Swimming 4.25 Miles To Catch A Guppie

6,000 yards down…how many more to go? (Me with the jazz hands, Katie in the middle, Kathleen on the right.)

Since Sarah took a trip down memory lane and jumped into water in this hot, hot August, I wanted to do the same with this post from January 2015. Maybe 2018 is the year I do the full 10,000 meters.

About seven years ago, I read a post from a triathlete who, to celebrate the new year, did 100 x 100 yards. (That’s 100, 100-yard pieces.) It takes multiple hours and is a little less than six miles of swimming, which I probably don’t need to tell you is a really, really long way to go in the pool unless you’re Diana Nyad or training to swim the English Channel.

Despite not being in either of those categories, I’ve stored that little (long) workout in the back of my head since that day. It swims around like a guppie in my big mental tank full of grocery lists, basketball practices, ring-tailed lemur science projects, Lena Dunham essays. On the rare occasions, the guppie makes it to the front of my brain, it intrigues me in the way that running a marathon used to: Wow, why would you ever want to do go that far…but could I do that?

I did the Pikes Peak Ascent in August, then injured my foot in October, so it really hasn’t been that long—5 months or so—since I’ve had that dang-I-accomplished-something! feeling.

Except it kind of has, because I get that delicious feeling after every run, which makes me slightly addicted to it. Like most injured runners, I miss it acutely when I haven’t tasted it. While I realize the transformative power of a sports-bra-soaking-sweat, I don’t really feel that go-me! after a bike at the gym or a session at Orange Theory Fitness, my newest fitness foray.

Running in singular in its ability to let me both physically slow down and sweat, mentally soak things up and clear things out at the same time.

So when the fog of holiday sugar cookies cleared, I found the 100 x 100 guppie hanging in the back corner of my brain tank, along with a bunch of holiday returns I needed to make. And I remembered my running pal Katie, who had done 100 x 100 in previous years with the masters team she swims with. I took action.

Long story short. Despite having not swum (swam? I can never conjugate that verb) since mid-December, I decided I would give it a whirl. I found a new suit on massive clearance for the occasion; I was feeling so bold, I just bought it off the rack and didn’t try it on. It couldn’t have been worse than the one I currently have, whose outer layer  is so saggy, the fabric could be belted.

We texted back and forth a few more times, and I met Katie this morning to cover what I thought would be 5,000 yards—the longest distance I’ve ever covered, including Ironman training. I thought it would be kind of a clockwork situation: swim, say, 10 x 100, take a drink, eat a gel if need be, keep going. Instead, it turned out to be a group collaboration between Katie, Kathleen (who I just met that morning), and me.

After we all did the “I’m so slow” and “I haven’t been in the pool forever” thing, we settled into the idea that this was a “slow and steady” thing and then we settled into a rhythm. Each person would picked what we’d do for 500 yards (5 x 100, say or 500 straight or 2 x 250 as 200 free, 50 back), then lead the other two in the pattern. We used kickboards, pull buoys and fins, which spiced things up. We were all about the same speed, so that worked well, and if I just focused on the 500—and not the fact that 500 was just 5% of the total yardage set for the day—then that was even better.

2,000 yards clicked by pretty easily. I took a Caramel Machiatto Gu at 2,500 yards, and defogged my goggles. The jolt of energy and the clear view made me feel like I could cover another 7,500 yards. But then each 500 made my arms progressively more tired. (Like, uh, no duh, Dimity…). If you want to play the Jeopardy edition of Dimity’s injuries, you’ll remember that I had shoulder and neck problems while training for Ironman. While I’d take those over my current foot issue, I don’t need to create more physical drama in my life.

We covered 3,000 yards in about an hour, so I thought I’d get to 6,000 in about 2 hours, which would be plenty. Plenty. Past my original goal of 5,000 yards, but not so much that I’d need to email my chiropractor as soon as I got home. I wanted to keep going because I was loving the water, which didn’t feel overly chlorinated. It gave me space to daydream, think, and simply be quiet—another casualty of my non-running. (When I’m at the gym and the Paris massacres are all over multiple televisions, it’s hard to be quiet. It’s just sad and troubling.)

Social kicking sets…my fave.

The set we did at 5,000 yards was 500 yards of kickick with fins and kickboards, which we did three across and chatted the whole time. Two hours had passed. I was feeling pruney but my shoulders felt slightly refreshed, thanks to the kicking break and a Chocolate GU.

“You can get to 7,500,” prodded Katie, an endurance enabler, and I muttered that yes, I probably could. So I picked a somewhat doable set that was 10 x 50 yards for the next one, but with each stroke, I thought the sinew in my shoulders might snap. I decided that I’d stop if the next set felt that awful…but it didn’t. The ache morphed to muscularly dull, not angry.

I didn’t go the total distance—I doubt I could be typing right now if I did—but I swam 7,500 yards (4.25 miles!), and I feel more accomplished than I have in months. I also feel a little nauseous because the mileage allowed me to justify too much French Onion Dip and Ruffles and a second beer as I watched the Broncos lose, which also adds to the nausea. I wonder how my shoulders and neck will feel tomorrow…I may be sending Katie a bill for my chiropractor.

Mostly, though, I just love putting myself out there and catching that 100 x 100 guppie.

Well, catching most of it anyway. And, like any good fish story, it just may grow over time.

Any guppies swimming around in your head that you’re fixing to catch—or recently caught?