Why I swim

I’ve been swimming in the sea once a week since September: here’s why.

Every Wednesday, at high tide, I force myself into the water.

16 weeks ago it was 23 degrees.
Now it’s around 6.

It is horrible.
I shout and scream until I can catch my breath.
I emerge from the water shivering, skin burning.
After, I spend an hour coming back to life, cursing the time this wastes.

But If I enjoyed it, that would defeat the point.

You see I’ve read all about the benefits of ‘cold water swimming’.
And I know those who do it more regularly, for longer and with less gear than I.
(People, I should say, who don’t feel the need to write about every week.)

Because I’m not doing it for the health benefits.
Not the community.
Or the kudos.

I’m doing it so that for six minutes a week I can practice.
Something I need to get used to.
A skill I need to master.

Now more than ever before.

For six minutes on a Wednesday, I stand frigid in my swimmers on Tankerton Beach and force myself into the North Atlantic to get better at one thing:

Feeling brave.