Swimming like (and with) the fish

The triathlon is fast approaching. Too fast, if you ask me. I can hardly believe it. The race is in downtown Austin, and the swimming part is in Lady Bird Lake. (Formerly known as Town Lake, recently named after former First Lady Lady Bird Johnson. She played a big role in cleaning the lake (which is really a river, don't be fooled) and the surrounding area, but she didn't want it named after her. But once she died a year or so ago, the name was changed to honor her.)

I've never actually swum seriously in open water before. And since I didn't want my first day to be the day of the race, Saturday I headed down for a swim. Since swimming in a river might be "dangerous," I left a note for my roommate so she'd know where I went...

It was a nice day; though slightly overcast, it wasn't too hot. (Austin is oppressively hot this time of year.) I took some pictures before getting in. I was probably mostly just delaying the inevitable.

Do I look nervous? I was.

There were a few things I wasn't sure about with swimming in Town Lake. First of all, it's not like my pool, with super clean water, clearly marked lanes, and lines on the bottom. Oh no. It's not filthy, but it's not as clean as a swimming pool. (Of course.) The water might be unbearably cold. There are fish. There are plants floating around. I can't see the bottom (and I probably don't want to). I'll admit it, I was feeling kind of chicken.

I was a little worried that I'd actually chicken out of swimming. But I capped and goggled myself up, and gingerly waded into the water. I stood there for a minute or two, taking it all in, hoping I wasn't looking too goofy to the kayakers who had just docked nearby. (There weren't many people where I was actually, quite near the pull off from I-35.) (They were probably thinking, "Ew, why would anyone swim in there?") As I stood there, I could feel little minnows occasionally brush past my legs and it almost did me in, making me run from the water screaming. Okay, maybe not quite that dramatic, but it really tickles and is a bit unnerving.

But I knew I'd just have to suck it up and do it. So I did. Once I got swimming I was able to stop thinking about the minnows and the seaweed that probably wanted to attack me. But I soon found myself thinking about other things...like how hard swimming in open water is. Town Lake is a very slow moving river, but I knew I was swimming upstream in the beginning. I figured that's why it was so hard. (Or it could have been that my arm muscles were tired from having swum a combined 3000+ meters the two days before.) It felt like swimming freestyle for more than a minute or two was exhausting.

After swimming half my time up (and swimming most of it with an easy breaststroke, since freestyle was hard to sustain), I turned back and swam the other way. I figured it would be easier since I'd be swimming downstream now. As I got swimming, it felt like I was still swimming upstream. It's then I decided that no matter what direction you swim in open water, the water is working against you! Not only that, swimming in a straight line was nigh unto impossible. Yikes!

The good news is, the water wasn't cold. Well, it wasn't pleasantly warm, but it wasn't freezing. It seemed to be, on average, about the same temperature as the pool at school. There were pockets of cold and warm, and overall fine. I think in that respect, I'll be okay.

But I survived swimming for about 30 minutes. I even did a quick transition practice and ran on the Town Lake trail (pictured below) for about 3 miles. (And I got lost on the trail twice. I'm probably the only person in Austin who can get lost running on that trail. This isn't the first time it's happened, but the first time was about 2 months after I'd moved here. I don't know what my excuse is now.) Since my swimsuit was still under my clothes, I was really wet by the time I finished up. But it's all good practice.

Next Saturday I plan to swim in Town Lake again. Hopefully it'll go somewhat better, now that I know a bit more of what to expect.