Monday, January 30, 2006
State Qualifications
I qualified for State in two individual events! I've never done that before! I'm ranked 14th in the 500 free (scoring range!) and 19th in the IM (I'm 1-2 seconds away from scoring range!). I'm excited. I'm thinking of dying the tips of my hair blue.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Capture
This post relates to events that occured on January 26, despite the disillusionment created by my procrastination.
The ocelot paced around the base of the tree, twitching her tail. One of the creatures called at her to stay behind the trunk, but the cat shrugged off the comment. It wasn't as though the tree hid the small group of river folk. The self-assumed leader of the escapade didn't know the first thing about hiding and hunting in the woods. But then, what can one expect from a flamingo? Regardless of the bird's good intentions, if their quarry looked their way, they would be seen whether the ocelot stopped pacing or not.
The bobcat padded up to the clump of creatures and whispered to them. "Her mother says that she will be leaving their den in a bit. She has some musical gathering."
The ocelot smirked. She guessed that the musical gathering involved the malamute and the tomcat, among others that she knew. She decided that she didn't quite care.
The flamingo led the way to the opening of the den, doing her best to be inconspicuous. The ocelot rolled her eyes, but followed silently. The creatures split into two groups, one at one side of the den and one at the other.
"Goodbye, Mother!" their target called from the tunnel. The ocelot grinned. Perfect.
The small cat crouched low, and she saw the bobcat do the same across the way. They watched a black nose emerge from the den without moving. The flamingo twitched, but took her cues from the hunters. A long gray muzzle followed the nose. The bobcat and the ocelot waited for the greyhound's neck and shoulders to appear before the leapt. The bobcat bowled the dog over and the ocelot fell across the canine's eyes. The smaller cat held on tightly until the flamingo approached with a wide leaf to bind over the dog's eyes. Snickering silently, the group snatched the confused canine and dragged her away.
Remaining near to silence during the entire journey, the river folk carried the greyhound all the way to the flamingo's pond and tossed her in. The dog yelped in surprise, then caught her balance in the water and rubbed off the blindfold. She looked up to her friends. The ocelot, along with all the others, shouted, "Happy birthday!"
Hah, sorry about that mishap, tomcat. How were we to know you had planned a band practice at the exact same time that we planned the greyhound's birthday party?
The ocelot paced around the base of the tree, twitching her tail. One of the creatures called at her to stay behind the trunk, but the cat shrugged off the comment. It wasn't as though the tree hid the small group of river folk. The self-assumed leader of the escapade didn't know the first thing about hiding and hunting in the woods. But then, what can one expect from a flamingo? Regardless of the bird's good intentions, if their quarry looked their way, they would be seen whether the ocelot stopped pacing or not.
The bobcat padded up to the clump of creatures and whispered to them. "Her mother says that she will be leaving their den in a bit. She has some musical gathering."
The ocelot smirked. She guessed that the musical gathering involved the malamute and the tomcat, among others that she knew. She decided that she didn't quite care.
The flamingo led the way to the opening of the den, doing her best to be inconspicuous. The ocelot rolled her eyes, but followed silently. The creatures split into two groups, one at one side of the den and one at the other.
"Goodbye, Mother!" their target called from the tunnel. The ocelot grinned. Perfect.
The small cat crouched low, and she saw the bobcat do the same across the way. They watched a black nose emerge from the den without moving. The flamingo twitched, but took her cues from the hunters. A long gray muzzle followed the nose. The bobcat and the ocelot waited for the greyhound's neck and shoulders to appear before the leapt. The bobcat bowled the dog over and the ocelot fell across the canine's eyes. The smaller cat held on tightly until the flamingo approached with a wide leaf to bind over the dog's eyes. Snickering silently, the group snatched the confused canine and dragged her away.
Remaining near to silence during the entire journey, the river folk carried the greyhound all the way to the flamingo's pond and tossed her in. The dog yelped in surprise, then caught her balance in the water and rubbed off the blindfold. She looked up to her friends. The ocelot, along with all the others, shouted, "Happy birthday!"
Hah, sorry about that mishap, tomcat. How were we to know you had planned a band practice at the exact same time that we planned the greyhound's birthday party?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Bungee Swimming
Bungee swimming is probably the funnest type of practice that is given to us. You all have no idea. I guess it's not bungee swimming, per se, but that's what we call it. The chords are more like rubber tubes with a belt on one end and a strap on the other. We hook the strap to the starting block and the belt to the swimmer. The swimmer then swims (or pulls on the lane line) to the other side of the pool, stretching the chord extremely tight.
