It happened today! The first swim of the new season. Executed with style, and the speed of a woman outrunning hypothermia, by Daredevil Deborah.
A conversation about the possibility of swimming started this morning while farmlet residents were tending a bonfire. The sun was warm, the bonfire warmer, and as we moved a satisfyingly large pile of our evil botanical adversary into the flames we sweated profusely.
The word ‘swim’ left Deborah’s lips first, and she went to check the pool temperature. The rest of us took guesses; Favorite Stepson thought 13°, Stephen of House Kragbol 12°, and I (ever the optimist) hopefully predicted 15°. The Forbearing Husband did not guess. He has a writing deadline to meet and was typing furiously in the Tiny House.
And the answer? A none-too-balmy 12.5°C . Nonetheless into the pool our brave Deborah went. I briefly considered joining her. Very briefly.
Instead I sat on the side and soaked my feet, spoke soothing words, and photographed her achievement for the blog. Look, someone had to take the pics, and there are times when one must make sacrifices for one’s art.
Anyone else been swimming yet? Anyone else glad they haven’t (yet)?