Olympic Training: Part 1

Because of my swimming attendance record, I was granted the privilege of practicing in the Colorado Olympic Training Center with ten other hand picked individuals from my swim team.

As I sit here in this state-of-the-art training facility, in the state-of-the-art computer lab typing on a new state-of-the-art computer, I have come to the conclusion that, while it is immensely cruel and abusive to be forced to swim in the morning, working out in the (state-of-the-art) Colorado Olympic Training Center isn't so bad. When one has a state-of-the-art Colorado Olympic Training Center to wake up to, mornings come later in the day.

Our team left from Sacramento Airport at 6:00. We had to get up at 3:30 to be on time for our departure, and while some of us are used to getting up early, the early exit created a very grouchy group of irritable and tired swimmers (Interestingly enough, we landed in Salt Lake City to switch planes; we hadn't yet had breakfast and we had already traveled to two of the great Olympic Cities of the United States).

After a connection on a short flight that was bumpy enough to turn our sweat suits into bundles of crewel, we found ourselves in a very clean Colorado Springs Airport. A (you guessed it) state-of-the-art bus, that felt very much like an old Greyhound, was sent by the Training Facility to pick us up and drove us to a massive swimming complex. Having unpacked, we walked to the (do I really need to keep saying this?) state-of-the-art food court.

Now I understand that there have been rumors floating around about FCN. Some trouble makers seem to think that the stories are so sensationally twisted that the truth is left far behind. Others think we just make up our posts as we go along. Of course, being an FCN contributor, I'm obligated to say that all those rumors are a bunch of Kool-Aid. But even if you don't believe me on those other posts, please let your guard down on this one. This one is real. It's extra-super true, even more than those other posts. I know you may not believe me. But it's true, swimmer's honor.

Back to the account.

A guard standing in the front of the building took my room key, confirmed I really had payed my dues to the Olympic committee, and scanned my hand on a scanner. A HAND scanner, like in the sci-fi movies! I felt like an MIB until I remembered the speedos under my sweats.

We walked into the massive, beautifully painted room in awe. Piles of food obscured all four corners. We started by going through the salad bar, then to the carbohydrate table, and, in case that wasn't good enough, a chef promised to cook any (well, almost any) food we asked for, even if wasn't on that day's menu, provided it didn't have any protein.

On the opposite side of the building was a fruit bar and dessert table, filled with low-fat ice cream, "healthy" pastries, and other guilt free, training desserts. This was arguably the food court's chief disadvantage; the faithful FCN few are no doubt aware that guilt equals flavor and some of the desserts were drier than a John Kerry campaign speech.

Having completed the first "scanning in", I can now simply walk up to the door, put my hand on the scanner, and eat to my heart's content. Now if only if I could find my black tie and sunglasses ...

It's been a long day, full of hours of plane travel and buckets of training food. How does that song go? "Yo ho, yo ho, a swimmer's life for me."

I write this post on my bed, tired, satisfied, and eager. Tomorrow, the training begins.