Open Water Swimming & Freaking Out About Pike

Have you ever freaked yourself out for no reason? Just me then?

I planned a last swim ahead of Breca Loch Lomond swimrun. I was quite pleased with my organisation too. Didn’t forget any kit … goggles, hat, towfloat all present and I even managed to grab an early morning swim slot before we left for Scotland. Everything was falling into place like a damp version of Tetris.

Look at me being all organised! Like some kind of amazing swimrun pro. 

Rocked up to the lake to an almost empty car park and couldn’t see a single swimmer in the water. There are no safety boats or lifeguards at Stoney Cove. It’s beautiful but at over a kilometre around the edge and over 35 metres deep it can feel quite eerie. The cliffs around it are high and the water is dark and ominous when the sun isn’t shining.

I got myself sorted and climbed down the ladder from the side into the water. I bobbed for a couple of minutes, getting used to the temperature and the feeling of swimming with trainers on (swimrunners swim with trainers on) and I set off towards the far edge of the lake.

I was certainly entirely on my own in the lake – there were no other swimmers and it was quite a lonely feeling. As I swam I kept seeing something blurry out of the corner of my eye keeping pace with me, but when I turned my head it disappeared.

There are pike in the waters of Stoney Cove, reportedly up to 5 feet long. I have to admit I have never seen one here but have heard plenty of stories of swimmers being bitten when rinsing shiny goggles in the water. Was it a pike keeping pace with me? Something more sinister?

My brain then decided to freak me out by reminding me of all of the people who have died in Stoney Cove. LOTS.

Yeah. No.

I decided to swim back to the ladder but as I was already a third of the way around I realised I was swimming back across the deepest and eeriest part of the lake. My brain then did me the massive favour of visualising a hand grabbing my ankle and pulling me under the water. 

I had a WIBBLE. Went proper Blackadder.

Sometimes I despair of myself. I should start writing horror stories or something. Luckily another swimmer came along – appeared as though out of nowhere - and stopped for a chat so I followed him around the lake. And I was fine.

And the weird blurry thing following me? Turns out it was a scratch on my goggles.

SwimRun Training: What Has Prep Looked Like?

So the countdown to Breca is on! What has my prep looked like so far?

A typical training week for me is around 8-14hrs … but a lot of this is geared towards triathlon so there’s a lot of irrelevant stuff in there too … unless Breca suddenly decide to add a bike element!

My week is typically 3 bike sessions, 3 run sessions and 2 swims and I like to drop a few strength sessions in there as well as I HATE having to take time off for injuries. I am the most impatient patient. 

Getting ready for Breca, I’ve switched out my pool sessions for lake or sea swims where possible and I’ve made sure that I’ve done these in the wetsuit I’ll be wearing for Breca to check for any chafing, any tightness or any issues that might pop up during a race over a couple of hours. I’ve also  either done the entire swim in trainers (the looks I’ve had from the swimmers!) or I’ve done a swim first without and then done the final part of the session in trainers. When I’ve worn shoes, I’ve used a pullbuoy. I’m using a pullbuoy with straps, then if I don’t hold it tightly enough it won’t disappear off with the currents plus I can move it to the outside of my leg during the swim!

I’ve also added a post-swim run, so out of the water dripping wet and out onto the roads or trails depending on what’s nearby! I’ve had some funny looks from dog walkers recently as I dash past in a wetsuit leaving a trail of lake water in my wake!

It’s been brilliant fun! Thoroughly enjoyed it so far … just to put this training to the test!

Open Water Swimming? It's a bit bloody cold ...

so I decided it was time for some open water swimming ... only problem was that it was 9*c.

So I had to dive in.

If I got in by inches it would have given me a chance to wimp out. So I didn't.

Brrrrr!

