Bluetits, Blue Gyms and Greenspace

One of the many (too many!) outdoor and wild swimming groups I am a member of on FaceBook, is a local outpost of an organisation called the Bluetits, which is a good example of the lovely humour and sense of community of swimming groups in my experience. The logo for the group (below) is a playful picture of a blue bird, dressed chastely in a red, polka-dot swimsuit. But anyone who has gone swimming in an outdoor body of water in Great Britain in the winter knows that the name references a routine side-effect of the act as well.

Not that any of us are looking. We're all pretty adept at getting changed back into warm clothes after a cold dip, without flashing the wildlife too much, using a range of techniques, towels, and the sitting-down wiggle. A favourite piece of equipment, although somewhat divisive, is a changing robe, often referred to by the most common brand name of Dryrobe. These practical, if not flattering, items of clothing, have become quite divisive, with a recent sign at a Irish beach actually attempting to ban them (https://www.theguardian.com). While I suspect that the "ban" is tongue-in-cheek, it does represent some of the tensions in the wild swimming community between established swimmers and newcomers. 

Even the name of the activity represents different factions - some of the old-school types say that swimming outdoors in natural bodies of water is just swimming, since it is something they have done since childhood without thinking of it as anything fancy or new-fangled; others distinguish between wild, open and outdoor swimming, since the bodies of water can be man-made or in an outdoor lido; and, others emphasize the cold-water aspect. Similarly, there is a huge range of types of swimmers, from serious-minded triathletes decked out in layers of neoprene, working on their mileage for their next event, to groups of middle-aged women who gather for a quick "swimble" or dip, before sharing cake and giggles on the shore or bank of their preferred swim spot. There are men who swim lightheartedly, too, but they are definitely in the minority, and although all age-groups are represented there is also definitely a skewing of the demographics towards the later stages of life. As an example, a recent post on one of the swim group chats was about whether cold-water swimming helped to mitigate hot flushes or not. To be honest, I am quite impressed with the men who navigate those sorts of chats graciously, to join in. 

Another feature of wild swimmers, in my experience, is openness and inclusivity. You can't really be too shy if you are fumbling back into clothes after a dip in front of someone who, until 20 minutes earlier was a complete stranger. And there is something about submerging yourself in ice cold water that equalises everyone, and breaks down barriers. So I may not know a fellow swimmer's last name, but I know that they swim to ease their PTSD. Or I may know that someone I met five minutes beforehand has had a pacemaker fitted, since she cheerily told me what to do if there was a problem with it as we were getting in to the river, and that another new swim buddy has chronic fibromyalgia, that is only eased by cold-water swimming.

I can't give you statistics, but anecdotally, a very high number of wild swimmers have chronic mental or physical health conditions. It is no coincidence, therefore, that during 2020, and especially during both British lockdowns, there has been a huge influx of wild swimmers, and membership of all the online groups has soared. I am sure that some of this is due to the frustrations of many that they can no longer go to the gym or local swimming pool for exercise. But I believe that the increased numbers and passion of these new swimmers may be also due to the fact that many are drawn to and stick with the activity when they find that it lifts their spirits and eases their pain. Most outdoor swimmers have discovered for themselves what science is only just beginning to investigate and validate - that cold-water immersion seems to have all kinds of health benefits, especially for those with chronic conditions.

A beautiful, pre-COVID example of such a discovery was chronicled in a short documentary film I saw recently, called 100 Days of Vitamin Sea. In the film, a young woman who suffers from horrendous, chronic migraines, which are unresponsive to even the strongest painkillers, found relief from the frequency and severity of her affliction through daily cold-water dips in the sea off the coast of North Wales. It is a moving, and fascinating account, and in it, she and her partner, who is the film-maker, and who also accompanied her on her swims, try to find out if there is any science behind their discovery. They are led to a researcher called Professor Mike Tipton, who works at the University of Portsmouth, and originally studied cold-water swimming and cold-shock due to his concern about the dangers of the activity. In the process, he started to hear about the benefits that many swimmers report, and use to justify an activity which, in his opinion, was unnecessarily dangerous.

