Cats are right - water blows

I have no trouble admitting that I don't like swimming. As a kid, my grandmother - who swam almost daily for decades - tried valiently to get me comfortable in the water. Alas, swimming lessons and summer camps did little to overcome my instinctive mistrust of the water.

Now running, that I can do. I was a runner before I was a triathlete, and, while I'm not giving the Kenyans any reason to worry, running is easily my strongest of triathlon's three disciplines. If I was one-quarter as good in the pool - and, more importantly, if it felt anywhere near as good - as I am on the track, I'd be a happier man. And a better triathlete.

But I'm not.

So, I struggle through my pool sessions in hopes of someday getting at least comfortable in the water.
Lately, I've found that if I come in with a set routine - a ladder, for example - and a set distance in mind, I can push through with minimal discomfort. In fact (gasp!), it almost approaches some degree of fun. Hopefully, this will the year that embrace triathlon's first leg. Or, at least make peace with the pool.

This morning I plowed through 2,000 yards, broken down as eight 250s with 30 seconds rest between each, and alternating easy and hard(er) 50s. Felt great.