getting... cold, warm, really warm, cold...

My 2012 open water swim season started on 31st March in Brighton, 20 minutes at 8C. Scattered with beautiful bright yellow flakes of sunlight, the water vague, muddy brown, swirly, totally opaque. On warm pebbles by the sea wall I sat and thawed.

Nothing in this world is a soft and yielding as water. Yet for dissolving the hard and inflexible, nothing can surpass it. (Lao Tzu)

Denham Lake throughout April was usually overcast, breathtaking and glassy clear. Rubber swathed tri freaks gawped in disbelief as i dove off the jetty. I started with 750m and worked up to 2k or more at 9 to 10C. The guy who runs the place invariably added a degree or two to make us feel better, until we got in and realised what he'd done.

6th May was the Speedo Spring Swim in Poole Harbour. 1,500m at 10.5C and as bitter as you'd like on that windswept misty early morning beach. I think someone sneaked up and swapped my socks for a pair two sizes smaller while I swam. On the way home my brother couldn't breathe in the car, the heater was on so high.

Eton 10k on 27th May. I was booked to do a 3.8k elsewhere that day but the organisers told me I would have to wear a wetsuit because it would be under 14C. I booked the 10k never having swum more than 4k. By the time we did the swim it was 19C.

Getting cold was never a problem. Not when I hit a wall at 5k and knew I couldn't finish the swim. not when my Scottish ancestry kicked in and I refused to pay £50 for a 5K swim. Not when I limped over the finish line in just under 4 hours.

Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, and dance upon the mountains like a flame. (Yeats)

4th of June I was in Slachtensee, Berlin. I swam a couple of kilometres totally alone except for swallows dipping, skimming as they fed and cormorants who sat, bookends on a half sunken branch. Flowering vines that trailed into the water and green trees all around me.

9th of June I swam the Gulf of Corryvreckan and the waters around Lochgilpead, 10 or 11C maybe. If Denham was glassy, then this was pellucid, crystalline. You could 20m or more under the water. Scott plucked scallops as big as your fist from the seabed. (Barbecued and eaten just before we arrived, as luck would have it).

Up the West Coast faerie magic floats in the limpid air. You can see it clearly. Go there and you'll know that I'm telling you the truth. Just don't drive up in one day from London.

16th June, Dover Harbour. The BLDSA Champion of Champions, was not me. I managed to finish the 3 mile second from last, then get dragged kicking screaming and shivering more or less straight to the briefing for the 1 mile. Valuable lessons were learned. mostly about chafing, greasing and entering BLDSA events.

Otto Maigler see. Viel Laichkraut hier.

30th June. My good friend picked me up at 6am from my hotel in Hürth for an early swim. Otto Maigler see near Cologne is "the most sought after bathing lake in the region." Especially if you love forests of weeds just below the surface. Johannes was even more freaked by this than I was. He likely will bear the scars for life.

8th July. Baggersee in Berlin. The water was cool, slurry brown, overhung by menacing thunderclouds. As lovely and inviting as only a piece of open water can be when you haven't swum for days. And as promised by my witty tourist guide, the surrounding foliage really was festooned with plastic beer rings and rubbish. Complete with beer swilling, pot smoking local youths with misspelt tattoos.

On the 5th August I failed to swim the three laps of a VOTWO 3.8k in Bournemouth with a back section against a wicked current. I bailed out after taking 2 hours to swim 2.5k mostly backwards in spite of my best efforts to the contrary.

Fully Become. Take full possession of your world before embarking to discover the next one. (I Ching)

18th August. On holiday in New Quay a grey seal escorted us the whole way across the bay. We hoped to get a closer look at the dolphins on our daily swims. A dolphin spotter told us that dolphins sometimes ganged up on harbour porpoise and beat them to death for kicks. Being almost identical in size to harbour porpoises, but nowhere near as agile, Jez and I decided we would happily not bump in to Flipper and his mates after all.

