I've never been a keen swimmer. As a seven year old I was signed up for classes with the aptly named Miss Haddock, who somehow managed to coax me through my 5 and 10 metre badges. But I never really learnt to feel the love for swimming. In my view the water was too cold, too chorinated/salty and just too, well, wet. During my teens I dreaded swimming lessons at school, what with the indignity of communal changing rooms and the disastrous effect of pool chemicals on my frizz-inclined locks. And in my early 20s the only time I'd ever venture near the sea or a pool was on holidays abroad where there were plenty of sunbeds and the temperature was at least 25 degrees.
However it turns out opposites really do attract. I married someone who adored everything about watersports. My husband Andrew couldn't wait to introduce our three children to the joys of swimming. On family holidays his sea-monster antics in villa pools across Europe were the stuff of legend. His favourite trick was to do a massive bellyflop into the water as close as possible to wherever I was sunbathing (how did we stay married for 47 years?) And he dined out many a time on the story of being given a final warning by a lifeguard in Uckfield Leisure Centre for his over-exuberant behaviour in the pool, then aged 46. Even as his health became limited by Parkinsons Disease, he still managed to swim a fine front crawl to help his muscle tone and coordination, and was quick to broadcast to all how many lengths he'd clocked up.
Some months after Andrew exited life, my family and I were discussing our forthcoming trip to the Isle of Skye to celebrate my 70th birthday. It didn't take long for the conversation to turn to the thorny topic of finding challenges for me to tackle. The pasta-making task described in a previous post (see Task 71) had already been flagged up for action. My daughter-in-law Liz, an enthusiastic open-air swimmer, came up with a new suggestion. 'I think you should have a dip in the sea' she proposed. 'It'll be pretty warm in September' she added blithely, 'Probably at least 12 degrees'. Needless to say I shuddered in horror at the very idea and was about to decline gracefully....but then I thought of Andrew's life-affirming attitude towards water pursuits. I took a deep breath. 'I'll do it' I said, 'but only if I can have a sauna first'. A rather fine survival strategy thought up on the hoof, if I may say so.
Lucy did her research on saunas by the sea in Skye and sourced a very promising Scandi-influenced outfit near Portree called Staffin Sea Sauna. Its website extolled the virtues of combining the healing effects of a wood-fired sauna with the rejuvenating power of cold water therapy. 'Plunge, dook, dip or swim in the clear, sheltered water just a stone's throw from the sauna's door' it enthused. Lucy duly booked an hour-long slot for Liz, herself and me. The die was cast.
And so it was that in mid-September, I checked into Staffin Sea Sauna. My trusty support team, Liz and Lucy, were at my side to make sure I didn't do a runner. The weather was, er, changeable. The sky was heavy with clouds, the outside temperature was a mere 14 degrees and a stiff breeze was whipping up the waves. Not surprisingly I was feeling more than a little apprehensive. I wasn't sure that I'd go ahead and do any plunging, dooking or dipping. But the sauna? Yay, bring it on guys.
The sauna was steamy and hot with stunning views across Staffin Bay. I felt totally protected from the elements. Perfect. Well done me for shoe-horning it into the task. I was ready to spend my entire hour luxuriating in the warmth. Until, that is, the air began to heat up big-time. The thought of having a dip in the sea rapidly became more attractive. And a few further hot and super sweaty minutes later I couldn't wait to throw open the sauna door and make a beeline for those lovely cooling waters. Within seconds I was marching purposefully down the slippery slipway, my support team right behind me filming my every move (an unnerving experience it has to be said).
The waves were lapping choppily around the base of the slipway as I reached the water's edge. The air was already chilling my sauna-sizzled limbs. The sea looked grey, icy and very uninviting. I reached out for Liz's hand and instantly felt her reassuring grip. With Liz at my side I stepped into the shallows and began to ease myself slowly into the 12 degree waters. Once waist-deep I found it quite difficult to catch my breath. I mean, let's face it, 12 degrees is COLD. 'Just keep breathing as slowly and deeply as you can' Liz told me. The tone of her voice was calm and soothing, and my breathing rate settled a little. I immersed my chest....then my shoulders.....and then eek......I lost my foothold on the slimy slipway and briefly disappeared under the water completely. That move was well outside my comfort zone I can tell you. But I doggy-paddled like crazy and after a few nano-seconds my feet made contact with solid ground again. Phew. Liz and I emerged from the waves together and waved our arms in the air. Hurrah! The task was complete, I was still alive and Lucy had recorded every moment of my 'epic' achievement.
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As Liz and I walked back up the slipway, I made a big discovery. The 14 degree air felt warm to my skin. Who knew? No shivering, chattering of teeth or sense of having undergone some trauma. I felt refreshed, exhilarated and positively alive. Apparently this sensation is called the 'post-swim glow' and I can definitely recommend it. Indeed I liked the experience so much that after another few minutes in the sauna I had another quick dip, this time with Lucy (well done for taking the plunge Lucy!) I like to think Andrew was watching our antics from some celestial pool bar and raised a glass to my success. Maybe he even did a little belly-flop too. Always in my thoughts H.
POSTSCRIPT
I cannot lie, I've delayed publishing this post for months. I was quite convinced that after having such a positive open-air swimming session, I'd want to repeat the process locally. I had it in mind to visit our open-air pool in Lewes, the renowned Pells Pool, during the summer and then boast in this blog about being a late-life convert to the virtues of swimming in the elements. But here we are at the tail-end of summer, and not once have I donned my costume since last September. Maybe it was just a once-off task after all? But if so, at least now I have better insight into what prompts people to swim in open-air waters at all times of the year and in any weather conditions. Open-air swimmers - I salute you. And never say never......
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