What better way to end the working week than to #drydive straight into the chilled waters of Lake Brockwell early on a Friday morning?
Um, how about staying in bed?
But with a BRILLIANT Transpontine sunshine breaking through and basking in the South London suntrap, To Brockwell Lido! …came the call for another early Icicle silliness session.
It wasn’t the most welcoming of sights to see the foreboding Lido sign warning of COLD showers only.
OUCH.
.@BrockwellLido watch: 6.2 degrees. COLD showers. uh-oh #drydiving pic.twitter.com/UZRnwRashc
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) December 6, 2013
But to be honest, once you have allowed the chilled waters of the lovely lido to penetrate your every pore [Oooh], then a cold shower is the least of your worries.
I’m not the type of man that smuggles a thermometer down the inside leg of my wetsuit, but I’d wager that the tepid temperature in the gents was significantly greater than the 6.2 degrees measured poolside as the Transpontine dawn did the early morning wake up thing.
This was an ACE lovely lido swim.
Is there ever anything else?
I timed my fashionably late (ish) arrival to perfection. The Selfishness of the Cold Water Swimmer - a winter novel that is a work in progress - dictates that the BEST lido days are when you have the glory of the 55 yard stretch all to yourself.
It was standing room only in the gents as I got my kit off, just as the other male Icicles were getting their strides back on again.
Always the Bridesmaid, never the Bride, or something.
The Brockwell blue water bruisers had been and done their thing. The lido was mine for the taking.
A dashing half-cut wetsuit to match the dashing half-cut hangover, and soon I was away. TWO caps, the silly webbed finger gloves and even the new addition of a pair of rubber swimming shoes.
What could possibly go wrong?
It’s all in the preparation; it’s all in the central cheating of the Ready Brek BEFORE you arrive at Lake Brockwell.
Ten lengths later and I was a spent force. I could have carried on for a couple more. My body was kicking to continue, whereas my mind was saying don’t be a silly so and so.
An ungracious stumble out of the water to match my earlier entry confirmed that I was fucked.
Falling over each time I exist the lido is becoming something of a Brockwell Icicles defining feature for this season.
It took me until past midday before I had warmed up again. I’m learning that the winter swim itself is not the problem; it is the tearful night before, and the uncontrollable shakes for the remainder of the morning that are a little unnerving.
If it's the sleep before a @BrockwellLido Icicles session then it must mean that I am crying. Catch you on the #drydiving cusp, Comrades.
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) December 5, 2013
But WOH.
What a buzz.
Many thanks to @iciclepete for capturing boy and black bondage interacting in perfect harmony. His sprint from the lovely Lido Cafe after seeing me all set for a #drydive, was almost with the same speed in which he glides through Lake Brockwell.
Some might say that he was poised, waiting for a poolside accident waiting to happen.
*some*