Epiphany

Was at the pool this morning, mid-way through the warmup’s 200m kick.  I noticed, all of a sudden, that I was really kicking hard, trying not to get passed by a teammate who is a) younger and b) a guy.

And I thought, “Whaaaaat?  I’m racing a guy during a kickboard set in a warmup for a routine Monday swim?  Really?  What kind of goof am I anyway?”

And I finally realized, after eight years in endurance sport, that I’ve been doing it all wrong.  I think I also have figured out why.  I’m packing to move house in a few weeks and just blundered over the packet of old report cards again.  They’re a twelve-year litany of, “Miss Weber does not seem to be working up to her capabilities.”  (Kindergarten appeared to go OK, though.) I think an awful lot of me is still trying to prove that I am not a slacker, and I’ve been driving myself to go win every goddam workout for the last eight years so I know it, and you know it, and Coach knows it.

The poor slob sharing my lane, however, does not know it, does not care, and has no idea that he’s being hunted.

I’m going to try to really take the easy, EASY.  So I can go bust my backside and kick yours when I really do need to go hard.