Descent of the Flying Squirrel?

Do you think you peak in your physical abilities as a young adult, after which the best you can hope for is to glide down gently during your remaining time on earth like a flying squirrel?

I don’t, but one of my swim coaches used this metaphor tonight at the end of my workout.  I reject it.  I think that at any age you can challenge yourself physically as well as mentally, and the fun part is to see what happens when you rise to the occasion, test your limits, go beyond them.  I say this even with Mr. Parkinson perched, smirking, on my shoulder.

Here’s what happened tonight at swim practice:  I swam a moderately-paced 1000 meter warm-up.  Then the coach had me swim a fast-paced 400 meters, followed by a two-minute rest, then another fast-paced 200 meters.  He wanted me to hold the same steady pace for the 400 and the 200, and he clocked me at each 50 meters.  (It’s a 25-meter pool, so each lap is 50 meters.)

His purpose was two-fold:

1. Establish a baseline to improve on going forward. (I just returned to swimming after a few years’ absence.)
2. Temporarily build up lactic acid in my muscles. (Click here if this intrigues you.)

So I swam a fast (for me) 400 meters, rested two minutes, then swam another fast 200.

The times for each 50 meters (rounded to the nearest second) are as follows:

400 meters, fast paced

1^st lap:  48 sec.
2^nd lap:  52 sec.
3^rd lap:  54 sec.
4^th lap:  55 sec.
5^th lap:  58 sec.
6^th lap:  58 sec.
7^th lap:  58 sec.
8^th lap:  59 sec.

Total time for the 400:  7 min. 21 sec.

200 meters, fast paced

1^st lap:  52 sec.
2^nd lap:  60 sec.
3^rd lap:  62 sec.
4^th lap:  63 sec.

Total time for the 200:  3 min. 56 sec.

For the 200 meters, I felt leaden in the water and seriously out of breath.  And as you can see, I swam much more slowly:  almost 4 minutes for the 200 meters vs. less than 7 ½ minutes for the 400.  For both sets, I started out swimming too fast in the first lap, but I held a steady pace for most of the remainder, even though the 200, overall, was slower.

I can be at peace with this.  Yes, I felt sluggish at the end, but I also felt great about pushing myself.  If I continue to train hard, I’m confident I can cut these times down.

But I wasn’t prepared for the coach’s flying squirrel analogy.  From his perspective, I’m a 62-year-old man with Parkinson’s disease, no longer a hotshot whippersnapper swimmer. Like anyone over 60 years old, I can’t expect to beat the swim times I did 30 years ago.  Fine.  From my perspective, I’m returning to the pool after a four-year absence, ready to see what I can do.  I’ve only been swimming a couple of months now, and my workouts so far have focused on endurance and distance, not speed.  I’m ready to up the ante and surprise myself and others by competing again in swim races.  Can I still be competitive against other men in my age bracket?  I think so.

I’m not gently coasting down to earth on my remaining time here.  I’m still ready to climb tall trees, scale high mountains, swim deep rivers, test myself, discover what my limits are, then extend them.

I’m thankful for the flying squirrel concept, though, because it spurs me to train harder.

And I feel terrific after working out, which is everything.