4 minute read

“This Girl Can” Swim in a Pond

Whenever I babble to any random Londoner that I love open water swimming, usually the next question is:

“Have you swam in Hampstead Ponds?”

Until recently, the answer was no.  

Swimming in Hampstead Ponds, or the “Ponds” as most people say, seems to be a quintessential English thing to do. If you live in London and enjoy swimming outdoors, then you simply muuuuust swim in the Ponds. For some reason, I thought the Ponds were far … like somewhere in Hammersmith, West London. Don’t laugh! I made that naïve link as Hampstead and Hammersmith, share the first syllable. I said don’t laugh. Now that my cultural capital has increased, I can tell you that Hamstead Heath Ponds are located in North-West London, in the borough of Camden. Early one April morning, I managed to follow my sat nav app to the Ponds without any hiccups.

After a short walk along an unpaved pathway, I arrive at the rusty black gates of Kenwood Ladies’ Pond. As I lift the grey-white rope designed to keep dogs (and men?) out, I look up and take in the magnificent greenery. Terrifically tall trees, unfurling pretty plants and unkempt shrubbery line the pathway to the Ladies’ Pond. There’s a bit of mystery, as for obvious reasons, you can’t see the pond from the gate. With a spring in my step, I walk to the end of the pathway, intrigued and excited to finally be so close to the iconic Ladies’ Pond. I am greeted by a friendly woman inside a raised cabin, and in two ticks, I’ve tapped my Monzo card on her contactless card reader for a whopping total of £4.25.

I’m all set for a swim in the famous Ponds.

By the time I’m make my way back up the very same pathway to leave, I’m 100% convinced it was £4.25 well spent.

Apart from ladies’ toilets, female changing rooms and women only sauna sessions, it’s quite rare to be in a space where only women are allowed. Frankly, I’m not bowled over by this realisation because my open water swims, although female heavy, are always mixed. It’s what I’m used to. We’re often told it’s a good idea to try things we aren’t used to, and on this occasion, I must say that on that early April morning, I really enjoyed the calm and quiet of swimming with only a handful of women.

Apart from the concrete deck, wooden changing cabins and sturdy steel ladders to enter and exit the water, we were totally surrounded by nature. Ensconced, the still body of the Ladies’ Pond awaits warm bodies to invigorate, soothe and ignite.

That morning, the water is 9 degrees, so I take precautions and ask the female lifeguard to make sure that I don’t stay in any longer than fifteen minutes. With raised eyebrows and a gentle manner, she checks that I’ve swam in such low temperatures before. She knows that anything below 15 degrees is classified as cold-water swimming, so understandably, she needs to check that I know what I’m doing. Now I do, but I don’t think I actually knew the 15-degree rule when I first started open water swimming … Instead, I learnt the hard way when I suffered from the worst after drop after swimming in 8.1-degree water for far too long and for the first time (more on that to come).

I take my time backwards stepping down the ladder into the chilly, calm pond. Holding onto the ladder rail wrapped in shredding brown rope, I let my body acclimatise to the thrill of cold water.

It’s just me and the water, I cannot focus on anything else.

That’s the beauty of cold-water swimming: when you immerse your warm body into the cold, your brain is 100% tuned into effects of cold water on the largest organ on your body, your skin. It’s literally impossible to think of anything else in that moment. Some people manage cold water immersion serenely, barely gasping as the body reacts naturally to cold-water shock. Some people scream, some hoot with laughter and I’ve heard more than a few water F-bombs hollered into the air. Either way, we all do it, we get in and we swim. It doesn’t matter for how long or the distance we cover, the point is, we swim.

As I begin my first lap of the pond, I do understand why all those people asked me if I’d swam here before. In every direction I look, I see varying shades of glorious green, and in the middle of all this beauty, is me, swimming.

I am blessed.

I spot another Black woman steadily breast-stroking her way around the pond. She smiles warmly, a connection is made: we are here.

I frolic, turning on my back and kicking. My cork-coloured legs are bottle brown in the water. Fascinated, I float on my back, head raised, watching my legs pump in the brown depths of the pond.

I am alive.

I am present.

I am safe.

I give thanks.

I put off going to the Ponds because it sounded too far and terribly posh. I’ll return to the Ponds because it’s neither of those things. I’ll be going back for the calm, the gentle laps and the feminine energy that demands nothing of me.

Something to watch to get a feel of the Ponds:

The Ponds, Netflix documentary (2018)