Dr. Tipton has researched the anti-inflammatory effects of cold-water shock, as well as the effect of vagus nerve and trigeminal nerve stimulation. He theorises that these mechanisms may be involved in some of the benefits that swimmers report. Meanwhile, Professor Giovanna Malluci, here in Cambridge, has discovered that proteins expressed by mice in response to cold-shock, and which appear to have neuroprotective effects against aging and dementia, are also up-regulated in cold-water swimmers. So cold-water therapy may be good at preventing cognitive decline in old-age. Of course, some might argue that the desire to immerse yourself in cold, muddy rivers already indicates a degree of cognitive decline, or at least some kind of madness, so clearly I may not be the best judge of that! But I do have a vested interest in finding out more about the science behind my mad hobby.

In a webinar panel to promote 100 Days of Vitamin Sea at its premiere, Dr. Tipton complained that one of the challenges of studying the effects of wild swimming was that there are so many elements of the activity that could be beneficial: the health benefits of exercise have been well-documented, there is ample evidence that exposure to nature has positive mental health effects (Mind.org), and there is also evidence that time spent in or near water has further benefits (blue gym). For example, did you know that it has been documented that people who live in coastal areas of Britain are generally happier and healthier than those who don't? (The Blue Gym Initiative).

Of course, Dr. Tipton's scientific dilemma made me chuckle, because it is also the reason why so many of us fall in love with outdoor swimming in the first place.... we are getting all of these benefits at once. That is also why, despite his concerns about the dangers of open-water swimming, many of us will continue to pursue the activity, even while understanding the risks. It will be interesting to see how many of the COVID lockdown newbies keep up the habit after gyms and pools reopen more reliably... my hunch is that some will, if not all of them.

In the meantime, I am due to meet two other Bluetits at my favourite swim spot tomorrow morning. I have not met them before, but connected with them because they live locally and were asking for recommendations of places to swim. All I know about them is that they are passionate about getting into wild bodies of water, no matter how cold, and I know that whether we become long-term friends or not, we immediately have a strong bond, and will have fun together. Not a bad start to any friendship... 

Polar Bear in the Fens

 

Today, I shrugged off my early winter blues, pulled on a swim suit and drove out to a remote little village on the banks of the River Cam, downstream from Cambridge in the Fens. This spot is so remote, that the pub nearby is called The Five Miles From Anywhere. The scene that was greeting me was what the Scots would call driech -- foggy and damp. There was a certain, mystical beauty in the way that the river merged with the sky, in a blanket of condensation on a very short horizon. But nobody in their right mind would call it an inviting prospect for slipping in to the river for a swim. I took a picture as I waited for my friend, Catheryn to arrive. When she did, apologising for being late, like I had been, we commiserated about the lack of sunshine that had been forecast. 

"I wouldn't have come if we hadn't arranged to meet," she admitted. I agreed. It wasn't the first time that we had made this admission to each other in this very spot. 

We sighed, and then started stripping down to our swimsuits on the river bank. I was undressed first, and, not being willing to stand around in the damp long enough to think about what I was doing, I stepped off the grassy bank into the water. I took a few tentative steps, avoiding the big rock that I had stubbed my toe on once or twice before, but which was easily spotted in today's clear-glass, still surface, and then pushed out into the water. I puffed and panted a bit, and tried to convince myself and Catheryn that it really wasn't that bad, before deciding that it really was quite bad, and shut up to concentrate on forcing my arms and legs into a stilted breaststroke. 

