Ever increasing circles
No matter where you swim around the world, pools of all sizes are divided into lanes and swimmers are expected to conform to the rules of the pool. These rules are: swim up one side of a lane and then down the other in an orderly fashion, well spaced, so that collisions are avoided. Be a vision of cooperation and calmness. In America they call this circle swimming and every lane in a pool swims in the same direction. Here in the UK, lanes alternate direction: one lane swims clockwise, the next anti-clockwise, and so on. These geographical anomalies seem mysterious and capricious— like the way water spirals down plugholes in different directions in different hemispheres.
In these strange times, under lockdown, Covid-19 has made everyones circles smaller and smaller as we retreat into our own isolated worlds, swimmer and non-swimmer alike. But as lockdown relaxes and some sort of approximation to reality returns, my swimming circles have unexpectedly expanded beyond their previous dimensions – both literally and metaphorically. Let me explain.
My pre-covid London swimming haunts formed a neat and predictable circle of desire and opportunity. Ironmonger Row Baths, Kentish Town Sports Centre, Cally Pool, Kensington Leisure Centre, Parliament Hill Lido, Charlton Lido: a pool to suit each season, each mood and circumstance in my life. All are closed now, of course.
But even though some restrictions have eased now, the pool doors have remained resolutely locked. And so the places I used to swim in have, by necessity, been replaced by a new, much wider, circle of government-approved outdoor swimming venues. With these have come new adventures and experiences. Redricks Lake in Essex, the scene of my first emotional swim after so many dry weeks during lockdown: green and lush and heady with blossom and life, a glorious lake I loved swimming in – until the reality of one too many duck flea bites drove me away. Then, the imposing setting of the Royal Docks with its impenetrably black water and high walls, its swimming circuit festooned by the Emirates cable car gliding eerily overhead. And Millwall Outer Docks: sitting squatly in the shadow of the glass towers of Canary Wharf, less showy than its Royal Docks counterpart, it echoes of an industrial heyday long gone. And most recently West Reservoir, a sigh of relief nestling between the Victorian terraces and trendy new builds of North London, a tranquil green and idyllic lake, lined with rushes and trees.
With these new swimming venues and new adventures come new connections. As the swimming community collectively rushes to plunge back in the water, I have found myself standing half naked and dripping wet in the most unlikely communal open spaces. Changing rooms being shut means broadly smiling swimmers mingle on a grass verge here, share a car park picnic table there. And as we stand changing alfresco, minding appropriate distances, I end up chattering excitedly to those who, like me, will do anything for a swim. Sharing tips about the best places to swim, which open water venue have re-opened, what the water temperature is, where to park, and which are our favourite new places to swim. I meet for the first time in person, Catherine, a writer I follow on twitter, at the Royal Docks. Sasha, a professor, waves hello at West Reservoir. Aidan is there too, complaining that he’s forgotten how to swim. His mum died during lockdown and I ache to give him a hug but social distancing won’t allow. On Saturday morning on a grass verge in the Docklands, my Cally masters swimming friends share shivering post-swim coffees with my Channel swimming friends and my tech world swimming friends. It feels like we are all in this together. I feel so happy to gently widen the circles of friendship and mutual support after so long. Only we know how much getting back in the water has meant to us.
And back to circle swimming. Here in the large open space of Millwall Outer Dock, my new regular haunt, there is one big circle to swim in and it’s 500m long. If my mood takes me that way, the circle sometimes feels too big, too tiresome. Swimmers could get lost in that circle. But sometimes the circle is huge and beautifully liberating and makes me giddy with freedom. It’s full of adventure and open space and possibility. As I swim in a wide delicious circle anti-clockwise, the buoys pass by slowly: small red buoy, long yellow buoy, red tictac buoy, across and back down the other side, again past another red tictac, long yellow, small red. Back to the beginning.
Vast possibilities are mine now, outside the narrow confines of a 2m x 25m pool lane. My horizons and my circles have expanded, against the odds. I wonder in this post covid world if I will I ever feel like circle swimming in a pool again?
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