On Friday, I wrapped up the office packing for the day. Most of O’Shaughnessy Hall was dark and, except for the humming of some fans and pumps, quiet.
I opened the door to the pool for the last time, turned on only two underwater lights, each at opposite ends of the pool, and dove into Lane 3.
Letting the memories of the old pool’s 70 years wash around me, literally, I swam quietly for 310 yards…ten yards for each year I’ve coached here. But I was so aware of all the years before my time, and all the swimmers who had swum so many yards in that pool. Aware of all the friendships created there, all the races, with their joyous moments of victory and the disappointments–where the greatest outcome is the lesson learned.
I was expecting to be tired…I’m not in great shape right now. But I was lifted…perhaps because I welcomed the spirits that were with me, but more likely because of the atmosphere and tradition of that great old pool, where no one in the Family ever truly swims alone.
