Masters Nationals Recap

 The crush of swimmers in Friday's warmup pool sent us searching all twenty lanes for an opening. Before jumping in, we ran into Rocky Mountain teammates who warned us about the slippery metal facing on the far walls—already responsible for slips on the 400 free relay. Aden and I raised our eyebrows at each other, then plunged into the waves to test the competition pool, our sleep-deprived haze broken by near-panic.

Aden's 100 breast came first. Already wedged into her new tech suit, she fired off her best time in four years. After a loop through the cool-down pool, Aden and my friend Ellen joined me in the locker room to wrestle me into my own new suit—brick red material so small it seemed impossible it would clear my knees, let alone rise over my rear and hips. Somehow, with a woman on either side hiking the fabric over the Crisco-style spray I'd lubed with, they lifted me at the hips until I hung suspended like a puppet on strings, the suit inching upward.

After adjusting the suit again in warmup, I raced my 50 fly and came close to my goal time, earning second place and posting what currently ranks second in the country for my age group. Disappointed in missing the mark, I threw everything into the 100 free, where altitude training helped me push through the back half to a time I haven't seen in seven years. A talented swimmer from Wisconsin Masters who'd been in several of my races grasped my hand at the finish. I lifted both our hands skyward—relief and joy pouring through me.

The community of swimmers and families sustained and astonished us over three days. Rob and William made the flight to Greensboro to cheer us on, their voices rising above the din each time Aden or I stepped onto the blocks—a reminder that the best support comes from those who watched us overcome every moment of doubt. I encountered a former Harvard teammate and classmate from New England who recognized me despite thirty-four intervening years and a name change. Aden and I rubbed shoulders with former Cal star Reece Whitley. Eight-time Olympic gold medalist Jenny Thompson anchored the relay next to ours in the 45+ mixed free competition.

Even more poignant than the Olympians were encounters with new friends waiting poolside between races. I met a remarkable woman from Idaho in remission from aggressive melanoma. She'd survived brutal treatment over the past few years and lost sight in one eye, but that didn't stop her from climbing the blocks, throwing herself at turns on those treacherous slippery walls, racing to strong times.

The indefatigable human spirit blazed everywhere—ninety-seven-year-olds competing and setting records to the astonishment and delight of 2,000+ athletes and spectators. My personal highlight came in the women's 55+ medley relay, swimming fly and hitting 28.3—surpassing my fourteen-year-old mark by one-tenth of a second. It's not a legal time because I jumped in after anticipating the breaststroker's touch rather than starting from the gun, but I accept the gift from my former self. Next time, I'll do it in the actual race.

What the water teaches: that community matters more than individual times, that courage looks like a woman racing half-blind on unfamiliar walls, that ninety-seven-year-olds can still set records, that two friends can literally lift you into a suit you couldn't manage alone. The relationships forged poolside—the hand grasped at the finish, the warning about slippery walls, the recognition across decades—these prove more rewarding than any clock ever could.

With inspiration drawn from the Masters swimming community and my family, what else is there but to start planning for Irvine next year? The water will be there, waiting. So will the community. And so, I hope, will I—perhaps a tenth of a second faster, certainly grateful for every moment spent in the company of people who understand why we keep diving in.

Channeling Fourteen

Yesterday at Masters practice, one of my dear friends—also preparing for Nationals—asked if I was "freaking out yet." I laughed and said yes, but that I was slamming the door on the nerves because I don't have time for them. The truth is riskier than it sounds: disrupting the workout schedule, even to rest, unsettles bodies that prefer predictable routines to abrupt change. My friends and I hope the reward comes in faster swims, but there are no guarantees. We're all rolling the dice.

My first event is the 50-yard fly, and I'm chasing a time under 29 seconds for the first time in years. I recall racing the event at thirteen or fourteen in the Natick, Massachusetts town pond, representing my town of Medfield, where we also practiced in an oozy, shallow, algae-coated body of water that would horrify modern health inspectors.

I was shaking with nerves, matched against a well-known swimmer in my age group, a girl who excelled at fly. How they started us remains a mystery—it wasn't an electronic timing system!—but I remember diving off a slippery dock into murky waters of unknown depth, sprinting for my life. I wanted to beat this formidable opponent, who would become my college teammate five years later.

