Summer weather can be capricious, increasingly so as global warming (yes, it is real) sets in. Here in southeastern Washington State we’ve been getting our share of meteorological diversity. Intense heat. Downpours. Red Flag warnings (high heat, low humidity and high wind for the uninitiated), and my personal favorite, thunder and lightning storms.
It’s really quite selfish of me to enjoy thunder and lightning as I live in wheat country where a bolt touching down in a nearly ripened field can cause a conflagration. We had thunder and lightning in our little city yesterday, not continuous, and mostly in the morning. It seemed every route I pointed the Subaru in was met with an oncoming fire engine. Had it been ambulances and EMTs I would have chalked it up to the heat and heat-related illnesses, but today. . .
Thunder and Lightning: Possibly a help or hindrance to telegraphy, but to an indoor swimming pool? Opinions vary. . .
Today, I got my comeuppance at the YMCA pool.
I don’t get it. A pool is wet, not a fire thing.
True, 9. But a memory from last year at this time haunted me on the drive to the Y complex on South Park. You should have packed your gym shoes played over and over again in my mind.
Gym shoes? I can’t believe you would go to the gym voluntarily.
It wasn’t my intention to do so, Lily, as today is Thursday, and on Thursday I swim, and, like every day, when I set my schedule my super power of inflexibility clicks into place. No way was I going to miss my swim because of an electrical storm! Fate would not be so unkind. But, as I was wearing sandals, taking my gym shoes would have enabled me to pivot to strength training and a quick 20 minutes on the rowing machine, in the event that fate sucked.
I still don’t get it. It’s an indoor pool, right?
Right. Twenty-five pleasant meters long and the perfect place to zone out if I can get a lane to myself, which happens most of the time. It’s been hot all week, hit 100 F yesterday, and I was good and ready for a plunge into something in the low 80 degree range.
So. I get there and am poised on the pool deck when the quiet lifeguard who rarely talks to anyone says to me, with an apologetic smile, “Fair warning. We may have to kick you out in a few minutes.” He elaborated that thunder and lightning was converging on Walla Walla from many directions, especially from Pendleton, Oregon, south of here, where they’ve had some huge wildfires. I asked him what the closure parameters were.
“If we see it, or hear it, or if it’s within 10 miles of here we close the pool.” They reopen the pool after thirty minutes elapse without these conditions. But, as the other lifeguard pointed out, “It could start again five minutes after we reopen, and we’d have to kick you out again.”
It’s intuitive that you’d close an outdoor pool under these conditions, but it’s difficult for me to understand why this would be necessary indoors. Isn’t the roof sufficient protection?
That makes perfect sense to me, Lily. The only explanation I could come up with was probably some freak accident involving thunder, lightning and an indoor pool had led to a lawsuit and a huge settlement to the alleged victim. Yesterday, at home after the lifeguard blew the whistle and I rushed on the return length of my sixth lap (I usually do forty), I did a tiny bit of online research. Here’s a reasonably succinct AI explanation:
“Indoor pools close for lightning because electricity can travel into the water through plumbing, electrical wiring, or shattered glass. Lightning strikes can also damage pool pumps and lights, creating shock hazards. Finally, facilities enforce these rules to limit liability in the unlikely event an incident occurs.”
The word “unlikely” is key. Opinions vary between such people as electricians and aquatic risk managers as to how probable this is, not merely that it’s possible. And, somewhat to my surprise, there is no precedent-setting lawsuit behind the rules. Also, rules vary from facility to facility and are sometimes contradictory within a facility. Today, the second lifeguard said “And don’t use the shower” when I headed to the locker room. I wonder if it’s equally prudent to not use the toilet in these circumstances?
Whatever. Midway through my sixth lap the lifeguard blew the whistle, and, though I am a moderate-paced swimmer, I beat a hasty a return length. This led to a startling discovery: if I want to, I can swim pretty darn fast!
