The swim test doesn’t have to be all that bad—if you know the right time to take it.

As a senior preparing to graduate next month, I recently got around to doing the one requirement that I’ve been absolutely dreading—the swim test. Up to the point of actually getting into the pool, I had spent countless hours agonizing over how I would take the test—what I would wear, how I would get there, whether I would even be able to do it with so many other people in the room. I’d even religiously reread Bwog’s past articles on the swim test in the hopes that I could do everything perfectly. Every time I thought about completing it, my stomach would turn, and I’d be left in a state of anxiety for the rest of the day.

One cold and cloudy Sunday afternoon—last Sunday, actually—I finally worked up the courage to head to Uris Pool to complete the requirement. I thought the weather was rather fitting; it matched my mood, and the pessimistic side of me expected it to set the tone for the swim test itself.

But in retrospect, what I hadn’t considered then was the fact that I wasn’t just going to take the swim test—I was heading to Q-Splash.

Q-Splash, the annual pool party hosted by LGBTQ@Columbia, is—in the host’s own words—a “trans, queer, [and] body-positive” space for undergraduates to hang out and, if they want to, take their swim test. The event page touts things like showing respect for all identities and body types and holding each other accountable to avoid demeaning and disrespectful behavior. In short, it’s an event that provides a safe space for people who might not feel safe in public environments—especially public environments where you’re 75% naked—otherwise.

I’ll admit it: usually, when I hear about events like Q-Splash, my first instinct is to cast doubt on their legitimacy. I ask hundreds of questions (Will I be the only person with my body type? Will I meet like-minded people who understand where I’m coming from? Will I feel out of place?), only to ultimately decide that it’s too much risk for too little reward and that my room is a much safer, comfier place. 

But I didn’t have that option this go-around because it was either doing this—or not graduating. So, begrudgingly, I made my way to Uris Pool, my swimsuit, towel, and rubber slippers jostling around in my backpack. 

I was one of the first people to head into the clearly marked (much to my gratitude) locker room, though that meant being one of the first people to get ready (much to my despair). Heart pounding in my chest, I showered off, changed into my swimsuit, and slipped on my slippers. Finally, I grabbed my towel and headed to the pool, anxiety making my steps a little slower than usual.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of pool water, which instantly put me in a calming trance that reminded me of summer and, somehow, some way, reassured me that everything would end up okay. The music playing over the speaker—some familiar TikTok tunes, a Chappell Roan song here and there, an older pop song now and then—helped achieve the same effect; it took me out of the sometimes cold, always academic environment of Columbia and placed me in a warmer, funner space. 

Then, there was the swim test proctor. I’d told myself that I’d do my swim test first thing, before I could chicken out—and so, that’s what I did. 

Now, something you should know about me is that I have terrible cardio fitness: I’m asthmatic, I exercise only when I’m forced to, and I get winded going up a flight of stairs. So when faced with the prospect of having to swim 75 continuous yards, I was not happy. This also added to my overall fear of taking the swim test, though it was more of a side note compared to the whole “wear (what’s basically) your underwear in front of complete strangers” business.

But really—and I mean this from the bottom of my heart—it was not difficult. In the middle of the third (and final) lap, I had to take a brief break mid-swim to catch my breath, but other than that? It was easy. Too easy, maybe. I had spent so much time in anguish over the mere thought of this test, but it turned out to pretty much be the easiest one I’d ever taken at Columbia. Who would’ve guessed? 

After basically acing the test (high-five, me!), I got out, reconfirmed my name and UNI with the proctor, and then I was free to go on the other side of the pool to swim freely, play with the floaties, and enjoy some nice music. (There was also pizza, but—against those warnings my parents gave me when I was a child—I’d already eaten prior to my swim test, so I didn’t actually get to enjoy any of it. Heartbreaking, I know!)

Others had come with friends, which I had unfortunately failed to do because I’d been so preoccupied with not making a fool out of myself during the swim test, and I could tell it made their experiences even more fun as they played water volleyball and splashed at each other. 

I floated by them, soaking in their voices, and found that even though I was there by myself, I didn’t feel alone—maybe as a result of seeing other people like me there, maybe as a result of having gotten the worst of it over with, maybe as a result of both. And that simple fact turned what I expected to be one of the most daunting experiences of my college career into one of the most relieving ones. 

Overall, Q-Splash was a pretty cool time, and if I had a chance to attend it again, I definitely would! Although this year’s Q-Splash is over with, there’s always next year’s—and I recommend it to anyone who might be even a little concerned about taking the swim test on a regular day. 

Trust me—it’s worth it.

Q-Splash banner via Columbia College’s Events page