onionbagblog

The first lovely lido swim of the new season, and oh woe me without my wetsuit.

Whoops.

Fifteen degrees is generally recognised as the acceptable water temperature for a shreddies appearance, rather then the wetsuit rubber fetish faffing about. I arrived poolside to find the clear blue waters at Lake Brockwell hovering around 14.5 degrees.

Ouch.

Hey hoe. I pressed on ahead with the Walk of Trepidation past the Lido Cafe and towards the deep end. You have already done the hard part by simply turning up at the lido - you are going to swim rather than bugger off back to base.

But nothing prepares you for that first lido headfuck of the season as you dive into the water, and immerse yourself in the most refreshing hangover experience that South London has to offer.

My head started to throb as soon as I emerged towards the surface of the pool. No surprises to find that there was an absence of throbbing action down below inside my shreddies.

All immediate memories was erased. This is perhaps the reason why so many people are increasingly being won over by the benefits of a daily outdoor swim, rather than sweat it out in some soulless shoebox of a chlorine infested indoor pool.

Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs is your next consideration. You need to move your body, and you need to do it soon before your bits and pieces start to fall off. A pushing off from the pool edge and I was away. My brain could just about calculate that I had to keep on moving, else risk abandonment and defeat.

One length of the 50 metre / yard (still unsure) pool and mind and body were just about functioning. Time to push off again from the poolside and see if a return journey would be able to raise the body temperature slightly.

Four lengths in and I was flying. I reached the ideal equilibrium of allowing my body to feel fine, yet still be left in a slightly giddy state of conscience within. You want to empty EVERYTHING that is in your mind, and simply allow the twenty minutes or so of outdoor swimming to reboot your brain. I had a back up in the form of a hip flask, should the re-booting fail once I was finished.

Outdoor swimming is the superior activity for fitness. Put simply, you can’t hang about if you want to remain warm. I moved between the lengths, increasing in speed and confidence as memories of lido summers past, and possible thoughts for the future, echoed around the iconic art deco walls.

The ritual of lido life reminds you of your own life cycle. You see the same friendly faces each season, all wearing slightly expansive trunks and with a renewed vigour for the waters to wash away a woeful winter of cynicism.

Some might say that you are simply going through the motions, and in a way you are. Three strokes and then an intake of breath, rotating from left to right with each stroke, alternating the view and the ever changing lido landscape.

This was the same routine some eighteen summers ago - why change something that is so simple and life affirming?

I could have carried on for a couple of extra lengths, but commitments elsewhere were already counting down on the lido poolside clock. I showered, and then observed the wetsuit boys struggling to relieve themselves of a rubber casing. My shreddies were already packed away inside my towel.

Cheers, fellas.

The familiar cranking of the Brockwell Lido turnstile signaled my exit from the first swim of the season. It represents a mechanical notch on my aquatic bedpost.

You’ve achieved something - you’ve reaffirmed the lure of the lido.

Splendid.