Swim Good

What I learned about B2B sales from bombing on stage

Friday

I made a terrible mistake: coming out of my comedy retirement for one night only.

At first, everything was looking good. It was at The Baxter¹, my dressing room was next to Marc Lottering’s, and the mirror had big, exposed bulbs around it, like they’re supposed to. Underneath were two silver items welded to the dresser: one was a loop to hang a cloth from and the other a tray the size and curve of a Sunlight soap bar. It’s funny to see this kind of singular or very specific use design choice – big wooden cabinets with a crevice the exact measurements of a boxy 90s TV set or a business’s engraved sign that includes the fax number. Whoever designed this room had no idea what was coming (Wet Wipes).

As soon as I walked on the stage to tepid applause, I knew it was going to be a rough night. There was some timid laughter, some louder giggles, and lots of smiles (which are not audible, btw) but I just couldn’t quite get the audience going. Two men sat right in front with their shoes on the stage. At least pointing this out got a bit of a laugh. One guy shouted out that he could see up my skirt (which was a skort, so he looked like a total idiot), and another that I was sad for not having children – “Really sad.” Sometimes things just don’t click, and that’s okay. It’s all part of the journey of comedy. Unrelated, but I will not be performing again.

Saturday

This year I am getting into swimming as a form of exercise, starting from now. As I walked to my gym for my first self-guided training session, I mentally prepared myself. The pool at my gym is in the centre of everything. The swimmers are the gladiators while the crowd above cycles, runs and rows from their view points. I reminded myself that no one is actually watching you at the gym or cares if you’re a bad swimmer/you only do seven laps.

Someone I knew drove past and slowed down to say hello. I told her my swimming plan. “Oh, in that pool where everyone watches you the whole time?” she said. “Good luck.”

I figured I’d use my swimming time to think about work and all the things on my to-do list. I pictured myself emerging after 30 minutes, 2-3kg lighter and full of new ideas and action plans. However, much like when running, all that goes through my mind is I’m running, I didn’t manage to think productively in any way. I think I’m doing the frog kick wrong so I’m going to go back to crawl but then I’ll have only done one lap of breast stroke and everything will be uneven. I want to do the corkscrew stroke but that would be too embarrassing. I wish I was more like Jane who would probably somersault one lap and doggy paddle another and think nothing of it.

Afterwards, I got into the sauna and did the breathing exercises my Ayurvedic guru/doctor prescribed to me. Another woman walked in and she was topless, which is obviously fine. Before she entered, she rubbed what looked like cricketer-grade suncream on her face. Once in, she kicked her FitFlops off against the wooden walls and flipped the over sand timer with the bored air of someone clocking in at their desk job.

“Is it okay if I leave the door a bit open?” she asked. “It just gets really hot in here.”

What I wanted to say was “Yes, I think that’s the whole thing,” but that would sour the warm, welcoming energy of the sauna so I just smiled and nodded.

Back at home, while I made dinner, Swim Good by Frank Ocean came on shuffle. Firstly, when last?! Secondly, such a good sign for my swimming career.

Sunday

I was invited to be on Cape Talk this morning. I was actually on two weeks ago, but with a different host. He was supposed to be asking me about my Craft Club² but had done zero prep and seemed unable to improvise on the topic. I think it’s fine that not everyone knows about crochet and cross-stitch. Some men, however, talk about ‘womanly’ things with a curled lip to show just how silly they think these are.

He asked if I made my outfit and I said yes.

“What is it by the way?” he asked, gesturing like you might to someone wearing a clown suit or a robe that ties closed with a pool noodle.

“A dress,” I said. Because it was a dress.

You’ll be glad to hear that today’s host was a total delight. Also, I was surprised by how many people heard me because they had happened to be listening to Cape Town any way.

The first time I was on the radio was when I was 12. My best friend had a weekly slot on the Bobby Brown³ show, where she reviewed movies. I’d earned my spot by sleeping over at her the night before and her mom not having anything else to do with me. Sadly, I was overcome with shyness and could only spin from side to side on the tall bar stool while she shared her thoughts on The Grinch. “Here are three reasons to watch,” she read from notes prepared by her mom and pinned to a clipboard. “Jim Carey, Jim Carey and Jim Carey.”

PS

1. ’s smallest theatre

2. by the way, I have started a Substack for Cape Town Craft Club too! It’s called Gathering

3. not the one you’re thinking of and not the other one either, probably