The pool at John Jay is 2 flights down a gray painted staircase from 5th St. You have to enter by the side door, there's no access from the front for families taking the kids to Camp Olympia, the swim program they run there. Which is a shame because I love admiring the vintage phone booths that flank the North side of the school's lobby. What conversations have they heard?
Strange that to get to any place referencing Olympia you have to descend down to what feels like the earth's core because of the infernal heat of the pool atrium, which is actually excellent for the chilled little swimmers whose baby fat isn't enough to maintain core blood temperature even in the pool's fairly tepid waters. So they blast the heat, as two people warned me, but still I forgot to wear a t-shirt or tank top. Didn't matter, I was so happy watching Nora enjoy her swim lessons, the second time went much better than the first because I had them drop her level down a notch from Butterflyfish to Angelfish because I could see the higher level had stressed her out. The aura of happiness she has when she's bobbing around in the floaty belt goes very deep. I'm so thankful for this opportunity, which is helping Nora achieve her New Year's resolution.
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