Vancouver

Well lucky me on a little work jaunt to Vancouver - a city I soon discover is a veritable paradise for outdoor swimming opportunities.

For one thing there's a selection of lovely sandy beaches, and a Pacific swim seemed like a good place to start. I opted for Second Beach, checking first with the lifeguard that it wasn't compulsory to swim between the two lines of red buoys. She seemed rather pleased to have a swimmer under her watch and said she would come and rescue me if she saw me drowning outside of the buoy area, which I thought was dashed decent of her. There were plenty of people enjoying the sunshine but oddly no-one swimming - quite baffling considering the water was at least 18 degrees I'd say, but there you go.

First swim, Second Beach

Quick change under towel, Icicle hat on and in I wade. I love that first bit of getting into new water, finding out how it feels and having that little secret sense of achievement. But I'm a crap sea swimmer really when I'm on my own, easily spooked by a bit of unseen weed tickling my leg, and catching sight of some huge container ships further out in the bay made me feel very small... But the water felt fizzy and refreshing after my long flight and I managed to stave off panic for a few respectable laps up and down the beach.

Then still in full swimming regalia I made the short hop to my next swimming spot a mere 20m away... Viz Second Beach Pool:

My eyes gleamed and my tail went up 2 togs on the bushiness scale. 50 m of swimming heaven right by the sea but without the hassle of sea monsters. Yes please!

Next day, I made my way to the fun and friendly Kits Beach, where Vancouver families were out in force enjoying picnics, volley ball and other wholesome Sunday activities:

I headed straight to Kits Beach Pool, about which I had heard great things. And lordy I was not disappointed:

A 137m salt-water lido on the beach! My eyes popped out of my head and my tail fell off.

The further section was cordoned off for lane swimming, but rather than being divided into lanes there were simply two black lines painted on the bottom, with the area between them designated for overtaking, and everyone swimming together anticlockwise on the outside of the lines. A new system on me but worked beautifully and felt much more friendly and sociable to all swim together like shoals of fish. With so much space and general goodwill flowing about I soon settled into a lovely front crawl rhythm, steadily notching up 20 lengths (2.7km) with hardly an effort. Hooray!

I enthused to the lady next to me in the changing room and, swapping swim stories, discovered that she used to swim for Canada - how good is that?!

One evening I couldn't help but pay a visit to my hotel's own pool, on a roof terrace on the 6th floor... Inevitably, I couldn't bring myself to swim in it:

I think not

...so plonked my keister in the hot tub instead, which was rather enjoyable in the rain.

And finally, a trip to the aquatic centre, built when they hosted the winter olympics in 2010:

From the outside it slightly put me in mind of a care home for the elderly, and indeed when I arrived at 6.30am there was a little gaggle of grey-haired Japanese ladies waiting to be let in. But inside all was high ceilings and exciting echoes...

A juicy 2k swim for me, for most of the time just one other person in my lane, and even a bonus glimpse of the very impressive synchronised swimming team practising in the little pool on the far side.

Thank you Vancouver for some of the best swims outside of Brockwell I've ever had.

In case you happen to be going there, here's my Blue Peter-style attempt to provide an annotated map:

Dry dives and light shows

We've had some truly wonderful autumnal swims at Brockwell lido the past few weeks, glorious morning sunshine illuminating suspended leaves, scattering golden patterns of light across the bottom, with water temps inching steadily, thrillingly down (12.5-13 degrees at the moment).

The latest craze, instigated by Peter and subsequently championed by David, is the dry dive - i.e. diving as a means of initial entry to the water (for definitions of other lido terminology, see David's blog post), which can be something of a shock to the system even for the most hardened Icicle (the dive I mean, not David's blog).

I'm quite a fan of the mid-swim wet dive with maximum run-up before launch - whoosh! - so I gave its dry cousin a go at 13.8 degrees and it was quite exhilarating, although more of a bonedry bellyflop in my case as my subconscious tried to put its foot down. 1 week (and 1 degree) later I had firmly hung up my dry-dive hat, leaving me free to capture this exclusive footage of fellow Icicles in action:

 In case you blinked and missed it, here are a couple of stills:

Dry...

...dive!

Following the thrill of the dive, the ripples dissipate, the heart regains sinus rhythm and what remains is a shoal of Brockwell Icicles gliding about in a calm, crisp, sun-drenched box of cold watery heaven. Just to prove I'm not exaggerating:

See?!

All followed, of course, by piles of cake and lashings of the best coffee in town.

An unsuspecting Liz takes her eye off Candy for one second...

