“Have you ever saved someone?” asked the red-haired girl at the back of the class. This question reminded me of my first rescue. I was fifteen at the time and although I wasn’t even the primary responder, this episode has stuck with me my entire life.

It was the beginning of another boring day at the Messing pool of the JCC of Metrowest. In the shallow end, an aquacise class was going on. Was I not so ensconced in my reveries, I would have taken the time to laugh at the old women bobbing up and down in the water to the blaring pop music and the instructor’s persistent, “Come on girls, keep the pace!” In her office, Barbara was preparing assiduously for the day’s swim lessons. Rounding off my view of the pool at the deep end, I marveled at one of the eighty-year-old, bionic Speedo-clad, Russian men doing chin-ups on the bar suspended from a dive block.

I could see Sasha at the Heyman pool twirling his whistle and gazing at Ivan Drago, as he would later be titled, pump his weight at the speed of sound. When our eyes met, Sasha pointed frantically at his imaginary watch. It was nine twenty-five and Mike, Dan, and Carlett would be in soon to take over and we would head down to the gym to play soccer for our ten minutes before the day really got started.

Jeff, our boss, stepped out of his office “to check on the sit-u” as he would say. As was his custom every morning, he walked his stout figure up to the side of the pool clasped his hands together and stretched his arms high above his bald head. He then proceeded to throw his goofy grin in my and Sasha’s direction before secluding himself again in his office. Miraculously, he was fired three months later.

A little while later the high pitched “tweet, tweet, tweet!” of a whistle registered, rousing me like an alarm clock and dashing my hopes for the day to go by uneventfully. That summer, it seemed like I could hardly go a day without having to clean up vomit, excrement, or scold a kid for misbehavior.

When I first heard that emergency call I was surprised, even angry that it happened. Then I was thrown into action. Barbara had already retrieved the backboard and was well on her way to Sasha who was towing the large, limp form of a seemingly unconscious drowned victim. Carlett, who had just arrived, was already calling 9-1-1.
In that scenario, it was my responsibility to clear the pool. I stood up in my chair and blew my whistle. I then made it clear to the swimmers that they needed to exit the pool. Ivan filed out of the pool slowly and headed up to the locker room. The aquacisers decided to make my job even more difficult. Instead of following Ivan to the locker room, they proceeded to berate me for the facility’s emergency procedures. One of the women took the opportunity to point at the scene occurring on deck and accused the poor woman receiving CPR of “ruining her workout.” With that comment, I was angered beyond the etiquette required of a lifeguard during an emergency situation. I yelled and almost chased them into the locker room. I then proceeded to lock the door from the pool’s entrance.
At that point, the EMTs had arrived and were desperately trying to revive the victim. The rest of the day kind of blurred together, the rest of the summer in fact. Never again would I be bored on the job. After that incident I had found meaning in the seemingly countless hours, I had spent in that tall white chair. I would be ready in an emergency situation. Looking back on them, those summers since the incident seem so irreplaceable, so momentous.
In response to the nervous girl’s classic question, I gave the standard Red Cross Lifeguard Instructor answer. “Well,” I explained with a sigh and a grin, “lifeguarding is a huge responsibility, but it is also a very rewarding job. In an accident, our aim is to train you to respond instinctively. As soon as you or another guard notices a problem you activate the EAP, Emergency Action Plan by blowing your whistle three times. Tweet, tweet, tweet! ...”
I continued to teach lifeguarding over the summers during college and even into my late twenties. I felt I needed to make a difference. I then …