Dream Interview
Morning Barton Springs Swim Report, 12/08;2024
In the warmer months, I get to Barton Springs early to beat the crowds. When it’s colder, it’s more of a habit. Today, I slept past seven, then realized that in this weather—definitely grey and not gray—I would be able to go in my old habitual entrance and the pool would still be mostly empty. And so it was.
A few days ago as I got out a passing man looked down upon me and said, “Are you swimming in a backpack?” I had to explain that it was a buoyant waist bag—I am an esteemed professor of creative writing and do not utter the word “fanny” to gentlemen I don’t know, even when I’m in a state of undress—and realized again that I am extremely visible at the pool.
Last week, I mentioned on Bluesky that I maintain this here blog so I can brag about my swimming; a person I don’t know wondered whether it’s really bragging if I admit & complain about how slow I am. Please note: I am bragging. I am slow. I am not complaining. I encourage everyone in the world not to assume that someone is being self-deprecating when they merely describe themselves accurately. I am a slow swimmer. A slow walker, as well. I am slow, short, stout. None of these are admissions or complaints but personal facts.
& I reiterate that I am very happy to brag about my swimming. I’m nearly intolerable! On Thursday I was at a departmental party, talking to a beloved student and his partner. They had been to Barton Springs, and the partner found it very cold, and asked me a series of questions about my swimming habits, impressed with my answers. He more than once apologized for asking about my approach, my usual attire, etc., and I had to say, “You don’t understand: I am so happy to have a chance to brag about my swimming.”
The three of us agreed that it was good to have habits one was an absolute braggart about. I find it freeing. This morning I realized that every year I swim many more days than I write fiction. I don’t brag about my writing habits because I don’t have the data to back it up and because quantitative measures don’t work for me, writing-wise. Swimming-wise, I have loads: time of day, number of days, air temperature.
This morning as I swam somebody jumped into the pool off the diving board, and I realized that it was probably—though not certainly—somebody I knew. We looked each other for half a second, and I thought, No. I have relaxed my habits and say hello to many people. As nice a fellow as he is—and he is—I insist on pretending that I’m invisible as I actually swim, despite the light teal waist bag floating up to my shoulder blades.
"I encourage everyone in the world not to assume that someone is being self-deprecating when they merely describe themselves accurately. I am a slow swimmer." Words to live by. From my esteemed fanny to your buoyant waist bag, good cheer!
I also brag tirelessly and tiringly about my ocean swims. Thanks for validating the impulse to brag about something low stakes. Also, I’m also extremely slow. Sometimes barely kicking. It’s a fact, nothing I feel any emotion about. Love your posts.