Back in the Swim

While I consider myself a runner, primarily, I had fun dabbling with Triathlons in
the 1980's. I did several sprint triathlons, with the longest endeavor a 1-mile swim in Barnegat Bay, a 25-mile bike ride, and 10-mile run in the Ricoh Triathlon on Long Beach Island in 1983.
Since getting married and having more responsibility, I've concentrated my competitive efforts back into running, while augmenting it with lifting, rowing, and most recently, some martial arts training.
Swimming has taken a back seat. We have a community pool in our development, and when I have the time, I take advantage of the sole lap lane and swim a mile. The mile was my normal training distance when I swam more regularly, and then, I could clock a regular training mile in under 30 minutes.
Distance and time-wise, swimming a mile is considered four times a running mile. So, my mile swim in 30 minutes was like running a little over seven-minute miles for four miles. In my mind, it seemed about an equal effort, too: nothing remarkable, but respectable.
Now, I probably do the mile about four or five times a summer, and my time has slowed to about 35 minutes. My preceived effort remains about a six on a 1-10 scale. My chest, arms and shoulders feel like they had a good workout, and it's a good flexibility exercise for my hips, obliques, and legs.
I sprint in the last 10 laps, so I'm breathing hard at the end, but I can't swim fast enough to truly test my maximum heart rate capabilities.
I feel great doing it, though! I sit out in the sun first, to get baking hot, and usually read a fitness magazine to get in the proper framework. The water is bracing at first in the unheated pool, but my body adapts as I steam along.
The first eight or 10 laps are the hardest, as my shoulders feel extremely tight (I always do the swim on a weekend, and I usually have done a weight workout in the morning).
I break the mile down into 10-lap increments, and am usually comfortable after the first ten. Then, it's just a mental game of sticking with your form (remembering to kick your legs, not letting the arms sag across your body underwater, breathing every stroke), and letting your mind wander, but not so much that you forget how many laps you have gone.
The mental game is much like a running race: 16 laps down, a quarter done. Then get to 20. At 32, your halfway. After 40, you're over the hump and can start picking up the pace. At 60, it's "is anyone watching my kick?"
At 64, I relax in the water about a minute, and jump out before my body starts to freeze as it idles. I wrap myself in the towel, go back to my magazine, and my 52-year old mind wonders: "how many more summers will that seem easy?"