Swim Rutland 4k: A bit of chop and a bit of smug

I've taken part in this iconic event twice before with mixed results which have included missing the boat across to the start and rushing across the pebbly beach in my wetsuit like an anxious walrus, doing my fastest 2k swim time after picking up a pair of particularly quick feet and being particularly pleased at being able to warm up my wetsuit for the first time in the traditional swimmer way. My resulting smugness almost resulted in me missing the start.

However, this year instead of the usual 2km swim across Rutland Water and taking the iconic ship The Rutland Belle to the start, I would be swimming there AND back. A 4km swim and my furthest distance to date. Eeek. 

However, it was a great place to do this, I've swam in this reservoir many times including during races such as The Vitruvian and The Dambuster and during the summer open water sessions and I was exciting to do this event in somewhere so familiar. That didn't mean that I wasn't nervous. I was eyeing up swimmers at the start checking out the feet and hoping to attach myself to a particularly non-kicky but draft-friendly pair. I was however a little concerned about the weather.

The skies were a slate grey and the wind, having swirled across from the US hurricanes, was blowing hard and rocking the bright orange buoys that marked the route across to the now deconsecrated St Matthews on the shore at Normanton. Rutland Water is one of the largest man-made reservoirs in Europe and it looked a long way across today. 

At least I didn't have to worry about the organisation. Swim Rutland is run by the same people as the Rutland Marathon and Half-Marathon and everything runs like clockwork. I knew I would be in safe hands for my longest swim distance as there were always plenty of safety crews with kayakers and Stand-up Paddleboarders along the swim route. 

Ok. Deep breath. And in. I followed the crowd of people in yellow swim hats – the mad people doing the 4km swim. And tried not to think about the people doing the 8km swim … Maybe one day. But not today. 

A deep breath and we were in. There is something relaxing about swimming a long distance. There isn't the rush and panic and crush that you get in shorter distances as people jostle for position. There's time to find your pace and find your rhythm. And in my case find a likely pair of feet to draft.

I spotted a likely pair early on and followed on. When I'm a bit nervous about a swim, I find that finding some feet to draft relaxes me further. There is no pressure about pace, about sighting. You can get into your own rhythm and just concentrate on stroke, pull and breathing. If the feet are going quicker than you'd like then you can speed up or let them go. Or if too slow you can pass the swimmer or slow down. No pressure, no stress, just swim. 

Due to the wind, the swim out was tougher than I'd expected. There were some waves halfway across which is unusual for Rutland Water. It was strange going up and down with the waves almost as though I was in the sea but with fresh water. It was tough making headway but everyone was in the same water with the same conditions and the feet I was following stayed in sight so I clung on and followed them through the chop.

Coming in towards the Normanton shore, I could see the abbey when I sighted on the left hand side. It was a striking sight, especially against the dark and stormy skies. About 50m from shore, the stream of swimmers turned around the last buoy to the right and came back around in a u-turn towards Whitwell. 2Km done. 

Coming up to halfway through the chop, I suddenly had cramp in my right calf. My foot jerked up and I stopped swimming and clung onto my tow-float to give my legs a break and a chance for the cramp to ease. Ugh. How frustrating. The lovely feet I had been following disappeared into the distance as I bobbed along with the waves trying to relieve the pain in my calf. I massaged it with my hand and decided to strike out again. 

Just 1 kilometre to go now and I was going with the wind rather than against it this time. My arms were fatigued now as I was swimming twice my usual 1900m distance and I was ready to reach the finish which I could now see on the bank I was swimming towards. Stroke, pull,Stroke, pull, stroke, pull, breathe … and repeat. Coming up to the bank I could feel the soft touch of weed on my legs and could feel it as I pulled my hands through the water like mermaid hair. Pull and stroke. Breathe. 

And I could feel the stones under my hands. 

I stood, realising that I'd finished 4k of swimming and wondering how this girl who had started open water swimming not that long ago had done this. 

And I was proud.

If you fancy having a go at this event the 2019 Rutland Swim is 11/08/2019 and costs £38. Enter here. 

Pitsford Triathlon: It Didn't Exactly Go To Plan ...

