I arranged to meet Smiley Katie this morning for a swim at Parliament Hill lido. It's been an amazingly warm winter followed by an equally warm spring and as a consequence the water temperature of unheated lidos and outdoor swimming holes has been above average. Relatively warm. Katie swam at Parliament Hill last weekend and reported back that the water had hit the magic 10 degrees C. Which is when the suffering begins to end and the real swimming can begin again in earnest.
Last week when Katie swam it was a gorgeous sunny and mild spring day. More like April than March. We meet this morning and, of course, the weather has changed. It's very windy and surprisingly chilly. Got my gloves and scarf on. The air is about 8 degrees C. It's howling a gale. But at least it's still sunny.
I'm nervous because I haven't swum outdoors for probably about a month. The last swim I did outdoor I was knackered and hungover and managed just 2 lengths of the lido (120m). It was 8 degrees C. This is what is lodged in my swimming memory.
I tell Katie I'm nervous. She raises her eyebrows: "Are you?" "Aren't you?" I ask her. She admits that she is. Which makes me feel better.
It's a white-light sunny day. The stainless steel lining of the pool is beautiful, twinkling. It looks appropriately cold and clinical, like a well sluiced operating table. The wind is whipping up choppy little waves on the surface of the pool. There is hardly anyone in the water. A couple of guys swimming are kitted out with wet suits and neoprene booties and gloves, and neoprene balaclavas that only show their mouths and eyes - even chins are covered. They have big eye masks as well so that the only part of their bodies exposed are their mouths and noses. What's the point?
We leave our stuff in the cold concrete changing rooms and run with towels and flip flops down to the shallow end of the pool. Leave flip flops and towels on the side, ready for exit. The ground is too cold to walk from the changing rooms to the pool side without footwear. We agree we'll aim for 10 lengths (600m). Wade in to the very shallow water. It doesn't seem too bad, but anticipation is everything. My heart is racing. I'm cold before I even get in, and worried. I walk three or four steps and then, when I can't stand it any more, I duck down and totally submerge myself, come back up gasping. Actually it's not quite as hideous as I thought. It's definitely 10 degrees. Katie is still walking and wailing. "Duck down, Katie!" She doesn't. Walking and wailing still. "Duck! Duck!" She's still walking and wailing and taking too long. It's comical, she's always like this. I know it's not as cold as it could be, not as cold as we anticipated. I just want her to get in to see. I don't want to splash her, that would be cruel. I face her and take her hands and say "Right, after three! 1 - 2 - 3 - Duck!" I duck down. She stays standing, wailing. I exhort her one more time, then dive down and start swimming.
The first couple of lengths is always shocking. Horrible. Ice cream headache. Arms so stiff. Muscles tightened up, so much so that it hurts to pull through. My left arm really aches. It's always my left arm. My fingers are slightly clawed. Left hand. Always left hand. After four lengths I wonder if I've lost the knack of cold water swimming. Would be unfortunate if this is the case as my swim in Scotland is going to be pretty cold. I muse to myself that I shouldn't have been as slack with the winter training. I'm swimming right in the middle of the pool. I think 'It would be harder to get me out from the middle of the pool, if anything went wrong.' I head closer to the side. After six lengths I realise I feel better. Why is it always six lengths? I feel sorry for people who get out after a couple of lengths. They don't realise the secret that it always gets better after you've acclimatised, after you've calmed down.
I'm working hard, swimming hard, to keep warm. It's a beautiful day but it's so windy that it's cold when I recover my arms. I realise that it's wamer with my arms in the icy water than when they are out in the wind. Funny. I take check of what hurts. Nothing hurts really. Sure my arms sting and are stiff, but the real crushing pain in hands and feet isn't there. Not like they do when it's 8 or 9 degrees C. I realise that my shoulders and shoulder blades are hot. I'm working hard to generate heat.
Katie and I meet down the shallow end after 10 lengths and decide to go on and do a bit more. It's so enjoyable. I swim for 18 lengths (just over a kilometre, 1080m) and then decide to be sensible and get out. I'd love to do a mile but haven't been for a month and don't want to be stupid. I manage to sprint the last 30 or so metres. Not that stiff then.
We get out and get dressed quickly, foregoing a shower, which can cause problems if you are cold.
I hate this bit. As soon as I get out of the water I feel incredibly itchy and my skin starts burning. Not sure what the physiological reason for this is. Same thing happens to Katie. It's some kind of burn I imagine. Some effect of the blood rushing around to the right places too quickly? Nerve damage maybe? Sometimes I think it's better to stay in the water than get out.
I'm cold all day and take ages to warm up, and I'm very sleepy. In fact the only way I warm up is by going for another swim - this time indoors - and working very hard. I resolve to try and do a mile outdoors before the end of the week, before I go to Scotland. If the temperature of the water doesn't dip down again, that is.
I'm exhilarated. It's so liberating swimming outdoors. Watching the sunshine, the trees, the light on the water, the clouds race by, feeling the air in your lungs. This is what swimming should be about. Thank god that spring has returned!
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