Things Nobody Tells You About Dating a Swimmer

Their hair smells like chlorine. Always. ALWAYS. Even after showering. Even after two showers. The chlorine lives in their hair now. It's part of their identity. I have accepted this. I have stopped buying them nice shampoo because it doesn't matter. The chlorine wins.

My partner swims. Competitively. Masters league. Five days a week, sometimes six. Here's what that's actually like from the other side.

The Schedule

5 AM practice. Let that sink in. They are in a POOL at 5 AM. Voluntarily. While it's dark outside. While normal people are sleeping. They get up at 4:15, eat a banana, and drive to the pool where they swim back and forth for 90 minutes staring at a black line on the bottom of the pool.

"Isn't it boring?" I asked once.

"It's meditative," they said.

It's back and forth. In a rectangle. For 90 minutes. But sure. Meditative.

The Body

ok. the body. I need to address this because it's a thing. Swimmers have a specific build that is... it's a lot. The shoulders. The SHOULDERS. My partner's shoulder-to-waist ratio is cartoonish. They look like an upside-down triangle that someone drew too aggressively. I am not complaining. I'm just observing. Scientifically.

But the body comes with maintenance requirements. The amount of food a swimmer consumes is genuinely alarming. They eat like they're fueling a small vehicle. Breakfast is a meal that would be lunch for most people. Lunch is a meal that would be dinner. Dinner is... just a lot. Our grocery bill reflects two people where one of them burns 3,000+ calories a day in a pool.

The Stuff

Goggles. So many goggles. Different goggles for practice, racing, open water. Goggles in the car, goggles in the bathroom, goggles in the kitchen drawer for reasons I've never understood and am afraid to ask about.

Swim caps. Towels (specific swimming towels that are different from normal towels apparently). Fins. Paddles. Pull buoys. A mesh bag that always has damp things in it. The mesh bag lives in our hallway and emits a permanent humidity.

And the suits. They go through swimsuits like other people go through socks. The chlorine eats the fabric. A suit lasts maybe 2-3 months before it starts disintegrating. We have a graveyard of dead swimsuits in a drawer.

Pool Days

They've asked me to come watch practice. I went once. Do you know how boring it is to watch someone swim laps? They're in the water. Their face is in the water. They go to one end, they turn, they come back. Repeat x 100. I can't tell which person is my partner because everyone is wearing identical caps and goggles and is horizontal.

Meets are more fun because there's cheering and competition and it's over quickly. But practice spectating? No. I love you but no. I'll be in the car.

The Chlorine

It deserves its own section. The chlorine.

Their car smells like chlorine. Their gym bag smells like chlorine. Sometimes I can smell chlorine on them even when they haven't swum that day, like it's seeping from their pores.

Their skin is perpetually dry. We go through moisturizer at an industrial rate. I bought them expensive body butter for their birthday and it was the most appreciated gift I've ever given anyone. "FINALLY someone who understands," they said, slathering it on like they were sealing a wooden deck.

What I Love About It

For all my complaining: dating a swimmer is kind of amazing.

They're consistent. Swimming requires showing up day after day even when you don't want to. That consistency translates to relationships. They show up for me the same way they show up for the pool.

They're mentally tough. Swimming is a lonely sport. It's you and the water and your thoughts for hours. That builds a mental resilience that I genuinely admire and that shows up in how they handle life.

They're weirdly good at time management. When your day starts at 4:15 AM and includes 90 minutes of swimming before work, you learn to be efficient with your time. They're the most organized person I know.

They're calm. Something about spending hours in water makes them the most even-tempered person. Nothing rattles them. "Oh, the flight's delayed 3 hours?" "Cool, I brought a book." If only I had that energy.

And at the end of the day, when they're showered (twice) and moisturized and sitting next to me on the couch smelling faintly of chlorine despite everything... I wouldn't trade them. The chlorine has become comforting. It smells like them. It smells like home.

(It also smells like a public pool but that's fine. Love is compromise.)

Related Reading:

Dating a Swimmer: What to Expect — The comprehensive guide
How to Balance Gym Time and Relationship Time — Replace gym with pool, same principles apply