...Candy I think she may have rumbled you

The Lido Cafe: sanctuary for bewildered Icicles

Polar Bear basks in the sun

The three bears and their porridge

...Goldilocks finds sustenance elsewhere

Flushing Cove, Cornwall

Last weekend found me in the picture-postcard setting of Flushing Cove in Helford, Cornwall for the wedding of my oldest friend, Yukie, and her now-husband, Ben. Not only was I to be making my bridesmaiding debut, but the house where we were all staying was literally a stone's throw from an idyllic cove/creek/sea combo.

I hope the video from Sunday morning gives you a taste of this rare treat (although without my usual Brockwell lido partners in crime the cinematic feel has turned out a little pensive, and my boyfriend just pointed out that it could be taken as someone going down to the sea to drown themselves (!) Rest assured this is NOT the case and I am happily sitting on my sofa typing away in rude health).

Special thanks to Fireworks Night for musical accompaniment.

The water was a refreshing 16-17 degrees, I'd wager, wonderfully clear and crisp, and lightly salted, providing buoyancy without tasting too terrible. Perfect conditions for my Best Swimming, with the occasional curlew or ungainly gannet for audience.

On the morning of the wedding, I spied activity aboard the groom's cute little family boat, Rocket, on the far side of the creek, which was being decked out in flags for the big event. I set off with a lusty stroke and was soon calling "Ahoy there" and introducing myself as a bridesmaid to Ben's uncle and cousin, who looked so surprised I may as well have been a talking otter. I since discovered (in the groom's speech) that they had hitherto been considering mooring up to this handy yellow buoy, only to discover it was the swim cap of a passing gurl. Poor chaps, I'll phone ahead next time.

Charlton lido

With the waters of Brockwell lido increasingly resembling a cream of mushroom soup (complete with proverbial hair in it), fellow Icicles Sara and Noelene and I decided to skip the crowds for a calmer, more secluded spot last weekend. Cue school trip to Charlton lido in deepest darkest south east London, which reopened this spring after a £2m refurbishment. Cor.

Taxi in form of Sara's racy fiat 500 set us on Noelene's doormat in Lewisham at 8.30, where we marvelled at the charming surroundings:

No time for sight-seeing though as we jumped into Noelene's car and sped on to Charlton. The entrance to the lido is unprepossessing to say the least, and gives little away about what lies beyond:

A dark portal

And the security arrangements are very eco-friendly:

Electric fence full of water?

Arriving a good 20 mins before the 9am opening (too keen), we diligently formed an orderly queue with the two other ladies who were waiting. We soon fell to exchanging lido stories as you do, culminating in the more forthright of the two women telling us how she came to blows with a man in a wetsuit last week who insisted on swimming into and indeed over her - at which point a lone man who had now joined the queue behind us nervously piped up that he was away all last week.

 Next a life guard came roaring into work in some style, causing quite a flutter amongst the girls:

And then with a friendly greeting from the man on the door and tickets procured for six pounds sterling, we were in!

On entering you come first to the children's pool going acrossways, adjacent to the main lido beyond, which stretches away up ahead. While the pools are all redone the accompanying changing rooms etc are still works in progress, giving a pretty cool scene of the clear blue expanse of water surrounded by scaffolding and a distinct impression of hard hats. The lido is -ahem- heated but we were relieved to see the temperature display showing just over 25 degrees, so not too much over what it would be anyway in this heatwave. (We were also amused to see the temp dial didn't actually go *below* 25 degrees...incomprehensible).

Quick change in the little cabins on the poolside, and in we went - Nolene in the fast lane while Sara and I opted for the Zone of Bewilderment. It's 50 m like Brockwell, slightly narrower, and with an overcast day there was plenty of room for all. Even the water temperature was fine - I mean you're obviously not going to get the cold water buzz but it was infinitely more pleasant than any heated indoor pool. It's also filled to overflowing so you really can feel Entirely Surrounded By Water and also Not Scrape Your Knee when you turn in the shallow end. Just having the space to swim and swim without crashing into anyone or needing to sight was such a luxury.

Hot showers on the poolside, return to civilian clothes and then back to Noelene's for coffee and breakfeast to rival the finest offerings of The Lido Cafe. Here, Sara took the opportunity to demonstrate the optimal front crawl technique:

High elbow on the recovery

Firm grip on the croissant

Just time for Sara to make off with some of Noelene's bamboo and raid the neighbour's cherry tree before speedy departure in the getaway car.

A very successful and civilized trip - highly recommended if you fancy a little change of scenery and a bit more elbow room. Maybe just let Noelene know when you set off so she has time to get the pastries in.

Swimming Windsor the Brockwell way

Saturday 2nd June dawned bright and clear, and about 45 minutes later my alarm clock went off at the ungodly hour of 5am. For yes indeed, the day had arrived for me and fellow Brockwell Icicles Sara and David to take on a swim in the Thames in Windsor, organized by Human Race.

