The Trip Was Not the Test

I made it home from Los Angeles on Tuesday, but the cold came home with me.

I was tired, still sick, and fully capable of explaining why real training could wait until the following week.

Instead, I went downstairs and lifted.

I’d made that decision on the flight home. It was already Tuesday, and I had spent the previous two days at Universal Studios, where I walked a lot, stood even more, and ate food that destroyed any attempt at eating right. I tried a Krusty Burger and drank one of the most excessive milkshakes I had ever seen. I took a picture of myself with it because a milkshake that ridiculous deserves to be documented.

What I had not done yet this week was exercise.

We boarded our flight home early Tuesday afternoon. I spent the first 30 minutes setting up a grocery order. After a week away, there was almost nothing waiting for us at home. If I wanted the next few days to look different from the trip, I needed more than good intentions. I needed actual food and an actual plan.

I planned our meals, ordered what we needed, and scheduled the pickup so we could collect everything on the drive home from the airport. With that problem solved, I watched Project Hail Mary through the airline Wi-Fi. The message I carried away was simple: Keep solving the problem in front of you.

The problem waiting for me was not the trip itself. It was what happened after the trip.

The trip after the trip

We reached home around 4 p.m. The following morning was already looming. I had to return to work, and I intended to swim at 6 a.m.

Intended was the important word.

In the past, I almost never swam the morning after returning from a trip. It was too easy to postpone it. Too easy to say I would go the next day. Too easy to sleep in and enjoy my own bed after several nights of imperfect hotel sleep.

The plane may have landed, but the fatigue, unpacking, laundry, groceries, and disrupted routine all came home with us.

I unpacked the car, put away the groceries, emptied my suitcase, and made dinner. By the time I tucked my youngest into bed, it was after 8 p.m. The day was slipping away, but my commitment to work out was not.

I went downstairs to our home gym. It’s a small room in the corner of the basement filled with a treadmill, bench, squat rack, weights, and barely enough floor space to move between them. My wife’s marathon awards cover much of the room. On one wall is a set of records from my college swimming days, created by former teammates to commemorate the school records I held when I graduated.

The room reminds me of what both of us have accomplished and what I am now trying to rediscover.

I began with the exercises from physical therapy, then added basic chest, back, arm, and shoulder work. I finished with three sets of 15 bodyweight squats.

For some reason, those squats destroyed my quads. Perhaps it was the walking and standing at Universal. Perhaps it was the time away from altitude. Whatever the cause, my legs were nearly shaking by the third set.

The entire workout lasted only 35 minutes.

But it was 35 minutes more than zero, and that was the point.

I had exercised on a travel day. More importantly, I had denied myself the excuse that the week could not begin until the next clean Monday on the calendar.

A broken mile

My alarm sounded at 5 a.m. Wednesday. I would have enjoyed more sleep, but I was genuinely excited to return to the pool. I ate a light breakfast, drank a cup of coffee, and made my way to practice.

The main set was a broken mile: one 400, two 200s, four 100s, another 200, and five 50s. Together, the segments totaled 1,650 yards, the distance competitive swimmers call the mile in a 25-yard pool.

It was my first swim after nearly a week away and only my fifth since returning for the season. I was apprehensive when I saw the set. A 400 is not a short effort when swum with purpose, and 1,650 total yards at a strong pace is a significant test this early in a comeback.

I was not sure I was ready.

I also was not going to back away from it.

Masters practices differ from the high school and college practices I remember. Coaches provide the workout, feedback, and structure, but each swimmer ultimately chooses the effort. No one would have criticized me if I backed off. My coaches and teammates knew I was newly returned and just getting back from a week at sea level.

Part of me wanted that permission.

Another part of me still had too much pride to use it.

I decided not to attack the set at maximum effort, but I would swim hard enough to learn something.

My body responded better than expected. Despite the cold, travel, sore legs, and time away from the pool, I moved through every segment without a problem. My combined time was 17:51.

That was faster than my best continuous 1,650 time as a Masters swimmer.

A broken mile is not the same as a race. The rest matters, and 17:51 in pieces does not mean I could have swum that time continuously. Still, the result surprised me. Almost everything about the circumstances suggested that I should have been slower.

Instead, I was already within sight of a level of performance that had taken much longer to reach in previous seasons.

My goal for the mile this season is 16:49. I was still a long way from being capable of that in a race, but I was closer than I expected to be after five practices.

I completed 4,000 yards total. Nothing hurt, although I remained aware of the spot in my chest where the previous season’s injury had lived.

Aware is the best word for it. It wasn’t pain. It was a faint sensation in the same place where pain once existed, noticeable enough to make me wonder whether the injury could return. I had not yet used hand paddles since coming back. The added resistance still felt like a line I was not ready to cross.

Every strong workout suggested that my body was ready for more. Every remembered sensation warned me not to move too quickly.

The 5:15 negotiation

I went to bed Wednesday intending to swim again Thursday morning.

Then Thursday arrived, and my body wanted no part of that intention.

When the first alarm sounded at 5 a.m., I went back to sleep. My backup alarm woke me at 5:15. I remained in bed and began negotiating with myself.

I swam yesterday.

My body could use the recovery.