After making my way about 40-50 meters into and along the middle of the water, I glanced back at the bank to see how Catheryn was doing. She was picking her way carefully down the slipway, into the water. With neoprene boots on, her feet were a little more protected from the slippery edges of the concrete tiles, so she could take a more gradual approach to the water than I had. But we both knew that whatever approach you use, at 3 degrees Celsius air temperature and about 8 degrees water temperature, on a murky November day in England, the cold shock of immersing yourself in a natural body of water was literally breathtaking. I trod water for a while, and then swam back towards Catheryn a little, waiting for her to catch up. Part of the reason for swimming with a friend, beyond the safety element, was to share the moment of shock and awe.

By the time Catheryn caught up with me, my skin was getting numb, and a delicious tingling feeling had taken over. I was breathing a little more naturally as well, and was able to appreciate the view of a serene swan gliding into the mist ahead. The surface of the water felt completely still. The joy was setting in.

"Okay?" I checked with Catheryn. 

"Yep. You?" she responded. When your breath is short, conversation can be terse. 

"Yep." 

I turned and we breaststroked further up the river, approaching the bend up ahead.

"Don't think I'm going to get to the tree today." Catheryn commented, referring to our usual turning point. Or, what had been our usual turning point in earlier months, when the water was a few degrees warmer.

"That's fine. Me neither," I reassured her.

As we made our way under the power lines, we chatted a bit more, our breath coming a little easier, although we both decided that we weren't in the mood for submerging our faces today. A sedate, heads-up breaststroke was better for conversation anyway.

"That's about 6 minutes," Catheryn pointed out, "better turn around."

"Okay," I agreed. 

As we are still acclimatising to the colder temperatures, we are careful to keep track of our time in the water. Catheryn tends to stick to about 10 minutes, I sometimes push it a minute or two longer. I have more of what wild swimmers jokingly refer to as "bioprene" than Catheryn, who is generally fitter and leaner than me. While some swimmers wear wetsuits, made of neoprene, Catheryn and I are relying on our natural, bodily insulation layers to keep us protected from the cold. Hence, biological "neoprene" or "bioprene".

After doing my first winter dips back in January, as a sort of New Year's challenge to myself, and then enjoying wild, outdoor swimming more and more over the summer and autumn, I signed up, in a moment of madness, to the Polar Bear Challenge this winter. Polar Bears commit to swimming in open water at least twice a month from November to March, at different levels, which correspond to different distances they have to complete. There is a Penguin level, which allows swimmers to wear any or all layers of neoprene or other synthetic layers that they want. But all of the other levels of Polar Bears commit to wearing nothing other than a standard swimsuit, and a latex swim cap. I am doing the Gold level of the challenge -- which means at least two swims a month of 250m or more, and a total of 5000m over the whole 5 months. The advice from MamaBear (Pauline Barker, a champion ice swimmer who sends out helpful and encouraging weekly missives) is to do more of your distance for Gold in November and December, as there is a lag in water cooling compared to air temperatures, so the really cold water temperatures do not happen until February or March.

At 2300m so far, after today's estimated swim distance (thanks to Google maps), I am on track for the Gold level so far, as long as I keep getting in the water. As someone who was pretty competitive about distances and times a long time ago in my youth, this is a very different kind of challenge. But since then I have had injuries and illnesses that have made it hard for me to recognise my own body, and it is a relief and a strange delight to challenge myself in a different way. Swimming 250m is barely a warm-up for most athletes, but most of those same athletes might think I am crazy for doing it in sub-10 degree water in nothing but my swimsuit. This challenge is less about athletic achievement for me, and more about my desire to move my body, and reconnect with the natural world. 

In the last year I have developed signs of a chronic disease, which has brought new experiences of chronic pain and fatigue. As well as being challenging physically, that has caused mental struggles as I have tried to figure out what that means about my self-identity and self-respect. Swimming gives me some freedom from the weight and pain, and the cold exerts a kind of magical analgesia on my pain, too. So, for now, I will be maintaining my transmogrification to Polar Bear, even if I still grumble on the riverbank before I get in.