What was most frustrating about my 1st triathlon of the year wasn't getting kicked in the head, utilising my BACKSTROKE or dropping my snacks on the bike‬ ... 

But discovering at 6am that the rims on my race wheels are wider than my normal wheels and having to watch a YouTube video on how to adjust brakes. 

AND THEN having to sit through 3 minutes of the bloke mansplaining why we need brakes on a bike. And being unable to fast forward as I'm watching on my phone.

Beer please.





















Got a trophy though ...

The Swimmer: 13 Miles Run ... and 4 Outdoor Swims

It's January. Therefore the sensible thing to do would be to have a 13 mile run across London and 4 outdoor swims. Right?

Oh.

Unfortunately the short video only shows the first and last swim as this Brain-Of-Britain left her video camera at Hampstead Pools after trying to get dressed in a hurry (the changing rooms are outdoors and it was snowing) but it was returned to me in time for he dip at Brockwell Lido thanks to the brilliant organisers of The Swimmer.

The video is on YouTube (it's 1 min 20 secs long)

(Pic by The Swimmer)

Fancy a crack? You can have a look at the event here.

Swimming in the Thames: The River That Burns Cold

So here I was again. Wondering what the hell I had got myself into.

I was TOTALLY blaming Rae for this.

She had mentioned a swim that sounded pretty good that was happening on the 2nd January. 

I definitely had not totally invited myself along. Well. I might have done.

A bit.

And here I was standing in a car park in Oxford with my breath steaming into the freezing air and trying not to slip over on the ice that coated the puddles and concrete. 

Did I mention that the swim was outdoors?

In our swimming costumes? No wetsuits today. 

And across the River Thames and back?

Well it was.

And here I was, in a carpark. Waiting for the other nutters who were going to do this with us. And Rae. 

Had I mentioned that I was totally blaming Rae for this?

Well everyone else turned up and actually looked quite sane which is always reassuring in strangers off the internet. No sign of stabby knives or other killing-Rae-and-her-friend-off-twitter type equipment. Although of course they wouldn’t ned to actually be violent per se. Just wait for us to get in the river and get hypothermia. Maybe very passive killers then. Killers from a distance. 

I suspected I was overthinking this.

Actually everyone was very nice. We all got chatting and there were some amazing stories and adventures that had been had. Channel swims, leisurely swims along the River Avon before a trip to the theatre and ice swimming. It was all quite reassuring, that should I dip one toe into the water and refuse to get in any further, I would be laughed at by PROPER swimmers.

We all walked down together, alongside the river, our feet cracking the ice in the puddles and crunching on the frozen grass. It was a beautiful morning, the sun was bright and there were plenty of people out, mostly walking dogs or pushing prams, all wrapped up well against the cold January morning. The only things visible in the water were the ducks. 

We walked along the river bank until we got to a place where there was a tiny sandy bay, just about big enough for one sun lounger should you wish to catch some January rays. Rae and I looked at each other. This was it.

We got changed quickly, relieved that our swimming costumes were on under our clothes so we didn’t inadvertently bare flesh at any of the people walking along the footpath who were looking at us curiously, wondering why on earth these people were REMOVING layers, rather than adding extra on this chilly day. 

I added 2 swimming hats (the extra hat is important - it keeps a bit of heat in and stops you losing your goggles in the river!) and briskly walked the 10 steps to the river. I walked in without hesitating. I didn’t want to give myself the opportunity to change my mind and stood in the river water up to my ankles. 

it wasn't as cold as I’d expected.

I quickly ducked down, covering my shoulders and the cold water took my breath away. My feet were obviously made of asbestos. It was freezing. I huffed out, the water stealing my breath in cold puffs.

Ok. Swim. You’re here to swim. 

