Pooping in the Pool

Everyone knows you're supposed to shower before you get in the pool. There are signs all over the place, and everyone just walks past ignoring them. It's pretty much always been that way at every pool I've ever been to. No one showers before getting in the pool.

But according to a new study released by the CDC, maybe we shouldn't be so cavalier about not rinsing before a dip.

"A study of public pools done during last summer’s swim season found that feces are frequently introduced into pool water by swimmers. Fifty-eight percent of the pool filter samples tested were positive for E. coli, bacteria normally found in the human gut and feces. The E. coli is a marker for fecal contamination. Finding a high percentage of E. coli-positive filters indicates swimmers frequently contaminate pool water when they have a fecal incident in the water or when feces rinse off their bodies because they do not shower thoroughly before getting in the water." 

Code Brown! Code Brown! Get out of the pool and shock the shit out of it! Literally!

Seriously, though, that's gross. Although the figures are enough to make you want to take that shower before hopping in, the study wasn't able to determine whether the bacteria found in filters was live and capable of making anyone sick. I'll also point out that the bacteria was in the filters, i.e. it was filtered out of the water as it should be and captured in the basket to be removed. Doesn't mean there isn't more of it in the water, but maybe the concentration in the filter is higher because it's doing its job. Let's hope, anyway.

If this keeps up, I'm going to need a new google
arrangement like this one

Poop is one thing. It presents a real danger to health. But it's not the only contaminant people bring into the pool. Smelly lotions and perfumes have wrecked a few workouts for me recently at MIT. The last several times I've been at the pool, we'll be about two-thirds of the way through the main set, and suddenly, we'll feel like we're chewing on perfume. Someone has jumped into one of the rec lanes wearing excessive amounts of scented body lotion or perfume, and it's drifted over to where we are. It's this weird manifestation of tasting a scent, and it feels like having someone dump a load of lilac-scented baby powder in your mouth as you cruise through the hardest part of the set. Not exactly conducive to finishing the workout strong.

I'm as guilty as the next person of not showering before getting in the pool, but with all this crap--literal and figurative--floating in the water, maybe it's time to start taking hygiene and the comfort of other swimmers into consideration. Still, I almost never wear perfume, and I don't lotion up before heading to the pool (who does? what a weirdo!) and I'm pretty sure I don't have poop hanging around in the bottom of my suit. But I guess you can never be too sure.

To the showers, Batman! And if I get on deck already wet, maybe I won't feel as grossly hot as I usually do.

Boston, You're My Home

Just a quick update to share the link of my most recent post on Athleta's Chi blog. I wrote about the Boston Marathon bombings and my feelings about the city. I love that Dirty Water!

Also wanted to share fellow walker Neni's Prezzi slide show of The Walk. She captured some lovely images along the way. I'm finally able to walk normally again. I'm still a little sore, but the worst aches and stiffness have passed. A nice swim yesterday helped move some of the lactic acid along, I think, and I'm headed to the lake in a bit for some colder water to finish the process.

The Long and the Sore of It

Wednesday was one of the physically hardest days I've ever had.

 Hopkinton starting line and memorial.

The day started at 6:45 am when Phil White, director of the Kingdom Swim and several other events in the North East Kingdom of Vermont turned up at my house to drive us down to Hopkinton and the start of the Boston Marathon course. We needed to stop and pick up two other walkers, and we ended up at the wrong Motel 6, so went all the way out to Westborough, only to double back. We arrived at the start about 30 minutes late for the planned 8 am walk time. Oops. But it was OK. It was a beautiful, cloudless morning, and we were raring to go.

Phil gives an interview at the start.

But first, there were a mess of media folks there, complete with the van with the towering satellite thingy-ma-bob on top. Apparently, we had unsuspectingly wandered into a media zone. We hadn't done much publicizing of our walk. We felt that would have seemed crass or self-centered. This walk wasn't meant to be about us, but a means of getting out of ourselves and standing in solidarity with those affected by the attacks. We didn't seek media attention because it didn't seem fitting, but there was another group that had selected the one-month anniversary of the bombings as their date to walk, too, in support of the victims. That group definitely deserved and thankfully got a lot of media attention for their efforts.

