Flip-turn

Tuesday’s run, as detailed, left me feeling positively elated. In fact, the whole day from start to finish was a winner: A great run. A fantastic, swanky lunch along Central Park South. The closing of a deal that I’ve been working on for months. The season premiere of LOST. In fact, by the time I got home on Tuesday after work, I was so thrilled about how my day had gone that I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to take full advantage of my good fortune and fit in as many more wonderful experiences as possible, so I changed into my suit and headed to the pool for an unscheduled swim.

My first 500 meters or so weren't too bad. I wasn’t super fast but nor was I super slow. My legs were tired from the morning’s run but I focused mostly on my upper body. All seemed to be going well. And then, somewhere between 750 and 1000 m, it all went very, very wrong.

At first, I just couldn’t breathe quite properly, and found myself gasping for air after only a few strokes. I kept hitting the lane ropes. The pool seemed too murky and I had a hard time focusing (this may, disgustingly, have been the reality). And then suddenly my flip-turns ceased to be flip-turns at all, and instead became some sort of half somersault that left me bobbing, disoriented, two feet away from the wall. I tried to flip-turn on the next lap. Same problem. And then next one. And then next. Granted, I’ve never been a champion flip-turner (Zdenek looks like some sort of streamlined dolphin when his legs flip over and he powerfully glides away from the wall, bullet-like), but this was ridiculous. So when Zdenek and the girl in the next lane started laughing at my muddled “swimming,” I decided it was time to call it at day.

Approaching the pool this morning at 6:30 am was a bit frightening. Had I forgotten how to swim, or at least how to turn around? Did I damage the part of my brain responsible for somersaults? Would I be laughed out of the pool yet again? Was my swimming career already over? But the pink sunrise over Central Park was shining in the through the windows lining the pool deck, and the “Fast” lane was empty, calm, and beckoning. I jumped in. Twenty-five meters later, I found myself flipping, turning, and pushing off the wall. And again. And again. Until, 1800 m later, I headed to the showers.

I now realize that what happened to me during Tuesday’s swim was likely due to complete and utter exhaustion -- I (pathetically) lacked the necessary energy to throw my legs over my body. Tuesday morning’s tempo certainly did a number on me, and perhaps if I had just rested that night instead of trying to squeeze in an unnecessary swim, I would have been better off for it all week long. I learned that I really do have a finite amount of energy and, indeed, a finite number of flip-turns, available in one day. Tuesday night's activities should have consisted solely of flipping on the remote and turning to LOST.