Last race of the season, 8th October, Hampton Court Swim. After several days of heavy rain, 3.8k at 12C ably assisted by about 10 million gallons of raw sewage. Managed 11 minutes per k and avoided amoebic dysentery. So I was a double winner.

A week later I was dodging an assortment of jellyfish in the Andaman sea in Thailand, some deadlier than others. 29C and the water just slightly more humid than the air. All that hot water swimming and no buzz at all.

When I got home two weeks later all the lakes were shut. Bought a season ticket for Parliament Hill Lido, a stainless steel unheated pool open all year round. Apparently some weirdos swim there all throughout the winter.

Ordinary men hate solitude. The master makes use of it, embracing his aloneness, realising he is one with the whole universe (Lau Tzu)

Cold Water

We have always been fugitives from the void. Whatever comfort, whatever power we gain from outside of ourselves diminishes us -- because comfort and power, unless they are won from the void inside of us, are illusions that make us forget the emptiness that carries us. (Attanasio)

How can I explain what happened to me? And how, when or why? Many of you who swim under the open sky in rivers and lakes and seas don't need to hear my clumsy attempt. You already know what I'm talking about.

But I'll excuse myself anyway in advance and repeat, or at least paraphrase a great quote, "words are but symbols of symbols, thus twice removed from truth." And I'll try not to get too ridiculous or overly esoteric as I go along. But i won't promise anything.

Oh you crawled out of the sea straight into my arms, straight into my arms

It was somewhere between Andy inviting me to do an outdoor swim with him and finding myself in the ocean 1/2 a mile offshore of Big Island 6 months later. It was as if a great big hand had gently reached inside and directed a light onto some hidden part of me.

Our tears and our blood have more or less exactly the same proportion of water to salt as the sea. We are affected by the same gravity and the same lunar phases. The earth's surface has roughly the same percentage of water as the body of an adult human being.

We are so absolutely and intimately connected with the planet we inhabit. It is (at best) naive to think that we can somehow separate ourselves from and subvert the environment we inhabit. At worst it is the height of ignorance, offensive, psychotic, damaging, antisocial, arrogant and spells our destruction.

Did i digress again? Let's get back on track. This blog is about love and water. Well we might still be ok.

Höhenfelder See 6.24am 24th June 2011

I started swimming in March 2011. Something keeps telling me to move towards my fear. My first solo outdoor swim in just trunks and goggles was on June 25th in a lake, in Cologne. I borrowed a bike and cycled there at 6.00 in the morning. Of course I swam straight out to the middle of the lake, panting, panicked and only just made it freezing, back to the side.

As I rode away I noticed a sign saying baden verboten.

That year I did two outdoor events one in July in the Thames at Marlow and the other in Bray Lake Windsor in September. I trained among wetsuit clad triathletes. By the end of the season I swam outdoors three or four times a week. I have no idea what the temperature was.

My nearly new £200 wetsuit had a fault on a seam and right at the end of September I exchanged it for a brand new one. I wore it twice (and didn't wear it in) before the lakes were all closed for the winter.

I was new to Outdoor swimming and I thought this was all perfectly normal. At least, I didn't know any better. I wanted to swim, all the lakes were closed. I went back 5 or 6 times a week to a hot, packed out, highly chlorinated indoor hell hole. Sorry I mean swimming pool.

I hung up on a peg in a cupboard my wetsuit in its fancy purpose made bag.

We spent Christmas in Fuerteventura. The God of outdoor swimming smiled on me and shut down (most of) the waves and wind for 10 days. It also probably saved the life of my best buddy, a novice kite surfer, although he couldn't really see it at the time. Probably doesn't appreciate it even now. (You know how these extreme sports people can be).

I swam through the sharp black reef around a headland daily. It was between 17 and 19C and I shivered after 45 minutes or an hour in the water. I stayed cold sometimes for half the day in the hazy winter sunshine.

