Last week, Melissa Kegler said she was going to get her record back.

This week, the universe said, we’ll see about that.

What follows is five months of waiting for water that is somehow both too warm and too frozen, a logistical nightmare involving flights, storms, dams, and one very specific 24-hour window where everything finally (and briefly) aligns.

It is, by all accounts, the worst swim of her life.

Naturally, she does it anyway.

There’s something quietly unhinged about preparing your body for hypothermia on a biweekly basis, dragging friends and coworkers into the chaos, and then—when it finally happens—thinking, “This feels terrible. I might die. Let’s keep going.”

And yet.

Somewhere between the near-bail, the dead-man float (briefly considered, quickly abandoned), and a very well-earned post-swim pizza, Melissa figures out exactly what she’s capable of—and, more importantly, how she wants to do it next time.

Also: hypothermia. Surprisingly...fun???

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There are people who set goals.
And then there’s Melissa Kegler—who hears a mildly unhinged suggestion and thinks, yes, that seems reasonable.

In Part 1, we trace the origin story: from pool swimmer to open water wanderer, to casually knocking out the Triple Crown (Catalina, the English Channel, Manhattan… as one does). Along the way: crocodile-adjacent panic, questionable water conditions, dolphins, bioluminescence, and just enough vomiting to keep things grounded.

It’s a story about curiosity, momentum, and the dangerous power of someone asking, “Have you ever thought about…?”

Unfortunately, someone did.

And next week, it gets cold.

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Courtney's tooth fell out again. Emily's hair is orange. Sarah Beth's pit bull has a pink belly. We're off.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, we talk about Rosemary — Courtney's dear friend, gone two years this week. She spent her life helping traumatized kids and reminded us that hurt people don't just hurt people. Hurt people heal people.

Then it gets weird (weirder?). We cover:

• Why every woman should embrace being called a bitch (hint: it just means you have a backbone)
• Sarah Beth's theory that not wanting to pet her dog makes you a bad person (retracted, sort of)
• Emily's hair falling out in clumps
• How to actually like yourself (Courtney Googled it — we'll share the results)
• Clay Play™ — which is, allegedly, pottery

Plus: why your fallopians go feral around baby animals

No agenda. No plan. Three women, like eight dogs, one squirrel, and a HOT TAKE!

Warning: Contains one unsolicited dog vasectomy offer

📬 thatwasnttheplanpod@gmail.com 🌐 thatwasnttheplan.com

Just because it wasn't the plan doesn't mean it wasn't supposed to happen.

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This week, we dispense wisdom. Some of it useful. Some of it… less so.

From brain candy books and existential dread to air fryer eggs, dry skin trauma, and the radical notion of simply not giving up, Emily and Courtney share the life advice they’ve collected, ignored, rediscovered, and occasionally weaponised.

There are thoughts on fear, presence, kindness, and why you should probably talk to your knees. Also: why teenagers don’t know how keys work, and why calm might be a superpower (unconfirmed).

Take what you need. Leave what you don’t.
We’re all just doing our best.

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This week, we sit down with my friend Jen Quam Howell (JQ), who—on an otherwise unremarkable night—was woken up by her husband with the words no one prepares for: “The house is on fire. We have to go.”

What follows is exactly what you’d expect and nothing like you’d expect.

Three young kids. One terrifying exit down a burning staircase. A total loss. A hotel room that becomes “hometel.” And a community that quietly, relentlessly shows up—with spreadsheets, sweatpants, and the occasional replacement bra.

We talk about what happens in the immediate aftermath of losing everything, the strange logistics of starting over, and the long tail of trauma that doesn’t politely disappear once the house is rebuilt.

It’s about resilience, yes. But more than that, it’s about people—neighbors, friends, family—who step in when life goes completely off-script.

Equal parts devastating, darkly funny, and unexpectedly hopeful.

Because sometimes the plan burns down.
And you build something anyway.

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Los Angeles, as it turns out, is less a city and more a series of increasingly poor decisions strung together by sunshine.

This week, Courtney shares a perfectly normal collection of experiences: flagging down her own mugger, accepting a ride from a man who openly admits to past home invasions, being called a “loser” by a spiritual-looking stranger, and—naturally—being offered a glimpse of someone’s testicles before breakfast.

There is crime. There is confusion. There is alarming optimism.

And against all odds, she survives all of it.

A masterclass in what not to do—and why it somehow makes for excellent storytelling.

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What happens when you grow up in a deeply religious household where sex is forbidden, masturbation is sinful, and heaven is apparently keeping score?

You wait.

This week we’re joined by our brilliant friend Sarah Beth Schooley Wood—champion swimmer, Antarctica bride, and (for a surprisingly long time) a very committed virgin.

We talk purity culture, religious guilt, awkward first times, late blooming, and the strange realization that maybe… sex isn’t actually a moral emergency.

There are penguins.
There is back hair discourse.
There are some truly questionable decisions involving condoms.

And somewhere in the middle of it all: honesty, laughter, and a reminder that everyone arrives at their own timeline.

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What begins as a chic business-class flight to Italy (because we’re grown now) quickly devolves into a transatlantic U-turn, a missing suitcase, an Amtrak sprint through Washington, D.C., a possibly intoxicated Uber driver declaring “Ma’am, I’m gonna get you there,” and approximately fourteen emotional breakdowns.

There are trains. There are planes. There is public weeping. There is emergency lingerie purchased at JFK.

And somehow—miraculously—there is also Italy.

This week, Emily recounts the 48-hour odyssey that proves three things:

1. You don’t need that much luggage.
2. Always keep the Xanax.
3. Lean into the chaos. It makes for better stories.

Buckle up. Or don’t. It won’t matter.

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