Now is when we pit the watchers against the swimmer. The swimmer's goal is to swim fast enough to get the tube to have a little slack. The watchers' goal is to pull the chord fast enough that no slack is created. The swimmer never wins, but even so, she gets an awesomely fun experience along with it.
However, my lame-o lane was skittish about the chords (they tend to have flaws, causing welts if one isn't careful), and very, very few would help pull the chord. The serval and I ended up with the brunt of the work; one other girl helped whenever one of us was in the water. The result is that my hands are heinously sore, mostly from the chord and partially from the lane line. But it was lots of fun. With the chord, you can swim a 25 so frigretchen fast! I love it.
Now is when we pit the watchers against the swimmer. The swimmer's goal is to swim fast enough to get the tube to have a little slack. The watchers' goal is to pull the chord fast enough that no slack is created. The swimmer never wins, but even so, she gets an awesomely fun experience along with it.
However, my lame-o lane was skittish about the chords (they tend to have flaws, causing welts if one isn't careful), and very, very few would help pull the chord. The serval and I ended up with the brunt of the work; one other girl helped whenever one of us was in the water. The result is that my hands are heinously sore, mostly from the chord and partially from the lane line. But it was lots of fun. With the chord, you can swim a 25 so frigretchen fast! I love it.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Region VII Meet
Region Review:
Our guys dominated! Several of the guys upset horrendously, and SHS rolled over and died, so the margin between first and second was substantial. The girls sufffered key losses, and we took fourth by a larger amount than we were supposed to. The serval feels horrible about her last race; she added ten seconds and fell out of scoring range.
Individually, I did well. In the I.M. I moved up from 8th to 6th place and I dropped a half a second. I think I'll make it to state! The 500 was much cooler.
Recap: At the LHS vs. OHS swim meet, I swam the five. The girl next to me had a seed time six seconds faster than me, and I decided to pace off of her to go faster. I kept up with her perfectly, but she out-thouched me at the end. And you know what else? SHE DIDN'T GO HER TIME! She went my time, so really my pacing off of her did nothing for me, AND I lost. Since then, I've been itching for a rematch, and I've engrained a rivalry in my blood.
Come Region, I was delighted to find that we were seeded next to each other, and we would be in the center of the lanes: perfect for pacing off of each other and creating competition. In my excitement for the meet, I would often say, "I'm swimming the five against ________, whom I hate." Not a I-want-to-kill-you hate, but a healthy hate. Seven seconds worth of hate.
When I got into that pool, my only goal was to blow her out of the water. I had spent the past two and a half hours getting focused. I was so focused, I was about to snap. I went out fast; too fast, if I wanted to keep a steady pace. However, steady pacing was not my goal. When I got to the 15th lap (there are 20 in the 500), my lap counter was signaling that my coach wanted me to pick up my pace by one second. When I saw that, I just about puked there and then. I still had five laps to go. The only thing that kept breakfast in my stomach was the knowledge that if I threw up, they'd stop the race and I'd have to do it all over again. So I died at the end. My last few laps were signaled by continued efforts to get me to speed up and kick harder. But I was several body lengths ahead of the other girl, so my prime motivation was satisfied. Even with the dying that occured, when I pulled into the wall, I had a time seven seconds faster than my seed time: 6:11.
Even better, in my 8th-place ranking, I should have earned five points. I broke into the fastest heat and took 5th place (one shy of a medal), earning 10. I was really, really, really happy.
Oh, and then there was Preference. I'd almost venture to say that it was the funnest date I've been on. But I'll go into detail in another post. Right now, I need sleep.
Our guys dominated! Several of the guys upset horrendously, and SHS rolled over and died, so the margin between first and second was substantial. The girls sufffered key losses, and we took fourth by a larger amount than we were supposed to. The serval feels horrible about her last race; she added ten seconds and fell out of scoring range.
Individually, I did well. In the I.M. I moved up from 8th to 6th place and I dropped a half a second. I think I'll make it to state! The 500 was much cooler.
Recap: At the LHS vs. OHS swim meet, I swam the five. The girl next to me had a seed time six seconds faster than me, and I decided to pace off of her to go faster. I kept up with her perfectly, but she out-thouched me at the end. And you know what else? SHE DIDN'T GO HER TIME! She went my time, so really my pacing off of her did nothing for me, AND I lost. Since then, I've been itching for a rematch, and I've engrained a rivalry in my blood.