The race ended in my narrow victory. I don't even recall adults timing us, though they must have been swaying on those docks, struggling to hold their balance and stopwatches as we powered between thin white nylon ropes marked periodically with blue buoys. On the many-times-folded paper where I recorded all my times from ages thirteen to eighteen, I noted the result: 28.47. Won. I remember my opponent looking over at me—the unknown quantity—in surprise, hearing her ask people later, "Who was that girl?"

So I'm channeling my skinny, raw, untutored self, ready to launch off fancy starting blocks in one of the fastest pools in the country, wearing an expensive tech suit and hoping my decades of experience offset my decades of wear. My body has endured considerable trauma in the intervening forty years—two pregnancies and births, overtraining syndrome, autoimmune breakdowns, nutrient deficiencies, the relentless accumulation of miles and years. But I'm stronger now than I've ever been, fortified by knowledge and intention.

I'm excited to roll the dice and discover whether I can make fourteen-year-old Laura proud—that girl who dove into murky pond water without hesitation, who wanted victory badly enough to shake with nerves and sprint anyway. She didn't know about periodization or tapers, tech suits or underwater streamlines. She just knew how to race. Maybe that raw hunger still lives somewhere in these older bones, waiting for the starting beep to call it forward.

Racing Toward Something

In nine days I leave for Greensboro, North Carolina, to compete in US Masters National Championships. Aden will race alongside me while Rob and William compose our cheering section and driving team. From Denver to Greensboro we fly over 1,400 miles and, more problematic, two time zones. Prepping for 6:30 a.m. warmup and an 8:00 a.m. meet start on the East Coast has required rolling my alarm back from 7:00 to 5:30 here in Denver, a shift my body resents with every fiber.

Each morning I drag myself from bed to silence the alarm before it pulls Rob beyond his going-back-to-sleep threshold, trying to convince myself this adjustment matters—that acclimating somewhat to Eastern time before competing will make a difference. After six months of demanding training in the gym and pool, I refuse to let sleep deprivation or jet lag compromise my events on day one.

This morning I sprawled on the TV room floor wrapped in the purple afghan Aden made for me, struggling through PT exercises for hips and back, wondering if more sleep would serve me better than this forced adjustment. Rob thinks rest trumps everything, but I have nightmares of flopping in my 50 fly—first event on the first day—because my creaky joints, foggy brain, and fast-twitch muscles are still sleeping while I'm supposed to be racing.

Here's what I know: with all the weighty troubles splashed across headlines these sunny spring mornings, a swim meet represents nothing more consequential than a family reunion and a chance to test whether short, fast reps and heavier weights have actually made me faster. I'm chasing my fastest Masters times, or at least my fastest in a decade, despite the betrayal of aging. The pursuit feels simultaneously urgent and absurd—serious enough to warrant 5:30 a.m. alarms yet trivial against the backdrop of global crisis.

But perhaps that's the point. We need these pockets of meaning we can control, these small arenas where effort translates to measurable outcome. We need family road trips and the particular nervousness that comes before stepping onto the blocks. We need to care about small things while the world burns, not as escape but as tether—proof that ordinary life persists, that we can still chase personal goals while holding awareness of larger suffering.

At least the early wake-ups gift me extra morning hours for writing, cleaning, PT, and planning—small victories that accumulate like training yards in the pool. And possibly a nap after lunch, which at my age might be the real competitive advantage. In nine days I'll stand behind the blocks in Greensboro, William and Rob somewhere in the stands, Aden in her own race nearby. The alarm will have done its work. The training will speak for itself. And for a few days, we'll inhabit that strange space where something as inconsequential as a swim race feels like the most important thing in the world—because we've decided it matters, and that decision alone is enough.

Racing Masters with my Daughter

The onset of nerves before I swim a race roils my gut and sends my heart rate sky high. I can tell myself that no one cares (true), that at my age it's silly to get nervous (debatable), and that everyone will still love me even if I fall flat on my face (hopefully fair), but no matter. Over the past weekend I learned that one thing can calm me down - racing next to my daughter. Aden and I were seeded in the same heat and in lanes 3 and 4 for the 50 freestyle at the Arizona State Masters meet, and that was so fun I almost forgot to be nervous.

At the start I closed my eyes, which is typical, and opened them in the water with a focus on the wall ahead for the turn, but when I flipped I pushed off on my side toward Aden and she towards me. For a split second we stared at each other between outstretched arms - and then I reminded myself to get going since she's a powerhouse on the back half of any race.  Aden pulled ahead and finished four-tenths before me, but she carried me to my best finish in a few years. We got out and staggered behind the timers into a bent-over, leaning high-five, smiling even as we gasped for breath.

