  The head coach and I raised our hands, and then I found out he wasn't even in pre-school when the 80s ended.

My teammates don't seem to care that I am more than/exactly/nearly twice their age.  I'm sure that is probably helped by the fact that I can keep up with them.  We did 30 x 100 best average on a descending interval as the *second* half of a workout (Welcome to 2-hour practices, Kelzie) and the times I was holding put me in the top half of the entire group (although there was a gap to a few guys holding :58-1:04).

It's when we do anything longer than a 50 involving absolute/true speed that they spank me six ways to Sunday. 

The girls in the group welcomed me with open arms and are quite fascinated by my triathlon background.  A few parents I met at a meet this weekend said they liked the idea that their daughters could have a serious female athlete role model because most of the group's coaches are, and have been, male.

I have been sharing a lane with a 17-year-old named Grant.  I keep picturing the day I got my drivers license and realizing that that day - when I felt quite adult - somewhere in the world there was a *baby* Grant.  Now I swim with the teenage version of that baby.  Suddenly I know how my TXLA friend Sally felt every time she would shake her head and say "I am old enough to be your mother."  However, he and I like the same music so we've been sharing a USB drive back and forth to trade psych-up songs.

That hasn't stopped him from nicknaming me "Mom."

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