My feet hit the slick, rocky bottom of Whistle Lake’s shore. I stood. And tried not to cry. I’d just completed a quarter mile out and back swim with my friend Erin, relieved that I hadn’t drowned but afraid to do it again. Signing up for a triathlon from the comfort of my warm, dry computer chair had seemed like a good idea months before the race. Now, after my second scary attempt at open water swimming, I wished there was a way to back out. Only one thing stood in my way: Wanda.
I met Wanda a couple of years ago at the pool. The fiftysomething snowbird had arrived in Anacortes, as she usually did, in the spring, to escape her City Mouse life in Houston before it got too hot. Wanda was training for a triathlon. My friend Erin, her daughter, suggested the two of us train together because we are both slow swimmers. Before meeting Wanda, my typical workout consisted of lap after boring lap of a combination of freestyle, sidestroke, and backstroke for about 800 meters, which was about all I could stand. I say I let Wanda boss me around in the pool, but it’s more like student and sensei.
To read Julee Rudolf’s complete blog, go to https://juleerudolfblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/16/a-fish-called-wanda/