Guest post by Prof. Godfrey Baldacchino
I was expecting the first dip of my feet into the water to be cold, really cold.
It was.
The sensation numbed my lower limbs, and I started shaking them in the water, almost as a reflex action, to get the blood rushing faster through my veins, and possibly warming that part of my body. As usual, I knew that this was the point at which there was no going back.
So I forced myself down another step on the metal ladder.
I was now down to my knees in the cold water.
Again, I start shaking my legs, churning up foam as I vigorously swiped this way and that. I looked up, half hoping that there would be no onlookers looking at this mad fool trying to pretend that the water was suitable for swimming, on this first day of 2021. I was lucky. I could see no one. It also meant that there was no distraction. I could focus again on what I was doing.
I went down a third rung.
This is where it gets tougher. The water was now up to my midriff. I still shook my legs and thighs in the sea, but doing smaller movements now since I was practically half-immersed in the sea by then. At the same time, I could feel that blessed sense of normality creeping into the extremities of my legs, suggesting that I was getting adjusted to the sea temperature.
After all, it was meant to be a respectable 19 degrees C: exceptionally warm for a January morning. So, my mind kept telling me, no need to fuss about this ‘polar bear swim’: there was nothing really polar bearish about it. After all, I had, in previous years, swam when the water temperature had been as low as 16 degrees C.
It may not have been very pleasant; but I had done it. What’s the matter now, I asked myself? The water still feels cold. No logical thinking at this point can sweep away the numbing sensation.
All right. Enough philosophising. The worst was still to come. And I knew it.
Down the fourth and last rung of the ladder and the water now reaches to just below my breast. This is the toughest stage in the process.
A part of me still wants to rush back up the steps and to put on my clothes again, calling it a day. The other part fights the urge, and gets me instead to slide slowly downwards into the cold liquid, even if in fits and spurts, even if in laughable fractions. Every millimetre down was a little victory, a step closer to full immersion, a step further away from an embarrassing retreat. Meanwhile, a creeping chill was surrounding my body: I was just spending too much time dillydallying on the ladder. What I really needed was some vigorous exercise, to get the system to generate heat and thus come to terms with my aquatic element.
For what felt like a long time, but was probably far shorter, I found myself immersed up to my shoulders. I could now push back off the lowest rung as my arms let go of the ladder and my torso shifted sideways to face the bay.
I was in.