Recovery?

Healing is a slow process. I remember after I lost someone I loved, my cousin Jem wrote me a very kind letter, in which he said "you will never forget him, nor would you want to, but the pain of his departure will ease with time although it will seem difficult to accept that at the moment. You will be able to place him, in time, in another part of your mind and memory". And, idiotic as it may sound, that was about my dog, who I'd had as a pet for over half my life at the time of his death, when I was about 20. Every pet owner is slightly irrational about the importance of the animal in their life, but perhaps more so at the end of childhood. It was a beautiful letter though, and disorganised as I am, I was able, for the purposes of this blog, to find it in a moment, because it meant so much to me - and has remained as a lesson about time and grieving, that I've been able to apply at other times in my life since then. Because I did find another place for him in my mind, the same as I have been able to do, over time, for other (actual) people who I've lost since then. So, recovery of the mind doesn't happen over night, but it does happen given time.

Recovery of the body, on the other hand, apparently happens best in the swimming pool. Today's training detail read "Recovery". Under further instructions, I am not making this up, this is what was written, verbatim: "Swim 45 mins - warm up 8 lengths (200m) then do 10 x 50m at a strong pace with 30secs rest then 5 x 100m at a a steady pace off 2mins 15 (so you have 2mins 15secs to do the 100m then rest before starting the next 100m - the quicker you do it the more rest you get. 50m slow cool down".

There are so many things wrong with that, I can barely contain myself. When I read it, I thought, today's blog is pretty much going to write itself. For starters, if you said to me, OK, tough week, a swim is what you need, stretch out the muscles a bit - I'd probably agree with you. I'd think, yes, I'd enjoy that. 30 minutes, good pace, probably about 30 lengths. Secondly, how, HOW (and I am shouting) was I supposed to keep all that in my head? Sally, you're mixing up your units, that's the problem there... lengths, metres, 5x100, 10x50, what's it all about? I went over to the GI people (where Nige sits), who I found in the process of making up a new Bond villain who strokes a guinea pig and has plans to take over the world (in order to make them train harder). I'm still not making this up. I asked Nigel what Sal was playing at with instructions like that. He said "Simple, she's trying to make it so you don't notice how far she's asking you to swim." There's something in that. I was so worried by trying to keep the exercises in my head in the right order, I had barely noticed that she wanted me to swim 50 lengths in 45 minutes. "That's not possible" I said.

Nige said, "Just do what I did, tell her you're not a strong swimmer and you can't do it." I had to confess that I'd already blown that one away when I told her I loved swimming, and I'd happily exchange any of the hill-exercises for swimming ones. "Ah well" said Nige sagely, "you've brought this upon yourself".

Now, the next thing wrong with these instructions, is that, as astute readers will recall from  Keeping pace, I am very poor at mental arithmetic, and had a great deal of difficulty adding 3 minutes onto 14 minutes 30 seconds during pace training. I mean, this was probably because that was base 60, which to be honest with you, I have trouble with, so I had to convert it into binary, by adding 3 (or 11) onto 14 (1110), giving me 10001 and then converting it back again (17). Which was probably why it was taking me so long. Anyway, if you think I had a hope in hell of looking at the clock, and adding 2 minutes 15 seconds onto it, swimming 4 lengths and figuring how many seconds were left, well, you picked the wrong maths genius. Quite aside from anything else, I can't even see the clock in that pool. My glasses are in my locker.

I also figured out before I was in the water that I can't swim four lengths in 2 minutes 15 seconds in any case. And this was supposed to be the steady pace, not the strong pace. Although, and I hate to be critical, the English usage is slipping a bit here. "Steady" can be fast or slow. Just like when the dentist asks if I floss regularly, I can be absolutely honest and say "Yes", and not add, "just before coming to see you. Like clockwork."

Interestingly, (or not) my main problem with swimming is that I lose count. I'm OK up to 10, so I got the warm-up laps out of the way nicely. I debated whether to start a system of counting "1" every 2 lengths for the 10 x 50 m, but decided against it because I realised I'd probably forget and mix up counting pairs of lengths and single lengths. It was a shame I even had the passing thought though, because when I got up to 10 lengths at a fast pace, I was feeling really good, and so chuffed I'd already finished, and when I suddenly realised I'd actually only got halfway through, I almost died. (Helped by the fact I chose that moment to choke on some chlorine). When I got to 16 lengths, I was reflecting on how once you've got past the halfway mark out of ten lengths, it feels like you're pretty much there, whereas from 14 it still feels like an eternity to 20. It was as I reached the further end, though, that I suddenly lost confidence. Had I been thinking that because I'd passed 16 or because I was on my way up to it? It took me another 4 lengths to rationalise that I must have finished.

The 5x100m, or 5 x4 lengths, however, was much easier to count. I assume this puts me just above a chicken in counting ability. (I once read that they have the ability to count to 2, such that basically if you give them a choice of 1 or 2 grains of corn, they'll go for 2, and between 2 and 3, they'll go with 3, but they can't tell between 3 and 4. So their counting system goes 1, 2, more. Mine goes 1, 2, 3, ow.).

I did do the final "cool down" 50 m, although I understand exactly what was going on, and re-branded it "the lap of honour" as it took me to the impossible heights of 50 lengths.

Then I got back onto the deadly peddly and wobbled back to the office, where the GI crew were delighted to learn of my adventures. They were also most interested in the state of my bicycle, which as far as I'm concerned was on its way out, as I've got it in a super-easy gear and it's really hard to peddle. I told Ian (AKA Databoy) that it had a broken shank, and when he'd finished laughing, he said he thought I probably meant crank. Having listed every cycle shop near and far, there was a ballpark estimation that this would set me back £80, but the kind GI people suggested Ian would do it for much less. He was sweet enough to come with me and take a look, at which point he paled and said "Emma, your back wheel isn't fixed onto the bike". He fixed it on for me, and although he was still upset about rear wheel bearings, it now goes like a dream (so the triathlon's back on the cards). So I bought him a muffin. I treated myself to carrot cake, realising I hadn't had lunch, and Ian promised not to tell Dr No.

Then I staggered back to the office. Fortunately Ian had been mountain biking (up actual mountains) so it would have been cruel to make him climb the stairs, when he'd come outside to help me. We took the lift.

Recovery, my arse.