I am not fast. I prefer slow and steady – with swimming, running when I used to run, biking, even writing. I prefer the half marathon to the 5K, novel writing and an hour of the same steady stroke in the pool.

My fast lane friend is a sprinter. He does 50m as hard as possible, then catches his breath in the shallow end. He does that for almost an hour and I realized on Saturday it has been years since I sprinted. Probably since a coach insisted I do it (and that would've been in high school!)

But I wrote a short story the other week (with the really short deadline!) I worked hard, really early in the mornings and it was exhilarating and surprisingly fun. After a week I pressed "send" and decided it was time to do the swimming version of short story writing. Now for the last 10 minutes of every swim, I sprint. It is hard and I feel a bit like vomiting, my lungs aching, my heart pounding.

"The only way to go fast is to go fast," my triathlete fast lane friend noted and it's true. Outside of technique, all my slow and steady lengths can't really prepare me for these mad bursts, but it is time to go fast, at least for 10 minutes at a time. Because I can, because why not, because it's surprisingly fun to feel my heart thudding in my throat.