I spent several days at home. Then jetted off to the faded swankiness of the almost completely artificial Waikoloa Hilton resort on Big Island, Hawaii for a conference. Long days I spent in a chilled conference room with a stunning view each evening of the sun setting on surf crashing onto a black sharp volcanic reef.

Luckily I managed to start every morning in a sheltered man made lagoon with turtles and brightly coloured fish.

We are here because the earth tolerates it, and only for as long as it does

And for the few days I had after the conference the waves died again. It was my consolation and it was my salvation those days to pick my way out through the reef into the open ocean. It looked exactly like Fuerteventura but was about 7C warmer in the beautifully clear water.

I knew there were sharks out there. On my last day I was far from shore, there was a good mile between entry and  exit points around the resort. I really was all at sea. I had let myself be consoled by my friend Julie saying that if  a shark was going to eat me that was just how it was, but that she doubted it was how I was going to go. I kept a sharp eye out just in case.

Notwithstanding the rubber insulated swims in the Thames, Scotland, Berkshire and elsewhere. Höhenfelder See, Fuerteventura, Hawaii and that mysterious and huge gentle hand that had nudged me awake convinced me to leave my wetsuit where it was and swim the next year without it.

4. Braving the open water

Water is symbolic of emotion and of the unconscious mind. What of deep, dark, green and murky water? I hear you say. Well, you do the math. I am brave enough to admit that in my life I have been terrified of deep emotion, of being out of my depth and the loss of control that that entails. And I have been lucky enough to learn that if I want to transcend something then I have to move towards it and to understand it.

In Vedic tradition the swan is a symbol of the Atman or individual soul- try telling that to someone who is being chased around a lake by one or more

So when Andy invited me to do that first swim I knew it was really my demons that were confronting me. I knew that it was time either to make my move or to hang up my trunks.

And swimming in open water is worthy of all of the rich symbolism attached to it and more. Open water has always fired imaginations, a thing of mystery, where monsters and even more scary things dwell.

Swimming for reasonably prolonged periods puts the brain into Alpha activity, a relaxed but alert state essential for good mental and physical health.

Wading through sea weed bare foot, frankly, gave me class A Heebie Jeebies

No better place than The Highlands to cut your teeth on solo OW swimming

Alpha waves encourage the things that lie below the surface of the mind to float up into conscious awareness. It activates creativity (big spikes of Alpha activity are always present when creative thinking occurs) in a way which is rare in 'normal' life.

Beta is the 'more productive' stressed out, uptight, time constrained, right hemisphere brain activity beloved of employers and of private doctors.

I would argue, with no scientific basis whatsoever at this point, that Outdoor swimming is more conducive to Alpha brain activity than being cooped up in a disease ridden, overheated aquatic version of a chicken run.

Brimful of noxious chemicals and oftentimes obnoxious and overly competitive swimmers vying for limited space. Call it a hunch.

But I digress. Which is not like me at all.

If there is a monster in here there's no way you would see it coming

Having said all of that stuff about the irrational fear of open water swimming, there are plenty of very rational fears too. Which is worse? To have no idea what's below you or to be fully aware and also to know that in open water you are a fish out of water? A sitting duck to marine predators. Or likely to just bump into great big things which are, although benign, still really scary?

There is clawing weed that grips you like a dead man's hand from out of nowhere, vicious territorial waterfowl, motor boats, currents, tides, wind, swell and chop. Did I mention drowning? Attack by sea gulls, ospreys, Russian spies with harpoon guns? Heat seeking jellyfish. Other swimmers?

You can see crabs walking across the sand 5m below you and think you can reach out and pick one up

A week after the Thames swim I spent a week's holiday in Ullapool. I walked through the weeds to swim alone 1/2 a mile across a bay each morning to a little beach and back. I dispensed with my wetsuit and swam across a loch, the water drinkably clean and sweet, but so black that the sunlight wouldn't penetrate more than a few feet.

And cold!