The Norden family was walking in support of Paul and JP Norden who each lost a leg in the blasts. The family had set a 9 am start time, and when we turned up at the starting line, the media people thought we were them. Second oops on the day. We didn't mean to steal anyone's thunder, but when they push a camera and microphone in your face and start asking questions... Anyway, our group got two small citations in a couple of outlets. Nothing big, and the focus remained where it belonged. Phew.

Crossing the Natick town line.

So we scooted along and got down to business. The business of the day was simple: Walking. "We're walking, we're walking," became the battle cry of the day. Our first stop was at a church about a mile up the road to use the bathroom. Second stop came a few miles later just after we crossed into Framingham to get some water and snacks at a convenience store. Phil's plan had been to "live off the land" and that meant stopping for things we needed as we went. I had brought lots of water and snacks and stuff, but a short break out of the sun was nice. And thankfully, there were lots of places to pause for a pee and a bottle of water. (Although the host at Paparazzi in Wellesley had a big, nasty attitude on him when we came in at 3 pm to use the bathroom. There was virtually no one in the restaurant, but he had nothing nice to say to us. Oh well. Can't win 'em all, I guess, and I won't be visiting that restaurant again.)

As we went, we found pavement markers that helpfully announced the mile posts and places where water stations would be set up had the marathon actually been happening. Too bad there wasn't anyone there on Wednesday, but we managed to stay hydrated as we needed. Still, as the walk wore on, it seemed like it took longer and longer to get from one water marker to the next. They did keep coming, but we didn't see all of them-- some were on the other side of the road, I think, or under cars parked along the curb.

Mile marker 13.

The weather at the start and the first half of the walk was perfect. Cool and breezy with tons of sunshine. When we hit Wellesley, the halfway point, sometime around 1:30, it was almost time for lunch, and we found one of the few remaining Upper Crust pizza joints right at the top of the shopping stretch on 135. We straggled in looking like we'd been on the road for days rather than just a few hours. The manager asked what we were up to, and when we told him, he gave us a 10% discount. Sweet. The waitress brought us a few bags of ice for our tired feet and knees. That was a big help for me.

Lunch wolfed down, it was time to get back on the trail. I was seriously considering bailing at the halfway point, as I was sore and getting going again after sitting for that half hour or so took an enormous mental push, but I decided to forge on. I did start wondering aloud why I hadn't opted to meet the group at the halfway point and walk to the finish with them from there instead of trying to stay vertical the whole way. Vertical isn't my thing.

As we exited Wellesley, it started to drizzle. By the time we hit Newton, it was raining pretty hard. It rained for maybe an hour, but then it tapered off. The sun never quite made it back out, and it was cool, but that was probably better than the warm sunny weather we had at the start. Somehow, I managed to avoid all sunburn during the day. I think my big Athleta hat helped with that, shading my face and neck.

We had a Brookline bike cop as an escort for
part of the way. That was helpful!

As we entered the Newton Hills, I began fading fast. I could no longer keep up with the group, and they kept having to wait for me at street crossings so I could catch up. The grade and series of hills that lead up to the ever famous Heartbreak Hill were killer in their subtle shift ever higher, and my thighs and glutes ached. At the top of Heartbreak Hill, Katie drove by on her way home from work at Boston College. (It was about 5:30 at that point) and I was tempted to beg for a ride. But the other five walkers wouldn't have it, and we continued putting one foot in front of the other.

After passing BC, the next landmark was mile 22 at the Beacon Street Reservoir and then several other very recognizable landmarks as Brighton gives way to Boston. Just as we began making the turn towards the reservoir, I started to feel like I was about to vomit. I paused, hands on knees bending over someone's front lawn thinking I'd launch that last sleeve of strawberry shot blocks all over the nice green grass. I hung there for a long while, and then the worst of the nausea passed, so I stood back up. That's when I saw stars and worried I was about to pass out, so I sat down and called it a day. I pulled myself from the walk just shy of 22 miles because I was afraid I'd faint, fall over, and crack my head open on the pavement. That turn of events just wouldn't fit into my training plan for the North Channel, so it was time to bail on the walk. I was the weakest link in the group, and they could carry on to the finish much faster without me.

