Amy Reinink

My husband called me beastly the other night.

I look a little beastly here, and I think that's awesome.

This was, of course, a compliment. He was telling me that our running group had seen pictures of me from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim last Sunday, and that they said I looked beastly. I questioned this, and he acknowledged that beastly was his word, not theirs, which led to several minutes of him describing how pretty I am.

I know he thinks I’m super-hot, and that it’s a great thing that he thinks of me as just another dude when it comes to working out. But it’s one of several comments that sparked an old insecurity: That when I’m training hard, I cross the line between powerful femininity and — well — beastliness. More importantly, that raises the question: Why are we, as women, so afraid to be beastly — in other words, strong?

It’s not just me. Check out the poll in this pieceby trainer Leigh Peele, in which 41 percent of 200 women surveyed reported that they never find muscles attractive on a woman. Twenty-six percent said they find muscles on a woman attractive ” sometimes, in small amounts.” Only 4 percent responded with an unequivocal “yes.”

Really, ladies? Muscles? Like, the ones that allow us to move? When I read the survey results, I thought about the way a male Sports Illustrated reporter described members of the U.S. Olympic Swim Team recently: “The image of powerful femininity.” How come that dude sees us as powerfully feminine, while a huge percentage of us would rather be too skinny than too muscular (according to the Leigh Peele poll)?

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t understand what this was about. For me, my love-hate relationship with my shoulders started in eighth grade, when I saw a picture of myself for the first time after I started swimming with a club team. As an eighth grader, I had biceps. And I didn’t like them. My friends noticed, too. At pool parties, they’d tell me to flex, my little 13-year-old arms a party trick to rival the pool toys.

In high school, my swim teammates and I joked that rather than breasts, we had pecs. But by that point, I had learned to be proud of my weirdly muscular arms, with the focus on what they could do, not how they looked. We weren’t totally immune to the body-image issues that besiege most high-school girls, but we strived for rippled abs, not model-skinniness.

So what happened between then and now? I stopped swimming for a good decade, until some running injuries forced me back in the pool. During that decade, I should have become more at home in my body, and more secure in myself. And I am — it’s just that the fact that I’m even writing this blog post makes it clear that feeling perfectly comfortable in one’s body is a lifelong struggle, not a simple fact.

Most days, I still believe it’s not about how my shoulders look, but what they can do. And since they can cut across what I swear were 4-foot waves in the Chesapeake Bay, or make me glide through the pool faster than the dude in the lane next to mine, I think they’re pretty awesome.

One of my favorite things about running is its amazing portability. You can run

The outdoor pool near my parents' house is beautiful, but HOT.

anywhere, so long as you have your shoes, making it easy to squeeze in while you’re traveling.

I’m writing this from New Port Richey, Fla., where I’m visiting my parents for the week. I have been taking some time off from running to nurse a sore hip. The portability is sorely missed.

There’s a beautiful outdoor public pool near my parents’ house, and I almost always try to squeeze in a swim while I’m here. The outdoor pool is ideal in the winter, but not so great in the summer, when it’s so hot midday, it’s literally hard to breathe. So I headed out at 6:30 a.m. Monday to try to squeeze in a workout before things got really uncomfortable. Perspective on “uncomfortable:” When I left the house, it was 91 degrees, 99 percent humidity. The pool temp was the same, making the workout feel a bit like doing step aerobics in a hot tub (not that I’ve done this. I’m just sayin’).

Making things worse, a club swim team kicked me out of the main lap pool and into a 20-yard kiddie pool. I’m not so great at math on a normal day, but converting all my normal sets from 25-yard laps to 20-yard laps was about all I could take before sunrise.

However: The coach, a fit-looking middle-aged man with a booming voice and a stopwatch, apologized for the situation, anc invited me to swim with his masters swim team this morning. At 5:30 a.m. Because I’m a little crazy, I decided this was a good idea.

I’ve never felt super-comfortable with masters teams. There’s something awkward about meeting a bunch of strangers in your bathing suit. My last experience involved a big group of snooty patooties who informed me that theirs was “kind of the fast lane,” and an older dude who said, without a hint of kindness of humor, that I could only swim in his lane if I didn’t run him over. It felt like the middle school lunchroom all over again, except I never had to wear a bathing suit while searching for a table in seventh grade. Then again, I also never got to blow past the so-called “fast lane” in seventh grade, which I did at that practice.

So. This morning, I headed out for the workout. Last night’s hail storm had cooled the pool temperature to 88 degrees, and I was one of only a few swimmers to join the coach in the water, meaning I had my own lane. It was GREAT. He prepared a workout tailored to the heat, with lots of sprints followed by a decent amount of rest (why didn’t I think of that?).

Here’s the workout, if you’re interested in replicating it. It would work for any ability, if you adjust (or forget about) the intervals, make the whole thing freestyle and/or skip some of the sets as you see fit.

