Editor’s note: This article was originally published March 18, 2014

I’m no longer the sole LeBlanc on the Western Hills Athletic Club U.S. Masters Swim Team.

As of March 1, my husband Chris joined the gang. It’s a shocking development, really, in the most awesome way possible.

Chris and I met in 1997 and married in 1998. He wasn’t a swimmer, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out what a giant role swimming plays in my life.

I get twitchy if I don’t swim at least four days a week. Once, early on, he suggested that I skip a weekend practice so we could go do something together. I agreed, but grumpiness radiated off of me for the rest of the day. He never again asked. We all feel better, he jokes, when Pam swims.

Chris has always been game for hopping in the lake or occasionally dashing over to the neighborhood pool for a dip. But back then he wasn’t a lap swimmer. A couple of years ago, that started to change. He’d sneak off to the neighborhood pool on his own during lunch hour, swimming laps for a half hour and then biking back home.

But swim team? Never.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, he asked if he could join me for practice. I tried to hide my delighted surprise. Then it happened again.

This month, he signed up for an entire month of swim team. The first week he swam four days. The second week he swam five. Twice he went to practice even though I had conflicts and couldn’t make it.

Chris always wondered how my friends and I could talk about swimming for hours, how we got so much pleasure from dissecting each day’s workout.

Yesterday I swear we spent 30 minutes discussing swim practice. I think he might be hooked.

It’s the coolest thing, sharing something you love with someone you love.