This Is It
By KATE GULITTI

Remember when you were a kid and summer days seemed to last forever? School let out and time slowed down. Every day was sunny and, if you were like me, every moment was spent in the pool, the lake or at the beach.

My best friend, Annie MacKechnie, and I used to ride down James Street hill toward the harbor, hair flying and t-shirts flapping, hitting top speed on our bikes on our way to Northport Yacht Club for swim practice. Our coach used to shield her giggles as we tried to outswim the boys for an hour. At 10:00, practice was over, but we didn’t go home. The rest of the day was spent playing in the pool, racing one another, thinking up contests, giving “lessons” to the little kids, and pestering the lifeguards. We’d leave only to walk to the beach, where we caught minnows in sandwich bags, jumped off the pier, and swam off our friends’ boats. We got back onto our bikes in late afternoon, salty, sandy and chlorinated, red eyes tearing, towels around our necks, and sunburn on our cheeks. We serpentined back up the hill, always challenging ourselves to get to the top without walking our bikes. Every day held the promise of a new discovery. My friends and I grew stronger and more confident. We laughed hard and often and encoraged each other to take risks within the safety net of our friendships. I didn’t realize then how lucky I was.

Those days are 30 years behind me. Somehow, and I’m not sure how I let this happen, summertime seemed to lose some of its magic. Adult responsibilities, schedules, commitments, obligations, they all got in the way. There were carpools, chores, and bills. Someone needed to walk the dog, make the dentist appointments and return the library books. I just kind of accepted that this was the way you spent summer as a working mother in your 40s.

But, every day was still sunny and the pool, the lake and the beach were still there. And one day, quite by accident, I was able to figure out how to go back in time and live my summer days in the same magical, glorious way I did when I was 12. You see, this was the summer I discovered open water swimming.

I live outside of New Paltz and swim with a Masters team at the local college. When the indoor season ended and other Masters were preparing to train at the community pool, I decided to beg off. Truth was, I thought I’d try to save a few bucks and besides, how was I going to make practice when I had to walk the dog, get the kids to the dentist, etc.? I decided to join the small group of open water enthusiasts who migrate to our local lakes during the summer. I figured this might fit into my busy schedule. Besides, they seemed to like this open water thing. Why not give it a try?

The first week of June, Terry picked me up at 6 AM for my first early morning lake swim. He parked the car on the side of the road, up against the trees. There was a swampy, mucky pond to our left. I convinced myself to suck it up and not complain. Much to my relief, he led me past the pond and up an embankment. This brought us onto a rail trail, which would eventually lead to our lake. The trail was damp and the morning air was still and quiet. We passed a number of places where turtles had pushed the black earth aside to lay their eggs. A deer leapt across the path in front of us. Farther down, cool air from nearby caves chilled us as we stepped over fallen sticks and branches. “Nature’s air conditioning,” Terry said. After 10 minutes we left the rail trail and picked our way down a rugged path to the lake. We stepped out onto a boulder that jutted over the water. “This is it,” said Terry.

Now when I think back on it, that first walk to the lake through the woods, Terry’s words (This is it) and my first plunge into the still, glassy water reminds me of those children’s books where the main character opens a door that leads to a hidden fantasy world. Has this been here all along? Who else knows about it? How could I be so lucky? Why did you pick me to share this amazing secret with?

I was hooked from the start. Terry pointed to a landmark on the far side of the lake. He suggested a technique focal point and off we went. We slipped through the water, trying not to splash. My eyes were down, watching my patient lead hand, soft fingers. Weird, how my arms looked like they were glowing in the morning light. At some point, I turned to breathe and was blinded by the sunlight, now cutting through the tree line to the east. Breathing to the other side I saw Terry and tried to stay close. He’s slowing down. Are we across already? No flip turns, no walls, nothing to get in the way. This is bliss.

One swim was all it took to complete my conversion from pool trainer to open water explorer. I swam with Terry, Dave, Willy, and then Greg, Beth, and many others. We worked on pacing and form, striving to be as efficient as possible, as quiet as possible. We swam in close ranks, matching stroke rates and sharing energy. It was exhilarating and calming at the same time. And like the summer days of my youth, I would return home in late afternoon, this time with deep goggle lines accentuating the lines of wisdom around my eyes. Again I grew stronger and more confident. Again, I laughed hard and often with my friends as we pushed each other to take risks. Time slowed down. The days stretched before me. I grew younger every time I took a stroke, felt that rhythm and that rush. Things became integrated, in synch, easy. Like they did those summers I raced down the hill, t-shirt flapping. The only difference this time around is that now I realize how lucky I am.

You were right, Terry. This is it.

Kate Gulitti teaches 2nd graders at Duzine Elementary School in New Paltz NY. She coaches with the Hawks (USS age group) Swim Team and swims with Shawangunk Masters, both at SUNY New Paltz. She and her husband Mike and 11-year old twins Nicholas and Emily (both Hawks swimmers) live in Tillson, where she also coached the community summer swim team, the Rosendale Rapids.