Standing hunched in the frame of the millhouse’s first floor window, vertigo swirling as the River Avon glints below me in the midsummer sun, I realise my love of wild swimming is now an all-consuming passion.
I was 15 feet up, staring down at one of England’s finest rivers, with a group of fellow swimmers egging me on to jump – and I was actually considering it. I counted to three, closed my eyes, flung myself from the window. The split seconds between jumping and crashing feet-first into the green water felt like an eternity. But as I surfaced I found that familiar feeling – that rush of dopamine, endorphins zipping around my brain. I was exhilarated but calm.
