In the tub I wiggled my toes and made splashes. He had settled into a chair to sort through mail and read the paper and Outside magazine, which I subscribed to for research. But floating in the tub was as much time in the water as I needed at this stage in life. I had a nice bathtub caddy my mother had sent me and it was suspended over the water with a cup of herbal tea, a muffin, and a book. As long as the water didn’t get too cold, it was nirvana. A pedicure would be nice too, I thought — but I didn’t want Bob to know how much I would prefer a spa outing to a high seas adventure.

My dissertation is on the anthropology of adventure and the ubiquitous role it plays in society and culture. I’m fascinated by adventure magazines, books, and television, by how the content is getting more and more extreme. Everyone needs an SUV now so even a trip to the grocery store will be loaded with adventure. And if you have lots of money, you can pay a Sherpa guide to haul you up Mount Everest. I read Into Thin Air in the bathtub and every frightening page made me love the easy life of the slob.

Bob was jabbering out in the living room about how great life was shaping up. He was so happy he had decided to stay down south at the new job in Mission and not go back up north, as much as they were pestering him. Doctor shortage, you know. Just as soon as I finished my Ph.D. we could set off, he said.

The bathwater was lukewarm now and my dissertation felt like a glacier. I felt like a walrus. And the more Bob talked, the more I felt my rolls against the hard enamel side of the tub.

Bob came in the bathroom and so I asked him, “What about the back fat?”

He was having a pee.

“Like bacon, you mean?”

“No,” I said. “Like back fat. I mean back fat. On me.”

“Like bacon fat? On you? On your back?”

“No. Like do I have fat on my back? Can you see it there? Do I resemble a human walrus?”

He sighed, rolled his eyes, shook a few drips and left, calling over his shoulder, “I can’t stand women who are insecure about their bodies. Don’t go all Barbie doll on me, okay, sweetie? You’re better than that.”

From the tub I could once more hear magazine pages turning in the living room as he called from the couch: “Will you come out and stay on the boat this weekend? I don’t have to work so I thought we could spend the time together at the marina. You still haven’t seen where she’s moored. And it’s a nice place to run. There’s a trail along the river. You can get back into shape.” He doesn’t comprehend how every single outdoor adventure I’ve undertaken has been done with this very body.