Amy Reinink

The pair of feet in front of me beckoned.

I’d been closing in on their owner, a fellow swimmer in the Moreau Lake Open Water Swim 3K last Saturday, for the past few hundred yards. Now that I was upon them, I was excited to drift into the slipstream of their kick and draft for a little while.

Here’s the thing, though: I am so horrifically impatient, I couldn’t do it. I run into this problem every time I do an open-water swim: If I’m close enough to effectively draft someone, I get impatient and pass them, basically inviting them to draft me instead. And on Saturday, on the second loop of a two-loop course, that’s exactly what I did.

The swim was somewhat eventful from the start, when race organizers explained that the course was a bit longer than expected—about 2K rather than 1.5K. That delayed our start for about 20 minutes as we waited for the 1.5K swimmers to finish, and left plenty of time for us 3Kers to think about our own new distance of 4K, or about 2.5 miles. Several of us wimped out and changed into wetsuits (which race protocol allowed us wear) as we shivered on shore.

I’d planned to swim in my 80s-tastic swimsuit. I covered it with my wetsuit as we waited.

I had been eying past race results, wondering if I could be the first woman out of the water at this small, hometown race. I got that idea out of my head quickly once the race started, as three women zoomed to the front of the pack, which I almost immediately lost sight of. I’d been fighting a cold all week (forced taper, anyone?), and I spent the first 20 or 25 strokes wondering if this race was a bad idea.

As soon as I passed the first buoy, I forgot all about those worries, and got into a happy, steady groove. I’ve only been swimming at Moreau Lake since July, but it’s already acquired a special place in my heart, since I recently enjoyed what might be the best swim of my life there. There’s a good chance this will be my last open-water swim of the season, at Moreau Lake or elsewhere, so I stretched out and enjoyed it, even flipping onto my back and taking a few strokes looking at the sky, just to take in every aspect of the experience. I started feeling the benefits of swimming my “home course,” and recognized familiar landmarks as I lifted my eyes up to sight. I started passing other swimmers as I started the second loop, eventually catching up to my drafting buddy.

As I pulled my way in front of him, where I’d stay for the better part of the second lap, something crazy happened: The wind that had been quietly licking the shoreline all morning picked up, whipping tiny little Moreau Lake into a sea of whitecaps. Seriously—whitecaps. I halfway expected an Ursula-like figure to appear below me, angry at my inability to follow conventional race-day wisdom.

I never saw Ursula, or any other lake monster; just more whitecaps. I adjusted my stroke to avoid taking in a huge gulp of water every time I breathed. I finally resorted to alternating regular strokes with lifeguard-style strokes, with my head totally above the water. Gone was any hope of “stretching out and enjoying it;” I was battening down and getting through it (which I must admit is fun in its own way).

The chop died down as quickly as it began. I lengthened my stroke, discovering (unsurprisingly) that I was totally wiped out. I slipped behind the guy who was smart enough to draft someone through the hard part, and found myself more than willing to be patient as we headed toward the finish.

After a minute or two of slower swimming, I felt revived. Could I use up what I had left in the tank in the last 500 yards or so? I picked up the pace to pass my friend, thinking he’d slip behind me again. Instead, he stayed right by my side, matching me stroke for stroke. A race!

I slowly pulled ahead at the end.

We rounded the last buoy, me on the sharp inside turn, him on the outside. As we made the turn, his hand met my head, hard, as he took a stroke, pushing me into the buoy. “OW!” I screamed, more in surprise than any pain. “Sorry! Sorry! Oh!” he said in response, and we both kept swimming. I went into that crazy, grunty anaerobic state to the finish.

I grinned like an idiot as soon as I saw Steve with our camera on the shoreline.

I’m pretty sure my friend purposely backed off, and he finished a few seconds after me. We shook hands and congratulated each other on a good swim, and he thanked me for the ride through the waves.

I finished in just over an hour, fifth out of the women, seventh overall. Given this super-speedy field, I’m extremely pleased. Even more so, I’m pleased at the way my mind performed at this race when conditions were not what I planned. Later start; longer course; faster field; choppier water; pre-race head cold—I accepted all of those things as if I’d chosen them, and rolled with my new reality without a snag.

