I am still swimming (making the most of the season’s end)
Jesus Christ, Mick! It’s October!
Mick is wearing — as far as I can tell from where I am, in the middle of the middle lane— just shorts. The other lifeguards wear yellow sweatshirts now, or jackets. Not Mick. Not even a tee shirt. His legs are long, he has a golden tan from a summer spent pacing around the pool. His red shorts are faded to a pale orange-pink. Does he really have bare feet, I wonder? His feet look bare. The sun is strong now but the wet concrete slabs surrounding the pool can be deceptively cold this time of year. I shudder at the thought. I watch as round and round he strides, imagining how painfully cold his feet must be.
As I swim, I can see Rebecca, and Simon, and Steve, on the benches nearest the fast lane. Variously sitting, standing, kneeling, rummaging in kit bags, clutching hot drinks in flasks, woolen socked, booted, dry robed, bobble hatted, layered up against the cold. Laughing easily. I wonder what they are talking about.
Dom arrives. He ambles over to the group who have already swum. As he chats, he peels off, layer by layer, until he is standing there in his trunks in the autumn sun, the only one undressed, arms folded, smiling broadly. Easily soaking up the sun he looks more relaxed than those who have already been in. I daresay that, just as I was, he is putting off the moment until he has to enter the water. It’s hard at this time of year.
I wish I was chatting, bundled up, drinking warm drinks, discussing the number of lengths I’ve done or not done; commenting on how hard it is at this time of year; agreeing how lucky we are that the sun is shining but how much colder it is this week than last. I wish I was, lizard-like, soaking up the sun and the camaraderie and the laughter.
Mac arrives and walks along past the lifeguard tower at the deep end. I wave at him feebly from the water. Time passes as I swim up and down, and a little later I watch as he leaves, wearing more clothes than when he arrived. I realise he has undressed, had his swim, gotten out and dressed, and is leaving. I am still swimming. I am envious.
But I have come to swim, and swim I will. Eking out the precious last days of warmth: when the sun, although diluted, still has the power to warm my skin. Swimming while the water doesn’t feel like daggers, doesn’t burn or chill me to the core. Swimming where the worst I feel is stiff and creaky, where staying in the water isn’t yet a battle of wills. Swimming till I am dancing on the edge of discomfort, until I feel blurry. Swimming until I’m cold enough that the outcome of staying in any longer is suddenly uncertain.
Chat if you will. Laugh. Revel in one another’s company. Don’t mind me, swimming up and down watching the scenes play out silently and out of reach beyond me. Winter is coming soon. I still have some swimming left in me.
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