Monday, March 17, 2014

The Grinch Who Stole Spring

It's happening again and I'm not sure what to do about it. Already, I have pushed the date of my Chicot Challenge back by two weeks, but I fear that may not be enough. Last spring, I pretty much lost my mind over the coldness of the weather which seriously hampered my training. This year I've pretty much lost my mind over the coldness of the weather which is seriously hampering my training. It has been just as bad this time around. I haven't run the numbers, but most likely I am behind last year's training pace by 50 or more miles of swimming, and last year I was ill prepared for the sixteen miles I suffered through on June 1.

Not only have the forecasts been cool, but the weather has failed to meet the predicted highs every single day since and including March 6th. The temperature shortfalls have been anywhere from seven to sixteen degrees. Today's high was supposed to be a way too cold 52. Right now the actual temp is 37, and most likely we have topped out for the day.


And unsustainable.

I cannot train for a seventeen mile swim in water as cold as we have now. Unlike other parts of he country where the water temps slowly rise and fall with the seasons, the water temperature here is like a yo-yo. A week ago it was in the mid-forties. Yesterday it was 62. My guess is right now we are back in the low fifties and headed downward. My head is about to explode, I no longer trust the weathermen/women (local, national or otherwise), and I am in the untenable position of being angry at the weather.

I know that missing plane is important because it contains people, people other people know and love. I just wish someone would go on the search for spring, find it, and bring it back where it belongs, back to the region formerly known as the sunny South.

OK, I'm through ranting about the weather.

No I'm not. I can't take it any more. Really, I can't take it any more!!! I was born in June back before most homes had an air-conditioner. Really, I remember when our house didn't have one. My momma brought me home from the Greenwood Leflore Hospital to an un-air-conditioned upstairs apartment. I was born sweating and I'm most happy now when I sweat. I hate cold. I hate it. I can't take it!!! I want my spring to come back. I want it now!

OK, I'm through ranting about the weather.

Dang, I can't BELIEVE how cold it is. When in the doo doo is it going to warm up?!?!?!? It can't do this to me again. It can't! Crap, if it doesn't warm up soon, I'm going to do something drastic. I am. I'm going to -- I'm not saying what, but I am going to do, but it won't be polite.

OK, I'm through ranting about the weather.

I feel like I am about to break down mentally. All I want is some normal temps. That's all. Just some normal temps. If I don't get it soon, I'm going to punish something, maybe a road sign or an old car, but something will feel my wrath.

Friday, I did some running. I had planned on going to the pond to swim, but the weather was WAY colder than the prediction for the day, and mentally I just couldn't make myself do it. Saturday I did drive to the pond only to find that the water had once again dipped under 60 degrees and the weather was colder than predicted. I ran first to warm my body and then swam without taping my nose because as cold as the water was, I didn't think it had too much bacteria in it. I must have been right, because I didn't even stop up afterwards.

Sunday I drove back to the fish farm. The temp was supposed to be above 70. It maxed out and 64 and then started falling like a duck blasted with a ten gauge shotgun. The wind whipped up to about thirty miles per hour like Mother Nature was saying, "Oh heck no you can't swim today." I made it a little ways down the pond with the wind to my back then turned around and sighted on my truck. I swam hard but the truck didn't seem to get any closer. I swam harder and was breathing on every stroke. Finally, I began to draw nearer to my ride and the end of a short but strenuous swim. When I made it back to the truck, I climbed out, shed my suit, and drove home confused and forlorn.

For the week, I

swam 5,068.31 meters,
ran 20.11 miles,
did 33:00 minutes on the bike trainer,
lifted weights once, and
walked 8.30 miles.

Maybe next week. That's what I've been saying since February. Maybe next week.