Sleep, breathe, eat, sweat, swim. This was me. At any given point, my life revolved around 3 things at most, one of which was getting in the pool once every day (or twice, or three times). I swam for decades until one day, I swam no more. There was maybe a one-month overlap where I thought I would still swim, pretended to still swim, but in all reality, just didn’t swim. Then I let it disappear and I can tell you, I was not sad at all. With no hesitation whatsoever, I just didn’t wake up at 5:30 to get in the pool, and I just didn’t go there after my long day at school or work. Freedom. Until one day hanging out in Centre Pompidou square in Paris, I decided it was time to dive back in.
I claim swimming, even if it’s something I haven’t done in years. It comes out in conversation with most people I meet, as if I need something interesting to say…or, really just a sport to claim. “Yeah, I swam competitively for 18 years of my life.” Brush brush, no big deal. And since I’ve been running so much and since many of my running friends participate in triathlons, I’ve been asked repeatedly to start. “Been there, done that.” It was always the feeling that I should do it, rather than that I really wanted to. Slowly and slowly, that feeling of guilt has been turning into curiosity, curiosity into desire. Then one day, I tried my story on an athletic classmate of mine in Paris.
Yeah, I swam competitively for 18 years, brush brush, no big deal. He said, “But you don’t swim anymore? Why not?” “I don’t know, I don’t really enjoy swimming laps anymore. Been thinking about it, but I can go back whenever I want,” I respond. “You don’t worry that you can’t swim after so many years.” Ha. “No. Not at all,” I say, “It’s like riding a bike.” “But you don’t have the body for it.” Ok, let’s forget the fact that as two French-second-language speakers, I had no idea if this is what he meant to say (and later found out it wasn’t). But there’s one thing that will motivate me to do anything, and that’s someone telling me I can’t. “What! Of course I could swim if I wanted to. It’s like riding a bike.”
…Is it? Two days later, I was worried enough and curious. What if he was right? What if I forgot how to do a flip turn? What if I’m not strong enough to get both arms out of the water for that beautiful butterfly? Immediately following these thoughts, I’m online looking for sporting goods stores in Paris. Low and behold, it’s so close I can walk. And I do.
Go Sport at Les Halles transit center and shopping mall. What a store. Like any big, regular ol’ American sporting goods store. I find the swimming section. Cap (7€), Speedo Swedish goggles (12€), travel towel (7€), and swim suit… 4€? Yes. A four-euro swimsuit and I was in. After all, cost-wise, I had to face the truth that I might not actually fall in love with swimming again and this might not be the greatest idea since sliced bread. Off I go, goods in hand.
I would have gone swimming that night had it not been past 9:00, I am that excited. But I wait until the following day and find the one pool that’s intrigued me enough to want to jump back in. The Josephine Baker swimming pool in Paris is a four-lane 25-meter pool on a boat on the Seine. And there’s a sun deck on the top to boot. I really love swimming outdoors. First moment of truth: the four-euro bathing suit. Does it fit? Yes. Can you see through it? Kind of. Will it last today? God, I hope so. Second moment of truth: my swimming ability. And of course, like everything I told myself to expect, it was like riding a bike.
Now let me get to the interesting part of my taking up swimming–the pools in France. The first experiment, Josephine Baker on a boat on the Seine. I bought a one-day pass for 3,60€, received a one time use pass that I put in to open the turnstile and returned to the machine once I left. So far, this all seems normal enough. Well, that feeling ended very quickly. Just beyond the turnstile is the entrance to the locker rooms; well, locker room. Mind you, we’re on a boat so things are compact. But men and women share the same locker room and showers, leaving only changing stalls and bathrooms for privacy. I wasn’t even in yet when I found a mini wading pool in front of the door. I actually attempted walking on the ledge around it, before I realized that of course this was taking up the entire doorway for a reason–so I took off my sandals and ‘cleaned’ my feet. As an American in a mixed locker room, of course it took some getting used to and some reminding myself that I was in mixed company… often. But what I found even more strange is the attendants. There were two female attendants and one male attendant constantly cleaning– cleaning the floors, drying the seats, washing the toilets and sinks. It sounds great, but what I also learned upon exit is that it may be expected to tip these workers as well. Like all bathroom situations abroad, I prefer when they’re not staffed and just cleaned appropriately at night, which is quite rare. I also found myself ask another patron how to get the key out of the locker. They provide lockers with keys on these handy little bracelets you can wear while swimming, which is perfect. But how does it work? You have to put a euro in the door to remove the key. And because I’m just that dense with new things, I also asked the lifeguard if I had to pay a euro every time I accessed the locker. Obviously, I wanted to change suits and take advantage of the sunroof. Stupid me–of course the lockers are actually free. And when you open the door, your same euro drops down and you can reuse it. One more wading pool to enter the actual pool, and the rest of the experience progressed pretty normally.
I decided to explore more options after I attempted the outdoor pool on the weekend and it was 1) double the price, and 2) had an hour-long line out the door. The Suzanne Berlioux Pool under Les Halles shopping and transit center. The experience was quite similar. And I learned it only takes one time to understand the entry and locker process, the attendants, etc. This pool is an eight-lane 50-meter pool, and somehow just as busy. I find this is really the place for swimming laps, so I buy a 10-day pass, which in all reality, is just one day free. How did it differ? Well this pool has separate locker rooms for men and women. Cool! But where are the showers? Open to the pool deck after, of course, a mini wading pool. And does this stop women from showering nude? No.
These are by no means mind-blowing differences. But these slight differences are what leave foreigners in a tizzy and are a wonderful indication of the difficulties of understanding other cultures. If sharing a locker room is weird, imagine how difficult it becomes to wrap your head around socialized health care and restricted driving during high pollution.
As much as I wrap my head around French culture, I still chose to shower with my suit on in front of the pool full of men. And faux pas aside, I really did love this. I was so excited to be back in the pool. Even after 7 years off—when you spend your life on something, there’s no way it’s not going to feel natural to return. It was good. The first time was only a tiny bit strenuous and I left only a tiny bit sunburned. And yes, I was the fastest person in the pool, and yes it was crowded, and no, I didn’t get in a great workout, and… oh yeah. That’s why I gave up swimming.
