Last Swim of the Season

By mid October in NC, the pool water is still warm enough for swimming but the temperature by then usually has noticeably fallen quite a ways below the ‘bath water’ warmth that pools in the South often reach at the height of summer. The water in the early Fall is usually in the 60’s which would sting a little when first entering but after a few minutes I would have acclimated myself to the cooler water and enjoy the pool. When I was swimming (yes, it’s hard to believe w/ my full back body that I used to be a swimmer even at the collegiate level), the outdoor pool at the start of the long course season would be awfully cold with the temperatures in the water sometimes falling into the mid to upper 50’s. Now that was painful and numbing. On days like that, it was the closest to being a gelding as I was ever going to be. I will say no more about that.

On this weekend of my visit back since moving to NJ, I instituted a new rule: The ’60 degree Rule’ which meant that as long as the pool was 60 degrees or warmer, I would get in and play with the babies since this would be so much fun for them and so exciting. The moment of truth was when I reached into the pool to grab the pool thermometer to view the water’s temperature. On that weekend, the pool was between 60 and 65. This was going to hurt, but I had to do it. I always hated getting in cold water. I shriek like a little girl making an ass out of myself when the pool is that cold only adding to Abby’s excitement. Abby almost always got in the pool when I did, and on that weekend it was no exception.

One redeeming quality about the pool in that time of year is that the water tends to be clearer than in the summer since the yellow mustard doesn’t do well in cold water. As long as the sun was out the cold pool was bearable with the warming rays on my body. We played for a couple of hours in the pool that Saturday and had lots of fun. The weather couldn’t have been better.

The next day, I had to fly back to NJ. The flight was in the early evening, and I had to give myself an extra hour to return the rental car and take the shuttle to my terminal. After I packed my bag and dressed, I stood in the breakfast room and gave my farewells to my mom. Abby saw that I had on a polo shirt and jeans. She ran over to me. The jig was up, and she knew I was leaving. It broke my heart to see her that sad and for her to realize I would be leaving.

On the trip back, I do want to add something about going through RDU gate security. Earlier in the year on every trip I made through RDU while I was traveling to central NJ, San Diego and San Francisco, security pulled me aside and went through my baggage. Being the passive-aggressive person that I can be, I pulled out a weapon of the weak and concocted a scheme to get back at their asses. On Saturday, I went for a short jog through the neighborhood. Since my late teens, I have always sweated heavily regardless of how light or heavy I was and it could be embarrassing. However on this day, I was going to use this to my advantage. I set aside my running clothes so that on Sunday when I packed, I could place the dirty laundry right on top of the heap so it would be conspicuous upon opening the luggage. As I went through security, once again a guard wanted to go through and inspect my bags. I gave no objection when she asked. The zipper slowly made its way open and there it was, the soiled laundry sitting right there on top pretty as it could be. The guard gritted her teeth and winced. After poking the top of the clothes with a probe, she abruptly stopped the inspection and let me pass through. Otherwise, my trip back to NJ was uneventful and the aerial view of NYC lights was awesome that night.