Bottom line: This was a fantastically well-organized race (especially considering its diminutive size) at a gorgeous venue. I’ll definitely be back next year.

With the open-water swimming season over, I’m starting to look forward to that thing we do when the water freezes: skiing! Happy fall, everybody!

Is there anything better than your home course? The chance to swim at my own personal “home course” of Moreau Lake State Park is one of several things motivating me this week. In the days leading up to the Moreau Lake Open Water Swim this Sunday, I’m not wondering what the water’s going to feel like, or whether there will be boat wake, or whether it will be easy or difficult to sight, or what the parking situation will be—I know it like the back of my hand after a summer of Thursday-night swims there. The only question is my own performance.

If I swam the same pace as I swam my 5K in Lake George a couple weeks ago, I would finish in 52 minutes and change. So finishing in 50-ish minutes (emphasis, as usual, on the “ish”) seems like a reasonable goal to me. A more important, process-based goal is to relish every moment of what will certainly be my last swim of the year in this magical place.

Also motivating me this week:

My new favorite bathing suit. The Moreau Lake Open Water Swim, 15K and aquathlon is 80s-themed, and the website states that “80s clothing is highly recommended.” One may be thinking that this is a recommendation best suited for the running events. In thinking so, one would be wrong, thanks to Splish, and to Katie at This Amazing Day for alerting me to this incredible line of bathing suits.

The NOFA-NY Locavore Challenge. Local, organic food isn’t just a trend here; it’s simply a way of life. So when I saw an advertisement for the Locavore Challenge, an imperative from the Northeast Organic Farming Association of New York to inspire awareness and action in eating locally and organically, I was quick to register. I already do many of the challenges described—eating seasonal, local food; canning—but I perked up when I saw these two items on the checklist:

Make your own local organic butter, yogurt or ice cream

Make your own bread with local organic grain

With the help of a dear runner-friend who’s been making her own yogurt for months and recipes such as this one, I tackled the first of the two challenges last weekend.

I heated some lowfat milk from Battenkill Valley Creamery to 185 degrees, then cooled it to 110 degrees in an ice bath.

I added a few tablespoons of yogurt to the pot, wrapped the pot in a beach towel to keep it warm, then placed in in my oven overnight. When I took it out this morning, I strained it with cheesecloth to thicken it a bit.

A few hours later: Greek yogurt!

Stay tuned for more Locavore Challenge adventures.

What’s motivating you this week?

Last night marked the final Thursday-night swim at Moreau Lake State Park of the summer.

I first started attending these swims, sponsored by the Saratoga Triathlon Club, the week we moved here in early July. They have quickly become a weekly staple for me, and have become one of my most favorite parts of living here. Every week, I drive the 20 minutes north to the leafy, green peace of Moreau Lake State Park, line up on the shoreline at 6 p.m. and spend the next hour swimming three lengths of the roughly 900-yard course, peaceful in my own little watery universe.

Last night, the lead group—those of us who plan to swim three or more loops always wade in first—had shrunk down to just three people, compared to a dozen or more leading up to IronMan Lake Placid. I found myself instantly at peace in the water, and totally alone—a rarity in any open-water swim setting.

All summer, I’ve been trying to spend more time in the present moment through meditation and mindfulness. As I glided through the water last night, watching the sun set over the hills to the west with every breath, I felt totally, completely present, hyperaware of the cool, calm water and the beauty and stillness around me. The songs I usually sing to myself while I swim (“Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley and “Disparate Youth” by Santigold are my current favorites) muted themselves, and a single line in a Rumi poem popped into my mind: Don’t go back to sleep.

I rounded the first buoy on my first, then second lap, my mind quiet aside from that one line: Don’t go back to sleep. The sun sank behind the hills, creating an alpenglow effect at the top of the green-blue hills. Don’t go back to sleep. The glassy lake took on that silver-blue tone it does at dusk; I soared through it, feeling that I wasn’t in it, but was instead a part of it. Don’t go back to sleep.

I glanced at my watch as I finished my third lap: 6:40 p.m. Could it be that I had time for a fourth? I rounded the buoy again and sped up a bit, hoping I could circle the lake and reach the shore again by 7. I got out at 6:59 p.m., breathless and exhilarated.

