Into The Water I Go

I’ve just gotten home from a cold-water dip in the river, fingers are still a bit numb, even an hour later.

Talking about swimming in cold water is one of my favourite conversations, but I rarely get the chance to write about it. To commemorate it being just over a year since I started swimming outside on a regular basis, I’m going to tell you all about my obsession.

Last August, I needed something to relieve the anxiety-induced chest pains I was having. A doctor friend suggested I go with her to swim in cold water. I’d never done it before, and in fact, I had always avoided cold water, only able to recall dipping my toes in the Welsh seas, never immersing into it. Cold is uncomfortable, and even painful – why intentionally expose yourself to something that doesn’t feel good?

However, because I’m a big sucker for peer pressure and wanted to prove to her I was capable of doing anything she was, I agreed to go with her. It was a hot day, sweating hot. And when my body fell into the water, I screamed, but not too loud as teenagers were also swimming and I had to appear stronger than I felt. For ten minutes, there was no chest pain. I got out, and there was no chest pain. I went home, still no chest pain.

So I kept going.

Merthyr Tydfil may be known for being scruffy, bit dirty, bit trashy. And some places are. But only a five-minute drive outside of the town centre, is paradise. I park the car on the side of the road, carefully meandering through the slippery bit of woods, and then glory appears. A quiet swimming pool resting, until it begins waterfalling over rocks. The gentleness laid side-by-side the force.

When I first started out, I only wore a wetsuit, a thick, warm one. It was the perfect introduction, acting as a barrier until I grew more confident. As it was summer, I often happened upon other people swimming, but by October, the coldness had chased people away and for the most part, I was left either alone or in the company of my closest friends.

From December until March, I avoided going, hearing it calling my name, but refusing its invitation to swim. But not this year. I’ll listen, respond, and swim.

Why and how? The two questions I get asked the most.

Because my anxiety is kept at bay. It’s still there, very much still there. But the cold water seems to freeze it away, along with other coping strategies I’ve found over the last year. Maybe it’s down to the fact I can’t think of anything else except how absolutely numb I feel.

Although, I believe the scientific reason cold water helps with anxiety is that it lowers the heart rate. It also has been shown to activate the sympathetic nervous system, increasing the blood level as well as brain release of norepinephrine, an adrenal hormone that can help depressed people feel more ‘up’ naturally. And also again, it can help increase the production of beta-endorphins, ‘feel good’ molecules that give a sense of well-being.

There’s that.

But I also just love being outside, completely exposed to nature. Recently, I’ve even occasionally skinny-dipped to get the whole shebang of swimming in nature. I literally feel like I become one with nature, wholly accepting my body and what it is capable of, namely being naked in freezing cold water. I’ve become that person.

Practically, in case you were dying to know, my routine consists of the following:

-Decide I want to go swimming and text a friend to see if they want to go too. If not, that’s okay. I’ll go alone and hope that a strange man isn’t walking and watching.

-Gather my gear. Currently, I’m wearing a swimsuit that needs replacing as it’s losing its stretch. I cover it up with a loose sweatshirt and loose joggers, a coat, and a hat. Pack a bag with swim gloves, booties, and a hooded towel thing that covers you while you change.

-When I arrive, I lay everything out on the rocks so when I emerge from the water with numb hands incapable of doing very much, I can quickly get dressed.

-I first stand on a ledge in the water. For maybe all of five seconds, I let my feet feel how cold it is. Then I just get in. No dilly-dallying. I scream, trying to breathe through my nose. It hurts, like pin pricks all over my body, for about a minute. And then I get numb, breast stroking in circles, looking at the trees, the vines, the birds, the waterfalls. If a friend is with me, we talk about the things friends talk about. And then my teeth start to chatter and I know it’s time to get out.

- Quickly pulling myself out of the water, I wrap up in my towel. Getting warm fast is apparently the most important part of safely swimming in cold water. The after drop is quite something and can be dangerous if you aren’t careful. Nearly every time I swim, even in the summer, my body involuntarily shivers, teeth chattering. Sometimes for up to an hour.

-Pack everything up, wait until my muscles have regained strength, occasionally drink hot chocolate or coffee from a thermos, and climb up the rocks to get to my car. Quickly drive home and jump in a scalding hot shower until I thaw. Bundle up in warm clothes and socks. Drink coffee and eat peanut butter and honey porridge. All until my body reaches warmth again.

If you want me to take you, just say. Although you may want to wait until summer to slowly acclimatize your body to the temperature.

When I type it all out, it seems completely crazy. The whole thing, crazy. But the older I get, the less I care about how crazy I seem.

Into the water I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.