Land beneath the waves

Writer Nic Wilson’s memoir, Land Beneath the Waves, is out this month. Here she shares her journey through wild swimming, chronic illness and rediscovering joy in nature’s embrace

A few years ago, when my kids were young, I watched them having fun in the local outdoor pool with my husband. While they all played together, I sat on the side, crying. It was cold out of the water and I felt completely overwhelmed by the noise and commotion of the summer holiday swimming season. Although I wanted nothing more than to jump in and join them, I felt frozen to the spot. Helpless. I just couldn’t bring myself to take the plunge.

I’d always been a water-loving child – the one member of the family who’d jump in the sea irrespective of season or temperature when we visited my grandparents in Conwy. And when we stayed in Canada for long summers with relatives, I adored swimming in Lake Ontario or spending the day in my cousins’ pool in their sun-soaked backyard. Chronic illness, which I developed in my early 20s, changed all that. By the time I was in my 40s, living with increasing energy limitations and chronic pain, I struggled to find the motivation to swim regularly and I couldn’t cope with the crowding and cold temperatures of the outdoor pool.

Then last year I read that cold water swimming might help reduce the inflammation that results from conditions such as adenomyosis, which causes my chronic pain. I heard there were lifeguarded wild swimming sessions in a spring-fed lake in Waresley Park Estate in Cambridgeshire, so without stopping to consider the time of year, I booked a place on an introduction to cold water swimming course. Within a few days I was standing beside the lake. It was late November. The water was 6°C and it occurred to me (far too late) that it might have been a good idea to wear a wetsuit. I began the session with trepidation and an expectation of failure, given my previous experience at the lido. But I persevered with the breathing exercises as we dipped our feet and, after a couple of dithery attempts, I submerged myself up to the shoulders and swam in the shallows for three minutes, before hurrying out: frozen, incredulous and ecstatic.

For the past seven months, I’ve walked straight into the lake every week without fail, in temperatures ranging from 3-17°C. How is it I can cope with the bracing water of the lake, when the far warmer outdoor pool defeated me, I often wonder.

I think the answer lies in my love of the natural world. In the tranquil lake, surrounded by mature trees and wet grassland, I’m a different person from that helpless, overwhelmed mum. Instead, I’m relaxed and positive – totally in my element. I share the water with mallards, coots and a pair of little grebes that dive almost as soon as you spot them. Swallows dip to drink from the lake and red kites soar high above me as I float on my back. Cuckooflowers and coltsfoot bloom on the margins of the lake. Rounded elm seeds drift on the surface, and today I saw two electric-blue damselflies darting across the water.

As someone living with chronic illness, I miss the sense of adventure that I used to feel when reaching a mountain peak or canoeing on a river or the sea. But I’ve rediscovered it through my lake swimming. Although I can only manage one or two laps, the cold water, alongside my immersion in the pleasures of the natural world, gives me that same buzz and feeling of excitement. I come out newly alive – filled with endorphins and questions – are the sparrowhawks nesting in the ash trees at the far side of the lake? Will the little grebe chicks emerge this week? When will I spot the first dragonfly of the season? As in other areas of my life, nature has provided me with a calm space where I can relax, and the inspiration to challenge myself in ways I never thought possible.

And then there’s the wind down time after swimming, thawing out around the communal fire with a cuppa and a supportive group of regulars who are warmly welcoming to both experienced swimmers and newbies like me. It’s taken me decades to find a place where I feel safe and empowered to swim outdoors, and it’s quickly become an integral part of my life. This summer I’m going camping with my family at a site with several spring-fed lakes and I’m looking forward to accompanying my children – now both teenagers – when they go paddleboarding and wild swimming. Sharing these outdoor activities with them would have been impossible a few years ago, but now I can’t wait to get in the water. And when I’m tired, I can sit on the shoreline watching my kids (and the birds) without feeling I’ve missed out on the family fun.