What's even weirder, my hands had started to go numb and I couldn't feel a few of my toes. I wonder if my circulation was out of whack? The only thing I can figure is that the bigger muscles in my legs were drawing too much oxygen to continue moving that they were effectively starving other muscles in the body of needed O2. I had been drinking water and Ultima all along, I wasn't hungry and had kept my nutrition up all along, so I can't figure what else would have caused these alarming symptoms. But I felt terrible and figured it just wasn't worth the risk to continue pushing.

Meeting kind souls along the way.

Phil's son Eliot lives in Brighton, a few blocks from where I sat feeling rather defeated on the curb, and he was good enough to come collect my sorry, smelly butt and drive me back to Waltham. In the 20 minutes or so I spent in the car, all my muscles and joints stiffened up, and getting back out of the car and up the driveway to the house was nigh on impossible. After what felt like 10 minutes of unsteady shuffling-- still with the dizziness and loss of feeling in hands and feet-- I reached the back stairs, and sat down for a moment. I texted Mark to tell him I was downstairs. I knew I needed help getting up to the house.

He spotted me as I clambered up the back steps on hands and feet. It was all I could do to crawl into the bathroom and lie down on the mat next to the tub. Mark ran a bath, and then came the interesting event of trying to get me out of my walking clothes and actually into the tub. I don't remember much of that process, but I know it was clumsy and painful.

I felt a little chilled in the car and was I waited for the bath to fill, but once in the water, I started to shiver in earnest. How on earth I could feel hypothermic in a hot bath on a 55-degree evening is beyond me, the ice swimmer, but I think it points to someone having been seriously out of whack with my whole system after nearly nine hours on my feet. Being vertical like that wasn't kind to me; I'd have been much happier swimming the 26.2 mile route than walking, and it took so much out of me to attempt to fight my nature and pretend to be a land creature.

The core crew: Neni, me, John, Gary, Phil, and Noreen.

Yesterday was a blur of stiffness, tottering around like a 150-year-old double hip replacement patient, and swollen feet and ankles. I had high hopes of being mostly back to normal today, but I woke up more tired today than I was yesterday, and where I had joint pain yesterday in my ankles and knees, today, I feel the soreness in every muscle in my legs and stomach. My calves want to cramp, and I have to flex them frequently to prevent that. I've downed who knows how much water today, and laughing is not easy with how sore my abs are. I definitely beat myself up, and I found a limit on Wednesday. I clearly can't walk a marathon without training. Had I trained or if I weren't carrying around quite so much Channel weight, I might well have made it, but I probably would have been just as sore without the proper lead-up training. Training is important, and although I didn't have enough warning on this event to do it properly, I certainly could have done more than I did.

The last mile marker I saw, mile 17 near
Newton-Wellesley Hospital not long before
Heartbreak Hill broke me.

The good news is, the rest of the group made it to the finish line, as did the Norden family, and it was an excellent day exploring the marathon trail and our own limits. It's a day I won't soon forget (at the moment, my body won't let me) and I know we did something special out there. I made some new friends and gained a lot more respect for veterans of the Boston Marathon. That is one tough course.

Many thanks to Phil, Noreen, Neni, Gary, and John for the amazing company on the long trail. I'll walk anywhere with you folks anytime.

And to the Norden family and the handful of others who stopped along the trail to wish us well and express your admiration, thank you for the kind words and the warm fellowship. That's what the walk was meant to be about, and we appreciated meeting you.

To the victims of the bombings, we stood with you (for as long as possible) and we hope our energy expended sends some sort of cosmic vibe of healing your way.

Boston Strong.

The finishers!

Time and Tide Wait for No Woman

So it's official. I'm going to attempt the North Channel this summer. I have a tide window, July 30 through August 5, and I am very excited. So excited that I've managed to get my butt in gear and get training a lot more recently. It helps so much to have a close and tangible goal.