We swam together in the 100 free, too, but Aden was two lanes away and ahead the entire duration of that race. On less than 20 hours of pool time this spring (she's a working woman now, after all) she propelled herself to four national top-ten times in her age group. Her will and determination inspired me into one (hopefully) for my much-older age group. Away from the blocks we had fun in the warm up and warm down pool, chatting with always-friendly Masters swimmers from Arizona, and particularly with our new friend Rich, who remembered our names and asked about all of our races.  

Tucson in the spring is glorious, with flowering cacti, happy birds, and bright blue skies. The high temps and bright sunshine scared us into multiple applications of sunscreen and flight to the shade but the vistas of saguaro and barrel cacti lit up our vision. We listened to Beyonce's new album, which was strangely befitting to the Western setting, and tooled around town looking for acai bowls, gluten free baked goods and smoothies.

I'm reminded again why I sign up for meets and force myself to train for them - it's for the adventure, the shared time with friends and family and the occasional reminders that I still have something in the tank. Dealing with the nerves as the price of admission makes it all worthwhile.

Full Circle at USMS Nationals 2023

The crowd roared when I surfaced from dolphin kicks in the last length of my 100-yard backstroke. I knew what this meant; four-time Olympian and former World Record-holder Jenny Thompson had already finished her race in the lane next to me, most likely setting a new National record for the 50-54 age group. My spirits and my tempo dipped - it wasn't a great race for me and I still had quite a ways to go. But when I finally touched (Jenny had time to get a pedicure while waiting) she smiled at me and came over the lane line to shake my hand. I congratulated her on her record and heaved myself out of the pool, relieved to be done and to have been awarded an Olympian handshake.

Day 3 of the US Masters spring national championships in Irvine was a let-down after my first two days, when I hit two best times in Masters and two best in the last five years. This is how we assess our progress now, as the age groups tick on by, we look back only a few years to compare times and splits, carefully trimming the assessment period to include more recent (re: old ladyish) swims. The first day was especially poignant as I raced the 100 free in Lane 1 - 39 years after I raced my first 100 free ever at the same pool and in the same lane. I had to shake tears out of my eyes before placing my goggles on my face and tell myself to get a grip - thankfully I am still faster than I was as a newbie swimmer of 13.

Twenty-four hundred people competed at the meet, with 1100 women sharing a small locker room suited for 50. Bodies of all shapes and sizes filled the tiny space, athletes from age 18 to 101, 22 Olympians and far more of us regular Joes and Josies. Heat sheets and timelines were posted with a magnifying glass attached to the side of the board, so old eyes could find heat and lane numbers without glasses. I met new friends, reunited with old ones, kept my eyes peeled for Olympian performances, and just generally fought nerves as best I could.

Despite competing from the perspective of adulthood, when race performances matter far less than they did in my youth, I couldn't escape the anxiety of performance. Neither could anyone else, it seemed, as we chatted before our races while shaking out arms, legs and jumping up and down to stay warm and get our heart rate up. One fellow competitor kept me company before the 50 back and admitted, "I normally take a fiber pill each day, but I don't need one here!"  Morning meals went right through us and upset stomachs couldn't put much down during the days of racing.`

My sister came down from LA County to hang out and watch on Saturday and she chatted easily with my teammates and random spectators as I went back and forth from race to race. She had someone ask what age group she was in, and had the vagaries of putting on a tech suit explained in graphic detail. Karen was a great sport and took excellent video footage - and then took me out to dinner afterward.

Racing was exciting and uplifting at times while a bit discouraging at others. Friends at home congratulated me for "putting myself out there" which I will take credit for, and I congratulated myself for accumulating a few good stories. The Colorado swimming community - and especially my teammates - made for a warm and inspiring support group and our regional team won the competition. As always, I am glad I went and glad that I don't need to compete again until next year.

Family Swims at College Club Nationals

 Two qualifiers, a mad scramble for tickets, a bout of COVID, a senior thesis and a week to semi-recover with grandparents; it was a whirlwind of titanic proportions that lead up to a fabulous college club swimming nationals for Aden and William. The highlight for me was timing during the Sunday morning session. William was standing near me as Aden swam the 100 free and dropped an astounding 1.3 seconds off her lifetime best. As I leaned over the bulkhead to stop the watch for a swimmer in my lane, William whooped and shouted in my ear at Aden's mad dash to the wall. Aden then jumped out of the pool and came in for a hug (as my next heat's swimmer was safely cruising away) and we both cried. She finaled in that event, and later that morning she joined her brother and another guy and gal to swim a  mixed relay that will land them on CU's record board for one of the top five swims of all time (50 years of the club's existence).

