The December Swimmer

This month's installment of The Swimmer was a particularly special one: as who should we have driving the support car but our very own Brockwell Icicle, champion of The Swimmer Lite, David! I have in fact just split my sides reading David's version of events and suggest you do the same.

Other important changes to the usual billing were:

1. Lack of co-organiser Will, who was at his wife's side on standby for 3rd offspring in the offing.
2. Consequently, co-organiser Jonathan was in sole charge, lending a slight air of anarchy to proceedings.
3. Some crazy participants (including Jonathan (see point #2)) and Brockwell Icicles Marcus and Peter decided today was the day to inaugurate The Swimmer 'Ultra', taking in Tooting Bec before the final stop at Brockwell, egad, despite the fact that..
4. We needed to get to Brockwell by 11.30 as the pool would be closing early for the Crisis charity dip.
5. The Hampstead Macdonalds has closed, forcing us to meet at (boo and hiss) starbucks.

Upon arrival David wasted no time in pocketing his driver's fee:

Carbucks

Marcus knows he's no match for Peter's glo faster socks

Pompoms at the ready... Icicles are go!

Word is clearly spreading about this madcap swim-run adventure as this time witnessed record uptake of 25 eager cheevers, including a whole host of women - hooray!

Bags in the support car, farewell to Jeeves I mean David, and off we trot...

...to Parliament Hill lido first, where in the excitement I opted for the dry dive mode of entry. A wonderful sensation, arcing up and slicing down through the silky silvery liquid, any fear I once had of an unpleasant and/or fatal experience banished.

Next up Hampstead Men's pond, which was frankly bloody freezing at 3.3 degrees:

And totally stunning under the rising winter sun:

Splash and dash seemed to be the order of the day...

Awry dive

3 degrees of freezing

 

Scenic trot/canter to the Serpentine, also bloody freezing at 3 degrees. Opting for a strategically short dip, I slithered down the slimy ramp, sprint-swam the 10 or so meters to the steps on the jetty and shot out like a rocketing pheasant - passing Marc standing waist-deep and speechless, eyebrows raised above goggles in astonishment. So yep it was bracing. And brilliant.

From here the 'Ultra' crew (recognisable by gore tex, fluorescent jackets etc) galloped off to Tooting, leaving us regular Swimmers (recognisable by cigarettes, sweet packets etc) to amble/shamble the final 10k to the comparatively toasty 6-degree Brockwell lido.

Over to Peter for exclusive report on the Ultra experience...

Copyright Peter Springett | Random Dog

When the runners at the front of the Swimmer Ultra group started chatting about their sub-3-hour marathons, I knew I was in trouble.

The original plan was to run the leg to Tooting with running buddy (and nemesis) Marcus and Swimmer stalwart Graeme. Marcus was knackered from running a 90 minute half marathon the week before and Graeme's no slouch, but runs within my comfort zone. So it should have been a comfortable journey from the Serpentine to the deepest depths of South London.

If only. Now we were joined by two superb elite runners, Elspeth, another Swimmer regular, and David, who clocks his marathons at around the 2h50 mark. Also running the Ultra, Mr Swimmer himself Jonathan Cowie, plus newbies Shannon and Martyn.

As we sped past Harvey Nichols, down Sloane Street and crossed Chelsea Bridge I began to feel my forty-something right knee creak and groan under the 7-minute mile pace. Meanwhile I noticed that Graeme had sensibly bailed and run straight to Brockwell. A wise man. Clearly has friends in high places.

At Clapham Common things got easier as the terrain levelled out. (Who knew that South London had so many hills?) A quick pause at Abbeville Road to regain our bearings (it's not like I lived nearby for 10 years or anything) and we were making the last dash to Tooting Bec, blinded by the mid-morning sun and hanging on (me at least) for grim life as we rounded a corner and the lido mercifully came into view. 

First the bad news. My legs were now aching like they'd been beaten by a large sack of oranges. The good news? We were able to plunge into London's largest outdoor ice bath, Tooting Lido, having blagged our way in courtesy of Jonathan, a member of SLSC. (By the way I've since been told that SLSC stands for South London Swimming Club, not the Skimpy Little Shorts Consortium (see pic). Apologies.)

Out of the Tooting traps: (L-R) Martyn, Marcus, Shannon, Elspeth, David, Jonathan

As a Brockwell Icicle regular, it pains me to admit it, but Tooting has one hell of a lido. And it’s flipping long. One length later (110 yards front crawl, mind) it was time to hit the last running leg to Brockwell, cold water and adrenalin thankfully numbing the nightmare knee.

With Brockwell Lido due to close for the Crisis Midwinter Swim at 11.30, we sped through Streatham, tanked it down Tulse Hill and blazed across Brockwell Park with Jonathan, David and Elspeth leading the way. That left ten minutes to strip off into our swimmers, grab a slice or two of delicious ginger cake (thanks Liz), march up to the deep end with Marcus though the crowds ("real cold swimmers coming through") and clock a couple of lengths before re-joining the rest of The Swimmer mob for breakfast.

Of course the question remains. Is the Swimmer Ultra a one-off that will live on in transpontine legend? Or does it become a regular fixture for the hard of heart and soft of brain? The second Saturday of January beckons. I’m in. What about you?

Er, I'll check my diary.

Thanks Peter!

With everyone safely accounted for we crammed onto a table at the blessed Lido Cafe and tucked into a hearty breakfast (washed down with a cheeky glass of prosecco in some cases).

Ultra champions Peter and Marcus

Regular champignons Jayne and Marc

Cheers!