Cold water swimming – a phrase to strike fear into the hearts of warm-blooded folk. Is it courageous or crazy? Or both? At the end of last year a couple of friends suggested taking part in a cold water swimming challenge over the winter months. One of these friends is a regular cold-water swimmer anyway, she loves it and purports all the physical and psychological benefits that I have read about. She is one of those extremely positive, glowy, slightly hippy-vibe people and she makes me feel happy by virtue of just being in the same space as her. She’s also slightly bonkers, hence the regular cold-water swimming. The other friend trying to persuade me is an uber-fit, competitive type. I think she glossed over the words ‘cold water swimming’, focusing merely on the word ‘challenge’ and thus signed up then and there. If you look up the words ‘challenge’ or ‘competition’ in a dictionary then there is probably a picture of her beside them.

However, I am neither a fan of cold water nor challenges. I do like swimming but not really in the cold or in the sea and this challenge would comprise of both. But I was struggling with a dodgy, soon-to-be-operated-on, knee so couldn’t fully take part in the endorphin-producing activities that I normally enjoy, and I knew that the upcoming operation would render me pretty useless in terms of any other physical challenges for some time. Except for moving around the house, and up and down the stairs, on crutches for several weeks – that was a major physical challenge but not particularly endorphin-boosting.  It was also relatively warm weather so the idea of cold water in November felt quite a way off. I reasoned that I splash my face with cold water after every shower (it’s invigorating, try it) so I already had some cold water ‘experience’.

The reality of course is that splashing your face with cold water and immersing your entire body in the sea in mid-winter have little in common other than my face and water. The first stage of the challenge was to get set up. There were several levels of challenge and we opted for the softest version – wetsuits, gloves, no minimum distance. Just get in the water for a bit, survive it, then get back out. The other levels were increasingly ludicrous and hyperthermia-inducing; no wetsuit, no gloves, increasingly foolhardy distances. No thank you, we stayed with ‘novice wuss’ level.  This necessitated getting the gear – wetsuit, gloves, hat. The irony being that I am not a wetsuit, sea-faring kind of girl. I sit on the beach occasionally in a bikini but that is about it.

We decided to stick to swimming in the sea as it is warmer than swimming in a lake in the winter. More choppy and more variable with the tide, and sewage dumps, but crucially a bit warmer. The next stage was to research cold water swimming; the best way to stay warm and avoid the ‘afterdrop’ – a phenomenon where your body temperature continues to drop after you get out of cold water and into a warmer environment. Despite initially feeling fine, the cold layer of fat and muscle on your body continues to cool your core, and you feel colder once in the warm than you did in the cold water.

In retrospect it would have made sense to address these preparatory stages in a different order – if I’d known enough about cold water shock and the afterdrop before buying a wetsuit and signing up to the challenge then I probably wouldn’t be doing the challenge.  Nevertheless, I was now armed with a wetsuit, knowledge, and fear – ready to start the challenge.

Our first swim in November started with me feeling very apprehensive. Competitive-friend and I brought our families, hippy-friend brought human reinforcements to swim with as this is a regular activity for her and her family. It was strange but both less cold and more cold than I had anticipated. The water is fine until it hits just below your waist then the whole thing feels like a crazy, ill-thought-out venture. But once you surrender to the cold then it isn’t too bad. And oddly the water feels warmer the longer you stay in.  Competitive-friend and I were amazed at how warm our feet were – we kept telling each other and anyone who would listen “my feet are warm, I can’t believe it, my feet feel warm”.  A kind of giddy, cold-induced euphoria sets in where you feel on top of the world, it feels empowering and fun and purposeful. We loved it and were now up for the challenge set across the next five months. We’d survived and enjoyed our virgin dip and it was fabulous.

Now the real challenge actually begins once you get out of the water. Getting in is the easy bit. After getting out there can be a lengthy, shiver-inducing, walk back to the shore when the tide is out. Following this is the almost impossible task of getting out of your wetsuit and swimming costume, quickly, under the privacy of a dryrobe, without freezing or accidentally flashing your cold bits to all the dog walkers along the promenade. I’d never considered getting undressed to be a particularly skilful or difficult activity but, my goodness, it is one of the most complicated things I have ever done. Picture it – a cold wind blowing around you as you try and hide under a dryrobe. Fingers are numb and unresponsive, the wetsuit sticks around your ankles and won’t budge and your gloves seem to be fused to your hands.  All my research had informed me that this was the riskiest time for hyperthermia to set in, so add to this scenario a growing sense of panic. I’d worn a rash vest from which I was trying to extricate myself, over my head, whilst keeping my bottom under the confines of the dryrobe. Whilst trying to keep my bottom under wraps I then ran the risk of flashing my boobs at passers-by.  It was turning into a challenge of speed, dexterity and preserving modesty. As an onlooker it must be a highly amusing scenario – an oversized bungling dryrobe from which limbs and wet garments occasionally fly out, in addition to body parts that should ideally be kept under wraps.  It turns out that doing up a bra clasp, under the confines of a dryrobe, with numb hands and a salty damp body is one of the hardest tasks to master. Over time I have streamlined my changing technique – bright coloured pants that I can easily locate, hot water bottle amongst my clothes to keep them toasty, big baggy socks and tracksuit bottoms, change your bottom half first and when you are no longer tripping over the legs of your wetsuit then you can be free to fight with your top half. 

We are now four months into the five-month challenge and we are loving it. The changing afterwards has streamlined, we are getting better at immersing ourselves in the cold, we have had different people join us over the weeks and it has felt social, giddy, great fun. I still get nervous when I get in and I always ensure that I am near hippy-friend as she makes me feel safe when the cold water knocks my breathing off kilter. It doesn’t feel as scary to dip your head into the water as I had feared and hopefully we are reaping a host of physical and psychological benefits. My immune system should be benefitting in addition to my mood. We even went into the sea when it was starting to get stormy a few weeks back. We kept ourselves safe by not going too deep, instead submerging ourselves by ducking down into the water. Being in the sea with the strong wind and with huge waves crashing over our heads felt empowering and natural – up close and personal with the wilder side of nature.

By the end of next month we will officially be ‘classic penguins’ and our cold watery exploits will be over. But then again, there’s always next winter ……..