I've Got Two Tickets to the Gun Show

So, my arms look amazing. I really don't know what to tell you. It's like God's giving me a consolation prize for losing my job because no joke, I've got some biceps that just won't quit. Which is a brand new experience for me and a great motivator to press forward with training.

I swam this morning and while I'm still grossly out of shape, it was a more successful dip this time out. Consequently, I've deiced I need to hit the pool daily for a while in order to really build up my endurance. A very nice woman who is also doing the Nation's Tri was there to give some tips (p.s., she's also apparently done some Iron Mans). She said my form was fine - big relief- I just need to have some endurance- or at least that's what I could hear over my panting.

I was naively most intimidated by the run aspect of this endeavor, and don't misunderstand, it still scares the bejezus out of me, but swimming is shaping up to be the biggest hurdle in my mind. And it's made me think about sports metaphors.

I have a bunch of friends who are avid runners and they always say "oh running, it's free therapy." Or "running is a metaphor for life." And I think that's great. But I don't get it. Sure, if you're a calm and consistent person who trots along through life meeting benchmark goals in a normal fashion and time frame, but occasionally get down in the dumps and stumble and then get back up, ya, I see the running metaphor.

I just don't relate. I think swimming is my metaphor. I go thorough life splashing and sputtering and belly flopping and diving headfirst and doggy-paddling to shore and then carelessly jumping back in. I'm like a very, very slow fish with asthma who likes to make a scene. And that is something I should probably work on. But until I turn into a smooth sailer, at least my arms look hot.

Claire