Wild Water

The bleached grass crunches underfoot as we make our way along the Thames path. It is quiet for a Saturday morning. Years of living in the Cotswold countryside and it still surprises me. Where are all the people, I think? Years of growing up on an overpopulated peninsular in the North West has left me believing that it’s impossible to get away from the hustle and bustle so I am always surprised when we manage it.

The long grass either side of the path tickles my legs as Pearl, our slinky black greyhound, zig zags in front of me. She is in desperate search for a mouse or a shrew. Sometimes she is lucky and will find one, but not today. It is too late in the day; the summer sun has already risen high in the sky and the tiny mammals will all be hiding somewhere.

I take in a deep breath as I continue along the path. The air smells sweet and hot. That perfect scent of hay just before it is cut and gathered. But if I step to the left of me, towards the river, the temperature drops. A cool dampness that is so inviting.

“Is it this tree or the next?” My husband, Russell, asks from behind me.

“It’s the next one.”

“I can never remember which one it is.”

“That’s why you have me.” I smile and look back at him. His copper hair flopping against his forehead as he walks. He is loaded up with a backpack and my wetsuit. Always behind me so he doesn’t walk too fast for me to keep up and always carrying everything, so it doesn’t hurt.

“Almost there.” I say feeling the nervous energy bubbling up inside me.

It has been a whole year since I last swam in this river. My chronic pain has made me scared. A little bit frightened of life and the things that make it good. It is up to me, you see, to decide if I can or if I can’t. I don’t have an illness that can be fixed or calculated. It must be managed all alone. If I push too far I may end up in bed for a week. If I push too little I may never get better. Always the hard choices. Always alone.

“Down here.” I stop in front of a gap in the centre of a small crowd of trees that sit against the riverbank. The tree in front of me is gnarly and old. Bent at funny angles. I use its trunk as I step down the steep bank and onto the muddy patch which is never dry, even just after a heatwave.

In front of me is the concrete slope. A broken slab of manmade rock that must have been here for a reason. Perhaps the same reason for the concrete bunker. But it is our slope now. Our access point.

To the right of me there is a small patch of flat grass with two short trees either side. These make great hooks for towels and clothes. We quickly undress, our swimming gear on underneath our clothes, and I pull the tight neoprene of my wetsuit on along with my wet shoes. Russell is already in the water in just a pair of shorts. He flaps his bare arms around him as he steps deeper into the cold river.

I follow him in. Making my way slowly and carefully down the concrete and onto the rocky riverbed. The reeds either side of us whistling in the wind. I am looking down at my feet. Being careful not to fall or slip. The water begins to cut into my warm skin. Slowly trickling up my legs as I move forwards. But it doesn’t take long for the temperature to even out in the wetsuit. This is why I wear it. To take away that sharp burst of pain that comes with the cold. My nerves are in enough pain as it is.

“It’s too weedy after this. You have to just launch off into the water.” Russell says. He always looks so different without his glasses. I wade up to him, my legs now completely engulfed by river water, and place my hands on his bare freckled skin feeling its warmth.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“Not yet.”

“Okay well I’m going in.”

I smile as he crouches down and pushes off into the water. His breathing heavy and quick as the cold hits him. He treads water for a bit and then starts to swim left towards the tree. This is what he does. Lengths from one tree to the next. It’s been years since I swam any lengths.

I place my hands into the cold water and wiggle my fingers in an attempt to get used to the temperature. I slowly crouch down, taking in a sharp breath, until my body is covered with just my head and shoulders poking out. I force myself to release the air in my lungs. Taking another deep breath. Steadying myself. Allowing my body to acclimatise slowly. I close my eyes and push my awareness out of my head and into my body. In out. In out.

I hear the water gently lapping at the reeds around me. The sun is warm against my head. The flow of the river moves my arms gently. I open my eyes, push down against my feet and off into the river.