In The Swimmer, John Cheever’s celebrated 1964 short story [pdf], Neddy Merrill decides to swim home via a dozen or so of his neighbours’ pools. Of course, to link this chain of water, he has to run across lawns, through woods and down busy roads.
Inspired by Neddy’s watery journey, two south Londoners, Will Watt and Jonathan Cowie, came up with the idea of The Swimmer, a relaxed half-marathon that takes in a number of London’s finest parks and open-air pools. Starting in Hampstead in north London, the route heads down through the centre, crosses the Thames and ends up “back home” at Brockwell lido, near Brixton. It takes place on the second Saturday of each month (with a break for the summer) and over the past couple of years has quietly gained a reputation as one of the most interesting, esoteric, and certainly friendliest sporting events around.
After months of admiring it from afar, I finally signed up for the October Swimmer. And so at 7am, on a damp Saturday morning, I found myself in Hampstead Starbucks clutching a coffee with around 20 other trainer-clad “swimmers”. Regulars chatted and joked, perhaps – à la Cheever – about how much they had drunk the night before, while nervous newcomers adjusted their running packs and shoe-laces.
The run began at 7.15am with a gentle mile-and-a-half trot down towards the Heath and the first swim of the day at Highgate Men’s bathing pond – in reality a small freshwater tarn. No doubt following Neddy Merrill’s line about having “contempt for men who did not hurl themselves into pools”, the Swimmer drill for the first dip is a mass jump (including the women of course) from the jetty. The shock of the plunge was made bearable by the water being an almost pleasant 13C.
While much has been written about the joys of outdoor swimming, the thrill of moving through a pool open to the skies, surrounded by trees, with the ducks skittering across the surface still cannot be overstated.
After a quick change (a few kept their costumes on), a faster running pace carried us across the heath to the art deco Parliament Hill lido. Here, the 60-metre pool, built in 1938, has a stainless steel lining that even in the early morning light produced a metallic shimmer. Compared with the murky waters of the pond, swimming through the pool felt how I imagine it is to float through a spaceship. Some packed in a few lengths, others just a dip and a sneaky hot shower (although I find you end up feeling colder than before).
Outside the pool, rucksacks were dumped in the support car – which meets the group at various points – and then it was back on the road for the four-and-a-half mile run down to Hyde Park.
It was around 8 o’clock, as we pounded down Belsize Park’s handsome streets, that Watt and Cowie’s creation began to make sense. Katie Kingwell, a Swimmer veteran, summed it up: “The swims break up the long run and the running gets you warm from the cold swims – a perfect combo.” It’s also a great way to see a more picturesque side of London.
We reached the top of Primrose Hill and as the group lined up for a team photo, a chap called “Marcel Camden” wandered over and kindly offered his can of lager around. The gesture wasn’t quite in the same league as the endless stream of gin served to Neddy Merrill, but it felt appropriate. We declined, though, and runners began to peel off and head down the hill.
While The Swimmer isn’t a race, the group splits naturally into fast, and not-so-fast runners. Cowie was leading the sprint group and, being in the latter group, I found myself chatting to Watt, who was bringing up the rear.
As we jogged across Regent’s Park, he explained that the original idea came about during a conversation with Cowie at Tooting Bec lido, around the time of the 2012 Olympics. A route was soon plotted and the event has been running ever since. Waiting to cross the road near Marble Arch, Watt shouted above the noise of the traffic that numbers were kept to around 20 partly so as not to overwhelm some of the pools, but also so that things can be kept manageable and bespoke – “it’s quality of people – nice, quirky, interesting – not quantity”.
The small number means that you get a chance to chat to just about everyone in the group. As Kingwell put it: “The vibe is so laid back, not at all competitive.” The October group includes three triathletes from Nottingham who have travelled down especially for the day and a super-fit clergyman, (whose presence, it is claimed, ensures the rain holds off). First timer, Ronnie Haydon, a hard-core runner, explained that one of the reasons for signing up was that she “wanted to conquer my fears about deep, dark, cold water. Hampstead Men’s bathing pond on a rainy morning certainly does that for you”. I also discover that at least one Swimmer romance has developed on the trek south.
Just as legs were beginning to ache, we arrived at the Serpentine lido in Hyde Park, the oldest and most famous pool in the London. Some, though, dismiss it as a glorified duck pond and as I’d been warned about a layer of slime on the water’s surface, I abandoned my usual Neddy Merrill-style “choppy crawl” for a head held high breaststroke. But away from the edge the water was clear and with the sun coming out I was soon ploughing up and down.
Bare flesh was on display as some of the more brazen members of the group got changed around a park bench. Of course nudity features on Neddy’s journey – particularly in the Burt Lancaster film version – when he comes across a couple of ageing naturists. The more discreet went behind a large tree. Then, after the breaking and sharing of the cake – a Swimmer ritual – and a drink, there was just time for a quick stretch-out before the final six miles.
This last section was certainly the hardest. After negotiating the busy streets of Knightsbridge and Sloane Square, there was a brief respite from the pavement as we ran through the woods in Battersea Park, before the long haul up to Clapham common. An ingenious route taking in backstreets and lanes led us to Brockwell Park, near Brixton, and the final strait to the lido, arriving at around 10.40am.
It was hardly the fastest half-marathon ever run, but then that’s not really the point. There was, of course, one more swim. Wincing as I pulled on wet trunks for the third time, I began to understand why the veterans carry spare costumes with them. The water felt colder than the other pools, and while not quite “stupefied with exhaustion”, as is Neddy at the end of his journey, I was glad it was over. For Cheever’s deluded athlete, the end of his run sees his house boarded up, his family gone; for the London Swimmers, it was straight to the lido cafe for a celebratory fry-up.
The Swimmer costs £20 plus a booking fee. This includes entrance to all the pools and the support car to carry gear.
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