Swimming in the rain
“It’s raining” you said, but I still want to go for a walk. “I’m not made of sugar,” you exclaimed. I chuckled. A man after my own heart.
8am. I looked at the weather forecast. 100% chance of rain, air temperature 12C. I packed my swimming bag, jumpers, merino top, scarf and hat, put my mac on, and headed out of the door. I was already wet by the time I arrived at West Reservoir: my wooly hat covered with dew-like beads of water, my trainers damp from puddles splashed through as I rushed along the pavement towards the reservoir. A perfect day for a swim?
Here in London it’s May, but we’re still waiting for mild spring weather. The temperature in the reservoir climbed one day last month to the heady heights of 13C, but in the last week it has resolutely dropped again and hovers now between 11C and 12C. Some days the sun shines making it seem warmer, and others — like today — you take what you are given.
You think I’d like the magical, sunny, blue-skied, swift-flying, heart-soaring days better. But this wet Saturday was as near perfect as it could be. The rain beat down hard on the water’s surface, smoothing down the waves, making the water was as flat as it has ever been. The sky was heavy with water — the same liquid grey as the reservoir — making it hard to tell where one finished and the other began.
A sprinkling of orange tow floats punctuated the grey, marking swimmers steadily processing around the course. I gingerly tiptoed down the ramp and into the water, gasping as my shoulders dipped below the surface. Swimming out and past the 100m, 200m and 300m buoys, eventually turning around and heading back towards the start of the course. My goggles steamed slightly, adding an extra watery mist of grey. In the middle of the lake, surrounded by it all, the water and air blurred into one another, enveloping me in it’s saturated watery denseness. Another loop, and another, and another. Time stood still. I was perfectly at one with my surroundings. By the time I’d finished four loops, the rain had lifted, normality resumed. Was it all a hazy dream?
I don’t need blue skies and sunshine. Sure, they have their place, they lift your spirits and make you beam with a special sunny-day glow. But for the pure grim, cool, narrowing of your horizons, a certain tunnel vision, a total submission to the elements, give me a rainy swim any day. You see: I’m not made of sugar.
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