I’m still sick.

All three statements were true. They were also excellent raw materials for an excuse.

Evenings are often the only time I have for personal projects or uninterrupted time with my wife. I might work on a novel, an app, this blog, or something as uninteresting as paying bills. I rarely put my head down much before midnight.

I do not intend to eliminate that part of my life simply to make swimming easier.

Chasing my limit does not mean organizing my entire existence around a pool. It means discovering how much serious swimming I can fit into the life I already have.

That choice has consequences. Sometimes one of those consequences is a brutal alarm at 5 a.m.

I offered myself a compromise. I could stay in bed until 5:40, but then I had to get up. That would mean skipping breakfast and coffee, but it would preserve another 25 minutes of sleep.

At approximately 5:42, I finally got out of bed.

I grabbed the suit and towel still hanging from the previous morning and left. I reached the pool shortly after 6. The water helped wake me up. It did nothing for the rumble forming in my stomach.

The main set included three 200s, six 100s, and twelve 50s. I held a 1:01 pace on the 100s, close to the pace I eventually need for my 1,000 freestyle goal. To break 10 minutes, I’ll need to average around 59 seconds per 100.

Six 100s with rest are not the same as ten consecutive 100s without stopping. But the speed was there.

On a morning when I had barely escaped my bed, skipped breakfast, gone without coffee, remained sick, and swum 4,000 yards the day before, the speed was still there.

I finished with 3,100 yards, a loudly growling stomach, and a smile on my face.

Three mornings in a row

By Thursday evening, I felt ready to work out again. I completed a 45-minute lifting session, beginning with physical therapy and continuing through a full selection of exercises.

Cross-training will matter throughout this journey. In college, I largely ignored the weight room. I sometimes wonder how much faster I might have been if I had taken strength training seriously back then. I can’t go back in time to change that version of my swimming career, but I can avoid repeating the mistake now.

Friday morning, I faced the same argument with my alarm. I was still fighting the cold. I had already swum twice. I had lifted the previous evening. I did not need to swim for a third consecutive day.

But serious goals are rarely defeated by one dramatic decision. They are more often weakened by a series of individually defensible choices.

So I went.

Friday’s practice was not especially memorable. I completed another 4,000 yards without feeling as though I had done that much. It wasn’t a particularly intense workout, and that was fine. Friday was about accumulating controlled yards and reinforcing the act of showing up.

I had planned to swim between 7,000 and 9,000 yards for the week. By Friday morning, I had completed 11,100.

Extra yardage could help me regain fitness more quickly. It could also become too much, too soon. The fact that Friday remained controlled made me comfortable with the total. Despite the difficulty of waking up, I felt physically sound once I was moving.

The three consecutive mornings tempted me to reconsider my original plan of swimming three or four times each week. Perhaps four or five would accelerate my progress.

Then I looked at my calendar.

There will be weeks when four or five swims are possible. There will be many when they are not. Work trips, family travel, children’s events, and everything else will continue to occupy the calendar. The answer cannot depend on creating a life I don’t have.

My task is to build the best training pattern available inside the life I do have.

If I keep this up

The U.S. Masters Swimming Long Course National Championships took place that week. From Thursday through Sunday, I followed the results of two teammates competing at the meet.

Both are inspiring adult swimmers whose willingness to keep competing helped inspire my own return. Their stories belong to them, so I won’t tell too much of either one here. But one teammate, a woman around my age, broke an age-group world record and won every event she entered.

Following her performances was both humbling and energizing.

If anything I am attempting sounds impressive, just know that there are adult swimmers doing things that make my goals seem modest. That doesn’t diminish what I am pursuing. It expands my understanding of what might still be possible.

Watching her results, then looking at the progress I had made in only a few weeks, produced a thought that felt almost reckless:

If I keep this up, I can beat anyone.

I wasn’t manufacturing confidence. In that moment, I believed it.

I also watched the men in my age group. Some remain extremely fast. Their results reminded me that winning at Nationals will require more than a successful return to training. Event selection will matter. Recovery between races will matter. Most of all, the work I complete over the next 38 weeks will matter.

There will be time to build a racing strategy. For now, the assignment is simpler.

Keep doing the work.

I carried that motivation into Sunday. After taking Saturday completely off, I lifted again and completed a hard 15-mile bike ride. Running and biking have made my legs significantly stronger than they were during my college career, and both will continue to supplement my swimming.

The week had begun at Universal Studios, continued with a flight home, and unfolded while I was still fighting a cold.

In the past, I treated travel weeks as lost weeks. Travel gave me permission to stop, and returning home rarely created an immediate restart. One missed day became several. Several became a week. Eventually, I needed another Monday and another declaration that I was beginning again.

This time, I trained during the trip. Then I trained on the day I came home. Then I got into the pool the next morning.

The trip was not the test.

The test was whether I could keep moving after the trip ended, before the calendar looked clean and before I felt completely ready.

For one week, I passed.

But momentum creates its own risk. Three good swims made me want five. Strong early times made Nationals feel closer than it was. Eight workouts made me wonder how much more I could fit into the following week.

The question was no longer whether I could build momentum. It was whether I could keep that momentum from becoming impatience.