Our support team for the day was David's unspeakably accommodating partner, Aidan, who not only drove us there and back but proved a real boon in kit carrying and generally aidin' as needed. We arrived in good time and headed straight for the little cafe kiosk by the river, installing ourselves in a prime spot to survey the terrain, scare David with talk of river monsters, and generally succumb to race nerves.

Sara the river monster

Fear of the above

Plain ol' race nerves for me

And for a different perspective, here's David's take on proceedings thus far:

Not altogether sure if I'm guest blogging or blagging but who cares it's a day for firsts or thirsts more like. So the Windsor swim what an adventure from start to finish the car journey the giggling girls, reminiscent of the giggling you hear through the changing room walls, but this time you could hear what they were saying. Fear not lads we have nothing to fear. The boot dully packed with swimming togs, cans of coke and best of all rhubarb and custard cake. Arrived with loads of time to spare which meant we could have a good olde English cup of splosh to fortify us before the plunge, looking back now we should of had something far far stronger and probably illegal.

There were three racing distances on offer: 750m, 1.5km and 3km. David and Sara had wisely opted for the 750 given they were going sans wetsuit, and were the first wave to go off. So after a quick change we headed down to the start line as the arednaline started to flow...

The race route followed a loop for all three distances - first upstream (yes upstream) then back downstream, with a larger loop for 1.5km and two large loops for 3 km. This whole upstream motif was a new one on me, but I assumed it must be a gentle -surely even negligible- current, right? Wrong! As soon as David and Sara entered the water I knew things were going to be tricky:

Whereas Sara managed to settle into a front crawl rhythm and make some headway, David's breastroke was unfortunately getting him nowhere fast:

At this point I nipped off to change and drop off my bag, returning 10 minutes later to find David more or less where I left him, and being towed by a kayak to the river taxi - I mean safety boat.

Taxi to go

David says:

So to the race 750 felt so much more do able and without wetsuits Sara and I looked like we were unstoppable, I of course was stoppable. Huddle like lemmings by the side everyone plopped in on command and then we were off, well the masses were off. Current no one warned us about the strength of it. For me it was like being on a treadmill going nowhere, I thought I would swim down taking in the sights, wildlife and the castle were just distant memory's as I splashed around wondering if I was ever going to move forward. And then out of the corner of my eye I spied kayaks seemed like the perfect floaty thing to hold onto so I splashed my way toward it and grabbed on. Perfect opportunity to catch my breath and convince myself that I could carry on, and on I went until I spied another Kayak. I have to say Sara the star that she is was nowhere to be seen, off in her stride of river swimming. By this time any fear I may of had about river monsters was replaced by the real fear of drowning,I'd had enough nothing for it but to call a river taxi. Splash splash splash to the nearest kayak and then it was an easy ask, and lets face it I've got form the Swimmer springs to mind. Dragged into the motorised launch by my arms I thought they were going to come out of their sockets but what a relief. I think they were more concerned about me being cold seeing as I didn't have a wet suit but we all know 13c ain't cold. So there you have it the Windsor River swim lite the Brockwell way, oh and I even blagged a medal.

 

For my part I was just relieved to find him smiling on land and bearing no ill will against me for having started this whole hairbrained plan.



My penance was in the offing though as I took my place to join the women's 3k wave. While this might make me sound experienced and athletic, optimistic and deluded might be more accurate. I'm not a particularly fast swimmer and have quite puny arms, but will happily plod along with a fairly efficient (efishient?) front crawl. At the lido I usually start with a few laps of breast-stroke to get my breathing nice and settled, but something told me this might not be an option today.

Frankly, the start was hell! Battling amongst a seething mass of arms and legs, I took on board several quarts of murky, slightly crunchy water within minutes.

The current was even stronger that I'd feared, keeping me at a snail's pace and allowing no opportunity for a quick rest and look about for fear of retuning to the startline. It was a bit like turning up to a running race and being told the first half would be up a down escalator. Fortunately I was buoyed up by my trusty wetsuit, Betty, or I think I might have been a gonner.

Eventually I found my rhythm and even quite enjoyed some bits, but what a slog - could have sworn we were swimming uphill. Breathing became a lesson in demoralization because you'd keep looking up to see the same damn spot on the rivebank, mocking you as only a bit of earthy grass can. And I even got a bonus kick in the teeth from a fellow swimmer at the turning point, but at least I had a gloriously fast downstream stretch to console myself with now.

Zoom zoom zoom and before I knew it I was at the end of the 1.5km lap, ready to throw in the metaphorical towel in favour of a real one. Following David's excellent example, I hailed down a kayak for a cheeky lift to the exit, although as you will see the kayaker is clearly having a joke on me and making me push him along. Listen carefully and you'll hear David calling 'taxi' from the riverbank.

