At last, the second Saturday of the month was upon us - time for the February edition of my raison d'etre:
The Swimmer.
Weather forecasts had not been favourable, with Met office warnings deteriorating from "Be prepared" to "Panic". Yet arriving for the meet-up at Hampstead and 7am yesterday morning, I found conditions pleasantly light and mild, like a posh olive oil. The Swimmer clearly has friends in high places (maybe Swimmer regular Rev Graham?) as - once again - the sun did make itself to shine upon us.
This month we were about 20 in total and, while I've greeted the swelling attendances of recent months with pleasure and misplaced pride, it also felt good to be back to a more intimate gathering as in Swimmers past. Moreover we had 8 whole women, quite the coup for equality.
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| Fluoresting |
Just time for John (of
PHISH relay team fame) and me to show off our fancy new footwear...
... and then we were off to Hampstead ponds - women actually heading to the women's pond this time, my favourite of the three bathing spots.
The sense of peace and seclusion at this beautiful pond fringed by trees, with the winter sun gently breaking through and the occasional mallard sending a ripple across the surface, is certainly worth getting up for. Sorry boys, but the ladies pond is best.
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| Swimming selfie |
I was out the water last and so for one glorious minute had the whole pond to myself. They say the best things in life are free: on this occasion it cost me £2 which I consider a bargain.
Note the contrast of social behaviours between our idyll of taste and tranquillity and the display of macho tomfoolery at the Men's pond, expertly photographed by our own correspondent, Peter:
Next we hoofed it over to Parliament Hill lido to catch up with the boys, Liz going for a great new look to save time on changing in and out of kit:
Just time for a quick and steely swim at PH lido, admiring the light shimmering off the metal lining.
Oh and possibly the best selfie to date:
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| Peter by Peter |
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And a someone-elsie:
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| Me by Peter |
Onwards and steeply upwards for the obligatory photo atop parliament hill:
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| Who guarantees Swimmer sunshine? Rev Graham of course! |
Then a lovely run through Hampstead, Regent's park, Marylebone and Hyde Park, with me and John almost keeping up with the 'elite' runners of the group (see pic above), presumably thanks to our shiny new shoes.
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| Not in service |
Jeopardy awaited us at the Serpentine in the form of five or six sturdy swans prowling and prowling about in the swimming area, no doubt dying to break all our arms at the first provocation.
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| John executes a flawless dive |
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| My version slightly splashier |
I gave the swans a wide berth and enjoyed a wonderful lap in the sun, the water refreshing but by no means too cold, probably a good degree or two up on last month I'd say.
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| Marcus makes a new friend |
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| Al fresco changing |
Dressed and mostly dry, we gathered in the serpentine carpark for a refuel - this time by what was practically a Swimmer bake-off, with gingerbread from Swimmer co-founder and today's support driver Jonathan, chocolate cake with a tequila glaze (no doubt inspired by
last weekend's exploits) from Liz, and my attempt at Anzac biscuits (which seemed to have aspirations to become cakes, but still did the job), plus stacks of sweets and a suspicion of tea.
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| Liz with 'tequila glazed' expression |
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| Our very own gingerbread man |
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| An intimate moment |
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| ...And another |
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| Will staves off the cold with some techno dance moves |
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| Poolside Percy Pigs? |
Our blood awash with sugar and our bellies afull with cake, we staggered on for the final 10k leg to Brockwell.
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| YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!! |
I confess the sight of Harvey Nichols always makes me acutely aware of my dishevelled appearance and unique odour of sweat and duck poo I'm probably emitting, but that's half the fun of this part.
It wasn't until Battersea bridge that some dark thunderclouds drew portentously in and the first few spots of rain began to fall:
By the time we gained the south side of the river a proper deluge was battering down, visibility poor then very poor, all the way to Clapham.
Much more exhilarating than drizzle, and really the perfect time for the rain with the end relatively nigh. Putting on a final burst of speed we arrived triumphantly at Brockwell lido just before 11... only to discover that Health and Safety had reared its ugly, safety-hat-clad head and decreed that the pool would be closed until 11.15 owing to a thunder clap at 10.30.
Cue 15 mins of disgruntled muttering...
..then a jubilant release and stampede out to poolside:
(Me: "It's like the sale at Harrods!" A lady: (pause) "No it's not")
Three delicious lengths for me, cold water perfectly soothing tired legs.
And yes, of course, hallowed poached eggs at The Lido Cafe, with prosecco and beer to show due respect to the occasion.
Thank you Will, Jonathan and The Universe for another wonderful and joyous morning of swimming-running heaven.
