I’ve been swimming in the sea for four years now, so wanted to share my wild swimming journey in this blog. Here’s the story of how I got into wild swimming….
“You’ve got to try it” said Colin, his lips blue, his teeth chattering and his skin the colour of a lobster. We were standing on Portobello beach. I think it was January 2016, during the Christmas holidays. Colin had been swimming in the sea, rivers and lochs for three years by this point. The colder the water, the better.
I could see that he was getting something out of it, I just couldn’t understand what that something was. To me, someone who hates the cold, it looked like a miserable way to spend half an hour. I’d always loved swimming in the sea as a child, but that was in summer, in warm-ish water, not the depths of a Scottish winter when the water temperature was in single figures. As an adult, and a weak swimmer, I hadn’t done more than put my feet in the water – then snatch them out again seconds later – for years. No, make that decades.
Fast forward to that summer, on holiday on the island of Iona. It was a beautiful sunny day, and we were down at the beach. “Put your feet in” said Colin. “Just see if you can do it for ten seconds”. I did. It wasn’t just cold, it was painful. I could feel the blood shooting from my core into my toes and my whole body rebelling against the icy shock of the freezing water, though it was probably about 13 degrees, which is toasty warm by most wild swimmers’ standards. I honestly couldn’t stand it. I felt a bit ashamed for being such a wimp – I used to swim in this sea when I was wee!
Over the next few days I tried to build up from ten seconds, to thirty, then fifty, then a minute. And on our last day, I decided I’d go for a swim. I didn’t have a swimsuit with me so squeezed myself into a too-small wetsuit we had in the house and went in. And it all came back to me, just why I’d loved swimming so much in the sea when I was little. It IS cold, though less so with the wetsuit. Freezing, at times. But that feeling passes after sixty seconds or so, and then it’s beautiful. The sea in Iona is the clearest I’ve ever swum in, and swimming in it is pure joy. I remembered just how free swimming in the sea makes you feel.
When we got back to Edinburgh, I decided I’d go along with Colin on Sunday mornings to swim with the Wild Ones at Portobello. By this time, I’d invested in a swimsuit, as I hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of wearing a wetsuit in the water – too buoyant, and too bulky. I told Colin I’d go with him until the end of summer. Each time we went in I got a little braver and stayed in for longer.
And during that time, my amazing, patient, husband taught me to swim. Really swim, with my head under water and coming up for breaths, not the head above water jerky breast stroke I’d been doing until then. At first, it was a struggle to get used to the technique. I hadn’t understood before, watching others swim, that you exhale under water, rather than holding your breath, then come up to inhale.
The first time I managed to swim and come up for air five times I felt like a swimming champion. Then ten times, then twenty, then I stopped counting. I learned how to make my body straighter in the water, keep my face down looking at the bottom, reach out with my arms and scoop the water back till my hand was grazing the top of my thigh, and stop kicking my legs up and down so frenetically.
And all the while, the seasons were changing, and it was October, then November, then December, and I was still swimming. I loved the way swimming made me feel. I’d be nervous beforehand, afraid that THIS would be the time that I wouldn’t be able to do it, that I’d found my limit and that it would just be too cold. But I’d always get in, eventually, and I’d yelp and squeak and faff about before fully immersing myself, and I’d swim.
By December, I would only swim a few strokes in the 7 degree water, but the pride I felt at having swum in the sea in December carried me through the whole day. The exhilaration you feel after a swim in the sea – even a short one – is better than any drug. You feel like a hero. People look at you as if you’re mad, but you know better. The endorphins are rushing round your body as you dry yourself with a towel, your fingers frozen as you fumble to do up your bra and pull up your leggings. And it feels amazing.
And in the sea itself, all your problems and worries really do just disappear. It’s the most mindful activity I can think of. There’s no space in your head to think about anything other than this moment, the feel of the cold water on your skin, the psyching yourself up to lower your chest in, then your shoulders, then your arms and hands. You leave your troubles on the shore, and when you come out again, they always seem to have gotten a little smaller.
Since then, I’ve swum in many places around Scotland, and the UK. Up in Durness on the north coast of Scotland was the coldest, swimming in under 5 degrees at the top of the world. The Serpentine Lido in London was the first time I’d swum without Colin, my coach and support blanket. That felt really brave. Off the coast of Wales this summer, the waves toppling me back over every time I tried to stand up, so I just swam through them. And this summer at Wardie Bay, our local beach, swimming out to the white buoy with Colin, a rite of passage for any Wardie swimmer and my personal goal for 2020.
I love swimming in the open water. It makes me feel strong, and brave, and happy, and so connected to nature and when Colin and I swim together, so connected to each other. Sometimes there are mornings when you have to really talk yourself into it, the thought of getting out of your warm bed into the freezing sea seems like madness. But you never regret a swim. And you’ll never regret taking up swimming – I only wish I’d done it sooner.
If you’re interested in being coached by Colin, you can visit his coaching website here.
Read his guide to wild swimming in Edinburgh here
And his need to know guide to wild swimming is here.