Grief Relief
“When I swim, I leave all my problems on the shore with my pile of clothes. They’re still there when I get back. But for that moment, when I’m in the water, they don’t exist and it’s great.” A friend in Scotland told me, when we were staring at Loch Lubnaig just before a swim.
I have been cycling around Britain for the last six months, connecting with swimmers. I swam with more than 1000 people in more than 100 places. Not once during those six months did I ever feel down or lonely. There was no opportunity for those dark clouds to loom over my head. On any occasion that they drifted close they were soon blown away as I took a running leap with a new friend, holding their hand as we dived into the cold water of their local spot.
If I’m blue, then swimming outdoors makes me feel better. If I’m feeling fine, then dunking my head under water makes me feel like the love child of She-Ra and Bruce Wayne. It feels like unicorn juice is running through my veins when I ascend from a good ol’ dunk and I roar and squeal with utter joy. I feel alive. I just wish I knew how outdoor swimming makes me feel when I was younger.
When I was 24, I was sat on a curb in a North Queensland town in Australia, waiting for a bus to take me to a banana farm to work. With ten minutes spare before it arrived at the obscene hour for a backpacker of 5.45am, I called home.
“Hey Dad. Is Mum in?” I asked when Dad answered.
“Hey Dort, how are you? No, she’s out. She’ll be back in an hour.” He said. I arranged to call them back when they would both be in, when I got back from my day’s work on the farm.
After eight slow hours passed of turning bananas so they faced the right direction on the conveyor belt, I got the bus back to Tully- the wettest town in Australia. I pulled out my Nokia 3310 and dialed home as I said I would. The phone didn’t even ring, my brother answered and went and got my mum before I had the chance to ask how he was.
“Oh Lindsey. Are you OK? Did Nick tell you?” She said as she picked up the receiver.
“Tell me what?” I asked bemused.
I don’t remember exactly what she said next. I found my self sat on the wet, soggy ground crying inconsolably. My Dad had died suddenly in the night of a heart attack.
I was on the next plane home and thrown back into a grey life that I hadn’t planned for. My friends had moved away, I didn’t have a job to get up for and the last time I was home dad was there too.
Why couldn’t you have spoken to him for longer, Linds? I tormented myself. I was riddled with guilt, I didn’t know how to express myself and I felt really alone. Then, I found myself taking it out on my arm.
If only I’d been acquainted with outdoor swimming then. Perhaps, it could have helped me express myself; to feel.
Grief Relief
Once I’d cycled and dipped to the most northern beach of Shetland, I still wasn’t ready to finish my journey. I decided to cycle back down south and finish in the Isles of Scilly. A lady messaged me and said she was enjoying following my journey as she found open water swimming had helped her after losing her partner. Her message reminded me about losing my Dad and so I shared my story in a post and wrote, “If you know anyone who’s lost someone close to them and you think they could do with a cold water dip then please get in touch.”
Someone messaged immediately. “”Hi Lindsey, my friend Sarah saw your post and asked me to message you. She lost her dad recently and is well up for a North Sea dip with you.” I pedaled down the Northumberland coast and met Sarah in Tynemouth in mid April. Moments before meeting Sarah, I felt nervous. I suddenly remembered about my own grief and didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Sarah sprung out of her car, we flung our arms around each other and she nodded and smiled when I asked, “how are you doing?”
‘We were like that?” she said crossing her fingers. “Reet close. I’m trying anything at the moment.” She said when we discussed that nothing prepares you for grief. We walked down the steps to a sandy beach, as waves curled and people clutching surfboards ran into them. “I can’t believe what we’re about to do.” Sarah said.
We changed into our swimmers, I grabbed Sarah’s hand and we ran into the North Sea together shrieking. “Are you ready to put your head under?” I asked. “Oh God, yes I think so.” She replied. After three, in between the set of waves, we dunked to the bottom and squealed as we came back up for the northeastern air. Still clutching my hand Sarah laughed and screamed “Oh wow. That was AMAZING.”
After a long swim along the Porthcrawl coast, one kind soul offered me a lift back to Cardiff, so I didn’t have to cycle. “I’d be lost without this lot.” Peter said out of the blue as we were sat in his van tucking into our fish n chips. Peter only took up outdoor swimming earlier this year. Two days after his brother died in February, he swam 750m in just his shorts in Salford Quays. He had read that local guy, Lewis Brown, had swum 100 consecutive days throughout winter without a wetsuit so thought he’d give it a go. Peter now swims frequently with Lewis and others in Porthcrawl. In his short swimming career, he’s already swum the length of several well-known lakes. “It’s honestly one of the most healing experiences I’ve ever had. I’ve met so many wonderful, kind people. They’re like a family really. There’s always someone up for a swim.”
In May, I learned that a friend I’d met travelling had passed away. He had Pancreatic cancer and was only 32 years old. I met Will in Adelaide and we would sit on the veranda comparing each other’s photos. At the time I was circumnavigating Australia with truck drivers and he was chasing Australia’s wildlife. We only spent a few days together but I felt like I really knew him. He was one of those. I was devastated so wrote a post to remind people not to take life for granted and without sharing his name said I was going to dedicate my next swim to him. His brother recognized it was about Will and thanked me in a message. We got talking and shared stories about Will. Having no idea how to offer my condolences I suggested we go for a swim to celebrate our wonderful Will when I made the south coast. “I’m really up for that.” Joe said. A few weeks later, I cycled to Newhaven beach to meet Joe where him and Will swam when they were kids. I’d never met Joe before. We hugged, we stripped and then we ran into the English Channel shouting “THIS IS FOR YOU WILLY!” As we dried ourselves off a streak of clouds on the horizon were lined silver and we looked at each other, nodded and smiled.
Swimming outdoors doesn’t make your problems go away. Like my Scottish friend said, they’re still on the shore with your clothes when you get back. But for that moment, when you’re in the water you can roar, squeal and feel alive- something I struggled to do when I lost my Dad. My favourite bit that I learned from my journey is that there’s always someone who’s up for a swim. Whether you want to talk about your grief or not, one things or sure, you won’t feel alone.