I’ve been swimming in Hampstead ladies pond through the winter for years now, but in the last couple of seasons I’ve been concerned that things are getting a bit soft over there. “Be aware of the low temperatures!” a new noticeboard reads, while concerned lifeguards flutter about, checking that you’ve done this before. “Get in slowly!” “Every added degree is a minute you should take off your swim!”. At this time of year most of us there are regulars, and you can see people feeling huffy.
It was a beautiful sunny day last week, the first for ages, and I decided to swim a bit further than usual. The initial bite wore off — I’m usually prompted to get out after about four minutes — and it became almost warm: it’s funny how I could stand the cold so much better than usual. Dimly, I realised that I was quite a way from the ladder, and wasn’t sure if I could make it. Of course I was becoming hypothermic, and hadn’t realised. It can happen to anyone.
