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Dressed in an olive-brown suit, his red hair combed into place, Peterworth estimates he has about 30 seconds to pack in highlights to the revolving crowd of Sunday guests: geothermal heating, an energy-efcient boiler to heat the pool, "green" roof, organic gardens. But the main attraction always overshadows. "I was pretty fascinated when I saw the ad," the man responds with a Southern drawl. Over his shoulder, a row of skylights inspires individual refections, eight frantic amoebas. He and his daughter have already taken one lap around the property. "Have you guys been up to the loft yet?" Peterworth asks, gesturing to a stairwell no wider than a ladder. It leads to a sort of humansized birdcage that dwells in an upper corner of the natatorium. Te visitor's daughter climbs up, discovering a cozy space occupied by a bed and television. A quiet "oh my gosh" escapes. Down below, her skinny legs race around the pool deck as she explores, quietly pulling out kickboards like library books. At the other end of the pool, she ficks the 83-degree water — so warm its velvety — with her fngers. Te natatorium's humid air hangs just as thick. Upon peeking into the steam room, she reports to her dad: "Wow. I could go in there when I'm sick." M ichelle Ward, a shy, petite 40-something with an athletic build and a smile of Katie Couric dimension, is ready for her house to sell after a year on the market. We meet one April morning in her home's low-ceilinged basement that doubles as the umbilical cord between home and natatorium. It's the only indoor passageway between the two. Tis tidy space with scufed cement foors is where Ward currently lives. She wants to keep the main living space vacant, pristine for showings. She sits on the edge of her green couch. "I'm a very private person," she says when we begin to talk about the motivation behind her masterpiece. When the subject turns to swimming, though, she's fully at ease sharing stories passed down from her mother. At just six months old, Ward says, she'd happily submerge herself in water, keeping her eyes wide open. On summer vacations to Daytona Beach she'd travel in her swimsuit, ready to leap into the surf the moment her family's car parked. In the late '70s, she started swimming competitively for the Elizabethtown Dolphins. And in the early '90s, as an adult, she circled back to competition, joining a masters team. While training at the Mary T. Meagher Aquatic Center — just 1.9 miles from her resident, as her architect. It helped that he sat on the board of Clifton's Architectural Review Committee and knew what the community council's concerns would be. "It has to appear from the street that the addition not overshadow the house," says Rawlins. "Te house has to remain the primary structure." Initially, Rawlins worried the project was tailored so specifcally to Ward's favorite pastime that the property might prove challenging to resell. "But she was very passionate about what she wanted. Tis was her dream," Rawlins says. "I always encourage people to follow their path." Plenty of people build dream homes to suit their hobbies. One local realtor tells me about a home built by the Bill Collins Ford dealership family. Collins loved antique cars, so he constructed a heated nine-car garage. A book has been published on a house in Glenview known as the Leight House. Art collectors Leonard and Adele Leight built an angular, window-lined home to better display their collections of pottery and glass art. Horse lovers buy farms with stables. Tennis fanatics erect courts. But usually this practice is reserved for those with plenty of acreage and money. Ward took out loans on credit cards. Much of the $300,000 cost came from savings. "I was kind of a gung-ho type swimmer," Ward says. "I wanted a pool where I could swim whenever I wanted." "It's awesome," the man concludes. Awe accompanies every viewing. But somewhere between frst impressions and fnancial commitments, 1968 Payne St. stumbles. Peterworth, who has worked in real estate for 12 years, says the very thing that turns interest on also dulls it. "Part of the issue is they come in and see it as a maintenance," he explains. It being the "palace of aquatic pleasure." During today's open house he'll feld concerns about condensation, heating bills. As expected, the curious outnumber the serious. Eyes plunge toward the water that measures four- to six-and-a-half-feet deep. Te steam room's sweaty door opens and shuts, belching mist every few minutes. "Does she have arthritis?" one woman asks as steam dampens her auburn bangs, referring to the homeowner. Te extravagance begs for explanation. Why did someone build this? Within my earshot, Peterworth repeats a variation of the same four words eight times: "She loves to swim." current home — Ward grew frustrated waiting for open lap lanes and swimmers who'd "loaf " during practice. "I was kind of a gung-ho type swimmer," she says. "I wanted a pool where I could swim whenever I wanted." In 2008, Ward bought 1968 Payne St. from a friend for $120,000. At about one-quarter of an acre, the lot ofered space for expansion. Her idea for a pool had materialized three years earlier when her friend frst invited her over for a visit. Now, she owned the land to make it happen. But grand plans such as a personal natatorium can lose momentum when the dream confronts reality, when one giant vision turns into a two-year bureaucratic slog of securing permits and public hearings. Because Clifton is a historic district, Ward needed approval from Metro Planning and Design, the Louisville Metro Landmarks Commission and Clifton's community council. Her dogged commitment to the natatorium earned her the nickname "crazy pool lady" from one city worker, Ward recalls, laughing. She hired Jef Rawlins, a fellow Clifton She cashed in her 401(k). "I wanted it so bad," she says. "I just pieced it together." Her partner, Amy Stalk, who's sitting nearby, nods supportively. "Most people working 20-plus years, you know, they have kids. Tey have vacation homes. Tey have college funds. Tey have medical bills," Stalk says. "She didn't have all that. She's been very fnancially smart and this is what she chose to do with her retirement and savings." After graduating with a master's degree in elementary education from the University of Kentucky, Ward applied for a job with Blue Cross Blue Shield simply because her apartment was directly across the street. Tat relationship lasted 18 years. About the time the pool neared completion, Ward lost her job as an Anthem claims adjuster due to outsourcing. She took it as a sign. "Tat got me of the nineto-fve hamster wheel," she says. Out of the "rat race," her new pool complete, she welcomed in neighbors, teaching those who feared the water how to swim. It marked a new, freer phase of life. But just two years after the 6.13 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 31