I swam across the river towards the opposite bank. It burned. The cold burned. My limbs didn’t stop moving or freezing, but the cold burned like fire. I moved across the current in the direction of the brown banks and green grass bordering the other side of the river until it became shallow again. I stood, my feet sinking into thick mud. The mud squeezing between my toes, smooth and thick. It seemed that it should be warm but it was cold, frigid as the icy water rushing past my legs and tummy. 

I stood and smiled. I was standing in the River Thames in January. In my swimsuit. Yep. Completely bonkers.

I turned. The trees and the bay I had come from seemed further away than I remembered coming. I sank down again, the water covering my shoulders and put my face in the water, blowing bubbles and moving my arms, front-crawling towards the shore. The freezing waters gave me a headache, a bubble in the front of my mind like pressure. I concentrated on swimming towards our bay and my warm clothes. The cold burning was more intense now but there was warmth and socks on the river bank. 

I swam. Then my hands touched mud of the bottom of the river and I raised my face to see the grassy banks of Port Meadow. 

As I climbed out and started adding warm layers on top of my swimsuit, I noticed our little group of swimmers had gathered a small group of onlookers. Onlookers in thick coats, scarves and hats. Onlookers dressed for the weather and marvelling at this small gang of lunatics who were smiling and laughing as they swam in the frigid waters of the Thames in Oxford.

I smiled too. Who would want to do a thing like that?

I wonder if Rae knows of any other adventures I could invite myself to?

Rutland Water Swim: Invasive Piggies & Hitching a Lift on a Lilo

I’m not much of a swimmer. In triathlons, it doesn’t matter how carefully I position myself I ALWAYS seem to be behind someone with wildly flailing legs. Or maybe I just have a face that begs to be kicked. Either way it’s the same result, I end up with my goggles around my ear and someone else’s piggies up one nostril. It’s not pleasant.

I’d been making an effort to enjoy swimming a bit more this year. I’d not had any terrible swims so far and I appeared to no longer be terrified at the prospect of climbing into icy water with massive fish or the intrusive feet of strangers. I’d obviously lost my senses. Or getting smacked in the head with other people’s limbs had become the swimming norm.

By far my most successful swim since I started open water swimming had been last year’s Rutland Water swim. It had been a 2 kilometre swim across Rutland Water after a lovely relaxed crossing on the ship Rutland Belle. I’d had a relaxed start and had drafted a pair of (non-nostril-invading) feet practically the whole way across, completing it in 36 minutes. A time I’ve never been able to replicate and I’m not sure I’ve had a more peaceful or beautiful swim since.

This year’s Rutland Swim didn’t start quite so well. I was up at the arse-crack of dawn to register and I don’t like mornings. I’m not a morning person in the way that Vlad the Impaler wasn’t 'a people person'. Even after 3 cups of coffee I struggle to operate and I only realised something wasn’t quite right when I tried to put my hands in my trouser pockets for the 4^th time and failed.  I was wearing my trousers back to front.

Sigh.

Things could only get better, right?

I righted my trousers and for a while things went well. I got to registration in time. Picked up my hat and tow float and even saw the lovely Mary of Inspire2Tri. I stopped for a chatter and after a lovely catch up, Mary reminded me I only had 10 minutes to get my wetsuit on and catch the boat to the start.

10 minutes? Ages!

I started climbing into my wetsuit and then spotted some tri club friends who were doing the longer swim and stopped for a chat with them too.

Checked watch. Ok. 5 minutes. Better get a crack on. Fully rubbered up, I wandered off around the beach and over the headland ... to see the Rutland Belle crammed with people in wetsuits and nautical looking people doing boaty things like throwing ropes back onto the ship.

Now I’m not a boaty person, but even *I* know that this usually means that the boat will be going somewhere fairly shortly. Like the start of a race.

Shit.

I broke into a gallop. Or what would have been a gallop if the beach wasn’t full of sharp pointy stones and shells. It was probably more aptly described as a really-fast mince. Or possibly a more flaily version of riverdance.

