biscuiterie

Maybe you saw my tweet this morning.

Never in my life did I think I’d be bouncing out of bed at 5 a.m. to shovel the driveway because there was no way snow was going to make me miss masters swim.

Where the magic happens.

Over the past month or so, my whole attitude toward swimming has changed. Once upon a time, swimming was a source of dread, embarrassment, and sometimes even terror (tell me I’m not the only one who’s woken up panicked in the middle of the night, thinking about a looming CSS test). Now going to the pool is a highlight of my week, and I find myself wishing I could do it more often.

Part of this is due to joining masters (a.k.a. the best decision ever – besides cats and Big Ginger, of course). I love the people I swim with, I love the coaching, I love the challenge of new strokes (yes, I can fly now – it’s ugly and exhausting, but I can do it). I’m constantly being pushed out of my comfort zone – asked to attempt things I’ve never done before and risk failing in public, in spandex, in front of other people – and I really, really enjoy it.

I’m also grateful for Swimvember, my tri team’s month-long challenge geared toward getting everyone in the pool more often and building swim fitness. You earn points for each swim you complete, and there are bonus points for doing certain sets and workouts. All the points are tracked on a giant spreadsheet (Big Ginger would approve – spreadsheets are his jam), and while there are plenty of opportunities to win prizes (including cool stuff from Roka, which sponsors the challenge), I just really like seeing all the numbers on paper – keeps me accountable and motivated!

As a result of all of this swimming (32,800 yards this month as of today), I clocked my fastest 200 ever on Tuesday – 3:47. My previous PR was 4:05, so I am beyond ecstatic!

Here’s my holy-shit-I-just-did-that face.

Goggle eyes ftw.

Wilder opening circle (photo by Jess Barnard)

Confession: I've been sitting on this post forever. I started writing it two weeks after Wilder, but was having trouble getting it to exactly where I wanted it. So I never hit publish and just let it languish in my drafts folder.

This is exactly everything anti-Wilder, which was all about letting go of perfection and still being able to find a way to say, "I am satisfied."

photo by Jess Barnard

So I'm making myself hit publish now. Here goes.

Almost two months have passed since I got back from Wilder (and yes, time does seem to go by faster as you get older – this article proves it’s a legit thing), but I can't stop thinking about that wonderful weekend in the woods.

Those trails – I’m a road runner, and the roots and moss and rocks made me nervous, and I worried about reinjuring my ankle, and my calves and my glutes got sore, and my lungs strained, and everything felt hard and so very slow, and at one point, someone mentioned ticks (wtf, people, way to freak me out). But I kept going (even if it meant walking at times). And the view at the top was so worth it, and I never want to forget the blue of Penobscot Bay and the trees just starting to turn colors.

Can you blame me for wanting to go back?

And you know what I realized (besides the fact that I have zero clue what to do with a tick)? Writing is a lot like running. It’s hard and it can sometimes suck and you have to put in the work before you see any results, but the secret is keep going. Keep going even when your writing is awful and sappy and embarrassing, keep going even when it’s uncomfortable, keep going even when you feel like you’re wasting your time. Because in the end, it’s worth it.