MIT switched to long course over the weekend, and that helps, too. So does the sun streaming in through the windows starting about 5 in the morning. And the cats scampering around wanting to be fed. All that has been helpful in getting to swim practice more consistently the last few weeks. As has having had such a big life re-balance recently. I am digging my new working situation and love that I'm writing so much these days.

And our tree has been amazing. Spring finally got here and it's been worth the wait, apparently.

So yeah, life is good. I've got lots of work to do still to be ready for the swim, but I'm feeling confident I'll get there. Headed to Lake Cochituate for the first swim of the season this weekend. It'll be nice to be there. And I'm hoping to do my 6-hour qualifier for the North Channel in the harbor before the month is out. 6 hours or more in water 55 degrees or less. Sounds like a blast to me!

The Long Walk

Immediately after the Boston Marathon Bombing on April 15, 2013, Phil White, esteemed attorney and organizer of the Kingdom Swim, In Search of Memphre, and several other events in the North East Kingdom of Vermont approached me with a crazy idea. "Let's walk the whole Boston Marathon course on the one-month anniversary of the bombings," he said, "to take back the route from hate and fear." That is, May 15, 2013. 26.2 miles. Just for kicks.

Ode to Pinky, a performance art piece
by Phil White

Phil is a big proponent of making grand statements via humble events. He started the international In Search of Memphre swim that runs from Newport Vermont to Magog, Quebec, Canada on the 10th anniversary of 9/11 to reestablish the swim that hadn't run since that tragic time in 2001 because of international border crossing concerns. We worked with immigration services in the area and got it sorted, and the Memphre swim will be turning three years old this September. :-)

But back to the long walk proposal. My feet ached just thinking about it, but I was game. I thankfully still have my own feet, and any discomfort from being out of long-walking shape or getting tired would be a small price to pay to reinforce the notion that this is still a free country, and the terrorists haven't won this or any other victory. The Marathon route is still ours, and dammit, we're going to walk the whole frigging thing. Watch us. One hobbling, blistered footstep at a time.

So Mark and I have been going on walks in the evenings to try to build up my legs. See, gravity and I don't really get along, (I'd rather swim 26.2 miles, but we couldn't organize a marathon swim down the Charles in time) and I know this will be a long and difficult day, both emotionally and physically. But again, it seems right to at least try to do this. I mean, with a guy like Phil ring-leading, what could possibly go wrong? (see photo... doesn't exactly inspire confidence now does it? But oddly, it works, and I know we'll be fine.)

We're walking just to walk, but if you want to support us, please donate to The One Fund Boston or the Richard Family Fund. Either is a worthy charity that could use a little green if you can spare it. We'll also be picking up any garbage we find along the road as we go, a rolling Earth Day kind of thing, in an attempt to leave the route a little nicer than we found it. If you'd like to come out to see us along the route, just call or text me and I'll let you know where we are and when we're expected to reach certain milestones along the course. Think slow. Very slow. We anticipate a three-mile-per-hour pace with a lunch break in Wellesley and beers in Back Bay upon arrival.

Time to go take another little training walk in what's probably a completely futile attempt to get ready for this. But it's been a fun way to explore the neighborhood as the weather has improved over the past several days.

Happy trails.

The Iceman Cometh

Even though I’m horribly jealous right now that Greg is out enjoying the company of some of the most fun people within the sport of marathon swimming while taking part in the SCAR swim series in Arizona, I’ve been remiss in giving him due props here for finishing his ice swim last month.

I flew back from my week’s orientation at USMS HQ in Sarasota on Friday evening, April 5, and got home just a little before midnight. I was tired, but Saturday came early as we had to be at the L Street Bathhouse by 8:30 to officiate for Greg’s ice swim attempt.

Greg was there and ready. He’d been training all winter—even after Jerome and I lost some of our drive to join him, having already met the challenge in the beginning of the winter. He worked for this thing, and it showed.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, if a bit chilly, and the wind was whipping. But the water in the harbor was relatively calm. That’s one of the amazing things about this piece of the Boston Harbor—it’s always glorious, even when the wind would have it otherwise. That’s because it’s a protected inlet and the way the shoreline by the L Street Bathhouse juts out, that makes it even more conducive to a great swim, particularly an ice swim.