I had a vague impression of wetsuit clad people in the boat looking at me with what could best be described as “What the bloody hell is she doing?” expressions as the Rutland Belle pulled smoothly away from the quay and I minced at high speed along the beach.

To be fair they were probably wondering why I was doing my best Michael Flatley instead of trying to catch the boat.

Which incidentally left 2 minutes early.

Crap.

I was left with 2 options. Go back to the other beach and do the 4k swim instead of the 2k swim. Or lie on the dock sulking and clutching my tow float and see if the boat came back.

4k swim? Um no. Just no. That’s almost a parkrun.

Lying on the dock it is then.

I wandered over to see if I could find a good spot for maximum sympathy and get myself into prime position for offers to be rowed over to the start by someone who understands boats. Or at the very least owned a lilo and an oar.

It turned out there were about 20 of us that missed the boat.  It was going to be a very over-subscribed lilo. Rumours were around that the boat was going to come back but no-one was sure who actually said this or to whom. It was like that bit in Children of Men but with more full-body rubber and less bombs. And no babies.

We heard the horn go as the 4k swimmers set off.  Phew. Well at least that option was definitely off of the potentials list. I also discovered that I’d forgotten my boat ticket. Well THAT would have been embarrassing had the boat stopped and come back to me.

Wandered back to kit and retrieved boat ticket and as I came back over the headland, realised that the boat was on its way back. I made an effort to walk a bit quicker. Missing the boat once was stupid. Twice ... probably not something I could blame on anyone else. And I really WASN’T keen on that lilo.

Got thankfully onto boat after NOT being asked for ticket. Or questioned about being ‘that idiot’ who sprinted around the headland dressed in rubber and started dancing on the beach. Phew.

Took a seat on the upper deck and enjoyed just sitting down and not rushing around or worrying about having to sell flip flops for a lift to the race start. As we got going, the safety announcements started on the boat. “The lifebelts are located here, here and ...”

I snickered. A chap opposite quipped: “I  don’t think I’ve EVER been better prepared for a boat to sink.” We looked around. EVERYONE was dressed in wetsuits, with goggles and swim caps on and wearing a tow float. Should the Rutland Belle go under, we’d probably all be ok. Although there would probably be lots of moaning about missing race starts and we’d be demanding medals.

I was even more prepared than usual, wearing a Garmin on each wrist. I wasn’t being extra keen – I’d just promised to lend one to a friend who was on the first trip across the water. I’d hoped she hadn’t already started the swim or she wouldn’t be very happy with me. Although the sight of me sprinting along the beach like a twat probably made up for it.

The boat arrived at the Abbey on the edge of the water. I spotted Rae and handed the Garmin over and apologised for my lateness. The race briefing went smoothly and we all headed into the water in our timed waves. The bottom was slippery but the water wasn’t as cold as I’d expected, although the clumps of weed clutching at my legs were a shock.

We got a few strokes into the water, which was gradually warming up thanks to the rapidly expelling bladders of the swimmers. It’s not unusual of to hear a wail of “Wait ... I haven’t finished yet ...” as the starter horn goes at these races.

We got swimming fairly quickly and there was the usual flailing arms and legs, however goggles stayed on and I didn’t get too bashed although I did get shoved by a couple of aggressive breaststrokers. Swim stroke description there, not molestation report.

I kept a be-goggled eye out for feet going the right speed but couldn’t find any going at a speed that I could hitch a quick lift on. The swim route went towards the tree lined promontory and then zagged across the water towards the beach the 4k swimmers had started from. My goggles quickly misted up which helped a LOT when I realised that the swimming caps were the same colour as the marking buoys.

Luckily a helpful pair of feet came swimming past and I quickly caught them and sat behind. The buoys took a long time to come past. I’d been suffering from a nasty virus recently and I could tell that it hadn’t shifted and was still with me, along for the ride like the way I was following the 10 little piggies in front.

