lucifersprize (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lucifersprize) wrote2018-06-21 10:30 pm
lucifersprize) wrote2018-06-21 10:30 pm
Entry tags:
Seal Swim, The Long Journey. (Part 1, Why would I do that? How?)
(This is me documenting a shortish over-share of how this opportunity came about, with a few photos from the weeks before my trip to the Farne Islands. If you just want to look at pretty sea pictures then skip to part 2)
I'll start with the boring diagnosis which my friends know. I suffer from PTSD, depression and anxiety disorder. My concentration, fitness, memory and everything else has combined to make me pretty much unemployable, which in turn makes me financially unstable and feeling somewhat worthless. I am sure there is a way to manage it, given the right meds/therapy and lifestyle but yeah, still trying on that one. And trying is at least a positive thing to strive for and the way I keep out of hospital.
Anyhow, my mental health dipped pretty badly over the winter, I didn't take meds, spiralled down, stopped trying, yada, yada, you know the story. Out of it came something that could potentially help me on a more permanent basis. I was assigned a counsellor with a mental health charity, MIND who pulled me back onto the doctor's books, back on meds, and into the psychiatrist's office as well as into their drop- ins and talking therapies.
Around ten weeks ago she handed me a leaflet with a sigh and a "You probably won't be interested in this but..."
I snatched it from her hand and said, "Yes, definitely yes."
Anyone who knows me well, knows how much I love the coast and the sea and how much better I feel for sand between my toes and water stretching to the horizon. Being in it with the tingle of cold water on my skin and rush of waves over me - well, so much better again.
It was a flyer for an open- sea swimming course with Active Northumberland and MIND. It described an eight week course, a commitment to a regular bus journey and swimming lessons, to achieve something I have always wanted to do. In some ways it seemed impossible to me, but it was a fully funded pilot scheme to look at the benefits of wild (cold water) swimming to mental health and it was something that really, really appealed to me. I was an excellent swimmer in my youth, not with a tidy stroke, but I could swim for miles, for hours, in sea, lakes and rivers but it was just another thing that my ex had me give up over twenty years ago, and these days I am fat, unfit, wobbly and too anxious to brave the local swimming pool. This course wasn't being held in that local pool though, it was down the coast in Alnwick, and it was a closed session for people like me, suffering from mental illness.
The first week's preparation was horrifying, so much to arrange, forms to complete, so many new people and a deadline. I set an alarm, rechecked my kit again and again, left by car three hours early but I made it. I was exhausted driving back. In future, I decided I would go by bus.
The buses aren't regular, we needed to stop in the town for a few hours. Each week I ended up walking about, into shops and interesting places like a bookshop in the old Victorian train station, and local parks. It is a fascinating small town.
{sometimes it's the ordinary places and lives which catch my eye, like this orderly rear terrace}
Anyhow, I digress. I turned up at the sports centre for the first lesson with my tummy flattering (um yeah, the flattering doesn't really work) costume which I'd bought a year ago, kidding myself I would go to the pool but used once, on holiday. It still fitted thank goodness.
There were around sixteen of us who sat nervously in a group, listening to the enthusiastic story of Jane, our chief instructor, who had benefitted from wild swimming and wanted to pass those benefits on, before we finally got into that pool. I remember thinking that the pool was warm and humid and that, thank goodness, none of my fellow swimmers were gym bunnies, though most were obviously fitter than me. At that moment I had no idea if I could manage to swim a single length.
{the sports centre where swimming instructors worked hard to get us up to standard}
I went into the "need to stay by the rail" group and shocked myself by swimming four lengths to warm up, right there and then and completing all the exercises given. From there, our super enthusiastic instructors pushed us hard each week - by week four we just kept swimming for the hour, trod water, jumped as if off a boat. We were all surprised at the progress we made. We became friends on those stressful journeys to the venue and some of us swapped numbers and *shock* met up for other things including swimming off a local beach. This from people who simply don't generally network with others.
On week five we progressed into the sea with a flotilla of life savers on surf boards and I discovered how very much I HATE a wetsuit. All my progress seemed to have been in vain, the balance was different, for sure it was warmer and I couldn't sink, but neither could I swim competently in it. I panicked a lot and swallowed gallons of very salty water while *not drowning*. I am forever grateful to Chrissy, the swimming instructor who stopped by my side and talked me through those panic attacks to finally work out a messy breastroke/crawl hybrid stroke which worked for me.