The kids swam that relay in the lane where their father was timing, and after the event concluded we were able to get family photos on deck. It was a priceless moment, a fitting culmination to all the effort Aden has put into the CU club swim team over the past four years, serving as women's captain the year after the pandemic and helping to rebuild the team. William overcame a bout with COVID two weeks before the meet to swim two best times and final in his best event. Less than a year out from ACL surgery, he jumped back in the pool in December and built himself back into fighting shape. He's also on the record board at CU for his 100 fly.

Bill and Connie were amazing as they drove to and from Columbus multiple times during our stay and indulged our whim of watching the entire Saturday session online when we couldn't get tickets to that day. They bought food, loaned cars, helped draw posters, and sat in the uncomfortable bleachers with us for hours, waiting for that one minute of swimming. Our college swimmers agreed that spending time with their grandparents in Ashland was a far superior reason for the trip than a swim meet, and the hours of cards and games more essential than racing.

My heart is full to bursting after a week of family time and watching all three of my kids overcome multiple challenges to support each other. The extended family support and generational example continue to prove that family stands up has your back no matter the circumstances - in today's world there is nothing better, not even trophies or record boards.

Reunions and Relays in San Antonio

Just returned from US Masters Spring Nationals in San Antonio, reeling from the effects of travel, racing and reconnecting with friends and family. Swimming signifies so much more than fitness, than times, than athletic ability. Meets do show off the athletic ability - mostly in other people, former D1 stars, even Olympic athletes - but the majority of swimmers go to challenge themselves, to meet new people and reconnect with old friends. I know that's what brings me the most joy as I get older and wrestle with my body to get a few short bouts of speed in the pool.

My 50-yard races and relay stints were the most fun, while the 100s felt like long-distance slogs with a piano on my back. The relays were the best, as our teams were composed of men and women from all parts of Colorado, some of whom I had met and some I hadn't. On my 200 free relay we had an Olympic triathlete from Athens, a wonderfully kind and unassuming athlete of tremendous talent, and that foursome won the National Champion title for our age group (45+, but who's counting?) 

If the relays were the athletic highlight then reunions brought the most joy. I ran into my roommate from my freshman year at Harvard - Kirsten - sitting behind the blocks on a hot Friday afternoon. I heard, "Oh my God, no way!" and turned to see my old friend, instantly recognizable in her swim cap. We were swim teammates as well as roommates, so recognized each other just as well in swim paraphernalia as we would in street clothes, if not better. To top it off, we were wearing the exact same tech suit! Still sale-shoppers cut from the same cloth.

I had known that Kirsten would be in San Antonio, as she lives in the area, and Facebook (both bless it and curse it) had at least kept us minimally in touch over the past 32 years. I messaged her to ask if we could try to connect, and we managed to find time over the three days to talk about families, work, parents, and - of course - swimming. I was brought to tears several times and was grateful to have the chance to tell her that I wished we had been roommates at a different time, when I wasn't miserably homesick, overwhelmed, and generally depressed. She of course, had had no idea, because I didn't let on to anyone that I was unhappy, just cried in the shower, skipped meals and kept myself to myself. The blessing of it is that we don't need "ifs" anymore; we have another chance. I'm so grateful and somewhat awed that our paths crossed again at this point in our lives and can't wait for the next reunion, swim-related or otherwise.

I also got to see a drove of Dravenstotts in the stands and at Ron and Kelley's lovely home in San Antonio. Bill and Connie came via minivan, John, Rob and Daniel via plane. I had spectators each day and was able to eat delicious barbeque and baked potatoes en famille before rejoining swimmers at the hotel. So while my body struggled and I skipped my last 100 in deference to last-day soreness and overall dazedness, I couldn't be happier with the trip and more grateful for the community given to me by my sport.

Community and Connection

 "New friends may be poems but old friends are alphabets. Don't forget the alphabets because you will need them to read the poems."  -William Shakespeare

As I followed Aden at a dead run through Chicago O'Hare's B Terminal, I thought of abandoning our effort to get to US Masters Nationals in Greensboro. Dodging other masked travelers in a high-stakes reality version of the game Frogger, we managed to arrive at our gate, gasping, in time for the connecting flight. "There are more people coming," said Aden to the gate agent. She had bonded with Speedo-backpack-wearing athletes on our first flight, even as she flew past them in the terminal.  Everyone finally made it, slumping into their airline seats and panting, just in time to be delayed another 90 minutes.

