29th March 2021 - Homecoming
The Hampstead Heath Swimming Ponds re-opened today after several months closure due to Covid-19 lockdown restrictions. Over the past few days I’ve felt a visceral sense of anticipation at the thought of swimming again.
Today I swam at 7:30AM. It was reliably exhilarating. A familiar and inimitable sensation. But I also felt an unexpected sense of peace on this return to the pond.
***
Before swimming, I sit in the meadow, sipping from my thermos and listening to the sounds of the pond. Spring birdsong, both intricate and hoarse. The regular squeal of the gate on its hinges. The thrum and roar of aircraft just above thick white cloud cover. Indistinct conversation and laughter bouncing off the water. The occasional admonition of a lifeguard.
I am deeply reassured by the permanence of this place. The pond and this wild swimming ritual seem timeless and unchanged. I feel peaceful.
And simultaneously I am surprised by a surge of memories of past swims. Sorrowful, heartbreak-healing swims. Joyful, celebratory swims. A few swims with company, but mostly solitary swims. Summer swims with ducklings and winter swims through coca-cola water. This place holds many memories, and simultaneously the potential for infinite future swims, each different depending on the weather, the season, the company - both human and avian. I begin a new experience…
As I descend the steps into the water one of the lifeguards asks me if I have been swimming during lockdown. I pause.
“Just one swim in the Thames.”
“Don’t stay in too long then. You’ll feel fantastic, but then hypothermia will set in.”
My toes already submerged and smarting, I agree to a quick lap. I take two steps backwards down the ladder and then turn to face the empty, undulating pond. It is a pallet of green and brown, interrupted only by orange life rings and white floats. Two mallards, duck and drake, drift lazily along the left bank.
As I launch myself into the water I realise that I am smiling. The cold surrounds me and electrifies me. My heart feels bigger than normal. It is only in this moment that I realise just how much I’ve missed this.
After leaving the water and returning to the meadow, I notice that the sense of peacefulness returns. I feel still and warm and content. I feel like this for the rest of the day.
***
I like the notion of writing “to taste life twice” (Anaïs Nin). I usually write to relive and digest experiences. When writing about swimming, I relive it in more detail. I notice things that seemed peripheral and fleeting at the time. The quality of light, the mood of the sky, a thought that I had while walking to the pond. In describing the physical sensations of getting undressed in the muddy meadow or stepping into icy water, I have to tune in more deeply to exactly what it felt like. The more I write about swimming, the more mindful the experience seems to become. So I’m going to write a little about my swims over the next month and see what it is like.
