I have had a love/hate relationship with the swimming pool at the new health club I joined last December. Love the pool itself; love the lockers and the showers; love all the windows that bring the outside in.
Hate the temperature of the water. It reminds me of Lake Michigan in winter. So I’ve made excuses these past six months for avoiding getting into it. Today, I decided, was the day I quit excusing and start trying to love the pool for which I’m paying a fairly hefty monthly fee.
Gathered my fins and goggles and float board, my shampoo and other hairstuff, my cosmetics and body lotion. Headed out. Promised myself I wouldn’t think about the water temperature, but instead I would just jump it. After all, it is pushing the middle of July; and if there is ever going to be a good time to overcome my wimpiness this was it.
Arrived at the health club and settled into my locker. “I’ll just take off my shoes and check the temperature before I jump in,” I thought to myself. Which is exactly what I did. The water felt perfect; the air temperature felt perfect; and the windows made everything exceedingly bright, something my old swimming pool at the other health club never accomplished. In anticipation I took off the rest of my clothes, confident that the water and I would soon become one.
Then it hit me. I’d brought my brush and comb, my club membership card, and a plastic bag for my wet swimsuit. There was still one thing missing. One thing you can’t swim without.
My bathing suit was still on the bed at home.