Where it was overcast and 15 degrees that day in the Thames, it was sunny and 8 degrees here. In July! In the Thames, green and cloudy, here crystal clear azure with golden or white sand.

Water with sharp teeth.

For the first time I swam without a wetsuit for 20 minutes or more in the sea. Until my skin stopped burning and my breathing returned to normal. I lay on the beach tremulous, my body pulsed and the endorphins coursed around my brain. I felt totally exhilarated and began vaguely to suspect that I might be alive.
 

3. A long story cut short

In Watford Central Baths I watched people swim and I wished I could swim. I would imagine asking someone to teach me. Friends even offered to, but I was too self conscious to take them up or to ask a stranger.

For years I had loved going in the sea, I loved the power of the waves and had had no fear of it at all. I never let not being a swimmer get in the way.

In Kerala in 2008, in the Arabian Sea, I was trying to bodysurf a wave which was breaking right on the beach. It caught me and dumped me down onto my shoulder from about 6 feet. I lay on the beach too scared to move in case I couldn't, the air smashed out of my lungs.

You can make a total ass of yourself and the little people will still love you

It was a sobering moment- a respect was born in me then. Respect and a tiny splinter of fear which grew almost unnoticed. At first I just didn't want to go in the sea any more. It was simply a preference, I told myself.

But an almost inaudible inner whisper told me different. And that nagging fear got bigger until it was strong enough not to have to lurk and hide itself.

(But I digress).

To recap and to fill you in on the events of 2 years: I worked, I fucked my back, I hung, I recovered, I went back to manual work and left the pool behind, I relapsed and was in constant pain again, I hung again for some months and recovered once more.

One day I asked at the lobby at the pool for one to one lessons (I thought 3 would be enough). They said I could book onto a 6 week adult beginners course- actually it was halfway through. When I turned up the following Sunday there was no one else there. So I got my 3 one to ones and it cost me £6.

I went to the pool in  March 2011 and as well as hanging, I started to swim front crawl- I swam 25m and I thought I was going to die. The next day I swam 25m and I thought I was going to die. The next day I swam 25m and I thought I was going to die. Did I already say that? Anyway, whatever.

The beautiful river Thames at Marlow on that fateful day

Over the next few weeks I built it up a few lengths a day. Within a month or so I could swim 30 or 40 laps. I posted it on Facebook. My friend Andy who does triathlon, (but is so much more besides) noticed and asked me if I fancied an outdoor swim. It was 750m in the Thames at Marlow. In a wetsuit.

I thought, I can do better than that, I can swim 1,000m, what's the worst thing that could happen?

I bought a wetsuit- I swam in a lake. Twice. When I got into Heron Lake my fear snapped sharply into focus. I knew I had to face it. This was the first step. It was thick, green, cold and I couldn't see through it. It had weeds in it and fuck knows what else was under there. Fish probably.

The big day came. I ate loads of french bread, brie and ham not long before the swim. I was so nervous I didn't know what else to do. I squeezed into my wetsuit and climbed into the water. Swam to the start and raced off with everyone else.

My buddy Andy cheering me to the finish line. I feel like crying when I see this picture

I suddenly saw what looked like a great big white fish flapping around right in front of my face. I totally shat myself, figuratively speaking. (There are things that you would do in a hired wetsuit, that you would never do in one that you actually own).

It was a pair of feet, but it did for me.

At Marlow you can run along the tow path with a swimmer and give them encouragement. My kids were there to witness me run out of steam, breath and energy after 100m. I looked upstream in dismay as almost every other swimmer disappeared into the distance. Ringing in my ears as I wobbled my wonky bad breaststroke way was, "come on dad, you can do it!"

I crawled for 5 minutes, sculled for 5 minutes, floundered for 3 minutes, all the time wishing my children weren't there to witness my humiliation. Andy finished 4th and I was 10th out of 15. A shade under 20 minutes.

My children were so proud. They didn't realise I had failed.

It felt like the worst day of my life. That night I booked a 1.5k. I was hooked.