Wednesday

"Swimmers, take your marks." The "swimmers" is unnecessary, really. Who else would be taking their marks? A simple "Take your marks" is all that you need. It's probably a newly trained starter. She'll learn. Officiating a swim meet is like any other endeavor. Practice makes perfect. 

We're at a Wednesday night swim meet, at an old time DMV swim club, steaming hot on a July evening, the humidity so thick that it's palpable; the grass and trees and shrubs all just slightly overgrown and the whole place veering toward tropical wildness. IYKYK. 

Wednesday night "B" meets are a DMV swimming tradition. They are unofficial meets, an opportunity for swimmers to practice their weaker events. Loud, crazy, and loose, B meets are silly cheers and "swimming up" and little swimmers running around between events with dripping popsicles and giant slices of pizza. For the last 17 years, Wednesday nights in July were reserved for B meets. This is our last B meet ever. 

*****

I went home after work, just to change my clothes, because I didn't want to stand on the deck of a pool in which I'm not allowed to swim on a hot July evening in my skirt and silk blouse. And comfort aside, there is also the question of appropriateness for the occasion. A B meet is not a dressy affair. Even business casual is overkill at a B meet. But of course, once I'm home I'm going to try to get some things done. I am me, after all, and this house isn't going to compulsively clean itself. And I’m quick - I can vacuum, wash the kitchen countertops, and fold a load of laundry in 30 minutes. 

As I stood in the laundry room speed-folding, a moth fluttered by, and I panicked for a moment, wondering if he was a lone wolf moth or one of many. I really hate moths. Visually, they are relatively less disgusting than other insects (RELATIVELY), but I can't bear their frantic swirling and flapping. If they'd just stay still for a hot second, I'd have no beef with them but they can't stay still and so I can't stop swatting at them until they're out of my sight or dead. 

I swatted like a person possessed and the thing had brains enough to understand that I was seriously opposed to its existence in close proximity to me. It wisely removed itself from the immediate area and I went about my business. I finished the laundry, changed into B meet appropriate attire and was on my way. But I was also considerably creeped out and hyper aware of my surroundings, especially where bugs were concerned. And let me tell you that a swimming pool in a close-in DC suburb in July is no place for a person who is bothered by flying insects. The atmospheric conditions at that pool on Wednesday night can best be described by the word “swampy,” and it was a whirlwind of gnats, not to mention home to a mosquito population of malarial proportions. I spent the long evening swatting and ducking. And I didn’t even think about ticks until later - 3 in the morning, to be exact. 3 in the morning is when I always enter worst-case-scenario mode. I checked myself and my husband for ticks, and was this close to waking my son up and making him check himself, too, but my husband managed to assure me that this could wait until morning. 

*****

But back to the meet. I arrived about 20 minutes late, pulled into one of the last available parking spots and crunched across the gravel to the sound of between-heat music (Taylor Swift). I found my friends in our team area, an encampment of folding camp chairs and collapsible tents and eight million wet towels draped over every available surface. People remembered that it was our family’s last B meet. They congratulated us, and asked us what we’re going to do with our Wednesday nights in future summers. And I really have no idea. It felt a little sad. 

*****

Some people take some things far too seriously, including kids’ sports. Well, really, ESPECIALLY kids’ sports. Again - IYKYK.  The referee for this particular B meet seemed determined to run his meet in accordance with USA Swimming standards, and he dragged out every single call into a minutes-long discussion, causing repeated between-heat delays. For context, a normal B meet that starts at 6 PM should end by 8:30. Maybe 8:45. I finally had to leave this meet at 9 PM after my son’s next-to-last event, and it was nowhere near finished. I’m told that it ran until almost 10. And so between the gnats and the heat and the stupid unnecessary delays, our last B meet was kind of a drag. But that wasn’t such a bad thing, really. If the last B meet had been perfect, I’d have probably gone home crying. Instead, I just went home. One more Saturday dual meet, one last Divisional championship, and one last All-Star meet, and our careers as summer swim team parents will come to an end.