I wasn’t the only one to feel something magical and mystical in the night air. One guy finished after me, and when I told him I could have stayed in another hour (I could have!), he nodded emphatically and said, “If you don’t appreciate how amazing this is, you probably need to reevaluate your life.” I laughed, agreeing.

The night finished with a pizza party at the lakeside pavilion. I brought a bottle of chilled Thirsty Owl vidal blanc to share (we drank it out of our water bottles); a swimmer-friend brought canary melons and cherry tomatoes from New Minglewood Farm, which she owns and operates with her husband. I didn’t want to leave at the end of the night. And after an experience like that, when I was lucky enough to feel totally, completely aware and awake, I don’t want to go back to sleep.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

Allow me to gush: I had SO MUCH FUN at the Lake George Open Water Swim 5K last weekend!

My 5K race at 9:30 a.m. Saturday was one of four open-water races held throughout the weekend, ranging from 2.5K to 10K in length. Mine was fabulously well-organized, staffed by friendly, helpful volunteers. The weather was sunny and warm, and the water temperature was positively toasty, erasing all my worries about becoming borderline-hypothermic sans wetsuit in the allegedly-71-degree water (it must have been closer to 74). And the other swimmers were incredibly supportive—both my friends with the Saratoga Triathlon Club and the new friends I met while standing in line to check in (or, better yet, while drafting during the swim).

And the lake! Oh, my goodness, the lake! I was dazzled by it from the moment we spotted the glittery blue water from the road, and that feeling only deepened when I walked into it to start the swim. Crystal-clear near the shoreline, seaglass green toward its center, the water alone is reason enough to do this swim.

The start was relatively calm, despite the race organizer’s hilarious safety warning about it.

“I guess I offended some triathletes in the last meeting when I talked about the start,” he said. “So I’ll just say: We’re all going to try to keep our flailing limbs to ourselves, but there will be some contact.” He paused, looking at the co-organizer. “Was that better?” he said.

I was impressed to note how quickly the lead pack took off. I tried in vain to catch a couple of the first pairs of heels, then thought: “Spoiler alert: Amy Reinink will not be the first one out of the water today.” I eventually settled in with a crowd of five or six other women, and swam in a fast, friendly pack with them for much of the first lap. Later, one of those women identified me on shore and told me I had a great swim. (This is what I mean when I talk about the new friends I made drafting!).

The course itself was terrific. Oversize, well-positioned buoys and distinctive mountains in the distance made sighting a breeze on the two laps of the out-and-back, diamond-shaped course. The first stretch of the first lap was over almost before I knew it, in about 20 minutes—way ahead of my projected finish pace of 1:30 for the whole 5K.

The second stretch of the first lap brought something unexpected: swells. They were just the amplified effect of boat wake, but the chop was significant enough to push me off course a few times. I was lucky to be in the center of the pack—I’m sure I would have done some crazy Ivans if not for the steady path of yellow caps in front of me.

The chop subsided as we neared the shore again. That’s where the event turned into a race for me.

The most recent issue of Runner’s World contains a piece with pithy pieces of advice from running coaches. Sage Rountree suggests being “lazy in the first half, stubborn in the second half” of a race, and I’ve been trying to enact that tip: Rather than making a mad dash to the finish line once it’s in sight, I’ve been trying to turn up the heat way ahead of time, after I pass the halfway point of a race.

I had lost the pack of swimmers, but it didn’t matter. I’m pretty sure the first half of the second lap was my fastest, anyway, and I passed almost everyone I could spot.

Then came the last half of the second lap. Holy moly, I was tired! I couldn’t spot any other swimmers in front of me or behind me, so it was just me against the rapidly increasing boat wake (who knew this could make a difference!?). It was one of those swims during which I seriously questioned whether I was moving forward at all. My arms ached like they were big, long bruises. I was so tired, I felt like I could take a nap.

Finally—finally!—I spotted the shoreline. I made a beeline for the two green buoys we were instructed to swim between at the end of each lap. When I reached them, I was confused—why was the finish line over to the right? Why wasn’t anyone else at the green buoys?—until I realized that we were only supposed to swim through them at the turnaround, not at the finish. I angrily shifted course and swam to the finish line.

