Freedom

“It’s not bad; that is, if you don’t mind really cold water and a few dead cicadas.” 

That was the less-than-promising answer to my question about pool conditions last Saturday, as I arrived at the pool for my first outdoor swim of the 2021 post-corona summer. A lap lane was wide open, and my neighbor, another lap swimmer, was breast-stroking in the adjacent lane. Other than cold water and dead cicadas, he thought that the pool was just fine. 

Really cold water and dead cicadas are not among my favorite things, but the pool looked beautiful; blue and sparkling beneath the high summer sun, and it was hot, and I could feel the water calling me. So I got in and started swimming, and you know what? I found that I don’t mind really cold water or dead cicadas at all. Not at all. There were only a few cicadas in the pool, and you know what they say about cold water. It’s fine, once you get used to it. 

I used to be very particular about pool water temperature. I’d dip a tentative foot into the water on Memorial Day weekend, but I’d wait to get all the way in until the water temperature climbed up to my preferred bath water warmth, which usually happened some time around mid-June. Then I returned to work full-time, and my time was limited, and if I wanted to swim, I had to get in the water no matter how cold it was. Last summer, the pool was open, but occupancy was limited to a handful of people at a time, and swimmers had to make reservations. Surprisingly, I was able to get a swim reservation almost every day, and I’d share the pool with the same small group of dedicated hardcore swimmers. We got in that water no matter the temperature, because that 45-minute swim was the most freedom we’d have all day. 

*****

I packed my swim bag on Saturday morning. Sunscreen, lip balm, goggles, a coin purse for soda money, and shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel. I like to use a shampoo and soap that I don't usually use, so that I can save whatever is left over for the winter. Then I can shower with my pool soap and feel like it's summer again. 

*****

Every year, I feel like I won't want to swim again in the summer. Some time in early March or so, I look at my pasty soft winter body and think "swimwear? No. Never again." But then it's summer again, and I get in the pool  just one time, and it calls me back again and again. After months out of the water, my first lap swim on Saturday left me second-Moderna exhausted, but I was right back in again on Sunday. 

I could have gone swimming during the winter, but I don’t like to swim indoors nearly as much as outdoors. Indoor pools, even nice indoor pools, are a bit dank and dark. The water doesn’t sparkle, and the chemicals burn my eyes. And I like testing my muscle memory. I just swam for the third time, and it’s getting a little easier each day. I like rediscovering unused muscles. I like when I forget what it’s like to lie in bed and feel like you’re still floating; and then I swim for the first time in a summer, and I remember.

*****

As I swam on Monday, I watched a group of neighborhood kids, finally free of COVID restrictions, playing together in the deep end of the pool. They play a water tag game called “Beaver.” Swim team kids have been playing that game forever. My kids played it when they were younger. Sometimes, they still do. I can’t explain the rules of Beaver. I just know that someone screams “Beaver!” and then all of the kids dive in together and they have to swim to the rope and touch it before they get tagged. I don’t know if the kid who is “it” is the beaver, or if they’re all beavers? (And I know. Beaver. Shut up.) 

These games always start out of nowhere. Sometimes, everyone is playing ball in the shallow end, and sometimes they’re playing volleyball or wiffle ball on the grass, and sometimes they’re all lining up to take turns on the diving board, and then suddenly, it’s time to play Beaver. When that happens, every swimming child from age 7 to age 12 convenes in the deep end. It gets really exciting when the older kids join the game. 

One girl, age 11 or so, stood on the deck watching her friends and shouting directions and advice to the players, but not joining in. She wore an oversized t-shirt over her bathing suit, and her hair was dry. I know this little girl, and I know that she is a very capable swimmer, so I know that she wasn’t afraid of the deep end. Maybe she wasn’t afraid of anything. Maybe she just didn’t feel like getting in the water. But something about that big t-shirt, and the way she crossed her arms across her body as if to hide it, to hide herself, reminded me of myself at that age. I didn’t like showing my body either. Sometimes, well into my early adult years, I wasted hot summer days because I didn't want to be seen in a bathing suit. 

As I said, I know this little girl, but not well enough to tell her to just take off the t-shirt, jump in the water, and everything will be fine. What do I know? Maybe everything won't be fine. Maybe she didn't even want to swim. 

*****

I swam for five days in a row. It's Thursday now and storm clouds are hovering, threatening a deluge. I probably won't get to swim today, and then I’ll have to readjust to water that will get a bit colder again after the rain. This is the thing about summer, that you have to take the good with the bad. 

But yesterday, the sun was still high in a still-clear sky, and the humidity shimmered off the deck and the cicadas hummed insistently, and as I rounded the turn for my 18th lap, I saw the little girl again, running on the deck until the lifeguard’s whistle reminded her to walk. She wore a bathing suit, and her long wet hair streamed down her back. “Beaver!” The shout came from the deep end, and speeding up just enough that the lifeguard couldn’t accuse her of running again, she crossed the deck to join the game. I love summer.