Lane 4 Enlightenment

I don't think of myself as an angry person. I think I have a fairly long fuse. But there are a few things that truly piss me off: people speeding like freaking maniacs on the highway, pushy solicitors on the telephone, and clueless swimmers barreling right down the center of my lane.

I swim once a week for 45 minutes during Simon's swimming lesson. I'd like to swim more, but getting to and from the pool is difficult at this time in my life. So I cherish my 45 minutes every Tuesday afternoon. I try to swim at least 2000 yards.

There is one lane designated for lap swim at this particular time. I know most of the other swimmers and usually we have no trouble crowding 3 or 4 people into the lane. We respect each other's space and try to stay out of each other's way.

But this week a new person showed up. Laura (another swimming lesson mother) and I had been happily splitting the lane until this third woman jumped in, at which time we agreed to circle (meaning everyone stays on the right side of the lane coming and going).

This woman was clearly not a swimmer. She did a wide, slow breaststroke right down the middle of the lane. She did not give way, forcing Laura and me to swim around her, which was difficult with three people in the lane.

The breaststroker was not being deliberately obtuse. She was perfectly nice. It was obvious that she simply had no knowledge of lap lane etiquette. And I did not want to spend any of my precious swimming minutes clue-ing her in.

I spent about 10 seconds getting angry, and then I remembered my Zen. It sounds wacky, but it worked. I reminded myself that we are all one universe. I am the breaststroker and she is me.

Ping! Instant compassion. Instant loss of anger.

This is a better way to live. When I can remember to live like this.

Double Monday

I didn't run yesterday, which is starting to become a habit. By Sunday, I'm done. Rare is the Sunday this winter when I even get out of my pajamas. Though I admit IS difficult to distinguish my pajamas from my regular clothes. I usually sleep in whatever I happen to be wearing. And (huge confession here) sometimes even resurrect the fabulous outfit again the next day.

Whole new realms of creative outfitting have befallen me since becoming a homeschooling parent. I mean, who has time to change clothes?

I guess it's a good thing I run so much. Sort of forces the shower issue.

Anyway. Sunday I rode the bike. Not the sleek Specialized Roubaix road bike that fits my body like a glove and practically rides itself. I passed right by that beautiful thing and hopped on the early-90's vintage, got-it-for-ten-bucks-at-a-garage-sale Specialized Hard Rock. It's a stretch to call this thing a mountain bike. No suspension system, no cross bar and a barely-working rearr derailer that shifts with a mind of its own.

But my goal for the ride was to work my quads, so this bike was perfect. It's heavy and is not tricked out for clipless pedals. I rode it up the steepest hills I could find, pushing hard on every downstroke, burning up my quads, hoping to simulate the braking feeling of downhill running. I am going to need lots of leg strength if I expect my quads to survive the long downhills at Grindstone.

I finished my work a little early this morning (Monday), so the dogs and I headed out at 5:15 instead of our usual 5:45 for a nice 90-minute run in the dark. Slow, steady, hilly, fun.

I ran around with the kids all day, which involves different muscles entirely. We decided to ditch the books today and get outside. We went to the big beach in Charlestown, RI and to the playground at Ninnigret Park. I'm lucky to spend my days with these kids. They keep me young. I jumped off the swings and collected shells and stood in as pivot-man on the see-saw. Excellent day.







And for my second training run, I did hill repeats during Nell's swim practice in the evening. Round and round a ten-minute, two hill circuit for more than an hour. I repeatedly passed the same little farm with the same little ponies and llamas in the pasture. They kept asking me what I was doing. But how to explain it all to llamas and ponies?

I listened to my Zen book on the iPod (Alan Watts: The Way of Zen). There is absolutely nothing better to listen to than a Zen book when you are doing hill repeats. It gives the whole bizarre procedure new layers of meaning. Zen is all about losing your mind, letting yourself stop thinking about thinking. Forget the past and the future: all illusions. The idea (or not idea, exactly) is to become one with the universe. (AW: You are not born INTO the world, you are born FROM it. Like an apple from a tree).

Generally I am way too self-conscious to achieve anything remotely resembling Zen mind. But I do come closest when I am running hill repeats.

And now it's late at night (for me anyway) and I can't sleep. Overtrained?