Warmup set: 10X100 w/ 5 seconds rest

20X50, first 25 stroke, second 25 free, on 1 minute

21X25, in sets of three, with first 25 easy, second medium, third hard, on 40 second (kick it up to 30 seconds if you’re not battling heat exhaustion). Stroke or free; just keep it the same stroke for each set of three.

I added: 5X100, first lap non-free

4X25 sprint, 4X25 no breath

In other news: I hit the treadmill for 30 easy minutes yesterday (only chance to run was midday, which is seriously dangerous here), and it felt OK while I was running! I kept it to about 8:40-minute miles except for the last two minutes, when I just had to kick it up. Hip hurt a little after, but it felt amazing to run again. In a desperate attempt to make it feel better, I have been taking glucosamine again, and also my mom’s fish-oil pills, which allegedly help knock down inflammation.

The weird thing: The pills might actually be helping! Then again, I could just be desperate. Has anyone else tried these with good results, or heard any evidence to suggest I’m not just crazy?

I’ll continue to blog/Tweet/etc. when I can grab a few minutes of Internet access, but will be back to normal next week.

*Editor’s note: This report was filed from Florida, where I’m spending a week visiting my parents. I’ll have spotty Internet access, so don’t be alarmed if my blog posts/Twitter use/communication in general are a bit sporadic.*

I don’t want to brag or anything, but I sorta kicked the Chesapeake Bay’s butt yesterday.

I set out to break 30 minutes (I finished in 31 and change last year), and to place in my age group (I placed third last year) in the 1-mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim Sunday. I finished in 29:54, placing second among 24-29 year olds.

More importantly, I had set out to swim harder than I did last year, when I finished smiling, happy and feeling like I had energy and muscle power to spare. This year, the guy in the medical tent asked if I was OK as I stumbled across the finish line. Mission accomplished.

The start of an open-water swim of this size will always be a bit jarring, I think. The roughly 600 swimmers competing in the 1-miler are broken into four waves, differentiated by cap color. Swimmers start in the water, and spend the first a third of a mile accidentally kicking, scratching, groping and smacking each other as they angle for position – or try to get out of the way. Last year, I accidentally grabbed someone’s butt (ha!). This year, someone accidentally kicked me directly in the right goggle (ouch!).

Then, the writhing mass of bodies thins. The cap colors start to change as you creep into the wave in front of you.

For me, the best part of the triangle-shaped swim course is after the first turn, when a glimpse of the buoy ahead is accompanied by the sight of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. The sight of the bridge looming over the silver-blue glitter of the Bay is as powerful a symbol of my love for this region as the monuments, memorials and museums in Washington, and has come to represent the most comfortable and euphoric part of the swim for me.

Except this year, I made a point to not get too comfortable. I swam the crap out of it, actually grunting into the water from the exertion. I felt like the waves this year were a little bigger than the ones last year, though that could just be selective memory. At one point, I was startled to see a swimmer a few feet below me when I took a breath at the crest of a swell.

Only one swimmer passed me from the wave after mine, and I’m pretty sure he won the race in a time of 23 minutes and change. I drafted him for a good minute, effectively using up any ounce of juice my triceps had left. By the time I finally lost sight of him, the shore was in sight, and it was just a matter of hanging on for the finishing kick.

After the awards ceremony, we sat on the deck of Hemingway’s and watched the swimmers competing in the 4.4-mile swim inch across the Bay – a reminder of my goal for next year.

But that’s next year. For the moment, I was content to dig into my crab soup and chill out.

I would rather try on jeans and a bikini in front of a live studio audience than try on a wetsuit.

My intense fear started before last year’s Great Chesapeake Bay Swim One-Mile Bay Challenge, when I ordered a rental wetsuit online based on my height and weight. I tried it the week before the swim, with a warning from my swimmer-friend Meredith that it’s OK if it’s tight.

A few hours later, she was assuring me that no, it should not be so tight it prevents you from breathing, and makes you feel like your intestines might come out your ears, and that perhaps her trusty IronMan wetsuit would fit me better.

It did, and I’m forever grateful for the loan, which saved me from dropping out of the swim entirely to save myself from the trauma of trying on another suit. But even in perfect conditions, wetsuits are really, really hard to get on. My first hint: Mer’s suggestion that I get some help from a can of PAM. Yes, the kind you cook with.

I’ve attached photos below of the amazing wetsuit dance that took place before last year’s swim. It started with me laying flat on my back on the grass, ended with me asking my friend Jessica to pick me up by the wetsuit’s shoulders and shake me around, and involved, at one point, me grabbing a chunk of cellulite from my left thigh and stuffing it into the leg of the wetsuit. Like I said, bring on the jeans and the live studio audience.