Come Region, I was delighted to find that we were seeded next to each other, and we would be in the center of the lanes: perfect for pacing off of each other and creating competition. In my excitement for the meet, I would often say, "I'm swimming the five against ________, whom I hate." Not a I-want-to-kill-you hate, but a healthy hate. Seven seconds worth of hate.
When I got into that pool, my only goal was to blow her out of the water. I had spent the past two and a half hours getting focused. I was so focused, I was about to snap. I went out fast; too fast, if I wanted to keep a steady pace. However, steady pacing was not my goal. When I got to the 15th lap (there are 20 in the 500), my lap counter was signaling that my coach wanted me to pick up my pace by one second. When I saw that, I just about puked there and then. I still had five laps to go. The only thing that kept breakfast in my stomach was the knowledge that if I threw up, they'd stop the race and I'd have to do it all over again. So I died at the end. My last few laps were signaled by continued efforts to get me to speed up and kick harder. But I was several body lengths ahead of the other girl, so my prime motivation was satisfied. Even with the dying that occured, when I pulled into the wall, I had a time seven seconds faster than my seed time: 6:11.
Even better, in my 8th-place ranking, I should have earned five points. I broke into the fastest heat and took 5th place (one shy of a medal), earning 10. I was really, really, really happy.
Oh, and then there was Preference. I'd almost venture to say that it was the funnest date I've been on. But I'll go into detail in another post. Right now, I need sleep.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
I've Got a Feeling
And it feels something like numbness. All over! I have hips, and I have feet, but I can't feel my legs! My arms are nearly nonexistent! My back feels funny; I can tell where everything is. Awkward. And I have come to the conclusion that since my attendance at the state meet is so questionable, I will wear my shnazzy state suit to Region. It is so cool. But very thin-feeling. Awkward again. That's okay though, 'cause I can double up when I'm not swimming.
It's really funny when the swim team guys shave their heads. It makes me laugh, and bald/recovering-from-being-bald heads are fun to rub.
Oh, and my scheduled events for Region are:
200 IM
500 Free
The first is tomorrow, the second is Saturday. I'm an alternate for two relays, but I doubt that anyone is going to die between now and then, so I don't think I'll swim those.
It's really funny when the swim team guys shave their heads. It makes me laugh, and bald/recovering-from-being-bald heads are fun to rub.
Oh, and my scheduled events for Region are:
200 IM
500 Free
The first is tomorrow, the second is Saturday. I'm an alternate for two relays, but I doubt that anyone is going to die between now and then, so I don't think I'll swim those.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Taper Entry Dos
Heh, you're going to be getting a lot of these. Today in Taper:
My lane, consisting of six girls, sang songs. Not quietly, and not similar songs. They varied each time we hit the wall and we never finished any of them. We drove everybody crazy, but what did we care? We reenacted inside jokes, such as "What's in the water?" and "Breastroke? Breastroke? WE DON'T NEED NO STINKING BREASTROKE!" and "Do you feel violated yet?" and "This is how I'd (insert an action) if I had no arms!" Oh, good times, good times. Our coaches were muttering, "I hate taper" over and over again. It made me grin. Then we were told to do eight entire 50's on 1:15, and no faster. In case you're wondering, that is actually really hard. We have to get creative.
Some people cope with this requirement by doing flips down the pool and back, non-stop. Wow. I can't do that. Sometimes the drill "corkscrew" works (I'm not going to try to explain corkscrew), but that just makes you sick and you don't get any air. My method was less dizzying, but it certainly required more skill (no, I'm not conceited; I'm the humblest person I know). I swam backwards--not backstroke; backwards--for a third of the pool, then swam slowly but normally for the remaining time. I did this in both directions. The result was that I slowed up the people behind me, but I came in on exactly the right time. When that became too mentally taxing, I resorted to climbing underwater along the lane line like a monkey and resting at the far wall to make up the difference in time. This was less skill-intensive, but much more relaxing. Swimming backwards takes thought! You try it sometime, and you'll see what I mean. It takes coordination. I think I almost have a method for it, though. But everything's backwards, and you can't kick hard, or you won't move, but you can't just not kick, or your feet will sink. Rotation becomes crucial, if only to remind you to do your stroke recovery right.
