What does a girl have to do to swim faster? It's all in the form, isn't it? Last week I tried moving my arms faster, but that compromised my form and ultimately slowed me down. In the end, my time suffered.

I am freaking out — I need to do two minutes per 100 yards by mid-April. Last night I ran into my swim coach, John Stewart, and he wants me to get there by the start of Level 2 class. Just for the record, my BEST time is 3:28/100yds.

For a while, I was hoping that there was some misunderstanding; after all, I was just out of my 90-minute cycling class and he had just finished coaching a swim class. Busy people get confused sometimes. These things happen, right? RIGHT?!

The pool was cold this morning, which made me go so much faster. I started doing 250-yard sprints today. Well, they're not really sprints because I'm supposed to stay within my aerobic threshold, also known as the fat-burning threshold, or zones 1-2. You know that I'm working on building my base, right? Well, more on that later, but basically I am supposed to be working at no more than 60-80% of my maximum heart rate. If I go over, I have to slow down.

I woke up at 5:15 to Matt's alarm, which, though blaring, is still better than the one in my phone, which seems to set itself to endless snooze reminders and will just not shut up. Because cold, pitch-dark New York winter mornings are so conducive to procrastination, I did not get to the bike until 6:30, which made me way late for the pool. The swim, when I started, went, um, swimmingly! Nice smooth strokes, steady breathing and great posture. I love gliding through the water like that—relaxed and zoned out, with nothing to do but think and count strokes. It's like a mini-vacation in my happy place.

Ahhhh. Six hundred yards and I felt great. I was taking my two-minute rest, which I happily did not seem to need at all. Everything was peaceful in the deep side of the pool—it's always quiet that early in the morning; just a few serious swimmers and a lifeguard.

I like resting my arms on the cool tiles of the wall, just over the water's edge, so I sprawled out and closed my eyes. The light tickling sensation I felt on my hands soon after was a little strange at first. It was almost as if one of my kids was gently touching my fingers. Lazily, I turned my head to see who it was. He was looking right at me, only it wasn't one of my little guys; it was a huge black waterbug.

I went under. Just sank. My heart pounding and jumping out of my chest, I gulped water in silent, slow-motion terror. When I came back up, I was screaming—loud, hysterical, horror movie-caliber screaming. Have you ever been to an indoor pool? The acoustics are wonderful. The half-asleep lifeguard fell out of his chair, jumped up and fell into the pool. The other swimmers jerked their heads up, like bird dogs looking for prey—surprised and alert.

I pulled up and was out of the pool in an instant. Secretly, I've been practicing this move for some time. It is no easy trick to pull up and climb out in one smooth motion and look good doing it. Until today, it hadn't been going well, as I am not exactly agile to begin with. But luckily, no one is ever there to watch—just the lonely guy, the lifeguard and a couple of elderly Chinese ladies. This time, however, it was different. I flew. Not exactly like a fish, and not like a bird either. A rocket, maybe. Anyway, you get the picture—I was magnificent! Sadly, I now have two water-related phobias—dead bodies and waterbugs.

Woo-hoo! We were timed on 100 meters in swim class last night. I shaved 20 seconds off my time! Okay, I'm not exactly fast to begin with, so most of you will not be impressed with my 2:24 finish. But I am! My swimming was strong, my breathing was steady, and my form was good through the whole thing. And, I was not the last one in! I am improving...

I am massively affected by blood sugar fluctuations (Matt will concur), and now the lack of activity from my injury seems to have the same effect on my mood. Usually, I prefer to avoid altercations, but yesterday I yelled at the front desk girl at the hotel, called a cabby several select and imaginative names, and have just been pissy in general. I desperately need a nice long swim in the pool. The simple act of moving through the water creates a serenity and euphoric happiness that even a stunning pair of stilettos can't seem to bring me these days.

I am still far from being a real swimmer, and any attempts at open water training are in the very distant future. I am thinking of getting a wetsuit and giving the open waters a shot when we go to Florida this December. I have a goal in mind: to stop being deathly afraid of everything in the unknown deep dark depths. Is that seaweed brushing against my toe or a dead body? Maybe a barracuda? I am convinced that death is imminent and panic sets in. My heart beats faster, I lose my breath, and start flailing. Panic attacks are kind of not fun for me, though they probably seem quite amusing to anyone watching from the shore.

So, here is the plan - get in deep and look for floating dead bodies. I think I will be convinced that it's safe only if I find none after looking for two weeks. Unless I do find one. But that's unlikely, right? Right?

Missed the swim class last night—Matt was working late and I had to do kid pick-up from school. I have deeply-buried triathlon aspirations for my six-year-old, Adam, so I thought it would be good to take him to the pool to watch the coach demonstrate and my classmates swim. I think I hooked him—he wants to take swimming lessons, too. So psyched!

I am back at the gym this morning. No cycling or running for six weeks (five to go), but I am cleared to swim and walk. Yippie! Truly, I am not sure that level of activity will keep me from storing all those extra calories I've been taking in since I started making my own granola bars (chocolate-chocolate chip... yum!), much less keep me in shape. I'm feeling pretty groovy and have no pain—just light pressure. I wonder if I can cut that time off a bit and start again once I get to Florida mid-December. Sure would be a shame to waste all that good weather on sleeping in...

I am backtracking a little, so bear with me.

The first thing I did was sign up for a swim class. I swim in that flamboyant, flashy style my mom taught me when I was seven. The idea is to kick, splash and generally create as much drama as possible. Otherwise, how else will everyone know that I am working hard?

Charles, my multisport inspiration, told me about his first time in the swim part of the race. He got kicked in the head, bounced around and pushed under in the initial frenzy of hundreds entering the water all at once. It was frightening and disorienting. He said I needed to train to leave the water as fresh as I entered it. The swim should be the easy part.

He said that it was all in the technique. Get the form right, and the swim is yours. Great! I can do that.

Jack Rabbit Sports has great swim classes. I signed up for one at a pool a few blocks from my home. The class started a few weeks earlier, but I felt confident that I would mesmerize them with my flawless showmanship of fountain-like freestyle.

My friend Pati and I made a detour from our Saturday Greenmarket shopping to go to Paragon Sports to get me all the trimmings. I got a red, white and blue supergirl bathing suit (it was on sale) and a red cap to match. I opted for the clear goggles because red freaks me out and makes me think that I had an aneurysm and am now bleeding out into the water. I was all set!

I got to the pool early, suited up and headed out. Everyone in the class was super-friendly, which made it much less intimidating. It turned out that everyone had already been running, biking, swimming and in great shape for some time.

I introduced myself to the coach and expertly lowered my body into the water. It was cold! We were told to do easy laps, and off we went. Push off, splash, splash, splash... breathe, don't forget to breathe. I made it as far as the pool length—25 meters—and stood there, panting at the wall. Hey! The guy in the other red cap just completed 50! Hmmm, well, he's a guy.

The next 50 were timed. We were off, like the wind or a tsunami or something. Well, not me... on the way back, I lost my breath, gulped, and went under. Finally, red-faced, I doggie-paddled all the way to the wall. I had the slowest time.

For the remainder of the class, we did sprint relays. I won't go into how it quickly became a humiliating massacre to my self-esteem. Regardless, my teammates were amazing and incredibly encouraging. The coach said that I will catch up. I was in!