So it was with trepidation that I tried on a rental suit at the Bonzai store in Falls Church last week. The store’s owner/manager, though, was so kind and helpful, it actually made the process easy, like trying on jeans with your supportive and understanding best friend.

It costs $35 per week to rent a suit. I’m already planning to swim the 4.4-mile Bay Bridge Swim next year (I learned the 1-mile version I’m doing this year is referred to as the “Baby Bay.” Awesome.)  I asked casually if he had any suits on sale, hoping for some retail therapy to cure my anxiety about my sore hip.

He found a great-looking Blue Seventy longjohn for $100. I got excited. He didn’t have my size, but found a similar suit by a company called 19 for $190. I told him despite the amazing deal — it’s a $275 suit — I couldn’t do it.

“Would you buy it if I could give it to you for $100?” he asked.

Uhh, yeah!

I tried out the suit on Saturday, and I’m happy to report it’s amazing. I had to do some crazy maneuvering, and anyone at my pool on Saturday would be forgiven for thinking I was molesting myself while adjusting the suit. But it fits, and I am ready.

Today’s workout: a timed 1,000, an 1,800-yard ladder set, then the 8X25 set that has become one of my workout-ending standards (thanks, Mer!). Also, some BOSU work. Already looking forward to the tapering goodness in my future!

Most adult humans are familiar with the idea of retail therapy: the

My beautiful new wetsuit!

idea that sadness, anxiety and anger can be relieved through the purchase of a fun item at some retail store.

Yesterday, I got a little retail therapy of my own when I went to the Bonzai store in Falls Church to rent a wetsuit for the Bay Bridge Swim on June 14.  I’d been feeling pretty awful about my sore hip. While rest, ice and anti-inflammatories have been helping it feel a little better, nothing soothes the pain of time off from running … like a new wetsuit of my very own!

It’s a long john by a company called 19, and it is beautiful. I promise to post details and photos this weekend. It’s a $275 suit that was marked down to $190. This lucky gimp was able to get it for a cool hundred bucks. Amazing, right?

The really cool thing: It provided instant swimming motivation. I kicked my own butt this morning in one of my last hard workouts before tapering next week. This was all done with a pull buoy, on account of the hip:

Timed 1,650 (screwed up the timing by losing count twice, but I got the same physical effect)

4X400 free, six hard strokes every 50

4X25 sprint

2X25 no breath

As a solid middle-of-the-packer (though one friend recently pointed out that I may now be a front-of-the-middle-of-the-packer — moving up in the world!), it’s a really big deal when I win awards, age-group or otherwise.

So it is with glee and gratitude that I accept the Lovely Blog Award from my friend Nicole. If you are a parent, her blog, My Bottle’s Up!, will make you realize you’re not alone. If you’re not a parent, her blog will make you realize that parenting can be really, really funny even as it is fulfilling and affirming and heartbreaking. No matter who you are, her blog will make you want a glass of wine.

The rules behind this, erm, lovely award,  which makes me feel like Michael’s (the craft store, not the boss of The Office post-alfredo carbo-loading) puked on my laptop:

1) Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award, and his or her blog link.

2) Pass the award to other blogs that you’ve newly discovered. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

Behold just a few of my newly discovered blogs.  Read these lovely ladies while sipping a recovery shake after your next long run. You know. When you’re too tired and lazy to even shower.

Read Trials of Training for a nutritionist’s funny and honest training blog. Yes, she includes recipes!

Read Triathlete 4 Life for candid posts about finding, and keeping, one’s motivation while training for IronMan tris and other events.

Read MCM Mama for posts about squeezing running into a life that includes kids and a microbrew-filled social calendar.

Read Jen’s Runnings and Ramblings because she describes her training blog this way: “I eat to satisfy the run. I run to satisfy the hunger.” How cool is that?

Finally, read Between the Miles because its author, Kara, writes that “there is a connection between being outside and running aimlessly for miles that keeps me sane.” Also, because she shares my belief that Bob Marley is actually fabulous running music in a meditative, hustle-and-flow kind of way. 

Man! Motivation is hard to harness!

I seem to feel it intensely at the most unfortunate moments: When I see a runner while driving, I want nothing more than to hop out of the car and join her. When I get home — eh. When I talk to friends about my next race, I get so excited, I want to leave whatever social engagement I’m at and go train for it. When it’s just me and the pool, or me and the road — eh.

Regular blog readers know I’ve struggled mightily to find motivation to train for the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim One-Mile Bay Challenge on June 14 (as in, less than two weeks from now). I trained hard and finished well last year, which has actually been problematic — I don’t have the fear factor I did last year, when I wasn’t sure I could do it without getting picked up by a kayaker.

