I’ve been cross-training. Proper cross-training. Imagine that.
A few of the running crew have been sporadically converging on the local lane swim pool to churn out laps on a regular, weekly basis. And like anything that involves building a new (fitness) routine into one’s life, it doesn’t hurt to have the support and moralle-boosting peer pressure of a few friends to make one accountable to that routine.
The change aligned neatly with some changes at work. Motivated by such, in fact. I was nursing a bit of a foot injury anyhow, and after a particularly monumental day at the office I couldn’t reconcile sitting around on the couch watching Netflix alone with my mental state. I went to the pool, bought some new goggles from the Running Room store, and swam laps… along with a half-dozen of my running crew who were in a similar state of running injury frustration.
Fast forward a month. Counting that first flustered swim, I’ve now dipped into the lane pool five times in recent memory, often dragging the kid along with me, where I’ve been swimming an increasing number of laps while reducing my recovery time from a minute or so to a few lingering seconds.
Thirty minutes. Thirty five minutes. Last night I swam a little over 45 minutes. All those minutes, laps, water-logged repeats for the simple reason of some much-needed, fitness-balancing cross-training.
…plus, I already pre-paid for seven more visits. And, y’know… peer pressure helps too.