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!

School trips and chilblains

Winter swimming is now in full and freezing swing with Brockwell lido hovering around 6 degrees - yowee! BUT as I have mentioned before (not once but twice), our dear lido sadly does not open on Tuesdays and Thursdays during the winter - it's torture! Unable to cope without our daily fix this Thursday, four fellow Icicles (namely Red Leader Guy, David, Peter and Tim) and I decided to venture into the Wild Wood that is north London and Parliament Hill lido. Well if that cat won't play the mice will go away...

We know the drill by now - all aboard the 8.01 train at Herne Hill, casting pitying looks at all the commuters on their way straight to the office, poor fools.

Dennis the Menace of First Capital Connect

I think Tim has designs on David's hat..

...and who can blame him?

Trit-trot from Kentish town and yippee we've arrived!

JOY

Swim costumes on in slightly brutal concrete changing rooms (instinctively opting for red-coloured cubicle over blue for impression of warmth), then a friendly welcome at the poolside by the nice man in charge, who obliged in taking a group photo, complete with our shiny new and exciting Brockwell Icicle swim hats (which you can't really see at this angle, sorry - next time):

Icicles at large

 Next up dry dive for Guy, Peter and David (mentalists):

Warm up before splash down

Unfort Peter comes a cropper on the slippery side

...leaving Guy and David to take the glory

By this point my feet were starting to freeze to the thin layer of ice on the ground - nothing for it but to join the boys in the silvery, bitingly crisp and blissful waters for a few incredible laps.

The changing rooms might not be up to much but the showers are amazing! So powerful and blisteringly hot!

Rapid farewells, sprint to the office and slink in a mere 20 minutes late with dripping hair. Success!

In other news, I recently got chilblains, gaah! Little blisters on fingers and toes caused by going from very cold to very hot too fast, I suppose a bit like a glass cracking when you take it straight from hot dishwasher and run it under cold tap? According to wikipedia this condition is commonly confused with trenchfoot! Speak for yourself Wikipedia!

Anyway here are some pics that I am hoping will get head-hunted to be a case study in the Lancet:

Figure 1

Or rather:

Figure 2 - gross huh?

So I have since worn my swimming gloves and booties, don't want digits falling off. But they're cumbersome ungainly things to swim in, and tend to fill with water and slow me down and generally detract from that amazing sensation of slicing through the water like a knife (albeit a palette knife in my case). I'm hoping to find a non pathophysiological solution to this problem...

Must get to bed now as I need to be up in just over 6 hours for the December installment of The Swimmer! Four-lido binge - woo!

In which we say goodbye to Sara

As you may already know, the title of this blog refers to the chapter in Winnie The Pooh "In which Piglet is entirely surrounded by water"...

Last Friday's swim had the distinct feel of the last chapter, "In which Christopher Robin gives a Pooh Party, and we say goodbye", for the time had come for dear Sara (who has featured as chief mischief maker in almost every post herein) to take to the high seas for the whole winter in crossing the Atlantic (!) Amazing what some people will do to get out of winter swimming eh?

To commemorate this important event, Sara arrived sporting the latest in nautical tattoo art, recently supplied by David as a parting gift:

The closing ceremony began with the customary group dry dive, though with a notably subdued air in the sad circumstances:

The original dry dive?

In addition we had a surprise splash from <fanfare> the lovely John from the Lido Cafe, making his cold swim debut at 6.7 degrees - madness! There's no way I would start winter swimming so late in the season, heavens no! Though of course I wasn't going to tell John that. Anyway he is clearly cut from a sterner, steelier block and made the whole thing look dead easy:

Back in the changing rooms for final showers and giggling so high-pitched it hertz...

To add to excitement Sara had requested a pirate theme to the morning - cue some interesting interpiratations:

Helen High Water

David shivers his timbers

 And of course stacks of home-baked cake at the ever tolerant Lido Cafe - including chocolate guinness cake in absentia from Candy, currently in Manchester - not only delivered by her obliging partner but actually baked by her dutiful daughter. We salute such dedication and delegation for our delectation.

The best way to communicake

Who says swimmers don't know how to behave in the cafe?

 Now I come to think of it, perhaps Pooh was not quite the reference to go for:

Then Helen read a lovely poem, 'Sea Fever' by John Masefield (sea below) for Sara and we all clapped at the end.

All that remained was a couple of samples of lido water to keep Sara going on her long voyage:

Vial #1: 'A little bit of Brockwell Lido'

Vile #2: 'Special lido water'

"Oh no - what is this special lido water?"

Guy's expression says it all

So there we have it, three cheers for the wonderful Sara the Icicle!

Sea Fever

By John Masefield
 

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

 

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.