But I'm so glad we rallied, grateful to have made the aggravating trip to the East Coast, though the airport sprint and time change threw off my races on the first day. Aden suffered no lingering aftereffects from our travel and crushed her first day and second-day races, going lifetime best times in five for five. Watching her swim, seeing her look of delighted surprise each time she finished and turned to read the giant scoreboard, lit me up from my heartspace and erased the aches and pains of my fifty-year-old body.

Also valuable beyond compare, seeing my old friend Amelia after a thirty-year gap. Though connected by Christmas cards and occasional Facebook messages, we hadn't seen each other since college. Amelia and I swam together from age 13 - 16 after we both started (late to the sport) and we moved up from the little kids' lanes to seniors together, sharing relays, travel trips, and sweet 16 parties. Her family hosted me and my aunt for Thanksgiving of my freshman year in college when I couldn't go home due to time, money and (of course) the demands of swim team. I remember our group gathered around her brother as he played "American Pie, part 1" by Don McLean on the guitar as we gamely sang the lyrics.

Aden and I also met new friends; she exchanged Snapchat handles while I traded phone numbers for texting. Masters swimmers are focused and can be intense when it comes to swimming but are relaxed, friendly and funny on the sidelines. The group from Wisconsin were memorable with their individualized jerseys and their loud cheering, and the announcer kept us in hysterics with his false news reel beeps and static. Many swimmers were delighted when they learned I was swimming with my daughter, and often added wistfully, "I hope to get my son / daughter here to swim with me next time." Moments of connection and community that came so rarely during the worst days of Covid were everywhere in Greensboro, and I can't imagine a better way to spend a meet weekend.

Unapologetic Aqua Fangirl

"I know what you're watching!"

My sister's text arrived as Lilly King smashed her way to a fabulous time at the United States Olympic Trials. Arguably the best meet in swimming - even, potentially, more tense and exciting than the Olympic Games - the U.S. Trials offer the best possible TV to a swimming geek like myself.  I gasp and cheer like an unapologetic fan-girl next to my long-suffering kids and husband, who won't see the remote control for the next week.

Though I don't know the athletes personally, SwimLabs has hosted many of them (they film video for our Champions' Library - they don't take lessons!) and one of my Masters swimmers is a stroke-and-turn judge. A handful of swimmers grew up competing in Colorado and are familiar names to my kids, especially William who has competed against some of them in state. We search for familiar names and faces like our backyard chickadees hunting for sunflower seeds.

William alternately watches the races and plays games or snapchats on his phone. He's trying to manage personal dreams of records and victories as his high school squad prepares for league and state championships, delayed until late June because of pandemic scheduling. His 200 medley relay wants the state record (only .13 faster than their current time) and could take aim at the national high school record. Meanwhile, his legs still hurt from training and he worries about starts and turns, so the Trials  offers both distraction and a chance to get nervous all over again.

I'm fully aware that swimming is not life-or-death, and that my children's swim times have no bearing on their future livelihood. In fact, it's the non-fatal attraction of sport that keeps me zoned in, the pleasant emotional upheaval of wins or losses instead of the existential crises of global warming and COVID. 

We were supposed to be at these Trials - would have been at them if the pandemic hadn't moved events back a year - but the refund we received for our tickets helped to pay for a trip to Greensboro, North Carolina in July. Aden and I are going to compete in a Masters National event there, a meet that will be much slower than Trials but equally exciting for its participants. My friend from our record-setting 200 free relay (13-14 girls in New England) will be there, too, and I'm excited both for our reunion and the fact that she is in a younger age group than I am!

The sport of swimming consistently offers me a mental health break, a physical outlet, and an amazing community. When Aden and William are both at CU and I am bereft of their high school swim activities, I hope to join the coaching staff of a girls' high school team in this area. I love helping athletes grow in their love and knowledge of the sport and I love being a cheerleader on the sidelines. Being in person trumps standing and shouting at the TV, though at the moment, I am glad to have both.

 

Mother Nature Left the Freezer Door Open

 "Global warming is the long-term heating of Earth's climate system observed since the pre-industrial period (1850-1900) due to human activities, primarily fossil fuel burning." 

