Progress

Monday night is swim night. At least, it is now. After Friday's debacle I'm a little hesitant, but I tell myself that things can only get better.

Two men chat in the changing rooms, every sentence using the word "mate" as a full stop. The conversation of one in particular chock-full of braggadocio, especially on the subject of women. Not to promote stereotypes, but he's 5'5" on his tiptoes.  The weary nods of his companion suggest a long suffering relationship.  Mate B none-too-subtly turns the conversation to the more mundane topic of the workout they have just done.  Mate A seizes upon it, and it's not too long before he's gladly listing the athletic achievements he anticipates over the coming year - including triathlons.

"'Fink I might just stick to a Sprint mate," says Mate A.

"Yeah, start small mate," replies Mate B.

"I mean, I reckon I could do the longer distance, but ain't really got time for that mate"

"Right mate"

"You know where you wanna go mate?  Tenerife.  They 'ave a proper one there.  Ironman.  70.3.  Whatever that means"  (actually, 70.3 is a Half Ironman)

"I think that's the distance you have to do mate"

I trust that this is not representative of your average triathlete.

Anyway, business.

My focus is breathing.  Exhalation, breathing into the pocket, and body rotation.  I keep it simple by forgetting about bilateral breathing or trying anything more than breathing every 2 strokes.  I think that this will help keep me slower, reduce the urge to go faster to get to the next breath.

It works like a charm.  I feel so much more confident in the water, and I'm able to do continual stints of 150m before taking a breather, far better than my first attempt last week.  I'm certainly not terribly fast - in the lane next to me, a mature lady, no stranger to the odd Ginsters herself I suggest, breaststrokes past with ease - and my stroke style is probably none too pretty, but I climb out the pool feeling much more positive about the possibility of not drowning.