There is always hope.

So far, my recovery week is going pretty darned good. It feels somewhat surreal to have only trained just under four hours thus far - but I'm not complaining. Nada. Not one bit. At all. Period. Zip, zero - well, you get the point.

Tabbitha, it seems, is a great example of what exactly to do when one is recovering. I've spied her at various points throughout the house, living life to the fullest and...sleeping. Somehow, she managed to squeeze her kitty girth under the bed - of which the frame sits a few mere inches off the ground. Don't ask me how. All I know is that bats are capable of squeezing through extremely small spaces. Apparently - so is The House Monster.


We really DO have monsters under our bed.

(The camera could barely fit between the bed slats and the ground, but I digress.)

In other news, at yesterday's Masters swim, I blew up spectacularly in the pool. Ka-POW! Someone (read: Coach Jeff) though it would be "great" to have a descending interval main set that encompassed 27 X 100. I wasn't laughing. Especially when no one else was willing to lead the lane.

Swim drama aside (read: no one willing to lead the lane or at least share the lead. And those brave sould willing to do so admitted that they wouldn't be able to make the interval towards the end. So I pulled up the Big Girl Pants and lead the entire set, all the while shooting evil-eyed looks at the swimmer(s) who spent half the workout doing back stroke with a pull buoy between their knees without an apparent care in the world - and then got out early - while I was working my tail-end off to just make the interval), by the time the third came around, I was toasted.

I didn't know if I could make the times on the board, but (literally) gave it my all. The first 4 X 100 I was on target, but then...WHAM! Any semblance of "good feeling" that I had was gone, and I literally had nothing left. My stroke became choppy, the water no longer felt smooth, and I felt as though I was swimming in thick Maple Syrup. The final 2 X 100s of the set were about survival - and I was going to toss in my chips once I hit the wall.

"I'm done. Gone. DOA." I gasped to Coach Jeff, who was walking around on deck, stop watch in hand.

"Good! You've reached your max! Here's what you're going to do for the final set."

What? Didn't he JUST hear me? I'm toasted! Burnt! Done! Did he just imply that I was going to swim the final set? Does he not realize that the pool water has just turned to sludge? My muscles to toast? Ha ha, that's funny!

But he continued talking.

"Make the first two on x:xx pace, take a :30 break, and then the last is an all out, max effort sprint. You can hang on for that long. Okay - at the bottom, let's go!"

And without pause for thought, I went.

It was exactly what I needed to hear, given m current state. I was tired from the workout, upset by the antics of a few of my fellow lane mates. But when Jeff barked orders, it quieted my own thoughts, shut down any whisper of doubts creeping across my mind. Instead the focus was on making the final two 100s, take a break, and then doing one more.

Lesson learned.

Its amazing what you can do when you turn your brain off and just GO. Just swim. Just stop all thinking and complete the workout at hand. I needed that reminder today - and I got it.

I suppose that there is always hope, one way or another.

Speaking of hope...

There are signs of life in our little tomato plant. Nathaniel and I re-potted the poor thing, gave it lots of water, and its been enjoying lots of time in the sunshine. No - it doesn't look all that great - but there's still (some) green and therefore (some) life left. You never know. I may not be a plant killer, after all. I'll keep you posted.

It just goes to show that we should never give up. Be it through Tabbitha managing to squeeze under an impossibly small bed, a hard swim workout or tomato plant on the verge of death. There is always potential, there is always hope.
(One more of Tabbs. Asleep, under the desk. And yes - that is the top part of a toy duck that Anabelle dragged from the top part of our closet and YES, those are Nathaniel's favorite pair of sandals. They are nuclear. Take my word for it - but apparently the House Monster doesn't mind. As for Anabelle? Zipping around too much for me to get a picture. Hence...the Mini Monster).