It happens every, single year. Wait, let me re-phrase that: I let it happen every, single year. I go for my first swim of the season when summer is already halfway over. And I always regret it. Note to self: Start swimming when summer starts! It's glooorious!
|That's how good it feels. [Source.]|
The swim leg of the sprint distance triathlon which I'm now officially training for (woohooo!) equals 24 lengths of our gym's swimming pool (i.e. 600 m). Yikes. To me that's a lot of lengths. And doing it all in one go is especially daunting to me right now. (Well, that and the tiny issue of swimming in open water. With a gazillion arms and legs flapping around in my face. But I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there.)
So this morning I tackled the bull by the horns and I did the whole shebang: I swam 600 m. Twenty-four lengths. But not in one go. No. In twenty-four. Yep, I needed a break after every, single lap. Ha! How will I ever be able to do it all without stopping?! Just like any other overwhelming task, I guess: One bite at a time. Baby steps.
So watch this space! Major celebrations and obligatory cartwheels and happy dances anticipated for the day when I'm finally able to tackle those suckers two at a time ;).