Saturday 19th May Tooting Lido
(with many apologies to the genuine heroes of Tooting Lido - among the many Jenny Landreth
and of course The Aquatic Ape )
MG
I'm a little behind with the blogging as I did fit in a swim last weekend (13th May) - a boiling hot day at Burton Bradstock where I sunbathed and read for a few hours before striking off into the clear, cold water for a leisurely swim. It wasn't till I returned home that I realised that my legs didn't always have this peculiar go-faster stripe across my thighs; now branded, I'm going to have to contend with the ridicule for the rest of the summer - yet another good reason not to get sunburnt...
Today I wake up to what I thought was a well-planned day - a trip with EoD to the Tooting Lido on this it's first day open to the public in the new season. EoD blames miscommunication - I blame a yellow stripe - but one way or another I'm on my own. I extricate myself (having failed to convince my housemate who is horribly hungover that an ice cold dip will bring him right back up to par) from the house - and bounce along the roads to the Lido. Swinging through the turn-stile having paid up, I'm slightly taken aback to see not only not a single woman in the pool, but also, not a single person without a wetsuit. And not only wetsuited, but serious, hooded booted turbo wetsuited, passing me by in a blur of white water and churning arms. I'm getting a bad feeling about this. But what can I do? I've paid now and there's no way back.... like Roger Deakin on the shores of the Corryvreckan whirlpool, my swimming costume is suddenly feeling mightily inconsequential. But if there's one thing two years of year-round swimming have taught me, it's how to act confident in the face of certain error and possible imminent death. It's in or nothing.
I emerge from my cubicle where every single eye suddenly seems to be trained on me. In order to appear slightly less "I've gone on holiday by mistake" I ask a leathery old Lido expert ("I've swum through every winter since 1955" - actual quote) the temperature -12 degrees! I can't believe this is right - but I feel a lot less alarmed since the sea is still at a steady 9.5. I adopt an air of nonchalence, sauntering to the side, climbing in and submerging in one fluid movement. And the truth is, it really doesn't feel that cold. In fact it feels blissful and I glide away feeling very proud of myself.
Some lengths later, I feel less proud. 8 lengths of The Lido must be equivalent to 108 lengths of the Bridport leisure centre pool. It's the largest freshwater pool in the country (91.44 metres) and 8 non-stop lengths of front crawl has totally taken it out of me, despite the fact I do swim regularly in Bridport, and have a relative level of fitness. But I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the idea that if I get out now everyone (who?!) will think it's because of the cold. And it's not! I'm not cold! I'm fine! FINE! So I perservere for a few more lengths during which time - as well as the cold beginning to get into my bones - a) a woman in a wetsuit says "Blimey it's cold" does a double take and "Oh my god! You're not wearing a wetsuit!" b) some children thrown into the pool by a father in a fit of ill-placed exuberance emerge blue and shivering to their father attempting to justify his actions "Look at this lady! She's just wearing a costume and she's fine!" If I could get the breath into my lungs long enough to contradict I would.
As a possibly hallucinated flock of south London parakeets chatter overhead I decide I can get out with dignity. I am not only freezing cold and mottled but also completely exhausted. I'm now concerned that I am going to die before I make it off Lido property which will render the whole exercise pointless. Luckily, no. Walking home there's a roaring in my ears, but everything is suffused with a new beauty and calm - whether it's the relief of escaping alive, the blood returning to my brain, or the truly promising feeling of early summer - as always, it's been worth it.
