Plunging with pride

As Pride Swim returns for its second year and expands to multiple venues across the UK, reader Jem Collins heads to the Canary Wharf event

I’ve always loved swimming – but I’ve always hated races. Swimming was something I did for fun and adventure. But, somehow, somewhere along the way, it always turns to racing.

You hit your pre-teens and no longer are you learning to swim and tying your pyjamas in a buoyant knot, but asked to race against each other in a humid leisure centre. When my time at the village community pool came to a close, I gave the club a hard pass.

I wouldn’t find swimming again until my mid-twenties when I stumbled across London Field Lido in 2018. It was the same city that also gave me my first Pride event three years earlier. So, when Pride Swim announced a swim that was proudly not a race, it felt like it was meant to be.

It doesn’t matter if you dip or swim 1,000 metres

Launched in 2023 at Love Open Water’s London Royal Docks, Pride Swim is first and foremost a social swim to bring the queer community together. Speaking to me ahead of the event, founder Polly Schute explains: “It doesn’t matter whether you take a dip in the water or whether you do 1,000 metres. It’s all about participation.

“One of the key drivers was also the fact that there are 250 Prides in the UK, but they tend to be focused around crowded streets and alcohol; I just believe there’s a different space that people want to celebrate in.”

Much like Schute, I love attending Pride; it’s a liberating feeling to exist without judgement. But rarely do I leave with new friendships; my most reliable companions across the years are the three for £5 tinnies at Tesco.

In contrast, Pride Swims centres around a swim session that works for you, followed by a social. Half of the events this year are hosted at open-air venues; half are family-focused events held in partnership with leisure centre operator Everyone Active.

At Canary Wharf my £25 entry fee includes an electric pink swim hat, a medal, canapés, and up to three hours of social swimming. Or, if you’re built differently to me, there’s an optional 400-metre race to kick things off.

An electric start

I’m just a Tube stop away from the event when I see the first flashes of lightning. London, in the grip of a summer heatwave, has been sweltering for days. Today is the day it breaks.

When I arrive at the venue, nestled between the glass skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, there’s a dishevelled group huddled under an overhanging building. No one has yet been allowed in, but plenty are in swimsuits. One swimmer nervously checks their watch; they’ve a set time to leave ahead of an early flight tomorrow.

Like any responsible venue, Love Open Water has stringent safety policies around lightning, Pride Swim or not. As you may remember from your GCSEs, lightning aims for the path of least resistance to the ground. Often, but not always, this means the tallest thing in the area, which could be your head bobbing above the water.

Science also tells us that water can act as a conductor; meaning if you’re in the water and the lightning strikes a little way away, it could still harm you. Finally, given that it can strike some 10 miles away from the main storm, Love Open Water’s 30 minutes clear rule makes a lot of sense.

Sheltering landside, I joke that we need a countdown clock. It goes down alright and it’s a good opportunity to start chatting with my fellow swimmers, but I can feel the nervous energy; we want this swim to happen. When we’re finally given the three-minute countdown it all happens in a rush; I scramble to get changed into my costume, tow-float and hat. I tell myself it will be a success even if I only submerge myself for a few minutes. First, the racers pile in and as the rain continues to pour, the social swimmers finally hit the dock.

Swimming is the connector, not the focus

It’s a short 200-metre course and for the first lap, I storm around in an effort to get my money’s worth. By the time I reach the second, I relax; the sun is now glinting against the towers above.

In many ways, Pride Swim is unlike any event I’ve swum before. For a start, it’s smaller, meaning neither the water nor the social feel intimidating. There are no timing chips or set distances; it’s entirely up to me how far I swim. Ahead, I see a pair of breaststrokers chatting.

When my swim is complete I’m directed to nearby Italian bar Amerigo Vespucci. It’s undoubtedly the best post-swim event food I’ve ever had; plates are stacked with fresh bruschetta, arancini and sausages. My personal favourite is a bread topped with feta and mushrooms.

As I eat, I notice more people drinking hot chocolate than beer – and the conversation feels better for it. We chat about swimming through the winter, how it’s nice to be at a Pride where no one’s hitting on you, and someone shows me a live feed of their dog. As I leave, it dawns on me that here, perhaps swimming is the human connection, rather than the focus.