BY NEIL OSTAFICHUK
I learned a bit about myself the other day when we went for one of our thrice weekly swims at 5:40 am. I have to say, we have this swim day process tuned like a Stradivarius violin as we get up, grab breakfast, feed the dog, pack lunches and boil out of the house in 20 minutes for the drive from Lakeview to town; celebrating the green lights and cursing the red. We then strip off our civilian clothes like Clark Kent and Linda Danvers, having cleverly hidden our swim attire underneath and leap onto the pool deck to see where our standing may be with the other lap swimmers that arrived previously at the crack of 5:30 am.
So, to make a long story longer, just before I leapt enthusiastically into my laps, the Lifeguard, seeing a fellow staff member, approached and asked if I could check out a sharp-like object in the leisure pool that a patron had pointed out (there’s a pun in there somewhere…) Despondent at not being able to do laps, I reluctantly agreed (and if you think I was despondent, I have some swampland on the flats I’d like to show you.) Sharp stuff in our pools typically generates a Defcon 1 response from staff as potential for injury is a fair bit higher; that’s why glass objects are verboten anywhere near the aquatic area. I still flash back to many years ago when we came to work and saw beer bottles smashed on the deck of the outside pool, shutting that facility down for half a day while staff dove for hours to recover all remnants of glass. Who would do that?
So, the part I quickly learned about myself was that I have to be the most pitiful diver ever as I gallantly struggled to descend 1.2 metres, only to discover I probably never got my head below the surface. Tried it furiously again only to make it maybe a couple of feet off the bottom with my hand. My first thought is that all those potato chips I ever ate on a Friday night had accumulated to band my body with a layer of transfats like Styrofoam. By now the guard has realized she may have asked the wrong guy and suggested a pair of goggles might help me see the object; or at least how far away from it I am. She is right! – I can see it now but why am I so flipping buoyant? Now I’m embarrassed; I used to dominate the underworld as a boy; holding my breath and sitting on the bottom for what seemed like hours but perhaps that was a while ago. I’m thinking she’s embarrassed too; backing slowly away from me like a really bad dancer at a wedding, saying it’s no problem for her to change into a suit and get it.
No, wait – one more herculean effort and success! I tweeze the tiny object between my finger and thumb and ascend rapidly the entire 4 feet to the surface with no regard for decompression. Out of the water, the swim goggles are like beer goggles for me so until I suction cup them off my eyeballs, I then see the object is a very small stud earing, maybe diamond, probably not. Great news – not anything mechanical and not a safety pin or something equally as hazardous. Even better news – it shaved off 4 laps from my usual requirement before we had to get out and somewhere, I know Clark Kent was smiling down at me.