The Secret Life of NARPs

Although we wanted to start our last week of training with more energy than ever, the universe once and for all, proved its wish to sabotage its two favorite NARP first-years. Izzy dealt with a recurring foot pain that left her walking like a teetering pregnant woman — swollen feet and cankles included — while Maddie’s downhill battle with a horrific breathing problem associated with asthma produced fears of the return of the black lung. This week was an inevitable fail. But that did not stop us from hitting up the one athletic facility that has not been graced by our presence — the natatorium. Fellow NARPs, this is apparently the fancy name for the Middlebury College swimming pool.

Maddie felt confident in her ability to embrace the aquatic lifestyle. She was a middle school swimmer, after all, who won her school’s swim team equivalent of the Miss Congeniality award. (She quit shortly after when she was informed 7th-graders had to start arriving for practice before school. OK, the real reason I quit is because I was scared I would get my first period in the pool because I suffered from puberty paranoia. Sorry if that is scarring for our estimated two readers.) We felt slightly out of place walking onto the pool deck in tropical two-pieces and embroidered cover-ups as everyone else was in sporty one-pieces. We didn’t let that deter us, though, and after 10 minutes of Izzy emphasizing that the water was cold enough for potential hypothermia, Maddie pushed her in.

We had a nice 100 meter freestyle to kick off our workout, but lost all motivation as the six year olds having a lesson finished a lap before we did. We’re not making excuses for ourselves (we are completely making excuses for ourselves), but we did not have goggles. Therefore, we repeatedly would drift in the lane until we collided with the ropes, all while our hair was clinging to our faces because we both forgot hair ties. Considering we each had one choking on water/near-drowning event, we concluded that our heart rates became elevated enough that we could end our workout without guilt. We played Marco Polo for another hour.

Izzy woke up the next morning with a foot swelled to resemble a mother pregnant with triplets now. By Sunday, not only was Izzy bedridden with pain, but Maddie was also bedridden with malfunctioning lungs and a misplaced inhaler. We decided to be responsible (shocking, we know) and go to the ER together on Monday. Although the field trip sounded exciting to us, the diagnoses were not. Izzy has plantar’s fasciitis and was told she wouldn’t be able to walk correctly for a few weeks, but to avoid crutches because “they wack everything up.” Questionable advice. Maddie has bronchitis on top of an asthma flare-up caused by the changing seasons, and needs to rest until antibiotics and breathing treatments take their full effect.

We reconvened back in Battell and let our disappointment surface with our favorite 8tracks playlist entitled “Collapse” for added effect. We have had a ridiculous amount of fun partaking in our insane antics for the last 12 weeks, from weight training with varsity athletes to night running with townie creepers. It only took a few minutes of wallowing for us to realize how much progress we have made since the first day. Before training, we got out of breath going to the microwave for our popcorn and back to bed to watch more Netflix. On our first run, we took 10 minutes to debate the possibility of us stopping for McDonald’s and walking back before realizing we couldn’t quit on day 1. Now, we can run 10 miles (albeit slowly) and can even go a few days without watching TV.