Swimming, The Only Cardio That Lets You Eat Your Own Tears
Look, I get it. You’ve seen the Instagram reels. The influencer with the $400 swimsuit fluttering her lashes on a paddleboard, captioned “trust the process, besties ✨.” You think swimming is for people who want to get in shape without sweating, or for children who need to be reminded that water goes *in* the mouth, not up the nose. You are wrong. Swimming is the absolute worst form of exercise ever invented by a sadistic god, and I’m here to explain why it’s the only thing keeping my rotting cardiovascular system from collapsing in on itself like a dying star.
Let’s get one thing straight: Running makes you feel like a hero for 20 minutes until your knees file for divorce. Lifting weights gives you a sick pump and the confidence to ask for a spot from the guy who definitely doesn’t wash his hands. But swimming? Swimming is a brutal, humiliating grind that turns you into a gasping, snotty mess while wearing the least flattering piece of fabric known to man. It’s the dark souls of cardio.
First, the logistics. You have to find a pool. A public pool. Which is just a Petri dish of other people's skin cells and the faint, haunting scent of chlorine that your brain has secretly learned to associate with trauma. You have to change into a swimsuit, which is basically a public admission that you have a body. Then you have to walk past the old man doing the backstroke at a glacial pace, the teenager doing flips off the diving board, and the three kids having a screaming contest in the shallow end. You slide in, and the water is either “Arctic thaw” or “slightly used bathwater,” with no in-between.
But the real agony starts when you put your face in. You think you can do a lap. You are a fool. The first lap is fine. You feel aquatic. You are a dolphin. You are Michael Phelps minus the DUIs. Then you finish lap two. Your lungs are burning. Your arms feel like overcooked spaghetti. You realize you haven’t breathed in 30 seconds because you forgot that humans need oxygen. You try to breathe, but you’re horizontal, so you just snort a gallon of chlorinated despair. That’s the moment. The moment you accept that you are a land mammal pretending to be a fish, and the universe is laughing at you.
And the etiquette? Oh, the unspoken rules of the pool are worse than HOA bylaws. You want to pass the slow guy? Too bad, you’re now in a silent, passive-aggressive duel for lane supremacy. You want to stop at the wall? Better make sure you don’t touch the lane line, or you’ll get the side-eye from the 70-year-old who swims like a torpedo. And don’t even get me started on the people who do the breaststroke with their head up. That’s not swimming. That’s a drowning person who’s bad at it.
Here’s the kicker: The health benefits are absolutely undeniable, which makes it even more infuriating. It’s low-impact, so it won’t wreck your knees like running. It works your entire body, from your lats to your glutes to the tiny muscles in your feet that you didn’t know existed. It’s incredible for your lungs, which is great for when you’re running from the consequences of your life choices. It’s also a fantastic way to clear your head because you’re too busy trying not to die to think about your student loans.
But the real reason swimming is the ultimate AITA exercise? It’s the only cardio where you can literally eat your own tears. You’re crying? In the water? Nobody knows. You’re panicking? Perfectly normal. You’re having a full-blown existential crisis about why you’re doing this to yourself while your arms turn into wet noodles? That’s just called “pacing.” The water hides everything. Your shame, your sweat, your snot, your quiet sobbing. It’s the ultimate privacy screen.
And let’s talk about after. You get out of the pool. You are dripping. Your hair is a horror show. Your ears are filled with water, and you can only hear a distant, watery version of your own thoughts. You smell like a public hot tub. You are exhausted in a way that feels like you’ve been wrung out by a giant, indifferent hand. But you also feel… alive? Like you’ve cheated death for another day? It’s a weird, masochistic high.
So yeah, swimming is the worst. It’s expensive, it’s inconvenient, it’s humiliating, and it’s the only thing that will fix your back pain and your shitty cardio in one go. It’s the cold shower of workouts. It’s the dark, wet, silent gym where the only person you’re competing against is the version of you who thought a 10-minute mile was a good idea. And honestly? That’s the only competition that matters.
Final Thoughts
After reading this piece, one thing becomes clear: swimming is not merely a sport or a leisure activity, but a profound dialogue between human physiology and the elemental force of water. The relentless discipline required to master the stroke, the breath, and the surrender to buoyancy reveals a truth often overlooked—that true strength lies not in fighting the current, but in learning to move with it. For this journalist, it’s a humbling reminder that our most essential battles are often fought in silence, one lap at a time.