IMMERSION

by Caroline Livesey

As my stroke rate started to drop rapidly, and my brain began to fog, I knew I was in trouble. I kept swimming. I could see the shore now and I told myself to toughen up. I tried to pick up my stroke rate, but the blood had begun to rush to my core, protecting my vital organs, and leaving my arms with nothing to fire up the muscles. As I swam my swim-skin clad body started to shudder involuntarily. The adrenaline of race day had abandoned me, and I felt sleepy and weak. A few strokes later I stopped and looked around for a kayak to help me, but by now the amateur wave in wetsuits were cruising past me and I was just a hat bobbing in a sea of thrashing. I couldn’t see any safety boats. I looked again for the shore and as swimmers bumped into me, I realised getting there was my only option. For the first time in my life I felt really scared of drowning.

I swam with what little power I had left, and eventually I stumbled on to the shore. For a reason that is still not clear to me I wove my way like a drunk person through transition and got on my bike and went on to finish the race. I don’t remember much of the first hour of the bike, except a brief conversation with another athlete who asked if I was ok. With a 10 C air temp, I was sitting up on the hoods of my TT shivering uncontrollably and it was probably clear I was not.

I warmed up eventually, but the damage was done. Ironman Frankfurt was a disaster, and I was more exhausted after than I have ever been post-race. I discovered that a few PROs had ended up in hospital with hypothermia after the swim, and one of the toughest girls in the sport had retired on the bike.

That race in 2016 embedded a fear of cold water in both my body and mind. After it, if I had to swim in cold water I would start to imagine being freezing long before getting in. My body would tense up and I would know I was going to hate it. I avoided it when I could, but I was even getting cold in some cooler swimming pools. I got into a vicious cycle of avoiding feeling cold and so becoming less and less adapted to the cold. My tolerance reduced and my beliefs were reinforced by numerous events. I became convinced it was just how I was, despite having plenty of evidence from before the event that proved otherwise. I grew up swimming all the time in the cold North Sea, usually without a wetsuit, and I have always loved all types of open water swimming.

Then I won the Canadaman XTRI and was offered a place for the XTRI World Championships at Norseman for 2020. I had always said I would never do Norseman because of the cold water and weather conditions, it just “wasn’t my forte”. But I stood on the podium for Canadaman and picked out the lucky female lottery winner of the other Norseman slot, and then watched her as she whooped and cheered and ran to the podium to get her place. Her excitement shone a light on how ridiculous my fear was. I knew then I had to find a way to overcome it. I accepted the place and swore I would not be the person on the ferry who jumped last out of fear and then couldn’t finish the swim. If I was going to race I would do it well.

So at the start of 2020 I took the plunge, literally. On 1 Jan I stripped off for a dip in the 12 C Mediterranean in my swimsuit. It was unbearable. I think I managed five front crawl strokes before I was running for the beach. The water felt painfully cold, stabbing my skin like tiny knives. I remember being downcast after the experience, wondering how I was ever going to overcome those feelings. It just did not feel physically possible.

Of course, it is physically possible. People swim at the North Pole in sub zero water. In fact a man recently did an ironman in Antarctica. Yes, I know. Completely impossible to imagine. But that proves that it is physically possible. The challenge is a mental one. I knew I had to commit to the process of adaptation and get my brain on board. The body will follow if you convince it to, we are always capable of way more physically than we think. Our brains have survival as their priority after years of evolution. But this evolution has also prepared us to be able to survive cold conditions, it is just that in historical contexts humans did not go from heated houses to a freezing lake. The changing seasons would have readied them for the temperature changes. These things take time.

There are a few ways to get used to cold conditions in your daily life, and I started to embrace them wholeheartedly. Have you ever switched your shower to the “damn that’s cold” setting mid-way through? What is the automatic reaction of the body? Short, sharp breaths or sometimes a complete breath hold followed by a few squeals. That was the first thing to overcome. As any yoga nut will tell you, the breath is so important in relaxing the body and mind. Over the course of weeks I learnt to anticipate the cold water in the shower with a deep relaxing breath, breathing out as it hit me and fighting the urge to gasp and squeal. As you do this the body begins to associate the cold water with relaxation instead of the flight response, and it gets easier and easier. There are so many well documented benefits of cold showers and swims, including; improvements to circulation, immunity, short and long term mental health, libido and stress levels. If you can embrace them it is worth it. I continued the routine, but at this stage in the process I didn’t notice much of a change when it came to my open water swims.

Then we went into pandemic lockdown, races got cancelled left, right and centre, and the weather in Mallorca started to heat up as we got into April and May. I kept up my cold-water adaptation in the shower, but with Spanish lockdown rules not allowing for exercise outside I had no opportunity to swim. By the time we were out of lockdown the sea was lukewarm, and cold showers are no hardship when you are dripping with sweat. I wondered if the conditioning had all been pointless.

Then in June we went back to Scotland for two months and I was finally able to put it to the test. Norseman had been cancelled by this stage, but I wanted to know if my techniques had worked and how long I could extend my ability to swim in Scotland’s coastal waters and lochs. With few other challenges on the horizon it became a necessary physical goal for me, and I knew if it had worked it would give me confidence for Norseman 2021.

Over the next two months something unexpected happened. I started off small, with wetsuit swims and the odd non-wetsuit dip here and there. But before long I was diving straight in with no wetsuit and absolutely loving the feeling of the icy water on my skin. I learnt to relax as I hit the water, breathing deeply and focusing on the sensations instead of trying to avoid them. There is something so delicious about that first envelopment of the cold water. I began to look forward to it, diving into the crystal-clear turquoise sea. Or wading out into the dark lochs and submerging myself in the velvet waters. Then I began to crave it. It was a weird thing for me to experience my fear and loathing being replaced by that craving. It was like the water was calling me, inviting me in for that endorphin hit. It became a daily practice while I was out in the Hebrides, and soon I was able to spend 15 minutes sea swimming nonchalantly when in previous years I had only lasted 20 neoprene clad mins. I realised the magnitude of what I had achieved when I went swimming with a few other PROs pre-race at the Helvellyn Triathlon back in September. I was running late and they were already waiting for me with their wetsuits on. I knew the swim would be a short one as they had a race the next day, and despite having already been in for my cold water hit that day, I was craving that feeling again. I jumped in with just my swimsuit on with complete pleasure, while they gasped at the cold temperatures and ice-cream headaches despite being layered up. Turns out even the ice-cream headaches stop after a while. At that moment I was really aware of how far I had come, how much my body and mind had adapted, and how truly astounding that is.

All the months of work had paid off, and in doing that work I had found an even deeper love for open water.

Footnote:

“I recently spent 6 weeks (Jan/Feb) on the equator in Costa Rica where sea temperatures are hotter than your average British summer day. As a result while my current level of cold water bravery is high, my actual ability to withstand the cold is very low.

The sea in Mallorca in March is 11–12 degrees, about the coldest it gets. It was a big shock getting back in when we returned. But, I am enjoying the challenge again and I am interested to find out how long it takes to acclimatise this time. I have some catching up to do. My open water friends here have been swimming all winter in the cold water and are now up to 2.8km (without wetsuits) in this temperature.

It is incredible really how much adaptation takes place. My advice? Never assume that your first experience in cold water is an indication of how they will all feel. Each swim is different. It is the mindset that really matters.

cheers Caroline.”