Game Face
Oddly enough, race week has reminded me less of athletics than theater.
This Saturday I’ll swim a 10-kilometer race in Newfound Lake in Bristol, NH.
My son’s community and middle school productions always had a “Tech Week.” The lines were memorized. The acting was learned. Then the lights were programmed, costumes appeared, microphones came alive, and rehearsals stopped feeling like practice. Everything became real.
I’m in Tech Week.
The training is over. Nothing meaningful is going to happen to my fitness between now and the starting horn. What can still change is my mindset.
What remains are the finishing touches.
The goggles.
The backup goggles.
The swim buoy.
The nutrition bag with my initials taped to the side.
The Maurten drink mix.
The gels.
The neoprene “lava shorts” that will give my legs just enough buoyancy to reduce drag.
None of those things will make me a stronger swimmer. Together, they help transform preparation into performance.
Then there’s the part of “Tech Week” I didn’t expect.
The mental side.
I’ve spent the week listening to Adam Walker describe how he visualizes a swim before ever entering the water. I’m not trying to become Adam Walker. I’m simply borrowing a little courage from someone who’s already done some truly extraordinary swims.
I notice it affecting me.
I’m a little calmer.
A little more confident.
A little more ready.
Which brings me back to something I hadn’t thought about in years.
Game face.
When I played high school soccer, we’d tell each other to “put on your game face” before matches. Mostly we were joking. But rituals have a way of becoming real.
I haven’t had many reasons to put on a game face since then.
Until now.
To be clear, I’m not taking any of this too seriously. This is pure fun. I’m not racing anyone else. I’m simply seeing what this fifty-seven-year-old version of me can do.
A few weeks ago, I swam this distance for the first time. It took me 4 hours and 32 minutes.
Saturday’s race has a 4 hour 15 minute cutoff.
The practice swim also happened two days after dehydrating myself for a colonoscopy. I can’t remember hearing about that in an Olympic training plan. More importantly, I wasn’t trying to swim fast. I was figuring out hydration and nutrition.
I’ve learned a lot since then.
Enough to feel confident.
Not certain.
Just ready.
The idea of having a game face still give me some inner energy. It feels slightly ridiculous.
At fifty-seven, I’m no spring chicken, more like a fall chicken.
But preparing for Swim with a Mission - the anticipation, the planning, the butterflies, the excitement - feels remarkably similar to preparing for a high school playoff game.
Maybe that’s one of the unexpected gifts of swimming. Every once in a while, it gives me permission to feel seventeen again.