The eternal New Year’s question was rattling around in my head: how to start the year with a bang?
My partner, Paul, does not love making a plan, so we had nothing organised. He values spontaneity and lives by the motto “there’s always tickets” which doesn’t necessarily wash with me. I wanted to have at least something in the bag for New Year and an opportune reminder of traditional festive dips in the newspaper led me to thinking how could I get a New Year’s dip in when I live about as far from the sea as is possible in the UK. Ah, the Midlands, handy for motorways to anywhere in the country, not so useful for quick seaside trips.
So, when I sprung the idea on him for a lido swim, I was astounded he readily agreed. This was early December, not two hours before we wanted to do the activity. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I booked a midday swim for January 1st and promptly forgot about it for the rest of the month; there were mince pies to eat and prosecco to drink after all.
There are some stunning open air pools and lidos around the UK, providing a chance to swim in safety but still benefitting from a relatively natural setting. I learned to swim in Ilkley Lido, spent my childhood splashing in the tidal pool on Perranporth beach and recently had my first dip into the well-loved Bude Sea Pool (It’s run by the Friends of Bude Sea Pool charity and donations are very welcome). The sea always comes first for me. I’d been body-boarding already, but before going home wanted to see what the pool had to offer. The answer was friendly sea pool charity workers with a selection of beanies, hoodies and other branded products to purchase and the same magnificent beach and cliff view without the choppiness of the sea, so if the waves are too wild (or these days if the sewage is too raw) the pool is perfectly placed for a serious swim in nature, or lots of tentative toe-dipping if it’s a colder day.
The glorious 1930s heyday for lidos saw them proliferate, but many outdoor pools closed as a result of competition from the rush for cheap, Mediterranean holidays in the 1970s and beyond. Luckily, most things come full circle, so an upturn in interest in outdoor swimming, the relentless rise of the well-being industry, some fierce community campaigning and a lot of restoration funding means many lidos in the UK are thriving again. We are a nation that loves a bit of suffering; we are stoics. Outside in a swimsuit on a grey winter’s day: no problem, as long as we can moan about how cold it is before we get in and award ourselves an achievement sticker once we get out. It’s character forming to suffer; we might yearn for sunshine but a few clouds and a single figure outside temperature won’t stop us from fighting the good fight (against the Christmas kilos).
And this is how we find ourselves sitting in the car outside the New Bath Hotel, Matlock at 11.58am debating whether the rain is too heavy to exit the car, let alone take outer layers of clothing off to get in the pool.
“I’m not driving all the way here, with a slight New Year’s Day headache, to not get in the pool. We’ve got to do it now we’re here” he says.
He has no experience of outdoor swimming, except some reluctant dips in the sea for my birthdays (in July, for heaven’s sake). He’s one of those ‘rush for the Mediterranean holidays’ type people who like their water at body temperature, with bubbles and a drink in hand. His version of being outdoorsy is coaching on the side of a kids football pitch, a noble quest but a padded jacket, bobble-hatted one.
“It’ll be miserable” I say, as the rain lashes on the windscreen and we can barely see out to the entrance of the hotel. He was adamant he was going, leaving me no choice but to go and at least look before making a decision whether to swim or not. I could hear voices before I could see the pool, so I knew people were in and swimming and I was going to have to join them.
Luckily, the rain slowed to a small patter and we chatted to the lifeguards while sizing the situation up. Some swimmers were in bobble hats, others in wetsuits. We just had swimsuits, but so did a couple of others, so we weren’t alone in our madness (or unpreparedness, call it what you will). Paul’s tactic was to tell every single person getting changed under the gazebos (changing rooms currently closed for refurbishment, although you are permitted to change in the hotel washrooms if you want) that he really didn’t want to do this, thus delaying his entry into the pool by about half the allotted time we had for swimming. “This is way outside my comfort zone” he proclaimed to anyone who would listen. The swimmers were an exceptionally friendly bunch and encouraged us with their platitudes of “it’s warmer at this end”, “It’s really quite pleasant when you’ve done a couple of lengths” and “you’ll feel great when you get out”.
We just had to get in.
I went first, at a smart pace, swam two lengths in the slow lane, always fearing the fast swimmers in the other lanes, before declaring it absolutely fine. It was actually 17 degrees, so not cold at all. Getting across the freezing patio slabs was the hardest part and the water felt good after standing goose-pimply on the side. Paul eventually entered the pool, standing with his arms high above the water level, the universal sign for ‘this water is freezing, I don’t want to get any more of me wet’. He took a few aborted attempts to get his shoulders under, but then he was off and away, with a beaming smile on his face.
The bookable sessions are 30 minutes long and at this time of year, feeling a bit bleary, that is plenty, although in the height of summer, reserving a sunlounger next to the pool would definitely be in order (you know, flinging your towel on it, so no-one else can muscle in), there’s such a feeling of luxury and languor in having a sunny sunlounger snooze after a dip.
Our biggest post-swim issue was getting changed quickly and ensuring we kept warm. We both piled on the layers, and that is when the euphoria hit. Paul couldn’t believe how alert he felt, what a tingly sensation he had through his body or how incredibly alive he was. Exclaiming “I’ve never had this feeling before”, he could not stop thanking everyone in the pool for their encouragement and being delighted at his own fortitude. His exhilaration definitely put a smile on both of our faces for the remainder of the day. With a hop and a skip, we were off to the local cafe for a hot drink and a sandwich, both really chuffed with ourselves for our New Year’s Day adventure. I’m hoping this is the start of a tradition.