The next week I had a good cry trying to pull that wetsuit on, and failed. I swam how I swim best, just in my costume but for insurance reasons I knew I had to don that wet suit to swim with the seals.
I gave up sometime after that session, worried myself into a whopper of a migraine and missed a week, sure I was too scared to try again. Then my wild swimming friends called and we went to a plant sale together, we went to a wildlife centre open day, we swam locally, without a wetsuit, and I suddenly realised what a difference the course had already made and how much I wanted to be in the water. I rallied and attended the last training session. Our instructor decided that my wet suit would be worn in the Farne Islands but not before, and I'd manage, because I had proven I don't feel the cold so much as others and anxiety/overthinking was my issue not a lack of swimming skills. Seals are, apparently, a good distraction. That last lesson I swam and swam, further and deeper than I ever thought possible in the sea, even when young, and it felt glorious. I grinned like a loon, had a fabulous midweek swim off my quiet beach, and was impatient for the week to pass.
So, that's a quick summary of how I came to be on a boat trip to the Farne Islands to swim in the North Sea in water that was about 11 Celsius and is home to curious seals, even though I am still pale, lumpy and fat. Somehow it doesn't matter because for this sport my fat is not such an issue, it keeps me warm and buoyant. I am at peace with my body for this. For the first time in years I am prepared to share a photo of what this old body actually looks like and not cringe in shame.
Besides, with the weather in these parts, we're pretty wrapped up when we're not in the water. Hypothermia post-swimming is a real possibility so a lot of layers and a flask of hot coffee are essential.
Yesterday, I set off to achieve a goal that I didn't really think was within my reach physically, mentally or financially ten weeks ago. I was laden down with thick towels and spare woollies and I still refused to leave my camera behind because it was a trip I had become so invested in.
I went with friends I have acquired along the way and volunteers who have put in an incredible amount of time and effort to get us this far. And yet, in all the time training, I never thought about the boat ride itself, only about the things I would need and about donning that goddamn wet suit. It turned out that the boat ride itself was a revelation and that is why there is a part 2 on it's way with lots of pretty photos.
Here, join the queue and wait with the boats at Seahouses harbour yesterday, while the tide comes in.
I'll start with the boring diagnosis which my friends know. I suffer from PTSD, depression and anxiety disorder. My concentration, fitness, memory and everything else has combined to make me pretty much unemployable, which in turn makes me financially unstable and feeling somewhat worthless. I am sure there is a way to manage it, given the right meds/therapy and lifestyle but yeah, still trying on that one. And trying is at least a positive thing to strive for and the way I keep out of hospital.
Anyhow, my mental health dipped pretty badly over the winter, I didn't take meds, spiralled down, stopped trying, yada, yada, you know the story. Out of it came something that could potentially help me on a more permanent basis. I was assigned a counsellor with a mental health charity, MIND who pulled me back onto the doctor's books, back on meds, and into the psychiatrist's office as well as into their drop- ins and talking therapies.
Around ten weeks ago she handed me a leaflet with a sigh and a "You probably won't be interested in this but..."
I snatched it from her hand and said, "Yes, definitely yes."
Anyone who knows me well, knows how much I love the coast and the sea and how much better I feel for sand between my toes and water stretching to the horizon. Being in it with the tingle of cold water on my skin and rush of waves over me - well, so much better again.
It was a flyer for an open- sea swimming course with Active Northumberland and MIND. It described an eight week course, a commitment to a regular bus journey and swimming lessons, to achieve something I have always wanted to do. In some ways it seemed impossible to me, but it was a fully funded pilot scheme to look at the benefits of wild (cold water) swimming to mental health and it was something that really, really appealed to me. I was an excellent swimmer in my youth, not with a tidy stroke, but I could swim for miles, for hours, in sea, lakes and rivers but it was just another thing that my ex had me give up over twenty years ago, and these days I am fat, unfit, wobbly and too anxious to brave the local swimming pool. This course wasn't being held in that local pool though, it was down the coast in Alnwick, and it was a closed session for people like me, suffering from mental illness.