There was a bit of a cross wind resulting in some waves coming in on the last section. I kept thinking it was another swimmer on my left but it was the splash and swell of the waves on that side. It could almost be a swim in a gentle sea except that my mouth wasn’t filled with the taste of rotting seaweed and dead sealife.

Distracted by the waves I accidentally poked the pair of feet I’d been following. They unexpectedly disappeared as the swimmer stopped, presumably to give me a mouthful of abuse for piggy-prodding after the lovely lift I’d had across Rutland Water. I shouted a quick “Sorry!” and headed on towards the beach which actually appeared to receding despite my frantic flailing and kicking.

I put my head down and just cracked on. Just think of the ice cream afterwards. Head down and windmilling my best front crawl stroke, I eventually made it into a massive clump of underwater weeds which marked the start of the beach and the beginning of the end of the swim.

Into the finish funnel, medal around my neck, chafing inspected and baggage retrieved. I got a hug from my speedy friends who had finished well before me despite swimming twice the distance and grinned for a quick photo.  

Swim  - tick!

Medal – tick!

But more importantly I didn't get kicked in the face. Or have toes up my nose. Win. 

All I needed to do now was to get my best smug morning-exercise-done expression on and choose my finishers ice cream flavour.

Winning at mornings.

The Swimmer: 4 Outdoor Swims in February Separated by Cake and a Half Marathon

So Liz and I had an adventure. 

A swimming adventure.

A running adventure.

A freezing-cold no-wetsuits-allowed adventure.

An adventure with cake and swans and rivers and lakes and lidos.

Liz and Me!
See that gorgeous looking bakery behind us ... that's where we all met up!

Our adventure was The Swimmer, a 13 mile run from North to South through central London which includes 4 outdoor swims. In February. You go for a (chilly) run, have a (chilly) dip, (chilly) run to the next location, have a (chilly) dip ... and so on until you reach the final (chilly) location. After which you get into the (hot) jacuzzi. 

The event happens on the 2nd Saturday of every month from autumn to spring, October to May and is inspired by the short story The Swimmer by John Cheever, which follows the progress of a man who attempts to swim home via his neighbours’ swimming pools. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect of The Swimmer and I certainly didn’t know what to pack. We were given the option to take a large bag which travels in a van and arrives at the 2nd, 3rd and 4th swims for you but you still had to carry your necessities and everything you’d need for the 1st swim. It seemed to be a fine line between trying to choose between what I would need and what I could carry on my back. I ditched the towel, having already decided to wear a trisuit (wetsuits NOT allowed) and determined I would layer up over my quick drying suit and try and dry out on the run. I also decided not to bother with a spare swimsuit or knickers and instead use the saved space for a REALLY big woolly hat and ski gloves. I saved the BIG bag for snacks and clothes to change into which didn’t involve lycra or waterproofing properties.   

The starting point was Gail’s Cafe near Hampstead Tube station. Liz and I had no idea where this cafe was and decided we’d wing it ... hoping we’d spot some obvious swimmers on the train (goggles around necks, webbed feet or gills) and our optimism paid off when we spotted some colourful running tights and a chap with a hooded top advertising some sort of ice swim. We struck up a conversation and arrived as a group at a brightly lit cafe stuffed with French cakes and ordered a hot coffee each.  

The group of people stuffed into the cafe at 7:30am was an eclectic bunch with characters ranging from experienced cold-water swimmers (including one brave chap who had swum at every event over the winter!) to runners wanting something different to their usual winter run training. And then there was me. Who enjoys swimming in (warm) lakes in the summer, while tucked snugly into a wetsuit and with a cup of coffee and biscuits waiting for me after I climbed out of the balmy waters. I suspected I might be in for a cold awakening.  However everyone was very friendly, welcoming and wanted to chat and share their swim stories. 

We eventually prised ourselves from the lovely warm cafe and wandered shivering out into the cold street for the start. It was very relaxed. After loading our big bags into the convenient van, loading our essential kit bags onto our backs and adjusting the swimsuits under our clothes - and hoping they didn’t chafe or rub – we set off at a gentle run pace through the prettier parts of Hampstead.