Here’s what helped me get my groove on in the pool yesterday:

I had a plan. I decided before I hit the pool that I’d do a 20-minute timed swim, then alternate 300 free with 200 IM until I reached 3,000 yards. All freestyle done with a pull buoy. I also decided I would lift, using the Bosu balance trainer for legs and abs. I even printed out my intended workouts — not because I couldn’t remember them, but because I needed to keep myself honest.This helped immensely, as I didn’t just show up and do what felt comfortable.

I held myself accountable. It’s one thing to do a 20-minute timed swim. It’s another to know how many yards you squeezed in three weeks ago (1,225), and want badly to beat that. I checked my watch when I hit the 500 mark to find that 11 minutes had passed. Gah! I picked up the pace — so much so, I worried I’d somehow reset the timer. I got in a 1,450 with a pull buoy, which made me very happy.

I got my head in the right place before I started. I work at home, which means I have the blessing of setting my own schedule. Like most blessings, this is also a curse. When no one tells you when to start and stop working, you sort of feel like you should NEVER stop working, and I feel an incredible amount of guilt when I take time to drive to the pool, put in a workout and then drive home. Yesterday, I decided that if all I’m going to do is feel guilty about my workout, it’s pointless to even do it. That permission reset something in my head.

I fed off others’ positivity. After whining to Steve for weeks about how I’ve sabotaged my chances of a fast finish at the Bay Bridge Swim with months of lackadaisical training, he pointed out that, yes, I swam more leading up to last year’s swim, but I’m in better overall shape this year thanks to stepping up my running a bit. I decided to take this as expert advice,  and to believe it absolutely. Who knows? It might even be true.

Next up: a Pacers run tonight. It’s a long version of one of my favorites, the Historic Seminary Loop. I’m a bit apprehensive, as my hip hasn’t quite bounced back the way I’d hoped. I’m icing and stretching it compulsively, and am considering getting a massage from these guys in Silver Spring who do Active Release Therapy. I’ll keep you posted …

Before the ZOOMA Annapolis 10K on Sunday, we eased our friend Alexis’

Posing with Jen and Lex post-race.

fears about her first race by telling her to forget about what the hilly course would mean for her time. We told her to think about the 6.2-mile race as a really great hour-long workout. We told her the whole point of running this all-women’s race with her two oldest and best friends was the post-race wine and girlie bonding, not her performance in it.

Alexis kicked butt, running about 85 percent of the race by her estimation, grinning and barely winded as she crossed the finish line. We sort of expected that would happen.

What I didn’t expect: that I’d need to take my own advice.

Jen, Alexis and I left Washington around 5:30 a.m. for the 7 a.m. start. We got to the starting line at about 7:10 a.m. after waiting for almost 30 minutes in a long backup at the entrance to the Naval Academy stadium, where the race started.

That was one of many things that didn’t go according to plan. I’m the type of runner who, if I truly want to perform well, needs to start taking good care of my body a good three days before a race. By “taking good care of,” I do not mean “staying up til 1:30 a.m. and eating late-night Taco Bell two nights before a race.” Note to self: Just because it’s a relatively healthy bean burrito fresco doesn’t mean you won’t get the dreaded Taco Belly for days after the meal.

Also, we’d been super-excited about the zero-percent chance of rain for race day. In reality, we ran in a one-hour downpour sandwiched between two of the most gorgeous days DC has seen this year.

So I started the race wearing a garbage bag, tired, stomach-achy and desperately needing a porta-potty, feeling more frazzled than fast.

I managed two miles at about 7:30-minute-mile pace. Every time I saw a race official, I tearfully asked if they knew whether there were porta-potties on the course. No one could say for sure.

To the people living in the home at mile 3 with the USNA flag and the gigantic, gorgeous shrubbery big enough to hide an entire human from the road: You may notice that your landscaping grows fast and thick thanks to some special fertilizer. You’re welcome.

I emerged from the shrubbery feeling refreshed, having only lost about a minute. I came upon a porta-potty about a minute later. Awesome.

Still, I steadily slowed down on the course’s rolling hills each mile after that, my stomach feeling gurgly and my legs feeling tired, growing increasingly angry at myself for not taking the race more seriously in the days leading up to it. But then, I reminded myself about the pep talk I gave Alexis earlier in the week.

I decided to have a good time rather than care about running one. I didn’t jog or anything, but I ran at a pace that let me take in the crowd of pink ZOOMA shirts, and to enjoy the girlie-bonding inherent to this race. An example: When I passed a girl on the steep bridge in the middle of the course, she looked at me, smiled approvingly and said, “Good job!” Awww!

I finished the race in 52:28 — 8:27-minute miles. This is about the pace I run for my bi-weekly “fun runs.” Any other day, I might be disappointed with that realization. But “fun run” is actually a pretty great description of the ZOOMA 10K, and its truly amazing post-race expo. For more about the race course and the expo, read my race review for examiner.com.