The first week's preparation was horrifying, so much to arrange, forms to complete, so many new people and a deadline. I set an alarm, rechecked my kit again and again, left by car three hours early but I made it. I was exhausted driving back. In future, I decided I would go by bus.
The buses aren't regular, we needed to stop in the town for a few hours. Each week I ended up walking about, into shops and interesting places like a bookshop in the old Victorian train station, and local parks. It is a fascinating small town.
{sometimes it's the ordinary places and lives which catch my eye, like this orderly rear terrace}
Anyhow, I digress. I turned up at the sports centre for the first lesson with my tummy flattering (um yeah, the flattering doesn't really work) costume which I'd bought a year ago, kidding myself I would go to the pool but used once, on holiday. It still fitted thank goodness.
There were around sixteen of us who sat nervously in a group, listening to the enthusiastic story of Jane, our chief instructor, who had benefitted from wild swimming and wanted to pass those benefits on, before we finally got into that pool. I remember thinking that the pool was warm and humid and that, thank goodness, none of my fellow swimmers were gym bunnies, though most were obviously fitter than me. At that moment I had no idea if I could manage to swim a single length.
{the sports centre where swimming instructors worked hard to get us up to standard}
I went into the "need to stay by the rail" group and shocked myself by swimming four lengths to warm up, right there and then and completing all the exercises given. From there, our super enthusiastic instructors pushed us hard each week - by week four we just kept swimming for the hour, trod water, jumped as if off a boat. We were all surprised at the progress we made. We became friends on those stressful journeys to the venue and some of us swapped numbers and *shock* met up for other things including swimming off a local beach. This from people who simply don't generally network with others.
On week five we progressed into the sea with a flotilla of life savers on surf boards and I discovered how very much I HATE a wetsuit. All my progress seemed to have been in vain, the balance was different, for sure it was warmer and I couldn't sink, but neither could I swim competently in it. I panicked a lot and swallowed gallons of very salty water while *not drowning*. I am forever grateful to Chrissy, the swimming instructor who stopped by my side and talked me through those panic attacks to finally work out a messy breastroke/crawl hybrid stroke which worked for me.
The next week I had a good cry trying to pull that wetsuit on, and failed. I swam how I swim best, just in my costume but for insurance reasons I knew I had to don that wet suit to swim with the seals.
I gave up sometime after that session, worried myself into a whopper of a migraine and missed a week, sure I was too scared to try again. Then my wild swimming friends called and we went to a plant sale together, we went to a wildlife centre open day, we swam locally, without a wetsuit, and I suddenly realised what a difference the course had already made and how much I wanted to be in the water. I rallied and attended the last training session. Our instructor decided that my wet suit would be worn in the Farne Islands but not before, and I'd manage, because I had proven I don't feel the cold so much as others and anxiety/overthinking was my issue not a lack of swimming skills. Seals are, apparently, a good distraction. That last lesson I swam and swam, further and deeper than I ever thought possible in the sea, even when young, and it felt glorious. I grinned like a loon, had a fabulous midweek swim off my quiet beach, and was impatient for the week to pass.
So, that's a quick summary of how I came to be on a boat trip to the Farne Islands to swim in the North Sea in water that was about 11 Celsius and is home to curious seals, even though I am still pale, lumpy and fat. Somehow it doesn't matter because for this sport my fat is not such an issue, it keeps me warm and buoyant. I am at peace with my body for this. For the first time in years I am prepared to share a photo of what this old body actually looks like and not cringe in shame.
Besides, with the weather in these parts, we're pretty wrapped up when we're not in the water. Hypothermia post-swimming is a real possibility so a lot of layers and a flask of hot coffee are essential.
Yesterday, I set off to achieve a goal that I didn't really think was within my reach physically, mentally or financially ten weeks ago. I was laden down with thick towels and spare woollies and I still refused to leave my camera behind because it was a trip I had become so invested in.
I went with friends I have acquired along the way and volunteers who have put in an incredible amount of time and effort to get us this far. And yet, in all the time training, I never thought about the boat ride itself, only about the things I would need and about donning that goddamn wet suit. It turned out that the boat ride itself was a revelation and that is why there is a part 2 on it's way with lots of pretty photos.
Here, join the queue and wait with the boats at Seahouses harbour yesterday, while the tide comes in.