We soon came onto the heath proper, undulating trails and tree-shaded paths. It was cold, but gorgeous and early enough to only see the hardcore runners and the occasional dog walker. The run was short and we arrived at the Hampstead natural ponds within about ten minutes. These are 3 ponds of the 30 in the Hampstead Heath area dug in the 17^th & 18^th centuries as reservoirs and fed by the headwater springs of the River Fleet.

Yes .. it was still VERY early ...

Two of the three ponds are for single-sex bathing and we were to swim at the Men’s Ponds. To get to these you enter via the old fashioned open-air changing rooms. It felt very Victorian which added to the charm and the ladies were told to avert their eyes while moving through the men’s changing section. 

Not knowing what to expect of the swim, what to bring, I’d decided to wear a trisuit (basically a swimsuit with legs used for triathlon) and layer up over the top of it for the runs. So neoprene cap, trisuit and goggles ... and my waterproof camera on a strap on my head. Coming out of the wooden changing rooms, the pools lay in front of us, quiet and serene.  To get into the pools, you walked along a long wooden-planked boardwalk and descended into the quiet water via steps.

I was expecting a burning, freezing cold but this wasn’t what it was like. It was chill and greenly opaque but not painfully cold but I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to warm up to run. Could I run after a cold swim? I’d certainly find out. 

After my swim and wearing ALL the clothes.

I didn’t stay in for long. I’d had my dip and aware that it was early February and I had limited experience of cold water swimming, I clambered out using the steps and made my way up to the charming wooden changing rooms to layer up my clothes.  

It was a relaxed 1 mile run to the next swim at the Parliament Hill Lido. Having chatted to the others, they’d told me that this swim was the toughest as you hadn’t been running for long enough to warm up on the run from the swim at the pools. The lido was built low to the ground and as you ran towards it through the park, Parliament Hill was visible on the right, usually seen by a club runner with hundreds of cross country runners descending it with spikes churning the ground and breath huffing out into the chill air. The lido lay grey and regal in its 1930s style waiting for us all top come in and enter the cool blue water. It was built in 1938 and is open all year round. You can quite easily imagine bright 1930s and 40s posters of brightly capped swimmers splashing through the blue waters. It feels old-fashioned and lovely, the age of proper swimmers with floral caps and vintage swimsuits. The lido is Grade 2 listed and when it was built in 1938 it cost £34,000 – a great cost at that time for a lido. 

Guess where ...

I stepped from under the stone entryway and entered the lido via the swimming-pool-style steps. The coolness of the water took my breath away in a way the pond hadn’t. Maybe it looking similar to an indoor swimming pool had made me expect the warmth of a pool, but the clear blue waters were deceptively chill. I swam down to the 2^nd set of steps in a slow crawl putting my face in the water. Swimming in an outdoor pool as an adult was new to me. It was strange swimming in cold waters as clear as these and the thick paint on the stone sides took me back to my childhood and swimming in the outdoor pool in Street with my sister while my Auntie and Uncle watched from the picnic blanket on the grass at the poolside. I remember those summer days at Street as always hot and the ice cream as the most delicious and the jerk of nostalgia was strong.

I made a beginners’ error after my swim and taking advantage of available showers, stepped briefly under the strong hot water before remembering that this was exactly what you shouldn’t do after an outdoor swim as apparently it brings the blood to your skin and can make you lightheaded. Not what you need when you still have 11 miles to run and 2 outdoors swims to go. I hastily turned the shower to cold and stood under it for a few minutes, bringing the coolness back to my chill skin. 

The dash for the bananas ...

I layered my clothes on top of my drying trisuit, buff on neck, gloves on hands and hat on head and went to join the other swimrunners at the front of the lido for a banana and a drink.

