10Kmarathonswim

Crossings, circlings, etc. (With scary pictures of yours truly)

Caitlin over at Throw Me in the Ocean has a great post explaining why she'll swim around Manhattan before she crosses the English Channel. Well written and thought out, with a wonderful family story to boot.  Well done and a fun and engrossing read.

This post, dear reader(s), will not be that. I have no such great story. I have no such connection with one certain crossing, or circling, or other great, long, harrowing marathon swim. I wish I did. But I don't. I grew up in a few places, but even more so, I've spent the greatest part of my adult life constantly moving. It is always interesting when people ask me where I'm from (which they do a lot here). I finally tell them, after much explanation of my migrant ways, that I am from Texas, but I hurry to add, "But I won't be moving back there." 

I explained to some Brazilian friends the other night that "I spent 10 years growing up in the heat and humidity of Houston [how's that for alliteration?]; I've done my penance."  Not really fair to all that is good about Texas: cheap houses, cheap gas, good beaches, pretty women, my family! 

My sister put this picture of us through a "make short and squat" machine; we're not little people

However, I just can't take that kind of heat anymore. At least, not for such an extended duration. I grew up with summer lasting 9 months. You went to sleep one night with leaves on the trees and woke up to the cold and all the leaves dead and lying under the bare branches of your ash tree. You've slept through fall.  In three months the heat would return.

My pathetic attempt at college...that's me in the center. I should have been studying instead.

My first car was a 1973 Mercury Montego, a beast of a car that only a dad would love his son to have. Actually, it was a great car, with a great huge back seat (that dorky ole me didn't get to use much), a bench front seat that needed a passenger to help adjust, a state-of-the-art (in 1973) AM radio, and pleather seats. Notice I didn't list A/C. Air conditioning for me involved rolling down the front windows (yes kids, windows used to roll down with actual elbow grease) and driving at least 40 miles per hour. Summer was brutal trying to go somewhere nice without showing up dripping wet. The car got an amazing 4 MPG in the city, and a whopping 5 MPG on the highway, and needed a fill up of its 20 gallon tank weekly.* The engine was so holy that it took two quarts of oil and one quart of transmission fluid a week. What's more, the car came equipped with a mosquito fogger. People in parking lots wouldn't understand when I would ask them to move from behind my car. "You're not even close to us. You won't hit us." That's not what I mean. Then I'd start the car, and the huge smoke cloud would exit the back and engulf them. It was brutal. When I joined the Air Force, I tried to sell this hunk of junk at every place that said "Push it in, drag it in, we'll buy anything." No one would buy it. In the end, I had to call a towing place who brought a flat-bed truck, gave me $45, and took my baby away. It was sad.

My two sisters and I

This post has become about my car. But really it is about how much I loved growing up in Texas, despite never wanting to live there again. I should add permanently; if the service sends me there, there's not much I can do about it.

Still, I have no such open water swimming marathon (real marathon, as in the "you need a boat crew" kind of way) connection like Caitlin does. Maybe someday.

*The last gallon of gas I bought for my car before joining the service in 1986 cost me...wait for it...59 cents.  Yes! Fifty-nine cents. Incredible.

CSS, again

So I answered my own question.  Yes, those times include rest. 

The set I'm talking about is the pace awareness set written up in the June 2011 H2Open Water magazine:

1000 at 16:30

800 at 12:54

600 at 9:30

400 at 6:12

200 at 3:02

This set presumes to teach you pace awareness. Those times are based on my critical swim speed, basically the same thing as my lactate threshold. My CSS is 1:29/100 (yes, I'm slow. But I'm old too, so I've got that going for me). The non-scientist in me tells people that means that I can swim at a constant pace of 1:29, without crossing into the realm of the anaerobic. (Slipping into the oxygen-deprived world of anaerobic is fine when sprinting to a finish or speeding up to hit a buoy before others, but it is NOT where you want to swim for long distances/times.)

