16 Degrees

4 minute read

My cold water swims are over.

Saturday 7^th May 2022 marks the first day where the temperature of the water is above 15 degrees (59 F). At 16 degrees (60.8 F), officially, we are no longer in cold water swimming territory.

It feels like I am entering a new era.

My cold water swims are behind me, drifting into the distance. Summer swims are sauntering in, the water temperature slowly rising with long days of sunshine.

For me, whatever the season, there is nothing more blissful than sitting immersed in cold water with the sun shining on me.

This morning, once I’d braced myself and plunged my body into the 16-degree water, I was in no rush to swim. I needed to savour the experience of the rising water temperature. I wanted to savour the water touching every part of my body, from the tips of my toes to the round of my shoulders, invigorating my being within seconds.

The water supports my whole body as I lie on the pontoon’s[1] sloped edge. My hands are planted by my bottom, my back is upright as my legs hover and float just above the end of the pontoon’s drop into deep water. Quickly, my body acclimatises and adjusts to the radical dip in skin temperature.  Even at 16 degrees, the water is still positively cold. Submerged, I relish in the chill, a gleeful giddy smile spreading across my lips.

I don’t have to rush.

It’s a Saturday morning and today, I want to bask in the early morning sun, grateful to be here. Grateful to receive the sun’s warmth and energy, body immersed in cold.

I don’t need to act, I don’t need to do, I just need to be.

This feels so good and I’m not even swimming.

To my right, swimmers pass me, entering the water with purpose, moving into their desired stroke. Some wear wetsuits and others wear skins[2]. A few swimmers immediately fly into a furiously fast front crawl, others breaststroke their way away from the pontoon before moving into a steady front crawl, and the rest adopt a graceful breaststroke.

I close my eyes, taking my focus inwards.

I see the pinkish red of my eyelids, dancing and reacting to the sun’s powerful rays of light. I breathe in the fresh air deeply, exhaling long, chest falling until empty. Neither encouraging me to go or demanding that I stay, the wind brushes lightly against my ears. Rippling water gently laps against me in the wake of the swimmer’s movements. My tow float[2] bobs patiently behind my left shoulder, my faithful inflatable swim buddy.

I am right where I need to be. 

I am not ready to join the slow stream of swimmers passing me by, stepping, lunging and diving into the water, leaving me at the pontoon’s edge.

I remain still, unwilling to swim.

Eventually, I open my eyes and take in my surroundings. Before me, beyond the L-shaped pontoon, the vast expanse of glistening water occupies swimmers doing their laps. Tall, metallic apartment blocks stand guard, reflecting the sun’s glare on mirrored windows.

Legs floating at the surface, I rouse the rippling water at my feet, flutter kicking, creating my own small volcanic eruption at the surface of the water. The clear water bubbles and flows over my feet like cold, clear lava. I slow my kicks to a stop, marvelling at my toes as one foot plunges under and the other reappears. How can this water movement fascinate me so? I’m playing twinkle toes with warming waters and I cannot help but smile.

Soon this simple pleasure will not be possible.

More people will show up for their summer swims, bringing excitement, anticipation and chatter. For those of us who crave it, peace will be harder to achieve. The cold winter months kept these swimmers away and the sun’s increasing power will bring them out in droves.

I won’t be able to sit and breathe in my surroundings like this.

Swimmers will be exiting the water at the exact spot where I now lie and I will be in their way. My presence and moments of peace will be an obstruction to the swimmers who clamber up the sloped pontoon, legs adjusting to vertical movement back on land.

I won’t be able to get away with this stillness.

I’ll either be asked to move or I’ll feel the pressure of their expectation that I should move as they swim towards me. I’ll have no choice but to accept that their need to exit the water takes priority over my need to sit soaking up the sun’s rays, wallowing in the water’s goodness.

I cannot stop the change in season. I cannot will the water to resist the sun’s warmth. It’s a new era and I must embrace it.

I remain at the pontoon’s edge, hands planted, body afloat, enjoying the sun’s warm rays for as long as I can.

Let me enjoy this quiet contentment until the summer swimmers descend.

[1] Pontoon: buoyant or fixed decking (usually made of wood) that sits on top of the water. Here, I am sat on an extension of the pontoon that slopes into the water.

[2] Skins: an open water swimming term for a swimmer who wears only a conventional swimsuit, bikini or shorts when swimming.

[3] Tow float: a brightly coloured inflatable water aid that swimmers attach around their waist so they can be seen when swimming in open water (as pictured). It trails behind as you swim. At some open water venues, it is mandatory.