The next few minutes were a mess. I stood up when my fingers touched the bottom twice, but then tried to swim again when I realized the finish line was still really, really far. I quickly stood up again after realizing it was far, but also shallow (this happens when you take an alternate route to the finish line). I feel lucky that I was too tired to experience any self-loathing, because it would have been thick (who misses the finish line!?!).

And then, I was in the finish chute. I genuinely thought I was running, not shuffling, when this photo was taken:

I finished in 1:28:13—slightly faster than I expected, and slightly faster than my previous 5K swims in other venues. It was good enough for third in my age group.  I’m proud of the award and the time. I’m more proud of the way I executed the race, without fear of bonking or hurting.

I’m also curious. My finish-line zig-zag (again: Who DOES that?) cost me at least a minute or two, and I’m wondering what I might be able to do without it. Luckily, I have another opportunity to test myself: the Moreau Lake Open Water Swim 3K in early September. I swim in Moreau Lake every Thursday night, which kind of makes it my home course. Stay tuned …

When we moved to Saratoga Springs in early July, I had no intention of making serious training a priority. I joined running and swimming groups, of course, but only to make friends, not to get fast or go far.

Saratoga had other plans for me, and my first run with the Saratoga Stryders was a speed workout in the woods on July 17, a steamy Wednesday night. I’ve made almost every other Wednesday night workout since then, and have run hills, a track workout, a tempo run and an interval run—a total of five speed workouts. That’s five more speed workouts than I’d done … well, in a very long time.

I’ve also been doing long runs on Saturdays with the Stryders, working up to nine miles this past week. The nine-miler was a complete accident, courtesy of the guilt I felt about abandoning the gal I’ve been running with, who is training for a marathon, on the rest of her 18-miler.

I’ve been doing the occasional Monday night race—the Monday Night Mile and the Camp Saratoga 5K Trail Fun Run.

Me running the Monday Night Mile. No, I have not been working on my form. Why do you ask? Photo credit: Brian Teague of Fateague Fotos.

I’ve run two of the five Camp Saratoga 5K Trail Fun Runs—one on July 22 (one of my first workouts in town), one last night. I was curious if I would notice a difference after four or five weeks of speed workouts. Here’s how the two races played out:

RACE NO. 1, July 22: The race website notes that “This is a fun but challenging trail course. Expect to add 10%-20% to your best 5K road course time.” I literally can’t remember the last time I ran a road 5K—what’s 10 to 20 percent more than “whatever lazy pace I feel like?”

The answer to that question is 29:18. It’s possible this is my slowest-ever 5K time, but given the exhaustion I felt during the race and the soreness I felt in the days that followed, you would’ve thought I had set a new course record.

I had aimed to run a fast-but-steady first mile, then hold that pace to the finish. I succeeded in running that fast-but-steady pace the first mile. But by mile No. 2, my quads were absolutely trashed from the rolling hills, and by Mile No. 3, I was walking the downhills, afraid I’d take a tumble (it’s all fun and games until someone trips on a root and falls on her face). Still, the beautiful course and the camaraderie of my fellow runners (lots of words of encouragement by people passing me on the hills) made it a great event.

RACE NO. 2, Aug. 19: I had a simple process-based goal: Avoid the mistake I made last time, and keep enough gas in the tank to tackle those late hills. Somehow, I still ended up with a fast-but-steady first mile and pain and absurdity in the second and third miles.

At the starting line, I felt excited to run a strong, steady race. I found the gals in my Wednesday-night pace group in the crowd, and tried to stay on their heels. I lost sight of them by the second mile, and by the end of the race, my main goal was not getting trampled on the downhills, which I again walked. I felt too wiped to manage anything but a spirited jog to the finish. I expected my time to be the same.

To my surprise, I ran 27:46—still not speedy by most standards, but more than a minute faster than the last time I ran a painful, uneven race on the same course. Progress!

THE TAKEAWAY: I left the race last night feeling grateful for my fellow runners, who again cheered for me as if I was getting ready to set a new course record, and grateful for being able to take part in such a lovely, low-key event. It costs $5 per race for members of the Saratoga Stryders; timing and placing is done via popsicle sticks; and there’s watermelon and cake post-race. Who could want anything more?

Since moving to Upstate New York in July, I’ve delighted in nothing more than swimming in the lakes that dot the landscape here.