I swam this set the last two Wednesdays. Now, considering both my Timex swim watches (and my POS swimovate, but that's another story) are tango uniform, I've had to do all my timings by pace clock.  Not the most accurate method. Anyway, I hit the intervals above just fine for the 1000, 800 and 600. I think I hit the interval for the 400.  And once I hit the interval for the 200, but the first time I did not.  I had about a 1:30 rest on the 1000s, a little over a minute for the 800s, and less than a minute for the 600s.  (Damn, I can't wait til my new Timex arrives.)

I intend on swimming this set every Wednesday for a while.  Perhaps sometime in the future I'll add a 1200 at the start.  But maybe not.  The entire swim including warm-up and cool-down is about an hour, and I swim mid-day on a work-day, so adding another 1200 at 20:12 to that workout might not be a good thing.  We'll see.

Critical Swim Speed (CSS) or lactate threshold

I've recently completed Swim Smooth's suggested test to determine, without pesky needles and blood draws, my lactate threshold.  To simulate the real test, I swam a 400 free, keeping as constant a pace as possible.  Then rested until my heart rate recovered (about 3:00), and swam a 200.

My 400 time was 5:49, which I was happy with.  My 200 time was 2:50, which I thought would be closer to 2:30.  Perhaps I wasn't completely recovered?

Anyway, according to SS's CSS calculator, my new CSS for 100 is 1:29.  Now...what the hell do I do with that?  How much is that like my cruise pace?  I did a cruise pace test months ago (10x100 with :10 between, with an average of 1:40), so is this the same thing?  SS's website suggests workouts like:

8 x 200 with :20 rest on CSS

So does this mean I should do the 200s at 2:58 (1:29 x 2)?  To add to the confusion, in the June 2011 (3) issue of H2Open magazine, in the article Get Your Pace Right, SS founder Paul Newsome suggests the following main set for "pace awareness."

1000 at CSS + :10 per 100 (1:39)

800 at CSS + :08 per 100 (1:37)

600 at CSS + :06 per 100 (1:35)

400 at CSS + :04 per 100 (1:33)

200 at CSS + :02 per 100 (1:31)

That seems fast. For example, the 400 I did yesterday was 5:49. So for this "pace awareness" set, I should swim the 400 (after the 2400 prior to it!) at 6:12.  That seems okay, I guess....but does that include the rest?  So should my times for the above main set be:

1000 at 16:30 (but try to hit the 1000 at 14:50?)

800 at 12:54

600 at 9:30

400 at 6:12

200 at 3:02?

Should I still stick to my CSS and whatever is left over is rest?  I'll have to try that after I get my new Timex IM watch...yes, faithful reader(s), my last watch finally went kaput.

I also realized that I should figure out my 100 for each of the CSS swims.  The average 100 in my 400 was 1:27, but for the 200 it was 1:25.  So right away I'm getting an extra :02-:04 from SS's recommended 1:29 CSS. Is that supposed to take into account rest?

 

Dart 10K report, part II

Part I here.

The morning of the race I woke early, but not crazy-early.  Registration started at 9, but my wave wouldn't hit the water until 11:30. My main point for showing up in Totnes early was because of parking. Parking would cost me 6 pounds for the whole day (about $9.50), but I wanted to get close to where the bus at the end would drop me off. (There would be a bus from Dittisham, the end point, back up to Totnes. I wasn't sure how beat I'd be, so wanted to plan on as little walking as possible.)

I got there bright and early. I was one of the first there, so I walked around to check out the start. I had found some guy's youtube video of the swim from 2010, so I knew we'd be running (walking!) down the boat ramp into the river.  The water looked cold.  And in some parts, the current seemed to be going upstream. Stupid Mother Nature.

Boat launch where I thought we'd be starting

Registration was quick; got my swim cap, numbered armband (really a blue rubber band) and bag-tag. Now I just had two hours of anxious waiting until I needed to be in the starting pen.  My wave, the blue wave, had to "pen up" at 11:00, where they'd check our numbers to our names. There was no electronic chipping, to keep prices down, so they were especially keen on us checking in and checking out (not the permanent way) of the race.

