Talk at the Pool

I was coaching a local club swimming team that I help with on Wednesday evenings and found myself talking to an eight-year-old boy, who swims in one of the beginner groups.

He’s especially small and wears board shorts that are long enough to look like pants due to his short legs. He still has those puffy toddler cheeks and squinty eyes that also make him look especially young and somewhat cherubic.

Somehow we were talking about the fast technical race suits that swimmers used at major events until they were eventually banned for being too fast (the “super suits”).

“They’re like shark skin,” I said. “And they can cover your whole body, and the water around you just rolls right off. You fly through the water.”

His eyes grew wide.

“And you wore them?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “For a little bit, before I retired. Then they got banned anyways.”

“But why’d you retire?”

I paused and had to think about that for a moment.

“I finished college. Then there was nothing left to compete in.”

“You don’t have to compete though,” he said. “You can still enjoy it.”

Then he pushed off the wall and started swimming, and I felt a pang of sadness and thought about how damn wise kids can be sometimes.

Affirmations

Yesterday I had my first visit with a Physical Therapist for my foot injury. After an examination I was told what I expected to hear, which is that the plantar fascia on my left foot is messed up.

“You can really feel the scar tissue and adhesions there. It’s no surprise you’re in a lot of pain.”

“That’s good news,” I said. “If all the problems are in one place, I know what to work on.”

About two weeks ago, in a bout of pain and frustration, I ditched all of my cushioned shoes and replaced them with more minimalist, wide toe box shoes. This seems counterintuitive for someone in pain just from walking, but I have my reasons, and desperate times call for drastic measures. I believe in acting swiftly and severely.

I had been wearing heavily cushioned shoes with elevated heels as daily wear for awhile, thinking it would keep my feet comfy outside of distance runs. My theory is that this has something to do with the injury. Simply put, a tendon became too weak to sustain what I was doing to it, and worse yet, there wasn’t enough blood flowing to the area to heal it. So, I’m seeking natural foot strength. Time will tell if my theory is correct.

I woke up this morning and spent a few minutes rolling my foot on a heated vibrating roller sphere. Then I massaged it with an arch massager I got from Alleviate. I put on some toe spacers and spent an hour on the elliptical, then did a series of calf raise exercises and stretches. I’m wearing the toe spacers for most of the day, every day, to help promote blood flow to the plantar fascia.

I’m preparing revenge.

Playing over and over in my mind is what someone told me after this injury: “You’re injury prone. You need to be put in a bubble.” Those mocking words anger me beyond anything I’ve ever felt, and I used to be a very pissed off competitor!

For the last few weeks I have been repeating to myself, “They think you’re frail. They think you can’t do what you’re doing. Prove them wrong.” It’s the first thing I think when I wake up and the last thing I think when I go to bed.

It seems like the best way to really prove them wrong is to become the most durable fucking specimen they’ve ever heard of.

I promised the PT I wouldn’t run until walking felt somewhat comfortable. I’m not there yet, but I do believe the plantar is getting there.

I buried the “Manimal,” my old college athlete persona that my teammates called me, about 16 years ago because I didn’t think that persona was healthy beyond NCAA swimming. Leave it to some asshole to resurrect him! This time I think that side of me is here to stay. It isn’t the side of me that forgives or lets weak ass office comments slide!

2024: A Hopeful Step Back

Sometimes you have to take a step backward to move forward. I have a pervading sense that backtracking will be a theme for me in 2024. I’ve realized, through trial and error, that I want to revert certain aspects of my life.

The first change surrounds my cycling. I tested the waters of fitness cycling for a few years and have decided to go back to my bike commuter roots. Broken bones are not the primary reason for this. I find the most joy in keeping cycling simple: just hopping on a commuter bike and riding around a park, or on a short trip to the grocery store. I envision my future and cannot see myself embracing cycling as a sport: it just seems like an added stressor, and cycling is supposed to be my stress relief. So, I’m selling my endurance bike and a lot of my cycling apparel.

I often find the most joy in life when I keep everything simplified. Cycling for me is a prime example of this. I want cycling to be an adventure, not a chore. I want it to be organic and raw, not an exercise monitored by GPS watches and power meters. I want to breathe fresh air and have the world slow down, not obsess myself over the desire to speed up. I generally hate “intervals,” so why am I pigeoning myself into more of them during a hobby?

I want to rid myself of the Protestant work ethic while on a bike.

I’m also ditching the Kindle in favor of more physical books. I read far too much via blue screen. There was a time in my life when I only read text on paper. Electronic reading is a strain on the eyes. Sometimes I wonder if our screens will render all of us prematurely blind.

I’m aiming to write more reviews. Years ago I enjoyed providing reviews of various elements of pop culture and I’d like to return to the habit. Some of my favorite authors, including Edgar Allen Poe and George Orwell, were also prolific reviewers.

Finally, I’m prioritizing my own dreams. Over the years I’ve let them slip too much for the sake of money and as I look up the capitalist heirarchical ladder, I don’t see more money solving any problems. In fact, I see more money creating new problems.

When I die, I don’t foresee anyone reading a eulogy about how much money I made or how productive I was as an employee. That would be terrible as part of anyone’s eulogy, and the thought of that having anything to do with my character is nauseating.

What would I want to be said at my funeral? I think everyone must ask himself or herself this question at some point and come to terms with the finiteness of life. I think for me, the answers are starting to be more apparent, and they have nothing to do with materialism.

So here’s to 2024, a step back for the sake of forward movement.

Heritage and Setting Sail

In the mid-1800s, an Irish woman named Mary set sail for America. En-route she contracted ship’s fever, causing her to lose her hair, but she survived the journey and went on to make a living selling homemade items.

In the US she met a mysterious journeyman named Tom Fitzpatrick, whose origins are unknown, and they gave birth to Catherine Fitzpatrick, who grew up to own and run a boarding house, which she rented to mill workers.

Catherine then wed another traveler, John Devlin, an English-born sailor who ran away from home at 14 and traveled to Australia, South America, and South Africa.

These were my ancestors, and as you can see, it is in my DNA to be on the move. It helps to explain why I cannot sit still for long, and why the office quickly feels like a prison with florescent lights and prisoners who happen to have nice health insurance. It is why a noble death involves a fatal maneuver while on the most epic of journeys, not sitting somewhere and rotting.

It is why I begin planning the next journey as the current one ends.

"I Don't Wanna Die"

The fall season is a bit like life in that it’s both beautiful and painfully ephemeral.

It seems like we are allowed a few weeks to appreciate the vibrant foliage before it desiccates and leaves behind a gaunt assemblage of ghostly spindly bare trees.

I reckon we can feel this way about how our bodies age. There’s a grace period where time affords us some beauty after having weathered the storm of our youths, but eventually the destruction can be merciless, especially if we don’t plan for it.

The cold is starting to creep into the bones and I especially feel it in my right collarbone, which has broken twice. It is a harsh reminder that not all things fully heal.

I find myself thinking of ways to make time slow, which requires discomfort. The sameness of days only makes time accelerate.

I’ll fight my own mortality to the end because frankly, I don’t wanna die.

Fall may be brief, but I’m determined to catch the next one.

A Change in Seasons

Fall is not a good season for minimalists.

There’s a jacket for every slight temperature variation and a layer for every social occasion.

There are shoes for the rain, shoes for hiking, shoes for lounging, and shoes for conducting business.

There are lounge pants for the coffee shop, fatigue pants for the bar, technical pants for a walk, and chino pants for the cubicle.

I’m always a great minimalist in summer. It’s too hot for all of these things.

Then fall hits and I find myself in a vanity fair.