Every Thursday, I swim in Moreau Lake with the Saratoga Triathlon Club. The lake is small enough to be pleasantly warm in the summer. When I breathe, I see green mountain ridges along the shoreline.

On a recent weekend trip to Lake Placid, I swam in lovely, chilly Mirror Lake. Getting there and finding the cable course already set up felt like seeing a red carpet outside a party. (For me? You shouldn’t have!)

Last weekend, I swam in Ballston Lake with a new swim buddy (you know you’re a swimmer when you go to a party on a Saturday night and leave with plans to swim across a lake with a stranger the next day).

And on Saturday, Aug. 24, I’ll swim a 5K race in Lake George, in the annual Lake George Open Water Swim weekend.

You may recall that a few months ago, I promised myself that I wouldn’t sign up for another event until my training was already pointing in that direction. That’s totally true of this event, which I’m looking forward to mostly as a fun way to spend a Saturday morning.

The course will consist of two 2.5K-long, diamond-shaped loops. That’s four 1,250-meter stretches. For my 5,000-meter swim this week, I did four 1,250s, imagining yellow buoys on my left on the way out, orange buoys on my left on the way back. I feel pretty good knowing that, thanks to everything I’ve done since the beginning of the summer, I’m ready for a strong, happy race on Aug. 24.

There’s only one question that remains: To wetsuit or not to wetsuit. The water temperature for the 2012 swim was 73 degrees—normal for this time of year. Yesterday, it was 74 degrees.

Photo credit: Lake George Triathlon Festival.

So, I need your help.

On the side of “to wetsuit:” I’m wimpy about the cold, and 74 degrees is right on the cusp of my wetsuit-or-not line for a swim of this length. I’m not worried about buoyancy, but I am worried about heat conservation—I’ve felt a little hypothermic during shorter races in warmer water.

On the side of “not to wetsuit:” Both divisions are offered, but non-wetsuits outnumber wetsuits by a 4:1 ratio. I am already signed up for this category (though I’d feel no shame about requesting a switch). Also, my swim will start at 9:30 a.m., which means the air temperature should be relatively warm. Also, as Victoria of Obligatory Tri Blog says, there are two rules: No wetsuits. No whining. (Looking for a good read? Check out the Outside Magazine story this awesome phrase comes from here.)

Thoughts? Advice?

On Monday, Steve and I ran the Monday Night Mile, a one-mile race that benefited the Saratoga Springs History Museum. It was the first time I’d ever raced a mile, and, well, it showed. See me all the way in the back at the start?

Photo credit: Brian Teague of Fateague Fotos.

The event, held on the harness track in this horse-crazy town, was an absolute blast. They started each pace group with the starting gate used in horse races, and an announcer narrated each race like it was a hundred-grander (“The lady in pink is holding her pace, but the lady in green looks strong today! We are in a race for first place, folks! The lady in green is ready to make her move, and there she goes!”). It made this 7:34-minute miler (didn’t I used to run 5Ks at that pace? No matter.) feel like a pro.

Photo credit: Brian Teague of Fateague Fotos.

I was heaving myself out of the pool after a long, hard workout last week when I heard a voice from the lane next to mine.

“How many miles did you get in today?” asked an energetic, fit-looking fellow with gray hair.

I laughed, and deflected the question by asked him how many miles he’d gotten in.

“I try to swim a mile every time I come,” he said. “I think it’s pretty good, considering I’m 77.”

I balked. “77? Seriously? I would have guessed 60. Maybe.”

He shrugged amiably. “I get here three or four times a week in the summer.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, grinning and wide-eyed.

“Nothing amazing about it,” he said. “I just do it.”

What a great reminder that in the long run, success in training isn’t about motivation, or about how pleased you are with your progress. Instead, it’s about just getting out and doing it—nothing amazing about it.

We’re all looking for our own, real-life version of Cheers—the place where everybody (or at least *somebody*) knows your name.

On Saturday morning, I realized I’ve already found that in Saratoga Springs in my new running group. I’ve already done two Wednesday-night speed workouts (ugh) and a Monday-night trail 5K (ouch) with the group, and when I showed up Saturday morning, multiple people greeted me by name, with smiles suggesting they were glad to see me. Is there any better feeling than that when you’re new in town?