Jerome and I get the temp

Just like Jerome and I had, Greg waited in the staging room until we had an official thumbs up on the temperature. Jerome had waded in to knee deep (which would probably have been halfway up my thigh!) to make sure the temp was where it needed to be. We were about a half a degree Celsius under the prescribed 5 C minimum, so game on.

We had again hired an EMT from the Boston EMS department and she was great—clearly on top of things, and despite thinking the whole thing was a little nuts, she was ready for anything. As it turned out, I think she ended up caring more for my mom who came with us to watch the spectacle than Greg. Because it was chilly, my mom was understandably cold standing on the beach, so the EMT wrapped her up in one of those awesome grey wool blankets they use.

Fran was out in the zodiac again like last time, trolling along the shoreline. This time, local kayaker Bill Steele came to kayak for Greg. Some of our Knucklehead family were there, as were Mark and Ricky and Scott. A lot of familiar faces at this thing, and having had that previous experience that went so well, we were all a lot more at ease with how this  was going to go down.

Show me some leg, boys!

When it was time to go, Greg walked out of the bathhouse in his white bathrobe with swim cap and shoes. Super sexy. He looked like a mutant boxer coming down the cement steps and heading across the beach to his “ring” for the “fight.” Without much ado, he dropped his robe, slipped out of his shoes, waded in, set his watch, and got to swimming.

He swam brilliantly. Strong, steady, and without any hesitation. Just as we’d expected. He turned bright pink, also as was expected, and 28 minutes and 38 seconds after he’d started, he was done. Easy peasy. He made it look like a jaunt in August out there.

We wrapped him up and the group scurried out of the wind and into the relative warmth of the staging room. There, Greg shivered it out, and within about 35 minutes, was ready to head to the showers. From there, we wandered to the pub for lunch, and had a nice afternoon.

So really, in many ways the swim was completely unremarkable. We all had our assigned jobs and we did them, most notably Greg whose job was to swim well and finish, which he did in spades. The rest of us knew what to do and when so that everything ran smoothly.

Prize fighter

These ice swims aren’t so tough if the swimmer is trained and the team prepared. At the rate we’re going, they’re about to become completely routine events!

Next up is James and Scotty this fall. The water is now creeping into the upper 40s and is too warm to hold any more ice swims this spring, but come December, it’ll be game on again. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll do another one. (Just kidding, Mom!) (Not really, but I know she reads this blog…) Time will tell… 

Congratulations, Greg, on an awesome swim and thanks to everyone who assisted. It was a great day out there! 

Mom all wrapped up

Everyone needs a solid hat application
after an ice swim

Jerome looks a little concerned for Greg here

That's right... put the Brit on tea administration duty...

How much do I love this photo?

Official iPhone time

My New Job

At the national office in Sarasota for training in April

The last few weeks have been filled with change and new adventure around here. Last week's scary terrorism turn notwithstanding, the last month has been an exciting new chapter for me. I started working as Associate Editor for U.S. Masters Swimming, a 55,000-plus member non-profit organization that encourages adults to swim. I finally get to combine my love of swimming with my writing and editing skills in an all-day, everyday kind of way. Um, yeah, that's pretty wicked awesome and represents a big shift in priorities and a full-on pursuit of writing and editing as a career, something I've always wanted to do but haven't quite gotten right. Until now.  Here's the press release about my new position.

Today we released STREAMLINES, a monthly e-newsletter sent to members at the beginning of every month that contains news and reminders, technique pieces, and a slew of other tidbits and important information. I drafted a story about the 2012 Top 12 World Masters Swimmers (the five Americans who are members of USMS) for distribution in the e-newsletter. I had a blast speaking with these incredibly fast and surprisingly humble living legends. I'm looking forward to writing and editing many more such stories about the amazing people who populate the sport of swimming. 

Here's to new adventures and saying "yes" to opportunity when it knocks on your door.