Swim for Health and Vitality: Finding Bright Spots Everywhere

In my last post, I promised to report on my next 1650, following the one I swam in Boston on March 11 and described in the post Can a Mile Swim Race Save or Extend Your Life. First of all, because I waited too long to enter the Colonies Zone meet in Fairfax VA, I was shut out of the 1650. So I entered the 1000-yard free with high hopes of swimming it at a significantly faster pace/100y than I swam on March 11.

To review that swim, it was practically magical. It felt better than any 1650 I’d ever swum. I paced it impeccably,  and I maintained a highly efficient 15 strokes per length for nearly the whole swim. When I entered the 1000-yard event I had to guesstimate my seed time because my last 1000 free came early in my treatment and I’d lost considerable speed since then.

I looked at the splits from last month’s 1650. I’d swum the first 1000 yards in 16:22, and the last 1000 (from 650 to 1650) in 16:08. Based on that, I estimated 15:59 as a my seed time when completing my entry.

My training for two weeks after the Boston meet was highly encouraging–including my unprecedented birthday set of 100 x 100. During my previous 1650, I averaged 15.5 strokes per 25y (62 strokes/100) and a pace of 24.3 sec per 25y. Based on these two figures (and subtracting ‘non-stroking time for turns and pushes) I was able to calculate my average stroke tempo at 1.28 seconds.

For the first two weeks after Boston I showed significant improvement on these measures, progressing (.01 second in tempo at a time) to feeling comfortable at 62 strokes/100 and a tempo of 1.2 seconds in training repeats up to 200 yards. But over the next two weeks, I began to experience intense neuropathy (nerve pain) in my legs, and noticeably more fatigue in the course of the day.

That took a toll on my training.  I could no longer swim comfortably at those combinations of SPL and Tempo. When I attempted them I felt a general burning sensation in my muscles–indicating a shift from aerobic to anaerobic training. Since aerobic training is far better for my health, I reduced my pace.

I went into my 1000y race on April 7 feeling less certain of my outcome. I started the race at what felt like a very cautious and comfortable pace, yet by the 500y midpoint, I felt tired, weak and had an increasing sense of breathlessness. The final 500y was a struggle. My strokes per length increased from 15 to 17, my turns were slower and my pushoffs shorter. I experienced significant discomfort.

When I hit the timing touchpad at the finish, the display board showed a time of 16:19 for my lane, 20 seconds slower than I had thought I ought to be capable of swimming. I didn’t know my splits, but–based on  how I’d felt–I was fairly certain that I’d slowed considerably in the second half of the race.

Even so, I felt no discouragement nor disappointment over my time or how the swim felt. Rather I felt only gratitude at being able to attend these meets, at the many old friends I meet when I attend them, at the affirmation of life that occurs every time I swim in a meet or race, and the conviviality Lou and I enjoy when traveling to meets together. We had a thoroughly enjoyable 5-hour drive back to NY with great conversation  all the way to our 1 am arrival back at Lou’s house.

Life is immeasurably enriched by participating in Masters and open water swimming events that the times or places I happen to record at them becomes quite secondary. But I did remai curious about how I’d paced (or split, as coaches say) my swim, as slow as it may have been. When race splits were posted on-line two days later, I checked them out.

I’ve already made clear that the slower time had cast no cloud over my outlook, so it would be a mistake to say it had a silver lining. Rather I found my splits to be a most encouraging bright spot–and an affirmation of what’s long been a strength. Taking away the first and last 50-yard splits, on the 36 laps between them, there  was variation in my pace of less than half a second per lap. Despite how I’d struggled, as breathless as I’d felt, I found a way to maintain remarkable consistency in my pace.

I don’t find this surprising, considering the consistency with which I focus on precise pace control in my training–seeking to imprint consistency in stroke length and tempo on my brain and nervous system. When I experience difficulty and discomfort in a race–when it feels as if nothing is going right–my nervous system and muscles still respond as I’ve trained them to do.

This is an example of an emotionally healthy habit I’ve developed in the last 20 years, a Growth Mindset behavior that would have been alien to me in my teens. During my 50s and 60s I’ve been happy to enter races when my physical conditioning is far from ideal for an endurance event, or when I have little expectation of swimming fast.

First, I expect to enjoy and feel enormous gratitude for the overall experience. Second–regardless of whether my time for, say, 1000 yards is 12 minutes, 16 minutes or 20 minutes–what I care most about is how I arrive at my final time. If I swim a well-paced 20-minute 1000, I will take great satisfaction from having done so. And considering how much my paces have slowed during the 16 months since I began cancer treatment, that’s a outlook is quite a gift

And in a further bright spot, two days after my slow-and-struggling 1000y race I seem to have recovered my mojo in practice. On a set of 15 x 100y repeats, using the Tempo Trainer, I steadily increased my tempo from 1.25 to 1.2 seconds, while comfortably holding a count of 63 strokes/100 yards, and improving my pace from 1:37 to 1:31 per 100 yards, faster than I’d swum in the past month and feeling no hint of struggle. Now I’m looking forward to my next planned meet–Canadian Masters Nationals May 11-13 in picturesque Quebec City (it will be my first visit) and to the return of open water swimming and events shortly afterward.