The organizer told me that people run a variety of distances and paces on a variety of routes through Saratoga Spa State Park. She said people start together and shake out into different pace groups as they go. I quickly fell in with a guy named Rich and a gal named Margaret, who led me through six or seven gorgeous miles through the park’s signature pine-fringed streets. We chatted the whole time, and I was having so much fun, I was genuinely surprised when we were done (How often do you get to the end of seven miles and say: “Wait, already?”).

The group sets up a table with coffee and donuts for a post-run get-together. The 20 minutes or so I spent chatting over coffee with a bunch of new runner-friends will go down as one of my all-time favorite experiences in my new hometown. I ended up talking to a fellow named Hank, who is apparently also from Silver Spring, and who told me that he, too, joined the group to make friends when he was new in town. He said that now, it feels like a family.

“Nice talking to you, Amy,” he said as we parted ways. Aw. He knew my name, too!

In other news: Congrats to everyone who finished Ironman Lake Placid last weekend (I’m looking at you, Katie)! A bunch of people from the triathlon club that organizes my Thursday-night swims also competed, and were written up in the local paper, The Saratogian, ahead of the event last week. Check out the top right photo that accompanies the story, and see if you can spot your favorite swimmer. Hint: She’s wearing a two-piece in a sea of tri shorts; is wearing a neon-green bathing cap; and is standing in a pose I like to call “woman who does not know she’s being photographed in a bikini.” Gah!

Here’s an exercise in self-loathing: Put all of your worldly belongings in storage for six months. Then, open the boxes one by one, and get ready to express horror at the useless crap you saw fit to keep.

Is self-loathing a little bit harsh? OK. At the very least, taking some time away from your worldly possessions will cause you to view them in a new light. That’s how I felt about a good percentage of our belongings when they were delivered to our house in New York recently. Among the most cringe-inducing: Favorite shirts with stains (Note to self: Once you have a red-pepper hummus stain on the sleeve, you will not wear the shirt again. You just won’t.); that denim skirt that didn’t really fit when it was new; cheap pots and pans with deep scratches and grooves; the books you don’t even remember reading.

In this state of mind, you can imagine my reaction when, a day or two into our move, Steve approached me with a jangling mess of race medals hanging from his arm, and asked: “What do you want to do with these?”

I groaned, and prepared myself to donate them. Race medals are tough, though. I got through the 2009 Marine Corps Marathon in part by repeating to myself: Go get your medal. It is the external representation of your internal accomplishment, the wedding ring of your relationship with the race.

Even the medals awarded for shorter races carry a memory of a struggle: When I embraced the discomfort it took to run a fast race at the Broad Street 10-Miler in 2009; when I battled with my inner perfectionist demon during the 2011 Marine Corps 10K.

Still, I started researching where I could donate them. It didn’t take me long to discover that Medals4Mettle, which collects medals and distributes them to people battling a variety of illnesses, is the go-to recipient of race medals. The nonprofit organization started when a marathoning doctor spontaneously handed over his own medal to a hospitalized friend, noting that his friend’s battle was far more grueling than his marathon was.

Medals4Mettle’s website that the organization accepts medals from anyone who’s finished a half-marathon, marathon or triathlon. I hadn’t planned on giving away my marathon medals. And somehow, it seemed wrong not to include my 10K medals, with the memories and achievements attached to them.

The top row, I hadn’t planned to give away. The bottom row, I wasn’t sure M4M wanted.

In a really lovely Runner’s World story about the organization, the doctor answers some FAQs, including this one:

Q: Does my medal need to be from a marathon?

A: “No. Someone’s maximum distance they’re capable of might be a 5-K or 10-K. It wouldn’t be appropriate to say ‘marathon only.’ ”

After some careful consideration, I shoved all the medals, from the 10Ks to the marathons, in a bubble-wrapped mailer, and included a hand-written note explaining why the non-obvious choices—the 10Ks, 15Ks, 10-milers and open-water swims—were an honor to me for various reasons at the time I got them. I said that it seemed in keeping with the spirit of the program to pass along that honor to someone whose journey is far, far more difficult.

I’m pretty sure I’ll never miss them. And if there’s a small chance that they can benefit someone else, even better.

What do you do with your race medals? Have you donated them? If so, which organization did you donate them to?