Do I actually like cold water swimming?

Cold nipples, good friends and all the things that lurk under the surface

Last week I went swimming for the first time this year. I picked up my friend Emily just after 7am and we drove the 10ish minutes to Lake Windermere. It started to rain just as we’d reluctantly began stripping off so we dashed into the doorway of the boathouse in an attempt to keep our warm layers dry. Sadly this endeavour wasn’t particularly successful and Emily’s hat ended up in the water before we did thanks to a gust of wind.

After the attempted hat rescue and some general faffing around, it was time to get in. I was, of course, wearing the official wild swimmer’s uniform of swimming costume, woolly hat and neoprene gloves and socks. A lot of huffing and puffing and swearing took place before I eventually got my shoulders under. I managed definitely-not-more-than two minutes of breast stroking and deep breathing before calling it a day.

Back in the boathouse doorway I put on twice the amount of clothes I’d arrived in, failed to stuff my useless fingers into my gloves and then made E…