"Climate change is a long-term change in the average weather patterns that have come to define Earth's local regional and global climates." - NASA Climate, 2/13/21

"Climate change is no longer considered to accurately reflect the seriousness of the overall situation; use climate emergency or climate crisis instead." - The Guardian, 2/13/21, referring to changing terms in its style guide

It took a while to convince my Masters swimmers and co-coach to cancel Friday morning's 6am practice, despite the fact the temperature was predicted to be 10 degrees F. When I woke up on Friday  the thermometer on my watch said 3 degrees, and I was particularly glad that we had canceled. Did I mention that we swim outside year-round? On the coldest days, water splashed on-deck freezes instantly and people's bare hands freeze to the ladder rails when they climb out. Sliding across a sheet of ice to the building can be precarious even with copious amounts of salt thrown down by coaches in wool socks and boots.

Today the mercury has dropped further, registering a negative 2 degrees at 7am (I sleep in on weekends). My brother in Chicago has similar temps and my mom, in northern Montana, is even colder, at negative 6. The outrageous mood swings of the polar vortex brought freezing temperatures to much of the country, further confusing people who still call the monumental issue of our time "global warming." 

Though the atmosphere is steadily warming due to the emission of greenhouse gases, the changes we see are not always "warm." The current harsh winter conditions are actually caused by increasing temps in the Arctic. "Rising temperatures in the North Pole are causing parts of the polar vortex to split off and move southward, leading to the possibility of a particularly harsh winter in the US, Europe and Asia." (The Hill, 2/13/21.) So while it seems counterintuitive that we're freezing our bottoms off in the lower 48 due to a warming atmosphere, it's true. It's as if God - or Mother Nature - left the freezer door open.

The Guardian also evolved their language in reporting on climate issues because "climate change" is no longer an adequate way to address the seriousness of the situation we're in. They have instituted "climate crisis" or "climate emergency" instead. We should all try to use these terms; it's the only way to raise our collective consciousness. There's no do-over on protecting our livable climate or our planet. When we call something by it's true name, we're more likely to respond with action.  If your child was locked in a car that was rapidly overheating, you would certainly break a window to get her out. That's what people do in emergencies, they call "fire" and they take every available measure to save the situation.

Post Script, 2/19/21 - The situation in Texas has horrified the nation this week as power outages robbed millions of light and heat, and ruptured pipes required additional millions to boil water (or snow) for drinking. The electric grid in Texas fell prey to inadequate preparation and the hazardous weather generated by the climate emergency. Natural gas, particularly, was likely to freeze and remain ineffective for days.  As a nation we must update our power generation and our power grids so that more people aren't caught in suffering. Our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Texas as things hopefully return to normal this weekend.

Finding Light in the Fog

I woke before the alarm clock could go off at 5:35 am. The outdoor temperature was 16 degrees Fahrenheit, the world dark and quiet. At the athletic club where I coach Masters, I could see tell-tale banks of steam rising from the parking lot and my heart sank - the covers weren't on the pool. Who knew what the water temperature would be after a frigid night with no protection. The indoor lanes were not an option because COVID restrictions limit us to ten people per area and the indoor pool was already reserved.

Trudging through snow on deck to get to the thermometer, I held my breath for something better than 78 degrees. Victory! It was 80. With my massive college parka, my handwarmers in gloves, my triple layers, I was warm enough to stay on deck for an hour. One by one, my morning crew emerged from the long covered hallway and moved quickly but gingerly over the biting cold concrete. I gave the good news about the temperature and tried to recognize and greet each individual, though it was difficult. Between my fogging glasses and face mask I could see very little. My athletes disappeared into the clouds of steam and started their miles.

One vivid hot-pink sunrise and an hour of cold coaching later, I helped them slide and tip-toe over the skating rink that now covered the pool deck, back into the warm tunnel where their towels waited. Such a hardy crew! We earned the sunrise and the bright blue sky that followed their labors. I heard from the manager that she tried to cover the pool yesterday, but the whole unwieldy apparatus was frozen to the ground. Perhaps it will un-freeze later today as the welcome sun emerges. Watching the sun rise every winter Monday is my favorite part of the workout, a harbinger of good tidings and not bad.

Now home, the hardest - and best - part of my day complete, I slowly warm nose and fingers as I watch the cats drink out of the Christmas tree water. My three boys (one husband and two sons) slouch over coffee and cereal at the kitchen table, and my daughter will not likely emerge from her bedroom until after 10. It's nearly Christmas, and regardless of freezing temps, careless cats or grouchy kids, we're getting in the spirit, finding light in the fog, waiting for sunshine to burn the clouds away.