Hah, I bet this makes hardly any sense. That's okay though; Taper rarely makes sense to anyone but swimmers.
Mwahaha! The guys are going to freeze tomorrow night. *evil cackle*
My lane, consisting of six girls, sang songs. Not quietly, and not similar songs. They varied each time we hit the wall and we never finished any of them. We drove everybody crazy, but what did we care? We reenacted inside jokes, such as "What's in the water?" and "Breastroke? Breastroke? WE DON'T NEED NO STINKING BREASTROKE!" and "Do you feel violated yet?" and "This is how I'd (insert an action) if I had no arms!" Oh, good times, good times. Our coaches were muttering, "I hate taper" over and over again. It made me grin. Then we were told to do eight entire 50's on 1:15, and no faster. In case you're wondering, that is actually really hard. We have to get creative.
Some people cope with this requirement by doing flips down the pool and back, non-stop. Wow. I can't do that. Sometimes the drill "corkscrew" works (I'm not going to try to explain corkscrew), but that just makes you sick and you don't get any air. My method was less dizzying, but it certainly required more skill (no, I'm not conceited; I'm the humblest person I know). I swam backwards--not backstroke; backwards--for a third of the pool, then swam slowly but normally for the remaining time. I did this in both directions. The result was that I slowed up the people behind me, but I came in on exactly the right time. When that became too mentally taxing, I resorted to climbing underwater along the lane line like a monkey and resting at the far wall to make up the difference in time. This was less skill-intensive, but much more relaxing. Swimming backwards takes thought! You try it sometime, and you'll see what I mean. It takes coordination. I think I almost have a method for it, though. But everything's backwards, and you can't kick hard, or you won't move, but you can't just not kick, or your feet will sink. Rotation becomes crucial, if only to remind you to do your stroke recovery right.
Hah, I bet this makes hardly any sense. That's okay though; Taper rarely makes sense to anyone but swimmers.
Mwahaha! The guys are going to freeze tomorrow night. *evil cackle*
Monday, January 16, 2006
Taper!
Taper taper taper taper atper taoer taer taper taper taperrepat! I love taper. When you can get 30-40 people together, grinning from ear to ear and hyper as squirrels while marinating in chlorine at 6:00 in the morning, you know you have reached Taper, those few precious weeks when 'work' falls out of your swimming vocabulary, and the coach is forced to yell at you to get you to shut up, instead of to swim harder.
If Taper weren't enough, we did a Preference pre-date thing today. We were going to use Region as our day-date, but since the MV girls we have coming with us won't be at Region and don't know their dates as well, a pre-date was requested. Shortly after practice this morning, we got together and had breakfast (there was one non-swimmer there, and he was dead, while we had been awake for three hours). We had pancakes, waffles, bacon, and eggs. But that wasn't the best part. The best part came after breakfast.
After eating breakfast, we went to the greyhound's church (I'm sure some other folks know which one I'm talking about, provided you know who the greyhound is) and played games in the gym. I brought soccer socks, not quite knowing why I was told to do so (I only had 14 pair, as my ickle brudders wore some of them skiing). The greyhound had these funky rocket things with foam tips that we shot each other with and we played a few other things with them. We did this with the soccer socks on, resulting in much tumult.
Following our rampage with the foam rockets, the greyhound produced a big plush die. With it, we played soccer, using those random pads at the ends of the basketball court as the goals. The greyhound made the teams, and she made the team opposing her highly unfair. But that's okay, 'cause I was on it! There was much mutilation in the game, and we all came out of it bruised and sore, but having had much fun (I can't talk right today). We had just done the very sort of thing our coach tells us not to. I quote:
"When we get around to taper, you all have so much energy, 'cause you're used to being dead. Now, this is what we want, but you guys always get stupid and go play contact sports and get hurt. DON'T DO IT!"
Heh heh. If we can't swim come tomorrow, we're all dead meat. And yet I'm so happy. ;D
If Taper weren't enough, we did a Preference pre-date thing today. We were going to use Region as our day-date, but since the MV girls we have coming with us won't be at Region and don't know their dates as well, a pre-date was requested. Shortly after practice this morning, we got together and had breakfast (there was one non-swimmer there, and he was dead, while we had been awake for three hours). We had pancakes, waffles, bacon, and eggs. But that wasn't the best part. The best part came after breakfast.
