The Swimmers

Part 1 is narrated in first-person plural point of view by the titular swimmers, a dedicated community of local pool members. They describe the pool’s setting in its cavernous underground chamber and reveal the various reasons they come to the pool: to escape, heal, or feel like themselves again. Alice is subtly singled out: “one of us—Alice, a retired lab technician in the early stages of dementia” (3), while the majority of the swimmers remain unnamed and indistinct parts of “we.” Alice will become the focus of Parts 3-5, though, in Parts 1 and 2, she is presented as merely one of the various personalities in the group.

The swimmers, who run the gamut of professions, personalities, and circumstances, form a unique community at the pool, where they adhere ritualistically to individual routines and shared rules. They’re practically different people aboveground (the swimmers’ term for the world outside the pool facility), nearly unrecognizable to each other. In fact, running into a fellow swimmer away from the pool creates an awkward situation, as if they’re discovering a secret, shameful side to a trusted friend. At the pool, though, they are bonded by a communal identity stronger than their differences.

There’s plenty to escape from in the world aboveground. The overwhelming litany ranges from daily frustrations to world crises, including environmental disasters, economic stressors, emotional despair, midlife crises, and war. Additionally, most of the swimmers are beginning to show signs of aging—weight gain, wrinkles, and gray hairs—but at the pool, they feel young again, like their “old youthful selves” (10).

The pool has its own organizing structures and hierarchies, like the fast, medium, and slow lanes, which define so much more than the swimming speed of their respective occupants. Fast-lane swimmers are athletes and overachievers. Medium-lane swimmers are those who have accepted either mediocrity or fate. Slow-lane swimmers comprise the elderly and those with chronic pain issues. The pool’s hierarchies are not the same as those aboveground. For example, body consciousness, shaped by society’s beauty standards, disappears when the swimmers enter the water. All the other frustrations in the swimmers’ lives—migraines, bankruptcy, failing marriages—disappear too.

In keeping with the pool’s unique hierarchies, the swimmers identify several “types” to watch out for: those who occupy the pool’s shared space with aggression, obliviousness, sexism, and creepiness—”the pickup artist” and “the peeper” (11)—to name a few. Some people regularly use the locker room but not the pool, for various reasons. After major holidays, newcomers appear, hoping to swim off the extra weight they’ve put on. These binge swimmers, as the narrators call them, never last long. They’re merely temporary interlopers into the swimmers’ world. Even permanent pool groups, like the amateur divers or the masters swim team, barely intrude on the sense that the pool is the titular swimmers’ private world.

In addition to a set of formal, written rules for pool use, the swimmers must abide by unwritten rules aimed at preserving their community and their sanctuary. For example, minor complaints should be dealt with directly because complaining to management might get a swimmer banned from the pool. For this, the complainer will be ostracized. Other unwritten rules include: Do not bother the former Olympic swimmer or ask her for an autograph, do not gloat when you recover a lost item in the Lost and Found, and do not get angry with binge swimmers—they don’t know any better.

Though the swimmers have lives outside the pool, returning to those lives after a swim can be unpleasant. It’s noisy, bright, and chaotic. Thoughts of swimming are rarely far from their minds, though. They even think about it in bed at night, visualizing their stroke form or assessing their breathing techniques. When they stay away from the pool too long, the swimmers experience irritability and poor concentration. When they’re swimming, they experience euphoria. It feels like they’re flying.

The swimmers structure their lives around their pool routines. During the annual ten-day pool closure for routine maintenance, they cram in a year’s worth of other meaningful or necessary activities, like taking family vacations, reconnecting with friends, and undergoing medical procedures. The rest of the year, the pool comes first. The swimmers’ pool routine is so integral to their lives that failure to make an appearance at the pool for a week or two triggers a series of inquiries from the group into the missing swimmer’s whereabouts. They might call, email, or slip a handwritten note under their front door, just to make sure everything’s okay. Most often, it’s a temporary absence due to something like an injury or work trip. When a swimmer leaves for good, however, they’ve become a defector.

The swimmers all have their own routines, measured in number of laps, ritual behaviors, and individual compulsions. One swimmer, for example, cannot begin his swim until he takes three sips from the rusty water fountain. Another has to touch his cap twice and count to five before he can get out of the pool. Time of day, lane choice, and stretching methods also factor into each swimmer’s formula for an effective and satisfying workout.

The swimmers recognize the pool is not truly a utopia but rather has a balance of pros and cons. There is no beautiful sky or horizon, but there are also no jellyfish or noise pollution. The quiet of the underground pool and the mental clarity generated by the activity enables the swimmers to accomplish impressive cognitive tasks as they complete their laps. One composes astronomy lectures. Another has an epiphany, realizing her father has Huntington’s disease. A swimmer with a photographic memory solves the daily crossword puzzle as he glides through the water.

Friends and family are often critical of the swimmers’ obsessive swimming routines. They enumerate flaws they say this obsession reveals about the swimmers’ characters: their desire to isolate, their need for order, their aversion to spontaneity, and their disdain for non-swimmers. This criticism does not, however, outweigh the real reasons the swimmers cling so fiercely to their chosen activity. In the water, they are unburdened by gravity and free from want. The pleasure of their bodies in motion creates pure joy, putting them in a “trancelike state of bliss” (17). Swimming brings them better health, solace, and something to look forward to every day.