Swimming My Way Through the Pools of Paris

In an effort to understand a recent breakup, French writer Colombe Schneck finds an unfamiliar freedom in water and learns to finally let go: of control, her fears and finding the point.

This piece is the second in our series, The Ever-Present Liquid, a special collaboration from Narratively and Creative Nonfiction exploring the shape-shifting magic and destructiveness of water in all its forms. You can learn more about this series and experience the rest of the stories as we publish them here each week throughout September.

Illustration by Aidi Riera

This is an excerpt from Swimming in Paris by Colombe Schneck, published by Penguin Press, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2024 by Colombe Schneck. Reproduced by permission.

I didn’t know what to do, so I went swimming. It was the only thing that offered me a succession of logical actions, one after the other: find a swimsuit, swim cap, goggles, towel, stuff it all in a bag, get on my bicycle, pedal, find a free changing room, undress, put on my swimsuit, pull on the cap and goggles to keep the water out, slip into the water and swim 30 lengths without thinking, take refuge in the repetition.

I had a mission to carry out, one kilometer.

To begin with, I swam in a frenzy, as fast as I could. I was out of breath, I had to stop, I had forgotten what Gabriel had shown me.

I focused on my movements, one arm rising effortlessly out of the water, an outstretched hand diving down and drawing the water back beneath the body, taking in a gulp of air, head tilted to one side half under the water, mouth only partially open so as not to breathe the water in, expelling the air underwater, holding in just a little, extending the body beneath the surface of the water, marking time with the beat of my legs. Ten lengths of crawl, when I used to not be able to do more than one.

I was filled with euphoria as the water caressed my arms, belly, thighs; as I lay on the water, I was with him, part of his world.