TI Coach Suzanne Atkinson is an M.D., a trained exercise physiologist, and a highly versatile and successful coach of swimmers, triathletes, and cycling. With such academic and professional credentials, you might expect Suzanne to define exercise in physiological terms—e.g. “increase the heart’s stroke volume.”

But two years ago, while making an exercise physiology presentation to a gathering of TI Coaches, Suzanne defined exercise as: “Moving your body in a functional way for health, fitness, and enjoyment.”

I found that definition so relatable and holistic I immediately adopted it as my own. This allowed me to again think of my swim practice as a form of exercise—something I hadn’t done in 10 years.

In a shift that was so gradual as to be almost unconscious, I’d begun thinking of swimming as a movement art—like aikido, or dance, or yoga–which I sought continuously to refine. I still received the aerobic and muscular benefits of exercise but–as a motivation–that had become distinctly secondary to the sheer satisfaction of how good my stroke felt.

Years earlier I’d made a conscious terminology change–referring to my regular hour-plus of swimming as a practice, rather than the far more common term ‘workout’ which I’d also used for 25 years. Initially, I meant practice session: Conditioning ‘happened’ while I devoted my pool time to honing skills.

Since turning 60, I’ve thought of swimming as a life practice, as defined by George Leonard, the author of Mastery: The Keys to Success and Long-Term Fulfillment: “A set of related activities done with the intent to create enduring positive change in body, mind, and spirit.”

Channeling Qi

I was introduced to Qigong as a healing modality by my daughter Carrie in April following a mini stroke. Carrie credited Qigong with helping her overcome a debilitating chronic illness. After years of conventional medicine had left her feeling hopeless, Qigong practice brought reliable relief and made her  feel she was taking charge of her recovery.

Qigong perfectly complemented my vision of swimming as life practice. It’s a 4000-year old Chinese health practice used to heal illness, maintain health and improve vitality through movement, breathing, and focused intention. The word Qigong combines two Chinese words: Qi (chee) is the life force that flows through all things. Gong (kung) refers to skill cultivated through regular practice.

There are hundreds of Qigong sequences, some so complicated they take months to learn. Carrie taught me just one—the Flowing Movement, which had the virtue of being so simple it took only 10 minutes to master the basics.

Stand with knees slightly bent, arms at sides and erect—but relaxed–posture. Lift straight arms forward to shoulder level–palms first–rising onto the balls of your feet as you do. Inhale as the arms lift and visualize drawing qi from the earth through the balls of your feet. Circulate the qi through your body, concentrating it where you wish healing to occur.

Then turn palms down and press the arms down and slightly behind your legs, rocking onto your heels as you do. (Carrie recommended I imagine moving my hands through water; this really helped.) Exhale as arms come down and send the qi back into the earth through your heels.

While I learned the movement in minutes, it many hours to learn to maintain a steady focus on concentrating and directing qi, which is the essential part of qigong practice.

I did 40 to 60 repetitions (in sets of 10 to 20) first thing in the morning, then another 20 to 30, during breaks from work at my desk, throughout the day. On each, I employed visualizations directed at healing symptoms from the stroke I’d suffered April 7.

To regain steadiness on my feet, I practiced barefoot on grass, visualizing that I was rooted deep into the earth. To heal blurred vision, I gazed at a tree while practicing, striving to see the outlines of individual leaves. Like Carrie, I felt empowered during practice and healthier in body, mind, and spirit after it.

The Zero-Cancer Zone

I brought Qigong influence to the three or more yoga classes I attended each week. When the opportunity presents, I look in the mirror with a wide smile, note how healthy I look and feel gratitude for being there.

In standing positions, I visualize drawing prana (the yoga equivalent of qi) from the earth through my front foot as I inhale, circulate it through my body, and return it to the earth through the rear foot as I exhale. Next breath, I reverse the flow. As with qi, I direct the prana to the places needing healing.

Strength training has become increasingly vital as a health practice because hormone treatments put me at risk of osteopenia/osteoporosis and because strength training, as part of a well-rounded exercise program has been shown to significantly enhance the effect of chemotherapy or radiation.

As with yoga and qigong, I employ visualization in strength training. Pushing a weight up becomes an ‘active affirmation’ that says: “My body is strong and healthy and has the resources it needs to get better.” I call these blogs Zero-Cancer Swimming because swimming, and these other activities do, in fact, ‘zero-out’ cancer. I feel feel healthy, strong, and vital while doing them. I always feel better after moving my body than before. And they are proven cancer-fighters.

Challenge the Mind: Heal the Body

This brings us full circle to swimming. While I need to take it easier on myself than before, my practices remain as cognitively and neurally demanding as ever with a keen focus on attaining mastery in the subtlest skills, and/or doing exacting tasks involving SPL, Tempo and/or Time.

For instance, earlier this week I swam a mile in Lake Minnewaska, four 400-meter loops along the cable. Because I was recovering from a bout with gastroenteritis and my energy level was low, I swam quite gently.

