Public Swimming Baths: Where Hopes Go to Drown (and Other Bodily Fluids).

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Let me tell you about public swimming baths. Public swimming baths are like the DMV of water. You go in there thinking you're going to swim like Michael Phelps, but you come out smelling like a wet sock and wondering if you just caught athlete’s foot on your eyelid!?

Have you ever walked into one of those places? The smell hits you like a slap from your Nan. Chlorine is so strong that it could clean your soul. You breathe in and suddenly you remember every bad decision you ever made. “Why did I eat that petrol station sushi?” sniff “Why did I text my ex at 2am?” sniff “Why did I think Speedos were a good idea?”

And the people! Oh lord, the people. You have the old folk doing laps like they’re training for the Olympics, but they move slower than dial-up internet. Every stroke is like splash… wheeze… splash… existential crisis…

Then you have the kids. Kids in the pool are like gremlins on Red Bull. Screaming, splashing, peeing oh yeah, don’t act like you don’t know. That water isn’t warm ‘ because of the heating system. That’s toddler thermodynamics. You see a kid grinning underwater? That isn’t joy. That’s mischief. That’s a biological weapon.

And the lifeguard? He/She doesn’t care. He/She is sitting up there like they're on Baywatch but they have the energy of someone who just lost Wi-Fi. Whistle in his/her mouth, sunglasses on, watching chaos unfold like, “Eh… they’ll figure it out.”

And those changing rooms!? You walk in, and it’s like a crime scene. Wet floors, one sock in the corner, and some bloke blow-drying his armpits like it’s a spa day. You try to change discreetly, but the bench is colder than your ex’s heart and the curtain has more holes than government funding.

But you know what? You still go.  Because deep down, you believe.  in the dream. The dream of swimming free. The dream of doing one lap without swallowing half the pool. The dream of not stepping on a Band-Aid that’s older than your car.

Public swimming baths. It’s where hygiene goes to die and hope goes to do the backstroke.


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