January
Shortly after agreeing to join their team, the reality of what this entailed began to sink in. His solo dip earlier in December had not been as awful as he expected, but it would only get more difficult as winter sunk its claws in and the temperature continued to drop. But then, he reminded himself that he’d learnt to swim in the lake. In his youth he’d been one of the lads who had gathered down at the Ledges at the diver’s car park on long, warm summer nights. High on testosterone, they had dared each other to jump off the wall into the deepest part of Crummock Water. Nothing could have been colder and he certainly wouldn’t do it now. Thank goodness, Tom had never got into that crowd. When he cycled or drove past the Ledges now, he cringed. The wall looked so high; the water so dark. The innocence of youth!
The water was already in his soul. He knew he could do this. He hadn’t expected to feel so positive now that he was committed, but he even felt excited about training for something completely different and challenging himself on a new level. Hadn’t Tom urged him to try something new?
Training was something he took seriously, so he wrote himself a training programme for the swimming, just as he always had for cycling events. He started to read up now and again about cold-water swimming to give himself the best chance of succeeding. The hardest bit would be the first few swims, everyone seemed to say, but the general consensus seemed to be that if he swam three or four times a week, he should start to acclimatise.
He liked the sound of gradually building up his tolerance to cold water. So, he plotted out eight weeks and decided that if he had a cold shower every morning and went to the lake twice a week, that should be enough. On the other days, he would cycle and run. Surely it was just like training for any other event, which was a methodical process of building up muscle strength, stamina, and memory with recovery days in between. As far as he could tell, the only training the team would do together was the swims. It was up to him what background work he did to get himself in the best possible condition. It would have been good to have sorted out an overall team training plan, but Chris quickly realised winter swimming wasn’t as predictable as other events, so he’d have to adopt a slightly different, maybe more relaxed attitude to it.
As he browsed a few posts on Facebook, which was the only social media platform he used, he realised that, not only was he entering a winter swimming championships, but he was also being drawn into a worldwide phenomenon. There was a community of outdoor swimmers and within that huge community there was this smaller, more niche, group of swimmers who did it for the buzz, the natural high they experienced after cold-water immersion. As he dug deeper, he discovered that, even amongst the cold-water swimming aficionados, there were those who swore by Neoprene gloves and socks, those who went the whole hog and swam with zero Neoprene, known as skins, but with a bobble hat, and those who craved frozen water, the true ice swimmers.
The championships fell more or less into the strict skins section, but fancy dress and crazy hats were encouraged for the relay races. This sport, it seemed to him, was like no other he had ever been involved in.
As he’d discovered from watching yet more YouTube videos from Eastern Europe, no Neoprene in any shape or form. He was surprised to find that he now wasn’t too concerned about that. His hands were pretty tough from being out on the bike in all weathers – he wore fingerless gloves unless it was absolutely freezing.
He was more worried about his feet. How cold would the loch be in February? Definitely below five degrees and that was bloody freezing! But he only had to swim fifty metres. That was two lengths of the leisure centre pool. Get a grip, he told himself. What could possibly go wrong?
Worst case scenario, he’d be in the water for about two minutes max. Hardly time to catch his breath, let alone freeze his toes off. It was all going to be fine. And anyway, by then he would be used to it. No worries.
‘Christ!’ he yelped as he prepared to take his first cold-water shower. People really did this every morning? It took all his will power to stay under it until he felt his body begin to relax, his teeth stop hurting, and his hands unclench. That was bloody awful, he thought as he turned the handle anti-clockwise and the pain stopped. Why did it feel so much worse than his dip in the lake? He gasped and reached for his towel, which was draped over the heated towel rail – oh that felt so luxurious against his burning skin, scorched from the cold water. Note to self, he thought, cold showers are off the training programme.
While he rubbed his body dry and warm with the towel, he glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. You daft bugger, what have you let yourself in for now? But he noticed the smile lines around his brown eyes were working again, his skin glowed, his hair stood up in perky tufts, and he hadn’t thought about being lonely all morning.
In his rucksack, he packed a Thermos of hot Ribena, thermal gloves, beanie hat, cycling buff, spare thermal top, sit mat, towel, and a pair of Crocs. He knew what the stones felt like under bare feet, so he planned to attach his Crocs to an empty plastic water bottle so they’d still be there to slip back on when he was in the shallows after the swim. He was still relieved he’d gone in the lake once on his own already, albeit a few weeks ago now. At least it wouldn’t be so much of a shock. He’d be able to handle himself very well. If those ladies were expecting to see a grown man cry, they’d be in for a surprise.
He was dressed in Lycra swim trunks. Nobody wore Speedos these days, thank goodness. More Daniel Craig, he liked to think. Then he put on his thick jogging bottoms that he normally pulled on after a shower when he’d got back in from a long cycle ride, one thermal long-sleeved layer, a lightweight fleece, and his super warm down jacket.
