Words: Jess Wood (She/Her)
There is nothing like completely leaving your thoughts on the side of a loch along with your wee pile of clothes and shoes. Whether you’re in for a bracing few seconds to earn a pint, or (wet)suited and booted and going in for a bit of exercise, there’s few things more life-affirming than a wild swim.
To me, nothing compares to that first dip of my head under the water and the air I fill my lungs with after emerging from it. There’s a completely different quality to it. I am so aware of how alive and breathing I am, cognizant of every part of my body. I’m surrounded by something yet buoyant. I can move my hands across the top of the water, making patterns and ripples. I can feel it, silky, all over me. I can hear the way sound travels across it, hear the water lapping at the shore and the sound of birds. I’m reminded to properly fill my lungs, aware of the quality of the air. Some moments watching sunlight shimmer on the surface of the water, at others, raindrops pounding off the top of it – yet I’m left feeling smug because I’m already in the water, so the rain can’t make me more wet (girl logic?).
It may be bracing, but after that initial shock there’s the view, the fresh smell of the water, the way it feels so undeniably clean and good for you. Your body starts to settle into it, you feel every part of you adjusting to the cold, the warm glow spreading through all your limbs and muscles right down into your fingertips and toes. Stinging like a foot dipped into a bath that’s too hot, painfully satisfying.
I used to point blank refuse to go near water unless it was officially Shorts Weather. But then the plague hit in 2020 and the feeling of freedom became something to chase more than ever before. Nothing had ever made me more grateful to live near the sea than coming out of the water onto an almost eerily quiet beach in the middle of April. Swigging a thermos of tea, feeling slightly less trapped than I had that morning. Swims then became something to share with friends, a chorus of ‘god this is cold’ but also a communal feeling of exhilaration.
Wild swimming stimulates all 5 senses, which is why it’s so useful in taking us out of our heads and allowing us to connect with our bodies fully. Whether you’re swimming in summer for relaxation and cooling off from the sun (I promise it happens in Scotland sometimes), or being confronted by wind, rain, and almost freezing water, there’s nothing to make you feel present like a swim. Any exercise is beneficial. Releasing endorphins, getting blood and muscles moving, and generally improving fitness will inevitably feel good. But the uni pool still doesn’t quite compare to a trip to Loch Lomond. Being surrounded by the elements, taking stock of what your body is doing, forces you also to be present. This is something that is unbelievably difficult to foster in daily life, with constant preoccupations of coursework, jobs, bills and social lives. We get very little time to slow down, breathe and notice what’s around us. Wild swimming allows us a chance to mentally check ourselves, and research also shows that being in or next to a body of water reduces blood pressure, slows breathing, and triggers the parasympathetic nervous system which helps us to relax.
Mindfulness is extremely important in such a busy world, yet simply focusing on one thing and being fully present is increasingly difficult. Mindfulness can be found in whatever action makes us engage purely and simply with whatever’s in front of us, not letting abstract thoughts take away from the experience. Our brains are used to multitasking and processing a million things a minute, and dialling them down to only the most immediate processes is not an easy task. But slowing down is invaluable.
It’s common knowledge that being outdoors is invaluable to us. Fresh air, natural light. Things that feel relatively simple and slow compared to our fast paced realities. Looking at a loch beyond somewhere a bit chilly to go for a swim, we see something that’s been there long before us, and will be there long after us. There’s something calming in this too, in how indifferent nature is to us, what we’re doing, whether our degrees are going well and whether or not we’ve done enough shifts lately to justify another little treat.
The loch you’re going into asks nothing of you, and allows a brief but complete removal from everyday life. Time to breathe, and to forget about everything else except you, the water, and the view.
