It’s just swimming: how to make open water swimming more democratic

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful reservoir, and it’s been my lifeline swimming here these past weeks. Here you’ll find swifts diving above the water’s surface as you swim; contrails slashing lines in the surface of a perfect blue sky; red lollipop lifebuoys lurking amongst the reeds that line the bank; mysteriously slippery, soft, cloudy blue-green water; wide open space; breezes. You’ll find freedom. I love it, I really do. I’m an open water swimmer at heart, and it represents everything I hold dear.

And yet… Last week my Lido reopened. I waited a few days before booking a session and waited breathlessly for the day to come, not knowing what to expect. And then — gosh. The crisp deliciously cool clear water. The beautiful stainless steel tank sparkling in the sun. The huge grins on the faces of the swimmers. As I plunged beneath the water’s surface and looked up, the familiar sight of pale ghostly limbs dangling from the surface as if in a watery ballet made me smile. Swimming along I watched the sun melt golden onto the surface of the water. Delicious wafts of chlorine hours on my skin hours later reminded me of how joyous that swim made me feel and how special my Lido is to me.

I am torn. I’m supposed to be the sort of person who swims in a pool but yearns for the open sea: fearless and intrepid. The sort who, with an ironic eye roll, refers to the pool as a ‘concrete prison’. And yet my Lido is the place where I feel happiest. The place where I smile the most. The place that I pine for.

I’ve been trying to articulate why it makes me so happy: it’s not just the aesthetics of this beautiful place. You see it comes down to the life and the democracy that lidos embody. You see it at indoor pools too, but at Lidos even more so. Everyone is equal and welcome at a Lido: young and old, front crawler and social breaststroker, swimmer and sunbather, endurance athlete and run-and-jumper, fitness junkie and mental health advocate, wetsuit wearer and shower capped bikini wearer. All have — and should have — their place at a Lido. They are places of suncream and dreams, and holidays, and happiness and laughter. The swimming is only part of the story.

Open water swimming venues attract a very different demographic, a very narrow one. Why is this when interest in the sport is seemingly higher than ever? After all, you go to the seaside and the whole world is splashing around in the sea. I ask myself why this isn’t the same with open water swimming venues.

Of course, many people, even competent swimmers, are anxious about open water and lakes and the sea. The water is murky and deep, there may be wildlife present (who knows when you can’t even see your own hand in front of you!?). A proper circuit at my reservoir is 500m which is for some, too long to swim without a rest, even though a shorter one is available. Swimming here is about exercise, not fun.

And the trepidation that swimmers have for open water isn’t helped by calling swimming in these places ‘wild swimming’. It makes swimming — a simple activity enjoyed by many — sound heroic and extraordinary and unattainable and difficult. Wild makes me think of rapids or whirlpools or rough seas. It makes me think the whole experience will be tricky or at the very least, not normal.

As well as this rebranding of swimming as ‘wild’, the insistence by many event organisers and venues that wetsuits are the norm for outdoor swimming, and that just wearing an ordinary swimming costume is neither desirable nor safe, will surely only discourage people further. Wetsuits are expensive. They are difficult to get on and off, are therefore are not friendly for the disabled or elderly, or in fact for larger swimmers. In my opinion they are generally unnecessary. And by adding a (now very common) rule that if you don’t wear a wetsuit you have to use a towfloat, venues are sending out another signal that swimming in your cozzie is a risky undertaking. It’s not surprising that regular pool swimmers or lido swimmers, let alone less confident swimmers, are put off swimming in open water, and that they would rather be in their local lido.

Of course I’m not suggesting that weak unconfident swimmers should dive gungho into a lake without a thought, nor that people who want to wear wetsuits shouldn’t be allowed to. But open water swimming as it is now becoming, with its rules and regulations and special kit, and branding as ‘wild’, is exclusive. So many people during lockdown have told me they don’t have the courage, nor the ‘kit’ to swim in a lake. What wetsuit do I need to start swimming, they ask? Where do I buy a towfloat? And what is one, anyway?

It’s just swimming I say. You can do it in your cozzie. You can do it in your bra and knickers for all I care. You can do it in a shower cap. You might get chilly. You might not. You might get attacked by a plastic bag as I did in the sea the other week, and jump out of your skin. You might have to start small. You should do it with someone else. You can swim anywhere. It’s just swimming I say.

I long for the day when my local reservoir attracts all the people who go to my favourite Lido, when it’s just as democratic as my local Lido. When it’s as crowded and beautifully chaotic and wonderfully varied and fabulous in its audience as my Lido. Wouldn’t that be a thing?