He arrived in the car park early, so he walked on down through the woods to wait for the women. He’d throw a few stones in, take some photographs, psych himself up – better than having to walk with them and be sociable. Perhaps once he knew them better it would be fine, but this morning, this first time with the group, he needed tranquillity so that he could focus. He always needed mind space before a cycling event; it was his way of dealing with any last-minute nerves and gave him time to run through his mental checklist.
The lake was glassy this morning as there wasn’t a breath of air. It looked silver and blue, reflecting the sunbeams and blue sky. Rather inviting, he thought. Thank goodness it isn’t blowing a hoolie for my first group swim. Easy. He was tempted to just go in now before they got there, get it over and done with. Instead, he dropped his rucksack down near a little wall at one side of the beach.
There was a wooden bench set a bit further back from the beach, which the male triathletes used as their ‘changing room’ during the summer months, and the women used the ‘posher’ bench over near the woods.
He heard the women’s voices and looked back up the path that led into the woods – two tall, cloaked figures strode towards him like wizards ready to cast their spell. Hoods pulled up over their heads, arms tucked into their sleeves, their religiosity caught him off-guard and reminded him of the serious side of winter swimming.
This was going to be grim. He sighed. But he smiled at them with the best smile he could muster. More than anything he just wanted to pick up his rucksack, say ‘You can stuff your championships’ and scarper back through the woods. Would that be cowardly? Or just admitting he was scared? Chris had been brought up by parents who taught him that emotions were good and people weren’t mind readers. But, during his marriage to Gail, he had learnt to suppress his emotions because she made it clear that she thought it was weak for a man to cry or be afraid of things. That was her upbringing showing through, but it did cause some conflict on how to bring up their children. After initially trying to discuss it with Gail, he gave up and went down the easiest route, which was her route. He looked at his hands and saw they were shaking.
‘Morning!’ The women greeted him as if they were about to sit down for a business meeting. They started to organise their swim kit ready to put on post-swim, before finally checking that the hot drink and enamel mug were at the ready.
No faffing? He was taken by surprise. He thought this would all be a much more relaxed and laid-back thing. Did him being there change how they did things? Were they worried that he’d be a complete wuss, or panic, or freeze to death?
Chris noticed that Holly even had a pair of fuchsia pink bedroom slippers, the kind you pull on. How strange.
He tried to copy what they were doing, reminding himself that he had to learn how to do this, not just jump in gung-ho and expect to survive. This was serious shit. He muttered to himself as he pulled off his layers, all warmed up nicely from his body. It felt so bizarre given that the air temperature was hovering around four degrees and the water probably around five, possibly six as they hadn’t had too much rain or too many cold nights.
Stevie handed him a bright orange bag with a strap. He knew it was a tow float and would make him visible. If he got tired, he could hang onto it briefly for a rest. He puffed into the non-return valve and strapped the plastic bubble round his waist, adjusting the size to fit him. Then he walked in his Crocs down to the edge of the water and stood waiting amongst the collection of debris that always lay there from autumn onwards: leaves, twigs, sticks, beech nuts, the odd bit of string or bottle top.
‘You okay, Chris?’ Stevie called. ‘We’re just about ready. Don’t want you getting cold.’
He turned to look at the women as if to say, ‘Cold? Me?’ A huge shiver ran down his back and he had to admit he was beginning to feel slightly chilly.
He watched as they picked their way barefoot across the stony beach.
‘You can’t swim in your Crocs, you know, but it’s okay to walk in with them on,’ Holly said, taking several quick breaths and wincing as she joined him. ‘It’s even worse on your feet when they’re cold.’ She groaned.
‘It’s okay, I’ve got it covered,’ he said, holding up the empty plastic water bottle and pieces of string to attach his Crocs once he was in up to his waist.
Stevie stood on his right side. He noticed she was wriggling her toes and her toenails were painted red. ‘Does that keep your feet warmer?’ he joked nervously.
‘Hah! I wish,’ she responded. ‘Right, are you ready? The key thing is to breathe slowly and relax.’
‘Okay,’ he said, taking a deep breath. He wanted to tell them that he’d already been in once and had found the breathing part came quite naturally, but it felt a bit like pride before a fall, so he kept his mouth shut.
‘You’re allowed to swear,’ said Holly as she stepped carefully into the water, ‘especially when it gets to your nadgers,’ she added, grinning at him.
‘Thanks.’ Oh, God, sorry, boys, you’re going in again. He groaned inwardly, but walked forwards, his arms out slightly for balance. In spite of his confidence about walking into the lake, a mixture of excitement and nerves rushed about in his body, so he automatically slowed down his breath.
Jesus! The pain was creeping up his legs and when he dipped his hands in by his sides, he immediately pulled them out again. He heard Holly’s and Stevie’s voices, but he didn’t understand what they were saying. He could hear nothing but a rushing in his head. Why was it so different this time? This was a good moment to take off his Crocs. He fiddled about a bit with the floaty device he’d created. It bought him time and helped him refocus.