Totnes Rowing Club, home of Dart 10K registration

Because my wetsuit was sleeve-less, I had to go through the process of getting approved as a non-wetsuit swimmer. It involved an extra paperwork drill, but wasn't onerous. It meant I'd wear an extra armband, really just a white rubber band. You'll see in a bit that I wish I'd just worn my grape-smugglers.

Each wave left at 15-min intervals, starting with my new-found friends Liz, Liz, Charlotte and Charlotte (yes, those were their names). I stood on some stairs that led into the water, where the rowers would exit the water. Poor rowers were all kicked out of the river prior to the start by the river authority! Anyway, I stood on those stairs getting used to the water temp. Cold! I figured I'd watch my friends walk from their pen, past me, to the boat launch. Nope! Unlike 2010, the swimmers entered at the stairs! So I got the hell out of the way, and cheered from a different vantage point.

Just me and some of my friends

Some guys were wearing blueseventy booties. I laughed it off, until I had to start walking on pavement without my flip-flops. Ouch. But the water temp didn't feel too bad after standing on the stairs for 15 minutes. That would change in about 30 minutes.

Waiting in the pen went fast. I checked in and marveled at another blue waver wearing his speedos only. Boy, how jealous I'll be of him in a matter of hours. Our wave moved from the check-in pen to the "go" pen. We got our pre-race brief. Huge emphasis on checking out at Dittisham. Apparently the OSS conducted a swim a couple weeks prior and five people didn't check out, and they started a search before those folks called someone to report that they'd already gone home. Jerks!

The pre-race brief ended with "Is everyone ready?" and us shouting "No!"  Then we were off. I managed to be about mid-way through my wave, hit the water steps, okay so far, then the leap in when I ran out of stairs. Ay, caramba. Or, since I was in England: "Bloody hell!" Terribly cold. Definitely colder than Copenhagen last year. My first thought was: this wetsuit does nothing against the cold.

I made it across the river, as we had to keep to the right in the river, but the rowing club was on the left bank. The river at this point was not too wide, perhaps 30 yards or so, so that left-to-right crossing was quick and cold. By the time I got to the other side, tarzan-swimming the whole way, I realized I hadn't started my chrono. Remedied that, put my head down, and just started swimming.

The cold feeling went away within a couple minutes; seriously, I would feel some cold spots during the swim, but nothing that really made me fearful of hypothermia (I'd gotten that once before when I was 16, so I know the signs). Waves of people passed me, as they always do at these races. Is it me not giving an honest seed-time? They asked for our one-mile OW time, which I said was 31:15, a time I did last year in my first OW race. Did the other blue-wavers give slower times so they could feel cool when they passed people? Did they have more adrenalin flowing? Who knows.

And unfortunately, each wave wore the same swim cap, so there was no way for me to see if I was catching any of the earlier waves, or being run over by the wave behind me. (OSS started the waves in slow to fast order; they wanted everyone finishing as close to the same time as possible.) The water tasted very salty, and the water level was much higher than when I scoped out the start two days prior. There must have been a huge influx of seawater; hopefully that meant the water was going back out!

In the NC 5K in July, I started a little swimming process that I thought would help me swim straight, and make the time go.  I'd swim for a set number of strokes between sightings. If I noticed myself going off course, I'd cut the stroke count down. If I was going straight, I'd increase the stroke count. So there I went, sighting every 8, then 10 for a while, then 8, occasionally 6.  That made the time go, and there were enough swimmers around that I could also just follow them. For the most part, I seemed to always be on course. A couple times I seemed way left, but turned out when I sighted a few times in a row, that I was cutting the corner.