At last, the end was nigh and I could almost taste the rhubarb cake already. With Sara to cheer me on I dragged my sorry carcass across the finishing line. My expression at the end here sums it up nicely:

At least the medal is pretty cool - it has a funny shape and everything. Just time for cake and coke (the latter to kill off any nasty tummy bugs) before beetling back to our respective homesteads.

Big ears

Doing the okey cokey

We may not have swum far, we may not have swum fast, but by jove do we know how to hail a taxi - it's the Brockwell way.

Sunday sun at Brockwell lido

Hooray - sunshine at Brockwell lido for the bank holiday weekend! And about time after a decidedly wintry feel to the water of late. (Yes I swam in the snow in January - but that was January! And therefore entirely normal and acceptable).

Still though, just over 14 degrees so not quite bath temperature yet. Today Candy (who featured in my previous post) was borrowing a wetsuit in order to build up some nautical mileage without contracting hypothermia. Wetsuits are by nature mischievous and uncooperative entities, a distant cousin of the erratic supermarket trolley, and this one proved no exception. While I have been known to stick my leg into my wetsuit arm, Candy fell victim to the full inside-out motif:

 

No sooner had Candy triumphed over adversity than another, much more serious development ensued. SHOCK HORROR the return of the spider to the girls' changing room!!! [Warning: the following video contains mild peril and is PG rated]

 

 

I beat a hasty retreat to the poolside, accompanied by my friend Hannah who dabbled in cold water swimming last year but is by no means acclimatized. At just over 14 degrees the water does retain a 'bracing' or 'invigorating' edge, shall we say, requiring an element of pluck for the initial plunge. Kitted out in inspirational Team GB togs, brave Hannah wasted little time in setting off with a confident breast-stroke, completing a triumphant 4 lengths in style (which unfort I almost completely missed owing to poor camera skills - sorry Hannah).

 

And hallo, who do we have here?

And now for some aquabatics: Rachel executing a flawless tumbleturn while keeping perfect time with the closing bars of Schubert's piano trio in E flat major:

 

All rounded off with some excellent Sunday baking offerings of raspberry bakewell cake (Peter) and rhubarb crumble (Candy) washed down with the wonderful Lido Cafe coffee.
 

The Swimmer Lite

The second Saturday of every month, I usually participate in theswimmer.org, an excellent swim-run adventure across London, encompassing four lidos and about 12 miles of running (more on that another time - it's a hoot). BUT, as part of the farce that is my life, I recently sprained my bum (at a picnic, egad), literally putting me out of the running for such adventures. Undeterred, I teamed up with three swimming pals from Brockwell lido to create... The Swimmer Lite!

A train from Herne Hill at the civilized hour of 8.30 dropped us within easy walking distance of the 'swimming end' of Hampstead Heath. We struck out cross country for the mixed pond first, weaving through droves of enthusiastic British Military Fitness conscripts and stopping to admire views of the London skyline confusingly reversed from this north-to-south perspective ("Oh there's the Shard!" etc).

The mixed pond turned out to be a bit, well, mixed. It's slightly exposed for my taste and there were lots of midges that get in your mouth if you (and they) aren't careful. But the water was nice (and a refreshing 13 degrees) and the changing rooms are huge and open air, so you can dance to birdsong while you get changed. We were surprised to see a few people there in wetsuits - seemed to jar with the pond vibe, although one family did have matching suits, which somehow made amends for the neoprene-based faux pas.

Anyway, this is where it gets really good! Next stop - the ladies' pond - a secluded idyll surrounded by trees, filled with silky soft water and the occasional coot. Plus at this stage of proceedings I introduced my shiny new underwater camera! The picture's a bit shaky as it's quite hard to be unshaky while holding camera with one hand and swimming with the other, but I'm sure I'll get better with practice.

Is it just me or did those mallards look singularly unimpressed?

Next we have Candy wielding camera, optimistically capturing the murky pond waters (and occasional flashes of my behind), followed by some Olympics-standard synchronized swimming from me, Sara and Talya. By this point endorphins were coursing through our veins, lending a slightly hysterical edge to the laughter.

A quick change and few warming star jumps, and we were off to our next stop: Parliament Hill lido.

Here the camera came into its own, for yea and behold, this lido is steel-lined (and the water isn't opaque):

And now prepare to marvel at Candy, Talya and Sara in full swim. The grace! The efficiency!

Time for a well earned blistering hot shower (no filming ha ha), before train back to our natural habitat. Whereupon Talya sauntered over to Brockwell lido and swam a mile, while the rest of us made vague domestic excuses and scattered (this is The Swimmer Lite after all).

Conclusion: Not only clouds but bottoms, be they sprained or belonging to a lido, can have silver linings.