From Lifeguard Grandma to (Celebrity) Lifeguard Grandma

CNN called. So did Inside Edition.

NBC’s Nightly News With Lester Holt is scheduled to drop by soon.

Everybody, it seems, wants to talk to Robin Borlandoe, or as she’s now known around these parts: Lifeguard Grandma.

And why wouldn’t they? At 70, Borlandoe made a splash when she answered the city’s desperate call to address a lifeguard shortage, and in the process has become our very own local example of how to age with purpose.

(Her story is also just a little ray of sunshine in these otherwise dark days, so I’m going to turn to the light any chance I get.)

I first introduced readers to Borlandoe in May, when she was finishing up her lifeguard certification training alongside people decades younger — and ever since, I’ve been regularly asked for updates.

“Seniors can do so much,” one reader from Lancaster wrote. “She’s a great example of ‘never too late.’”

“Let us know how she’s doing,” urged another reader from Mount Airy.

To recap: Borlandoe had been a lifeguard in Kingsessing in the late 1960s, and loved it. When I visited her at her Southwest Philly home this spring, she proudly recalled the one save she made: a 7-year-old she saw struggling and scooped to safety.

After a long career in the health field, and some time off to care for sick relatives, Borlandoe decided to dive back in to respond to the Parks and Recreation Department’s recruiting campaign for more lifeguards.

City officials were scrambling to open Philadelphia’s public pools this summer. The dearth of lifeguards is a nationwide problem, driven by the COVID-19 pandemic and a hyper-competitive labor market where younger people who traditionally fill seasonal roles have a lot more options. Cities everywhere did their best to fill vacancies. With a heavy recruiting campaign and an offer of higher wages than in recent years, Philly was able to open 50 of its 65 pools.

That includes Mill Creek Playground in West Philadelphia, where Borlandoe reported for duty this season.

A few days before she was to begin, she brought her grandchildren to the pool so they could see where Grandma was going to work, but also for “a little recon.”

She conceded there’s been a learning curve, but it’s been made easier by her younger and very patient coworkers. There are also the pep talks Borlandoe gives herself when she’s wilting under the intense heat of an eight-hour shift: “Suck it up, gurl.”

And much like Goldilocks searching for that perfect bed in the classic fairy tale, Borlandoe is still trying to sort out the lifeguard chairs.

One gets too much sun.

Another, too many mosquitoes.

And a third is angled in a way that ended up giving her a stiff neck.

But she has no doubt she’ll eventually settle on one that’s just right.

She hasn’t had any saves yet this season. But already, she’s been presented with a challenge: a spirited young man whose saucy language landed him a poolside time-out. Someone else might have been annoyed or alarmed, but not Borlandoe.

“I’m going to make him my project,” she declared.

When interviewed by various media outlets, most of the attention from reporters was on her age; she was one of about 16 seniors aged 50 and older who were hired to help the city open more pools this season.

And while some of her younger counterparts thought that kind of focus reeked of ageism, Borlandoe said she didn’t mind. Talking about being an older lifeguard gave her an opportunity to flip the narrative on aging to focus on how elders can serve as role models and help young people reimagine their lives, or in her project’s case, his language.

In a city where more than 100 children 18 and under have been shot so far this year, a pool is an opportunity to keep children off the streets and safe. “How much safer would our city be if we had 100 more Robins?” wondered Kathryn Ott Lovell, the city’s Parks and Recreation commissioner.

Borlandoe has enjoyed her brush with fame. A mother who was at the pool with her children recently told her she Googled her: “You’re famous!”

But mostly Borlandoe is grateful for the opportunities that have come from taking a chance when many of us start to slow down a bit.

Lately, she’s lingered on a sign hanging in her home office that reads: “Embrace My Third Act.”

“I’m seizing it,” she said. “It’s not over.”

That’s a reminder that we could all use a turn toward the sunshine whenever possible.