Maybe the title should read, what a jerk I was? When did I start being a jerk? In one sense my jerkdom began when our community outdoor pool opened about 5 years ago. But in another, it began when our local YMCA completed renovations in 1988. Actually, the story begins when my father taught me to swim, well before my teens. My father was was a wonderful swimmer. He swam very slowly, had a graceful stroke, calm breathing, and a strange but effective kick.
In my early teens, I contracted polio. My rehabilitation included swimming. Once or twice a week for at least a year Dad dragged me to the YMHA in Toronto. This was in the 1940s and I doubt if the YMCAs would admit Jews even if they chose to join. Instead we went to the YMHA on College Street. I don’t remember much about the swims, but I do have clear memories of the ‘shvitz’ – a wet sauna – that was part of the post swim routine. Elderly men sat in it for long periods, some in obvious discomfort, usually nude or nearly so. It was vaguely embarrassing and, I think, physically and psychologically uncomfortable. I am still not sure I understand the point of this ritual.
A few years later, I passed the Red Cross lifesaving exams and began to teach swimming. I taught kids from age 3 to late teens. I then became the waterfront director at a children’s summer camp in Ontario, near Haliburton. I loved every minute of this job. I was fit, tanned, and over time perfected my own slow Mike-like stroke.
Subsequently, I swam whenever and wherever I could. When we were travelling I resolved to swim in every new body of water I encountered. This included the Lake District, Scotland, the Channel, the frigid waters off Maine, the Atlantic and the Pacific. Some places, like Greece or the Caribbean were great. Others were challenging because the water was freezing, too salty, muddy, or with weeds or rocks. But I never failed to fill my resolution.
But I rarely swam at home in Montreal. When the new outdoor pool was built, I spurned it because during the summer we were usually at our Nest where we had our own small pool. As well, for a long while I was not willing to leave Ann to go for a swim.
Last summer, however, the weather was exceptionally warm and the outdoor pool became enticing. It was completed in 2014 after years of wrangling. It is one block from our home and on hot days I could walk home without bothering to change out of my bathing suit. I started by doing 6-8 lengths and worked up to about 12. Even when the pool was crowded a reasonably pleasant evening swim before dinner was possible. Occasionally, I had the pleasure of my grandson Romeo’s company although he swam too fast and too long for me to keep up.
After Ann died, a year passed before I persuaded myself, with some prodding from the children, to make the leap to join the Y so I could use its indoor pool. It seemed expensive but worth a try. Years earlier Alexander gave us a membership, but we never used it in spite of the fact that the Y had a chair hoist to lower disabled persons into the water and an elevator. On October 1 2019 I joined and began swimming almost daily. Around noon or mid-afternoon 5 lanes are open. They are 25 metres long and divided so that if two or more swimmers are using a lane they can share it without bumping in to one another.
Once I got started, I was hooked partly because it was so ridiculously simple to include in my daily routine. We live exactly 320 steps from the Y. I put my towel, bathing cap, goggles, lock and keys in a bag. Walk one block, Check in, undress, shower and jump in. Initially I was concerned about swimming too much because some years ago I had angina and was fitted with a stent. Occasionally my symptoms return so I use some nitroglycerin spray and I also use it preventively. Once in a while, I stop for a second puff.
The main reason for my new addiction to swimming is how I feel in the water. It is almost a hypnotic, zen-like experience and a sheer joy. I usually swim at the same slow pace. I rarely tire because I let my arms sink a bit before I take each stroke. That gives me a bit of rest. I count the laps but often lose track – oddly enough around 5 or 6. Usually the water is nearly as warm as I would like. The pool is rarely crowded and most weeks I go every day except on weekends.
Now, after two months, I am up to 18 lengths, which amounts to 450 metres (or 375 yards). This takes about one half hour. I discovered there is a dry sauna where I sit for a short while after each swim. I am on the border of meditating. I exit, shower, put my bathing suit in the spinner, dress, put my boots on and take the short walk home. Total time: well under one hour.
I cannot explain why this gives me so much pleasure. But it does. I feel more fit. I sleep better. I eat better. I may even have lost a pound or two. My belly is still too big, but the rest of my upper torso seems trimmer. Above all, I feel righteous and rejuvenated. If I were to die suddenly I rather hope it will be in the pool. It may not be much fun for the lifeguards, but it would relieve their otherwise boring jobs. And I cannot think of a better way to go. The best part of this story is that I am no longer a jerk. But, undoubtedly I was while waiting so long to add this to my daily routine when it was so easy to do.
This is not me: This is my Dad, Mike, the best swimmer of all time!