Sea Swimming

Looking forward to a new year of more of the same.

“I’m pretty sure this was your idea.” I said nonchalantly.

“No, it was your idea!” replied Dad as we both waded into the sea, the icy water up to our thighs. We were in Eastbourne to see my aunt and uncle - his brother - and I swear that when I eagerly asked about seeing them over Christmas, he had responded with the suggestion of jumping in the sea. I replied with great enthusiasm, so it’s much of a muchness, really. It was a very silly idea and a fantastic one.

Mum, Alistair and Jo stood on the beach and watched. It’s a great spot to enter the water. The sea bed is on a very gentle slope extending a long way out so you can walk in while gradually adjusting to the temperature. You can also get your shoulders under the water while keeping your feet on the ground.

We walked far enough before we chose our moment to let the water take our weight, lift our feet up and to all intents and purposes, swim a little. Dad was wisely wearing a full wetsuit, so didn’t succumb to as much gasping and hysterical laughter as I did. My outbursts of “It’s REALLY COLD” rang back across the water and found the rest of our family on the beach. I attempted some semblance of a breast stroke while flailing about, managed maybe three full movements, then stood up again. Dad was on his back, pleasantly bobbing around like a seal. “I can feel the cold on my hands,” he said. “IT’S REALLY COLD.” I replied. “I think that’s me done.” I began wading back to the shore.

Then I thought to myself, hang on, don’t be such a kitten. There’s always that initial shock, you get used to it, then you get the lovely moment when everything stops panicking and you settle. I decided to just try again. I dipped my shoulders under the water but no, nope, definitely-absolutely too cold. I began wading back to shore again but Dad and I had come out quite far. I was keen to get warm again so I ran, much to the amusement of the others on the beach. I could see Alistair mocking my running arms, which only encouraged me further.

The sensation was not completely unpleasant. I think it’s the coldest water I’ve ever been in. I’ve been to the Kenwood Ladies’ Pond at Hampstead Heath in winter and only been able to swim from one ladder to another, probably a minute in all. Here, I was in a 3mm thick swimsuit and I don’t think I managed more than 20 seconds. The cold tingled up my arms and legs like tiny acupuncture needles. It tickled and my thoughts went very still.

The immediacy of it is what I’ve found most appealing when my mental health has been as its lowest. If you can shut all of that out, if even for a minute, you can see for a minute that it’s not all awful. For the rest of the day you can cling onto that minute. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I digress. I’m editing a section of my book* at the moment that’s about that particular time in my life, so it’s on my mind. A lot of my wild swimming now is dedicated in gratitude to the many times it’s given me relief from myself. I owe the water a lot of thanks. As earlier readers will know, when I was struggling with a weird fatigue thing for a few months over the summer, the only thing that gave me a moment of relief was cold water swimming. The weekend that my health finally turned a corner began with a swim. In my memory now, I dragged myself into the River Avon in Lacock on a Friday evening and emerged bounding back across the fields, cured. There were other factors, of course, but I have been better ever since.

Here, now, we dried off, shivered our way back into warm clothing and Dad had a sip from my Thermos of tea. A lovely woman I used to swim with at the Ladies’ Pond always brought a tea that smelt so divine, another friend and I bought boxes of it for ourselves. It is infused with cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. I brought this tea with me in honour of the few but very special early morning dips I shared with a group of fearless and inspiring women.

The family and I went for coffee. We went for fish and chips. We had a slice of Alistair’s delicious homemade Christmas cake and then went home. Whoever’s idea it was, I’m so glad we did it. All of it. I think “Start as you mean to go on” begins long before January 1st. I’m increasingly superstitious about it. Whatever you tell your mind is the correct course of action in the weeks leading up to January 1st is how you will proceed. We cannot change our minds overnight. As it stands, I hope to wake up in a new year and write, laugh with friends and family, dare to swim in the wild and yes, run, and do whatever else keeps me in touch and in love with the natural world.

Happy new year. May your 2025 be rich with whatever sorts of adventures you choose. x

*I’ve written a book about running, it’s called ‘Roadless’, I’m editing it at the moment, more details in the coming months!