It was 5 miles to the next swim in the Serpentine and the group of runners spread out as people took advantage of the longer distance to chat and relax into their easy paces. We had a brief stop at Primrose Hill for photographs and I popped my video camera on to try to film some of the route as I ran. It was a lovely run, past London Zoo, past bemused early morning walkers and across some busy roads but people clapped as we passed, cars let us cross – except for the taxis of course – and small children stared as we zipped past them on our soft-soled running shoes.

Primrose Hill (Beautiful but VERY cold!)

We chatted as we ran. One lady was training for Brighton marathon and was on for her 4 hour goal ... having missed it by mere seconds last time, another swimrunner was an obstacle course racer – but wanted a change from the mud and furious paced runs today, others were speedy marathoners and dedicated ultrarunners. It was a real mix but the common thing was that everyone was friendly and welcoming. It really did seem true that the message on the website “If you’re nice, you’ll fit in” was true. 

We ran through Hyde Park, full of horse tracks and feeling not at all as if it were in Central London and crossed the river to arrive at The Serpentine, a 40 acre recreational lake which takes its name from the curving snakelike shape – despite having only one bend.  We were swimming at Lansbury’s Lido which was opened in 1930 and this morning was being patrolled only by swans, no swimmers.

The changing rooms weren’t open yet so the women braved the grassy banks decorated with winter twigs and green swan poo to get changed, while the men stood on the cold pavement to disrobe. Head down, removing layers and relieved again to be wearing my trisuit and not have to show my white winter skin to the cold rain, biting wind or occasional dog walker, I put on my neoprene swim hat, adjusted my goggles and went to brave The Serpentine. The water was cold and green and there were beady-eyed swans between me and where I wanted to get out. The water was cold but in February I should have expected this. The water had originally come from the River Westbourne and Tyburn Brook and then pumped from the Thames, but it now comes from three boreholes within Hyde Park rather than the Arctic Ocean … which is what it felt like. After avoiding an iceberg or two, I tried to get out but this wasn’t as easy as it looked. Avoiding the swans, I tried to climb the sides but they appeared to be coated in glass and grease and I slid backwards. My fellow swimmers were having the same problems. The swans were laughing. 

Finally extricating myself from the water, I layered up, caked up and got started on the final 6 miles to the Rockwell Lido. The swims were only part of the attraction of our swim-run adventure, the chat and the camaraderie between the runners, passing London Zoo, navigating the busy-ness of Knightsbridge and Clapham Common and the sharing of  stories were what made our mid-February pan-London journey.  

Powered by chatter and cake, we arrived at Brockwell Park and the Grade II listed lido came into sight. The Brockwell Lido looks very similar to Parliament Hill Lido and both had the same designers; Harry Rowbotham and TL Smithson. Brockwell Lido was built in 1937 to replace the bathing pond but closed in 1990 re-opening again in 1994 after a local campaign and is now open every day, all year round. 

I was looking forward to my final swim, sad that my mini-adventure was over but I’d heard rumours on the run. Interesting rumours about massive breakfasts and a hot tub. These sort of rumours are especially interesting to someone who had an early start, 4 cold - but enjoyable - swims and a 13 mile trot through London.

I stepped into the Brockwell Lido, carefully using the shiny silver steps and adjusting my swimming cap, feeling as though I was a 1930s lady in one of the posters stepping into the inviting blue waters of a lovely pool. It was quite a shock that the water wasn’t half as warm as it looked, but the naughty joy of swimming outdoors in February under a winter sky quite made up for that. 

And the rumours about the lido having a hot tub were quite true.

Fancy a go at the Swimmer? Open from Autumn to Spring, it’s £20 entry including, guided 13 mile run, 4 swims, cake and bananas. More info here: http://www.theswimmer.org 

Information from here: 

1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Highgate_Ponds 
2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parliament_Hill_Lido 
3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brockwell_Park_Lido
4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Serpentine
5. http://www.theswimmer.org/faq.html 
6. http://www.theswimmer.org