Northbound, I focused on forming long, sleek, stable lines with each side of my body; ‘holding my place’ by applying feather-light pressure with a soft lead hand; and avoiding water disturbance as I entered and rotated to form a new line.

Southbound, I counted strokes, trying to swim 200 meters in fewer than 190 strokes. It took laserlike concentration to reach the end of the cable in 188 to 189 perfect strokes.

The following day at the Ulster County Pool, I swam another mile in 8 repetitions of 200 meters. Again I swam gently, but I challenged myself to steadily increase my 200-meter pace while maintaining Stroke Length. My baseline focal points were the same as at the lake.

On my first 200, I averaged 43 strokes per 50-meter length and my 200 time was 4:00. On the next three repeats my time improved only slightly, to 3:57, but I gradually reduced stroke count to an average of 41 SPL by being softer and more patient with my lead hand. On the final four, I added back a few strokes per 200, while swimming slightly faster. On my final 200, I averaged 42 SPL and finished in 3:54.

Twelve months ago I was swimming 50% to 100% farther in each practice, at paces 5% to 10% faster, but these metrics matter less than what my senses and spirit tell me. By those measures I’m swimming as well or better than I ever have. Most importantly, as in my other activities, I now sense every stroke channeling vitality and healing energy where I need it.

Three concrete measures of the efficacy of my self-healing modalities are:

  1. My stroke symptoms—unsteadiness and blurred vision—have disappeared. My gait and vision are as good as they were before the stroke.
  2. My blood pressure, which had spiked as high as 190/100 is now consistently lower than it’s ever been in my life. Yesterday it was 116/69.
  3. In the spring, pain in my hips often required me to take powerful pain meds to sleep. Now I’m barely aware of hip pain.

Striving Together in Memory of Betsy Owens

On Aug 13, I did my first open water race of the summer—the Betsy Owens Memorial 2-Mile Cable Swim in Lake Placid. For two weeks prior I’d been laid low by gastroenteritis and cellulitis (due to lowered resistance from chemo), so my energy level and preparation were below what I’d hoped for. But I wouldn’t miss the event for anything, since it memorializes Betsy Owens, a former chair of Adirondack Masters Swimming and a dear friend, who’d succumbed to breast cancer in 2003.

There were 1- and 2-mile options, but I really wanted to swim the 2-mile, though I hadn’t swum as far as two miles (3200m) in any practice this summer. I had no concern with time or place; I just wanted the joy of participating and to see old friends.

I planned to swim quite easily for the first seven of eight 400m lengths on the cable then see how I was feeling and whether I could finish a bit more briskly. The night before the event I timed two 400m cable lengths on the course at what felt like a sustainable effort level. The first was 8:17, a pace slightly over 1:06 (1 hour 6 minutes) for 2 miles. The second was 8:30, a pace of 1:08.

I’d swum the Betsy at least a dozen times before with a best time of 45:40, at age 54, and a slowest of 53 minutes at 63. But this year I’d enjoy the swim, whatever time I might record.

We started in waves of 10 swimmers, 30 seconds apart. Based on my estimated seed time of 26 minutes for 1500m, I started in the third wave. On the start I allowed everyone else in the wave to move ahead, to avoid slowing anyone with my leisurely pace. Halfway down the 400m course I found myself on another swimmer’s feet. It took a bit more effort than I’d planned on expending to stay in his draft, but I decided to try to maintain that position and see what happened.

Lap after lap, I was intently focused on maintaining an optimum drafting position without touching my draftee’s toes; minimizing drag and water disturbance; and making every stroke count. With the exception of closely following another swimmer it was just like my every practice swim.

As we passed a mile, I began to smile at how good I felt. Not only at being able to maintain relaxation while swimming at a brisker pace and higher effort level than I’d thought possible—or had practice all summer. But also at the feeling of using my body to its fullest present capacity, and the sheer pleasure of racing in open water, and especially on a cable course.

On the seventh leg, we picked up another swimmer and I could feel our pace pick up. I stayed with it by more consciously driving the high hip. I anticipated an even brisker pace on the final leg. As we rounded the buoy I pressed more firmly with my hands and lower leg (in the 2-Beat Kick). It  took all I had to stay with our little group. I felt real joy as we crossed the finish line.

John Lomasney on right, with whom i Strived Together

John Lomasney on right, with whom i Strived Together

 

In the chute as we walked to shore where our numbers and places would be recorded, the swimmer I’d been following and I embraced. My race partner, without whom I could never have recorded my time of 1:02:15.87, was John Lomasney. It turns out that John is a TI fan. He knew it was me on his feet and was conscious throughout the race of using his best form. John is a member of the Binghamton University Masters Swimmers (BUMS).

Apres-Swim with the 'BUMS'

Apres-Swim with the ‘BUMS’

The Latin root for compete—com petere—means “strive together.” And that is certainly what John and I did for just over an hour that day.