I’m doing an open water swim event tomorrow; one that, between you and me, I have not quite trained enough for.
I work out regularly, meeting but usually exceeding the CDC or whomever’s recommended 150 minutes of exercise weekly. I’ve had a busy last few months at work and that has reflected in the number of trips I take to the gym each week, but for the most part I’ve still held steady. I prioritize working out—I know the impact its presence and its lack has on my mental health and I know the long-term benefits of regular and consistent exercise. It is an integral part of my life and I genuienly love it.
I grew up in a very athletic family and began my athletic career when I joined a local swim team at nine years old. I was on swim teams for over a decade, swam collegiately, and ran track and field in high school, transitioned to running half-marathons in college, and transitioned to swimming open-water races after college. Most years of active memory were filled with practices, workouts, and meets. I was a sprinter and it still has my heart, though in running and swimming I mainly focus on distance, now.
When I have the time to select an event, sign up for it, and dedicate my time to training for it, that is.
It is hard to balance all the adult responsibilities one must take care of. Work, cooking and cleaning, exercising, keeping up with friends and family, trying new things, giving time to old hobbies, generally having a social life. It’s hard to balance all of it.
So, though I have been regularly working out, the specific bit of dedicating my time to training for an event I signed up for has fallen through the cracks. A little nerve wracking—I am aware my body is perhaps not as resilient as it used to be—but I think I have enough years of swimming under my belt and enough general fitness currently to make it through this race just fine.
Still, the urge has hit me to wear my fins for the race. The race is relaxed, more of a group event than a competition, and it is just fine to use gear during the event. I would not be out of bounds or out of place to use fins, which would take a little pressure off my shoulders and upper body.
But it’s that athlete’s voice that keeps sneaking into my mind, telling me it’s cheating to wear fins. It’s trying to tell me that I need to tough it out—I need to put my head down and grit my teeth and pour through. There’s a heady satisfaction I get from accomplishing physically hard challenges, and the voice wants me to feel like that accomplishment is diminished if I don’t accomplish this hard thing—this thing I am undertrained for, remember—on purely my own merits.
That voice doesn’t seem to remember that my post-collegiate swim career is one meant for fun. There isn’t a real sense of competition to my swims now, moreso an attempt to turn swimming back into something that is pure fun. It is meant to be social for me, it is meant to be calming, it is meant to be fresh. I treat running the same way: it used to be about racing, now it is about seeing what my body can do. Athletics were always about sociality for me, too, and this even is perfect for that. I can have it all tomorrow.
I can be that athletic go-getter and allow myself to relieve some of the strain my lack of prep will put on my body. I can satisfy both voices in my brain, the one asking me not to push myself too intensely and the one demanding I challenge myself. I am attempting a 5k swim tomorrow, after all. Not everyone can do that. Also, not everyone finds joy in spending a Saturday doing that—I do. I lose nothing of my athletic past by using a tool for this athletic venture. I do gain another notch in the category of “swimming can look different for me now and that is okay”.
I’ve been aware for a while that swimming in college burned me out and I knew I needed to not force myself back into swimming hard. Pushing myself at the same intensity would only prolong the burnout, not cure me of it. So the voice in my head doesn’t get to win tomorrow. I will have a lovely swim and I will do what I need to do for my body. I will have a lovely time and I will give it my all, whatever that happens to look like tomorrow.