The Five Stages of (Swimming) Grief

Tonight I went through the following stages of swimming grief:

Denial: It won’t be that bad! My arms aren’t that sore after P90X2 last night. Swimming outside in December when the wind is picking up? Who cares when you can watch the sunset.

Anger: Why would you ever sign up for an Ironman? That is so dumb. And that med student who talked you into it? He’s in trouble if he shows up to Masters on Friday. And the person who invented pull buoys is evil. The only person more evil? My coach, who must be a sadist if she puts up 2000 meters of pulling, 1000 with fists.

Bargaining: If you do one more set then you can hang out in the sauna afterwards. Those chocolates that your boss gave you at the holiday party would be a great dessert… but only if you finish this set.

Depression: Arms are burning. If I drown, would anyone notice me? It doesn’t even really matter.

Acceptance: You signed up for an Ironman, you are doing the training that you need to, and every day is a step closer to your goal. 

Bonus Stage: Pride. It isn’t always fun, it isn’t always pretty, but at the end of the day, hard work is something to be proud of. Particularly when you earn your holiday chocolate.

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