When I think about the reasons I love living where I do, near the top of my list is the outdoor pool that’s a five-minute drive from my house. I can also bike or walk there.
I’ve been extra thankful for this public pool because so many Chicago-area pools had delayed openings this summer or didn’t open at all due to a lifeguard shortage.
And I’m especially lucky this facility stays open until early October. The diving well, slides and play pools closed on Labor Day, but the expansive 50-meter pool, tidily divided by lane lines, is still open to adults for limited hours of lap swimming.
There are no lifeguards perched in towering chairs along the side, but there’s a skeleton crew of workers checking us in, cleaning the deck and stacking lounge chairs. I feel safe.
Maybe I feel safe because I feel a connection to the others who, like me, show up on cool autumn mornings knowing that if the water is heated, the temperature outside doesn’t matter that much.
Although this community of swimmers is a mishmash of serious speedsters, languid breaststrokers and water walkers, we speak a common language.
“How’s the water?” we say to each other as we arrive.
“It’s great” is always the response, although this may also be followed by “once you get going.”
And then someone says, “Getting in is easy. It’s getting out that’s hard.”
Getting out is hard. The chilly air on my wet skin makes me cross my arms in front of my chest, hunch forward and shrink inward. I pull on my warmup jacket and zip up quickly, deciding to rinse off at home these days since the locker room showers are lukewarm and tend to sputter.
Getting out is also hard because there are only a few days left of this aquatic escape, this Southern California fantasy smack dab in northern Cook County.
“I’m trying to come every day this week,” Katherine says, noting that our outdoor lap swimming sessions are numbered. I don’t know Katherine outside of the pool. I don’t even know her last name. But we often swim in the same lane, compare notes on stroke technique and feed off each other in discussions about the anti-aging and mental health benefits of being in the water.
I know swimming won’t really keep senescence at bay, but when I’m rhythmically stroking between the walls, I am 14 again, full of strength and promise. I like to think that 60-year-old me still might have some strength and promise left. The surest way to find it is when I’m propelling myself through the water, focusing on the task at hand — reaching, rotating, kicking — and hearing only my bubbles and breathing.
The pool closes soon, and I’m hoping to be there on the last day if the weather cooperates. (Swimming in cold rain is fine. Thunderstorms are the problem.)
I know what closing day will be like based on past years. The other swimmers and I will exchange exaggerated sad faces across the lanes. When we’re done with our workouts, we’ll climb out reluctantly and linger on the pool deck. We will soak in the pale, fading sun and remark that the summer sped by.
We’ll talk about where we swim in the winter; how it always feels weird to make the transition to being indoors and in shorter pools. And we’ll acknowledge our good fortune to have this gleaming gem for almost five months of the year.
Judith, an artist who always swims in lane one, will take photos of the water that she’ll later post on Instagram. Her shots from various angles will make the pool look like a gorgeous abstract painting.
When winter comes, I’ll pull up Judith’s photos on my phone. They’ll tide me over until next year when the pool opens again.
Nancy E. Anderson is a writer and swim coach in Evanston and a columnist for the Evanston RoundTable.
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