After eating breakfast, we went to the greyhound's church (I'm sure some other folks know which one I'm talking about, provided you know who the greyhound is) and played games in the gym. I brought soccer socks, not quite knowing why I was told to do so (I only had 14 pair, as my ickle brudders wore some of them skiing). The greyhound had these funky rocket things with foam tips that we shot each other with and we played a few other things with them. We did this with the soccer socks on, resulting in much tumult.
Following our rampage with the foam rockets, the greyhound produced a big plush die. With it, we played soccer, using those random pads at the ends of the basketball court as the goals. The greyhound made the teams, and she made the team opposing her highly unfair. But that's okay, 'cause I was on it! There was much mutilation in the game, and we all came out of it bruised and sore, but having had much fun (I can't talk right today). We had just done the very sort of thing our coach tells us not to. I quote:
"When we get around to taper, you all have so much energy, 'cause you're used to being dead. Now, this is what we want, but you guys always get stupid and go play contact sports and get hurt. DON'T DO IT!"
Heh heh. If we can't swim come tomorrow, we're all dead meat. And yet I'm so happy. ;D
Friday, January 13, 2006
Show of Intelligence
I got answered for Preference tonight. I'm pretty embarassased, actually. The guy doorbell-ditched my house, and I found a huge rock on my porch. It had an 'I' on it and a note. The note said something to the effect of "Your quest is to find three stupid rocks. I hope you don't tire [insert picture of a tire] easily, as you might have to look!" So I went to my car. Sure enough, there was another huge rock behind the tire. There was an 'O' on it and a note slipped under the tire. This note said, "Congratulations! You found the second stupid rock. Throw this away and you might find the third stupid rock!" So me, being the logical person that I am, retreated around the corner of my house to the residence of the garbage cans. I opened the first and dropped in the papers. There was no rock in the garbage can. I searched the second garbage can. I heard a honk. Earlier I had tried to ignore the fact that I recognized the silver van sitting across the street, but then I glared at it. I searched around the garbage cans. I went back to Rock 2 and put it in the garden, followed by Rock 1. I searched the garbage cans again, still finding nothing. Feeling lost and confused, and bereft of the hint notes, I started inside. As I opened the door, they honked at me again. I turned back, shrugged my shoulders, and shouted, "I can't find the third stupid rock!" I walked inside, thinking that perhaps I was being tricked into looking like an idiot.
I needn't have given the fellow so much credit as a coniver. A few minutes later, I checked to see if they were still there. They were. I waited a few more minutes, and saw them leaving. As I did, I saw my neighbor's garbage can, which was out in the street in plain sight of any passing car. And sure enough, right next to that garbage can was the third stupid rock. Wow. I feel so intelligent. I looked that way nearly three times before I saw that garbage can.
Oh, and for those of you who must know, the third rock had a 'U' on it and the note with it said to unscramble the letters in the language of love. Though, French is really no more Romantic than Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, or any other Romance language (yes, that's for you, bluebird).
I needn't have given the fellow so much credit as a coniver. A few minutes later, I checked to see if they were still there. They were. I waited a few more minutes, and saw them leaving. As I did, I saw my neighbor's garbage can, which was out in the street in plain sight of any passing car. And sure enough, right next to that garbage can was the third stupid rock. Wow. I feel so intelligent. I looked that way nearly three times before I saw that garbage can.
Oh, and for those of you who must know, the third rock had a 'U' on it and the note with it said to unscramble the letters in the language of love. Though, French is really no more Romantic than Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, or any other Romance language (yes, that's for you, bluebird).
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Daemonic Disgrace
My mother has a soft spot for puzzles. I happen to hate them, but I lend her a hand on occasion out of love, I guess. Actually, it's because she tells me to. Anyway, we got this evil puzzle for Christmas. This puzzle is not just evil for simply being a puzzle, but it is detestable for being a disgrace to all puzzledom. I mean it! None of the pieces fully fit, leaving room for interpretation on which one goes where. In addition, the patterns on the pieces are repeated over and over, making it necessary to see which pieces will fit around the other piece to know where it belongs. We couldn't even do the edges first! The First Law of Puzzles states that the puzzler must always begin with a completed outline. This puzzle defies all of this, and more. I have denounced said puzzle, decrying it as a thing of evil, Pure Evil, I say! And what do I receive in return? Questioning of my love for my maternal figure! Does she hold this deformity closer to her heart than she does her own daughter? I should hope that she comes to her senses soon enough.
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