It became a habit this summer, a welcome one. I'd leave home a little after 8, do some laps or aqua jog in the deep end if no one was diving. At 8:45 the guard blows the whistle; the last 15 minutes are adult swim. I sidestroke in the gloaming. While treading water, I look at the Franklin Farm windmill. I listen to the conversations around me, the mothers with babies on their hips, the fathers bonding, tossing balls with their kids. One guy with a bald spot on the back of his head does what seem like labored laps while his kid sprays him with a soaker gun every time he reaches one side or the other. I think the guy is slow, but when we swim next to each other I notice he’s just as fast as me — in other words, I’m just as slow as he.
Last night I went for what I thought might be the last swim of the season. Turns out the pool will be open the next two weekends, but I doubt I'll make it. It will be a cooler, and one of the best parts about swimming this summer — the reason I've done so much of it, I think — is how hot it's been. I don't mind bathtub-warm water.
For these reasons and more, last night's dip felt like a valedictory. It was much earlier in the evening, of course, since it's dark by 8, and I left quickly so I could drive kids to the first high school football game of fall. The pool was almost empty at the end — except for a surprise birthday party about to happen. As I was pulling out of the parking lot in the twilight I heard behind me a burst of sound. "Surprise!" and then a bunch of whooping and clapping. It was for the birthday girl, I know, but I couldn't help but think it was a round of applause for summer itself.