not like other pools

I’ve been to a lot of public pools in my life, most definitely more than the average person. Growing up as a competitive swimmer turned lifeguard, you visit a lot; outdoor or indoors, olympic-sized or dinky gym pools, ones with slides, others with ten meter diving board, some with tons of deck space, others so hot and humid you feel like you’re in the tropics. After a while, they all start to feel the same, merging into singular experiences, where I can’t distinguish memories of different pools from one another. I think of the swim meet where we all got weird chlorine chemical coughs, but remember the pool in Lasalle where I used to play waterpolo late at night. Or the pool where my brother tripped over a rope on deck and fell flat on his face, becomes the last outdoor pool with a three meter diving board. I think I expected the same when coming to Blönduós , an outdoor pool like any other, with blue, red and yellow lane ropes, long black lines on the bottom that end in “T”s on each end. Needless to say that wasn’t the case. 

The water is the warmest I’ve ever been outdoors, it’ll be ten degrees and the pool will feel perfect, while I float back and forth, barely swimming. It’s clear and clean, a spotless pool with not a trace of a leaf, bug, or a lost bandaid. I worked at an outdoor pool in the summer for six years, and I remember early June, the first couple weeks, pulling out buckets of shad flies that would collect in the pool gutters overnight. Every morning from eight to nine, we’d go around the deck with garbage bags and gloves, pulling them from the pool, armed with nets that we’d drag along the surface of the water, picking up the bugs and the fluff of the cottonwood trees nearby that were shedding. Or how by mid-July, halfway through the season, without fail, algae would start to grow on the bottom of the deep end and we’d pull out the bristle brushes from underneath the sink, put on a pair of goggles and swim to the bottom, brushing it till it came away in a cloud, all the while holding your breath. Eventually, we got a brush attached to an extendable pole, kind of like a really long broom. 

Yet as I swim laps back and forth, I don’t come across any mysterious floaters, that the bottom is tiled and uncracked. I change from freestyle to breaststroke, sometimes a bit of backstroke, not much though cause I hate doing it outside, no fly. I think of the frigid mornings that I spent swimming back home, how pleasant this pool feels in contrast. How once I stop swimming laps, I’ll go join everyone in one of the hot tubs, where they’ll have cups of coffee, and we’ll chat and lose track of time. Probably get back in the pool eventually, and float back and forth to cool off, or maybe we’ll lay in the baby pool and pretend we’re at the beach and it’s a warm summer day. I’ve never spent so much time just laying around in a pool, not actively thinking about when I’m getting out, or what laps I have left to swim, mentally calculating if we’ll have enough time to finish the set before practice ends. I’ve never left the pool so relaxed, walking home with friends, ready to eat dinner, and maybe work on some projects. Maybe it’s the distance from when it consumed my life, or simply because it is so unlike any other pool experience I’ve ever had, but I can honestly say I think the pool might be one of the things I miss most when leaving.