Cut the corner once too far, and a paddleboarder sent me back right. That was okay; safety is paramount, and I didn't want to do anything that forced them to pull me. Another fear of mine, a fear of the macho side of me, was the OSS policy that if you were so far back that you might not finish in the minimum time, they'd pick you up in their boat, take you a mile or so down river, and drop you back in. And if they decided to do that to you, you had no appeal. I didn't want my first 10K to really be only 8K.

I hit the 4K feeding station really quickly. My first thought was that my "count, count x 8, sight, repeat" really helped the time go. I figured I'd hit 4K, taking into account my poor navigation skills, at about 1:20. Imagine my surprise when I looked and it was 54:05. Of course, being me, I was sure the OSS measured incorrectly.

Watching the other swimmers at that feeding station was hilarious. The station was a couple inflatable boats lashed together. All you saw were red caps around every inch of the boats. I don't know how long any of them stayed there, but it looked like a cafe with everyone shooting the breeze. Only later did I find out what they served.

Head down, continue swimming, still amazed at the time. Only in this next stretch, 4K to 8K, did I start to realize the river pushing me. A few times I really felt the current. I have no idea the speed of the current, but it was noticeable. 

We passed many boat yards, and the occasional wavy sections when rescue boats went by, but for the most part it was enjoyable and flat. It was between the feeding stations that I started to feel the wetsuit rash. I knew what it was, and just got more and more pissed as I went. Next time, no wetsuit.

The 8K feeding station looked the same as 4K, and I got to it at 2:04. Skipped it just like the other one. Shoulders, arms, legs, everything felt great. I started to do the math. My goal was 3:40, so I knew there was almost nothing that could prevent me from hitting that. How fast could I swim 2K? with river help? Who knows?

The last 1K was brutal. Not because of tiredness; I really felt like I could keep going. However, the waves were crazy. I really got to put to the test my ability to gulp a mouthful of water instead of air, but not panic. I'd worked on that the last year or so; I gulped nasty silt-filled river water every 10 or so breaths, and didn't panic. I simply coughed it out underwater, and then got air the next right-breath.

The ending was the worst part of the swim. Since OSS sold this as just a relaxing marathon swim, especially for (us) first-timers, there was no finish gate or timers.  When you got shallow enough to stand up, you were done. I stood up at 2:34:55. Then I fell down.

The "beach" was nothing more than a silt field. My initial move to the vertical resulted with my legs buried in silt to just above my knees. It literally took me 10 minutes to get out of the water. Then the rough walk up to the Ham, a green area where the after-party was. Again, I thought the booties a good idea. My feet are too wimpy nowadays.

I joined some of my fellow marathoners to change under some trees. They actually had a portable hot tub! No way I was getting in that human soup bowl. But it was funny. I also saw the most ingenious "towel" that apparently a lot of these "wild swimmers" in the UK use. Imagine a swim parka made of terry cloth, with slits up the sides of your legs to about mid-thigh. They would don this robe, and then doff their swim suits underneath, keeping all the private "bits" covered, while I struggled to take my dripping wet speedo off with one hand while holding my beach towel with the other hand.

The Ham and OSS hot tub

Changed, I went to get in line for my hot chocolate. The OSS provided a nice coffee mug and free coffee or hot chocolate. They ran out of hot chocolate when I got to the front, but they had soda. So I drank my soda, to kill whatever river creatures I ingested. Then I waited in line for a bus ticket and to pick up my pre-paid hoody. I also bought a nice sweatshirt. Then I bought a Cornish pasty. If you haven't had them, you must. Very good post-exercise calorie refiller. Imagine a calzone, but filled with lamb, potato and mint, or steak and potato, or cheese and onion. Very filling.

I hung out with my fellows for a while, then made the trek to the bus. No one said anything about climbing a hill! I must say up until that point I thought, "this marathon business isn't too bad!" But that short walk up the hill killed me. Thankfully there was a nice green area to lay down on when I got to the top.

