A Cold Tradition Revived

 The Last Swim

The pool was a ghost of summer. Chairs were stacked in neat piles, the snack bar shuttered, and the once-bustling deck lay silent beneath a sky heavy with late-November clouds. Normally, the last swim came on a golden September afternoon, when the air still carried traces of summer’s warmth. But this year had been different. Repairs delayed the pool’s closure, and now, against all reason, I found myself standing at the edge, wearing an old swimsuit and a hoodie, with steam rising faintly from the water’s surface.

It was the week of Thanksgiving. The air was cold enough to sting my cheeks, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones if you let it linger too long. My breath came out in visible puffs as I peeled off my hoodie and tossed it onto a chair.

Behind me, my family laughed and hollered encouragement. “You’re crazy!” someone shouted. “You’ll freeze!”

Maybe I was crazy. But there was something about the ritual of the last swim—something about the transition from one season to the next—that called to me. I had never missed it, and I wasn’t about to let a little cold stop me now.

The Plunge

The water, heated just enough to prevent freezing, shimmered like a promise. I stood at the edge for a moment, toes gripping the damp concrete, my body tensed against the chill of the air. Then, without overthinking it, I jumped.

The first sensation was a shock: a clash of warm water and icy air, a confusion of temperature that left me gasping as I surfaced. But then came the thrill—an electric current racing through my body, waking every nerve. I swam a quick lap, cutting through the still water, and felt more alive than I had in weeks.

By the time I reached the edge, laughter had turned to cheers. My brother kicked off his boots and cannonballed in after me, followed by my cousin and, surprisingly, my dad, who hadn’t swum in years.

The Fun of It

We splashed and played like it was July, shouting and laughing loud enough to wake the sleepy neighborhood. The cold seemed irrelevant as we chased each other, racing from one end of the pool to the other. For a while, we forgot about the holiday preparations waiting at home, the deadlines and the stress of the season.

There was something liberating about swimming in November, as if we were breaking a rule no one had thought to make. It was absurd, ridiculous even, and that’s what made it perfect.

The Warm Glow

Eventually, we climbed out, shivering and exhilarated, and wrapped ourselves in oversized towels. The air seemed even colder now, biting at wet hair and damp skin. But it didn’t matter. The warmth in my chest—the glow of shared laughter and the satisfaction of keeping the tradition alive—was enough to carry me through.

As we headed back inside for hot chocolate and dry clothes, I glanced over my shoulder at the pool, its surface calm once more. It felt like a proper goodbye, a farewell to the year’s last swim, made all the sweeter by its unexpected timing.

And I knew, no matter what, I’d be back at the edge next year, ready to take the plunge once again.

Remember to watch your step when wading the November waters are cold!

Happy Thanksgiving