‘Okay, now wait a moment, Chris.’ Stevie tapped him on the arm and he stopped what he was doing. ‘Right, splash water on the back of your neck and your chest, your arms, your face. Look.’ She scooped up the clear water and tipped it over her shoulders and then repeated it. She waited for Chris to copy her.
Holly had already sunk down up to her shoulders in the water. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be meditating. Her serenity caught Chris off-guard. How could someone so outwardly confident and vivacious sit so still and appear so beautiful? He was amazed at the transformation.
With his eyes locked onto Stevie, who was now standing waist deep in front of him sculling her hands in the water, he slowly bent down and scooped up a double handful of the lake and dropped it onto the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and automatically breathed in deeply and then opened his eyes. Repeat, repeat, until he’d splashed every part of his body, but was still only thigh deep.
And now for the worst bit. Last time, he’d just thrown himself in headfirst, but he knew he had to do it Stevie’s way. It was way harder to creep in slowly. For this, he needed complete silence and full concentration. It was going to hurt. He bent his knees and went down into the water inch after chilli-prickled inch until he felt his ‘nadgers’, as Holly had called them, contracting in fear and panic. The pain was intense and he knew his face was not a pretty picture, but he just didn’t give a monkey’s whatever. It was as if his testicles had been sucked up into his chest.
He waited until pain was replaced by discomfort and he could walk in a sort of half crouch into the deeper water. As the cold bit into his stomach, he winced again and then gave up this war of attrition and plunged forwards with arms outstretched just to get it over and done with.
Then his breathing went completely to pot and he heard both Stevie and Holly telling him to slow it down, relax, take longer, slower strokes, stay within his depth. Their voices did calm him down and he made a conscious effort to listen and obey.
In fact, their voices were the only things that kept him in the water; otherwise, he would have stood up and staggered straight back out. This was not the same as the first time, but he’d almost done it, he had his breathing almost back under control and his arms were still working.
He turned on his back and trod water. The two women did the same. It was as if they were leaving him on his own so that he could experience his surroundings and be completely in the moment.
For now, though, the women suggested that he get out, get dried and dressed, pour himself a hot drink, and jog up and down a bit. They were going to swim for a little longer and would keep an eye on him. To Chris, the swim seemed to be over in a flash. It almost felt dreamlike and surreal. A few moments of drama followed by serenity.
He didn’t bother to try to wedge his Crocs onto freezing feet, but just picked his way painfully out of the lake. While he felt grateful to Stevie and Holly for showing him the right way to approach this, he really did prefer his way.
Still, he had to admit that his respect for them had just quadrupled and he felt as high as a kite. Wow! That was incredible. He laughed as he dried himself down with his towel and started to wrap it round his middle so that he could lose his trunks discretely.
Just as he was pulling on his joggers, he heard the two women scrunching back up the small stones, chattering happily to each other.
‘Well done, Chris,’ said Stevie. ‘You did really well.’
‘Yep, you didn’t swear once!’ laughed Holly.
‘Oh, yeah, I can’t even remember what I said, but it wasn’t polite!’ joked Chris.
‘How’re you feeling now?’ asked Stevie, pulling her changing robe over her head, pushing her arms through the armholes, and then tucking them back in to pull the straps of her swimsuit off her shoulders.
‘Good,’ he responded. ‘I feel great, not cold at all, really buzzing.’
‘Brilliant. Best to get dressed as quickly as possible and get some hot drink down you. You may suddenly feel a bit colder, but it’s all part of the learning process. If you listen to your body and learn how it responds to the cold water, you’ll be better prepared next time. Acclimatisation only takes a few swims really, especially if you focus on that continued cooling down period after you get out,’ Stevie warned.
‘Oh, yes, the after-drop,’ said Chris. ‘I’ve been reading about that. Sounds a bit dodgy, doesn’t it?’
‘Absolutely, you don’t want that,’ warned Stevie.
‘Have you ever had it?’ he asked.
‘The drop-off?’ joked Holly who was nearly dressed. ‘Ooh, you don’t want the drop-off, Chris.’
Nothing would shock that woman, but he was glad really. If he was going to keep company with these two regularly over the next few weeks, then he wanted to enjoy it. So far, so good. He’d survived for a second time and apart from a chill spreading up his back, he felt bloody wonderful. He sipped his hot drink and turned to stare down the length of the lake, noticing not for the first time how the fells came down in swoops and layers to meet the lakeshore. Their shapes grew fainter the further down you looked. If he was going to paint this, he’d get out his blues and reds, mix a purple, and apply that as a pale wash in the distance first. And then darken it up a bit and gradually add in more reds as the richness of the bracken, trees, and rocks sharpened in the foreground.
He shivered slightly and appreciated the heat on his hands from the enamel mug he was holding.