Bus ride was nice, talking to a lovely Brit lady who works in London dealing with international schools. She and her two friends invited me to have a beer with them in Totnes, but after swimming 10K, I was afraid one beer would put me over the limit, so I declined. I hopped in the car and drove back down to Dartmouth.

At the BRNC I surveyed the damage. My body looked like someone took flexible wire and ran it up and down my back, chest and neck. Ouch!  This would take some time to heal.  I showered, rinsed my wetsuit, and had a full dinner. I then walked into Dartmouth, to my favorite pub, and had a beer or three. I found out later that the official temp of the water was 15C, and 399 of the 400 starters finished, one having to be pulled for cramps. Not bad! I also found out that the feeding stations were giving out flapjacks, digestives and energy drinks. How crazy is that?  Anyway, Marathon Mission complete. I am a marathoner!

One of my celebratory beers...yum!

Dart 10K report, part I

All good trip reports start with the story of the beginning. This trip started with me flying to London from Moscow. I chose to take bmi airlines, because they were cheap. Unfortunately, they are somehow connected with the ever-horrible Transaero, one of the worst airlines I've ever traveled with.*

Thankfully, I managed to get to London without any serious horribleness. I rented a car in London to drive myself to Dartmouth, where I'd be staying. I managed to get accomodation at the Britannia Royal Naval College. This transpired after a wonderful, half-drunk night spent with some British chums at their embassy bar. I mentioned this swim. They mentioned the college in Dartmouth. I asked if they had a visitor's quarters for Yanks.

Next thing I know, one of the blokes emailed me to tell me that accomodations have been arranged. Blimey! They even had an American liaison officer there who would take care of me. Awesome! So I made flight arrangements and prepared myself for the swim.

I had heard that the College was like Hogwarts. I didn't believe it till I saw it. That's the college at the top of the hill.

I showed up a day prior to what they planned, but lucked out: the College was on summer break, thus they had about 400 rooms empty, so they were able to fit me in.

They gave me a room with a million-dollar, or at least hundreds-of-pounds view of the Dartmouth harbor. Um, I mean, harbour.

The cafeteria was still running. I ate three breakfasts and two dinners there. Total cost for all five meals?  4 pounds, 13 pence. Or $6.60! Incredible! And when I asked my liaison how much the billeting would cost, he said "One pound 50 a night."  WHAT? Are you serious? Two and half dollars a night? Incredible!

So I splurged on tourist crap. And beer at the wonderful pub The Ship in Dock Inn.

Best way to replenish calories after a marathon swim

Next time, part II: The swim!

*I've flown Transaero, counting this time, six times. On the return from London, at the very start of the flight, the toilets were already out of toilet paper. On two previous flights, the seat I had lacked an overhead light. On one flight the overhead light just didn't work. On the other, the entire freaking light was missing from the ceiling. Also, on both of those flights, the in-flight video system AND the music didn't work.  And both flights were full, and on both flights, the people around me had working entertainment systems and lights.

No longer a wannabe

Eagle-eyed readers will have noticed that I changed the subtitle of this blog. Well, of course! Originally, this blog was to document my training/travails on the way to becoming a marathon swimmer (in the new definition of marathon swim, e.g. a swim of 10 kilometers in length).  But now that I have finished a marathon, I've changed the subtitle.

The present subtitle, beautiful, pointed, precise, is by the wonderful W.H. Auden. If you don't know Auden, you might not realize that you've probably heard from him before. If you have seen the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral, then you've heard an Auden poem.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

One of the most beautfil eulogical (is that a word?) poem in the world. Makes me tear up every time I read it, so for the purposes of composing this post, I decided not to read it; simply to cut and paste it. I will read it (for the millionth time) after I'm done composing.

Dammit.  I went and watched it on youtube (link above). Nothing more moving have I ever heard/read.

I am a Marathoner

Just got back from the U.K. after competing this Saturday in the Dart (river) 10K, finishing in a time of 2:34:55.  Yes, the tide was kind.

Full race report soon.