Winter Swimming World Champs - Part II

After an enjoyable couple of days making our way to Lapland, partaking of local food and culture Rovaniemi style, and generally getting our bearings, it was now time to face up to this slightly alarming business of winter swimming - in ice, competitively, at an international level. Oh gawd.

I awoke with a sense of doom in the pit of my stomach, like I'd swallowed an anvil or was about to sit my maths GCSE. Fortunately Sara came to the rescue with a job lot of steaming porridge, and we made a hearty, warming breakfast at the apartments.

Friday was reserved for head-up breaststroke (the official stroke of cold water swimming), in which Candy, Clare, Sara, Biba, Liz and I were competing in various age categories, all a 25 m dash.

(At this juncture I'd like to say thanks to Icicles all for excellent pics, which I've used here and in the other posts for this trip)

The snow was falling steadily as we emerged:

Ditching bus in favour of taxi (it's the Brockwell way), we were at race GHQ in no time, ready to take on whatever the day might throw at us:

So how does it work? 

With so many competitors there's a tight schedule of one race every 3 minutes. You race in a heat of 9 people in your age category, and each age category tended to have about 30-40 people. Everyone has a race badge like this, which has stickers on the back telling you your race times and where you need to be when:

30 mins before your race is due to start, you make your way to the changing area, where you are assigned to one of about 12 changing rooms (basically a heated portacabin) by a harassed-looking woman with clipboard. In the cabin you will find about 10 other women (presumably men if you are a man, which none of us is) from all over the world and in various stages of undress and pre-race nervousness/hysteria. You change into swimsuit, don Icicle hat, and put a warm layer on over the top.

10 mins before race 'o' clock, you head down the hill towards to swimming area, and assemble in a heated red tent:

Assembly line

In here you are met with 6 rows of 9 seats, arranged as though in a cinema. You find the seat corresponding to your lane number (1-9) and take up your place in the back row, alongside the other swimmers in your race. Then as each race goes out the front of the tent, you move forward a row... Until they are unzipping the tent right in front of you and you're heading out to poolside, glimpsing a few reassuring Icicle faces as you pass.

Now for the best bit... Upon arrival at the water, one of the comperes on microphone suddenly booms "TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES" in a voice utterly devoid of emotion. You obediently put all warm layers in a little basket at the head of your lane, and stand there in your swim togs feeling nervous and slightly ridiculous.

Then the voice again "GET TO THE WATER", and down the ladder you go...

The water is -1 degree C, and between races they scoop out ice using what look like wire intrays tied to sticks. To start the race your shoulders have to be under the water - if they're not, the marshall on your lane pushes them down with a small red flag on a stick. It all feels a bit Monty Python On Ice.

All that remains is "ON YOUR MARKS" (or sometimes "ON MY MARKS") and then BRRMP!! as the electronic start gun honks.

So now you know the drill. First up from our gang were Candy and Clare, who as luck would have it were in the same heat, how nice and companionable. Just time for some pre-race snowballroom dancing:

...then off they go to face the firing squad.

Well done Sara for getting a sneaky pic inside the girls' changing rooms...

Without further ado, here are Candy and Clare in racing glory - you can recognise them by their white Icicle hats, Candy nearest in lane 4, Clare on the other side in lane 6.

Madness I know. After the race you grab your warm layers which have been handily transported round to the finish, receive a glass of hot blackcurrant drink, and make your way first to the sauna, which is apparently presided over by Santa in civilian clothes, who holds back the curtain and says "Sauna?" (to rhyme with "frowner") invitingly:

Sauna Claus

After that it's all about the hot tubs - of which there are 4 - filled with hot soupy waters and an international selection of ecstatically happy post-race winter swimmers:

Clare and Candy emerge unscathed

We later discovered that in their category of 55 women, Candy came 25th and Clare 12th!! Not too shabby as world rankings go from team Brockwell Icicle.

On next was Sara, drowning in a dry robe before she'd even gone near the water:

Like magic, she appears 30 mins later race-ready, taking up position in lane 3 (again recognisable by white Icicles hat):

Another sterling Icicle performance, coming in 52nd out of 67. Sadly in the build up to my race I missed Liz and Biba in full flight, but by all accounts they both put in a most respectable performance and emerged glowing and with world rankings of 17th and 34th in their respective categories. Go the mighty Icicles!

Meanwhile, with longest to wait, pre-race nerves were getting the better of me again - as documented in this interview by sleuthing sports reporter Noelene (watching it now, I wonder that I'm not in some sort of care home, but anyway here it is):

Arriving in my designated changing cabin, morale received a considerable boost upon meeting two of my fellow competitors - the lovely Jola from Poland and the amazing Luisa from Brazil:

Before you know it we've scooched our way to the front of the red assembly tent and they're unzipping the front like curtain-up on first night:

With a sense of unreality I hear the command to TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES... Then here I am wearing next to nothing with a Pole, a Brazilian, 2 Fins, a Latvian, a Russian and a fellow Brit, standing in front of a hole cut into ice, surrounded by snow and onlookers. Maybe my friends were right after all and I am mad??

The water is cold of course, but I had been expecting considerably worse, and I'm relieved to find I don't get the cold-shock response of hyperventilation. I suppose with all that adrenaline sluicing around a bit of ice isn't going to register.

When the start gun sounded I was a bit distracted with admiring all the little icicles hanging from the ladder steps, so just let go instead of pushing off. I barely even saw the Russian girl in the lane next to me, who shot out the traps like a greyhound, but otherwise I kept up reasonably well with the main pack. About 10 m from the end I could feel my muscles fatiguing with the cold, but also started to smile uncontrollably. Overall I'm not sure I'm destined to be a world-class athlete, but fortunately that's not the point.

I slap the white board at the end of my lane to stop my timer, and I'm up and out the water beaming euphorically with an overwhelming sense of achievement, relief and endorphins. I finished in 25.39 seconds, coming 23rd out of 36. Pleasing!

And finally here's a post-race interview conducted by Noelene again - quite a contrast in mood to the pre-race installment above:

That evening Talya, Liz and I sampled the local bar culture with affable chaps Matt and Mike from Tooting Bec Lido (who can be seen in hot tub in above video), plus a local Rovaniemian, Tomas, and his friends (who were oddly horrified by our swimming exploits). I won't bore you with the gory details, but a turning point for the night was our introduction to the local tipple, yallu, which comes in shots, is indeed slightly yallu in colour, and is officially composed of "brandy mixed with booze". Unfort it's also quite tasty. Come 3am I bid a hasty farewell to our friend Tomas, made a dash for the taxi and fell flat on the ice like the clown that I am.

On balance, a most successful day.