Swimming

It was only this morning, as I walked into the changing room at my gym and saw a woman hopping around on one foot, desperately trying to pull one leg of her jeans up, that I thought: surely, by now, we all know you should never, ever wear jeans if you’re going swimming.I don’t mean wide-leg, barrel, or flared ones, of course. I mean the classic ’90s not-quite-skinny, not-quite-straight jean — the sort that might have made an appearance in a Wrigley’s advert. You know the type.Because when you go swimming — unlike taking a shower or bath at home — something happens to the skin on your legs that makes it completely repel denim. And, much like when you get a ring stuck on your finger (take that as you will), the more you try to pull the damn thing on, the more resistance you meet. It becomes a private battle between you and the fabric, one you will inevitably lose.For some reason, getting dry after swimming is always tricky — unless, of course, you’re on holiday, heading straight for a lounger and letting the sun do all the work while you sip a cocktail. Otherwise, a towel alone is never enough.I was once discussing this with a friend who told me it was quite normal at his gym for men to stand completely naked while using one of the complimentary hairdryers to dry themselves. I still don’t know whether I was appalled or impressed. Either way, it confirmed what I already suspected: post-swim dignity is optional.You might have guessed I’ve had a few unfortunate encounters with swimming. I’m not great at it. I can manage breaststroke — head firmly above water, hair bone dry — or backstroke, which feels marginally more relaxed but comes with the risk of drifting into someone else’s feet.On the subject of hair, I only ever go swimming once mine has reached the stage where, even after removing a tight bun, it stays in place on its own. Never, ever have I gone swimming in a public pool with hair that doesn’t need washing. I truly don’t understand why anyone would willingly put themselves through that palaver otherwise.Then there’s the lane situation. I know I’m not good enough for the fast lane — that’s a firm no. The slow lane is infuriating. And the middle lane usually contains one person much faster and one much slower, resulting in awkward negotiations at either end of the pool conducted entirely through eye contact.Disclaimer: goggle wearers always have right of way — especially if they’re also wearing a swimming cap. Passing someone mid-length is excruciating, and if there’s any accidental skin-on-skin contact, you must leave immediately.Other things that make me want to abandon a swim entirely include: wet toilet floors, plasters, and that weird footbath on the way in that somehow manages to make your feet feel dirtier than before.I recently shared a lane with a man who, at first, seemed like a good match. We kept a respectable distance and swam at a similar pace. It all felt very civilised — until he climbed out of the pool wearing a thong and flippers. No joke. Safe to say, we were not a good swim-lane match after all.Maybe I’ve just had one too many unfortunate swimming incidents. The first time I ever went swimming on my own — to properly go swimming — the entire pool was evacuated due to a fire alarm. Several of us, including a group of teenage boys, were ushered outside, dripping wet, and handed foil blankets to stand in the car park. There was no fire, but I remember thinking: in the event of one, wouldn’t the middle of a massive pool of water be the safest place to be?Another memorable occasion was during school swimming lessons. I’ve always been a bit disorganised. After repeatedly forgetting my swimsuit, I started wearing it underneath my uniform. Unfortunately, this often meant I forgot my underwear for afterwards.Determined to fix the problem, I decided one morning to wear both — my swimsuit and my underwear — the latter on top, so I wouldn’t forget them. In my rush to get changed and into the pool, I forgot to take them off. It wasn’t until half the class was laughing and pointing that I realised I was swimming with my big white cotton pants proudly displayed over my swimsuit.Not ideal for a pubescent thirteen-year-old desperate to impress.And the thing is, standing in that changing room this morning, watching that woman wrestle with her jeans, I realised something comforting and bleak all at once: nothing has really changed. Swimming still strips you of competence, dignity, and any illusion that you’ve got your body under control.We may get older, wiser, and better dressed — but the pool remains the great equaliser. Damp, exposed, and quietly wondering if it’s acceptable to use the hairdryer on your legs. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit toriecampbell.substack.com