30th March 2021 - Glacier
Today it was 22˚C in London and it felt like overnight we’d entered a different reality: a pre-pandemic Summer heatwave.
My swimming companion and I set off for the Mixed pond at 11:00AM marvelling at the heat. “Do you remember, yesterday it was too cold to finish our coffees outside? That icy wind. Remember?”. The sky was vivid and the air smelled full and more complex.
Hampstead Heath seethed with an incongruous assortment of Londoners. Some extremely well prepared, in crop tops and shorts, sunglasses and bikinis. Others sweating in wooly jumpers and looking bemused. We stripped off layers walking up Parliament Hill, and by the time we reached the top, we were looking forward to cooling down in the water.
There was no queue for the mixed pond, but when we got inside, the narrow banks were crowded. Brand new bikinis, winter skin, and a strong aroma of suncream. Habituated to social distancing, I felt anxious picking my way between the towels. We found an empty square meter of ground and stripped off to our bathing suits quickly. Leaving our things hanging in a tree, we picked our way back to the jetty.
The pond was empty and glistening. A lone woman stood on the steps into the water and a lifeguard leaned against the railing of the jetty. We chatted to him briefly as we passed and when I looked back to the steps, the woman, now dripping wet, was quickly walking back towards us along the jetty. I was surprised that she was walking back this way instead of climbing the ‘exit’ steps, but didn’t realise why until I stepped into the water myself.
Disorientated by the Summertime atmosphere, I had forgotten that these were March waters, which just yesterday had carried the warning of hypothermia.
The feeling was stunning, again warping the reality of the day. It is not Summer, it is March, and the water is glacial and brilliant. For a moment I stood halfway down the steps, feeling the warmth of the sun contrast with the fierce cold of the water. And then I dove beneath.
I’ve been swimming in very cold water for long enough now that I can override the natural reaction, gasping and shrieking and moving quickly, quite easily. I take deep calm breaths in time with a slow breaststroke away from the steps and before I have gone halfway to the end of the pond I feel acclimatised. I complete the first lap with my fellow swimmer and the second alone.
The second time around I notice things more.
The way the water supports my body, lifting it, allowing it to move in ways that aren’t possible on land. I’ve missed this feeling during lockdown.
I imagine that the pond is very deep and that at its bottom is a blue-grey glacier, instead of mud.
At the surface the sunlight dances on the ripples I make.
Two mallards, this time two drakes, upend themselves to reach for something under the surface with their beaks. Their tails waggle in the dappled sunlight at the edge of the pond and when they resurface their heads are like emeralds.
When I get out of the water I am tingling all over, and strengthened.
