Night Swimming isn't as romantic as R.E.M made it out to be.

 It is not.

Unless you are somewhere secluded in summer with a loved one- although in the UK you'll probably have to contend with the inevitable slugs and midges. And slugs and midges are about as romantic as well... not very much.

Fun!

Cold water swimming is- like yoga and driving SUV's to 'wellness classes' the 'in thing' to do over the last few years. Go to any well known swim spot in the Peak District (I'm not giving them away!) and you'll likely find an assortment of pasty looking people of varying girths happily throwing themselves into stone grey icy water, inevitably whilst talking about 'practicing their Wim Hof'.

Why?

It is oddly good fun. I've been doing it for years and and there really is a perverse pleasure in getting naked and jumping into water on a cold, drizzly afternoon in mid November. It feels like the wrong thing to do. It is the wrong thing to do. Your body is quite literally dying. There are no thoughts. For thirty seconds or so every neuron in your brain is firing telling you to get out. It would like to be warm and alive- and you are not. Your brain goes numb, very soon followed by every inch of skin you have and never knew you had. Hands and fingers instantly turn to rubbery lumps of flesh. 

A grey January day is a 
perfect time for a dip.

You get out and the rush- well, it is quite something. 15 minutes of intense smiling, laughing euphoria. There is a bizarre feeling of warmth despite it being 3c (or less) whilst stood around in your birthday suit halfway up a hill. You have a huge glow and smile across your face and vow to come back and do it again.

If you happen to go cold water swimming with friends, it is even more funny. Like hapless lemmings, one by one you strip off and plunge into the abyss, only to quickly to remerge bright red like boiled lobsters in reverse. This is shared suffering and silliness in a highly accessible manner, perfect for the hectic modern lifestyle. Watching your mates stuff their claw-like feet into shoes while light headed from the shock is certainly a giggle. But is is in no way romantic.  

Short lived intense euphoria? Highly addictive? Sounds like something familiar??? Yes, cold water swimming is effectively wholesome middle-class crack.

 So, if you happen to stumble across middle aged hippie types gleefully jumping into some bleak bit of freezing cold water, just remember- everyone has to get their high somehow.

Nightswimming in winter is another level of self-flagellation in the name of 'welbeing'. I've done it a few times. Imagine a big void that wants to kill you, then willingly jumping into it. You can't see it, but it hurts. Slugs in summer, death in winter. Sorry Michael Stipe, you were wrong about this one.  

I Wanna know! ('Project X', 2021)

 Back in June 2021 I realised a dream of mine to walk the Derwent Watershed Walk after work through the night and then cycle back to Sheffield from Hope having been awake for 27 hours. It became known as 'Project X'.

'I wanna know why the grass is green, I wanna know why the sky is blue' sang The Queers, a pop-punk band I used to listen too in my early teens. What they didn't want to know was what it would feel like to walk the most famous 42 mile walk in the Peak District after work through the night, then jump on a bike and cycle 20 miles home in a state of sleep-deprived and exhausted euphoria. 

I did.

After 2020's 52 mile Hebden Bridge to Sheffield walk (coming soon) I enjoyed an out-of-it but very much in control joyride around my local neighborhood. It was super fun! Why not shorten the walking even further and extend the sleepy cycling fun? I wouldn't have to suffer with painful feet for as long too. The Derwent Watershed walk was perfect to achieve this as I had already done it three times before, including a 62 mile version- it was well within my comfort levels. I'd be knackered for sure, but have plenty in the tank to cycle back. A plan was hatched...

A little bit of background here. A four year relationship was coming to an end. She knew what I was going to do. I knew what she wanted to do. She was the only person who did know and thought I was stupid. So I called it 'Project X' so she wouldn't know. She isn't stupid, she never was. So we postponed our 'little chat' so I could go and achieve my silly dream. The weather was perfect and here was my chance.  

 Wanna know what it is like to walk 42 miles alone in the night while going through a breakup?

It sucks.

Anticipating the fun ahead on Win Hill Pike.

For most of the way I could barely eat, my legs felt heavy and my mind was a total disintegrating mess. Everything was just so much harder, even the good bits over Brown Knoll and Bleaklow. Just shut up and keep going. The good things? Being alone on the hills at night is always fun. It was also waaay easier to suck up the tiredness and inevitable pain in my feet. Staggering up Parkin Clough on Win Hill Pike, 39 miles in and awake for 24 hours was a lot of fun. Totally out of it, tired of thinking, tired of walking, tired of the pain, an overwhelming desire to get to the bike. Humanity had melted down, reformed into a wide-eyed cadaver crawling its way to the top in a manic state of delirium.   

9:00am, Hope Car Park. I arrive. 42 miles in 15 hours. Awake for 27 hours. Grinning from ear to ear, as smelly as a mouldy rat, staggering like a freshly animated corpse. Fresh faced morning walkers look disturbed and quickly move away. They had no idea. Probably for the best. Breakfast of lucozade (orange) and granola. Get the bike ready. 

Before I set off there were a few basic checks to do. I needed to figure out the differences of me sober on a bike and me definitely not, and how I could overcome them. A few laps around the car park confirmed a couple of things: My reaction times were slowed, so breaking times and spaces were to be increased. I was beginning to experience mild auditory hallucinations. Instead of using hearing to judge approaching cars, I'd have to look around. But my balance was off, which therefore had to be counteracted by using my legs. Pretty simple- and provided you remember to do it- pretty effective too.

Wanna know what it is like to ride a bike having walked a long way through the night after a day at work, having been awake for 27 hours???

It was a lot of fun!

The pains in my feet and shins immediately dissipated. The tiredness in my legs just washed away by rushing waves of euphoria. The Derwent Watershed may never have happened. It was a new day. I was a new man. Reborn. Cycling felt as natural as breathing. It wasn't even hard. It was easy. It was amazing.

All the way through the Hope Valley and up the Surprise View, face hurting from smiling so much. This was what I'd dreamed about for the last year. Tears fell down my cheeks. I giggled as the road shimmered, swirled and breathed while sounds appeared from nowhere. A few cyclists ahead. Get them. A tiny feather for the tiny ego. Total focus on staying in a straight line, keeping moving and not getting hit. It was the biggest and most surreal daydream of my life and I was living it.

Hathersage Road. Reality bites. Heavier traffic. It was 12:30. Reactions and focus deteriorating. Survival mode. Get the game head on and finish it. Hospitals scare me. The one thing I fear as much as The Slug is The Needle. Don't go there. Total concentration. Stay away from The Needle. 

The Needle successfully avoided, Meersbrook (aka 'The Lentil Belt') finally materialised. Sober normal people. Try to act like them. I'm not an actor so that soon failed. I did however, mange the last bit of cycling up to my house with degree of normalcy. It was over.

Ted. My buddy comes to greet me at the end.

Wanna know what it feel like to have achieved another silly dream?

Sad yet happy. This had been a huge part of my life for over a year. Winter days spent slogging up Meersbrook Park, hungover cycles, many evenings thinking about it. Sad that it was now time to finally let go. I cried a little as I walked up the steps to my front door. Yet it had given me some unforgettable memories. My experiment had worked. New plans were already forming in my head for what could follow on from this. Ecstasy flooded my brain as I took off my boots and gave Ted the cat a cuddle. 

Another dream realised. I was happy as a pig in shit.

A brief note on Ethics: Aside from my ex I told nobody about my plans until after it was done. I carried everything needed and had my phone turned off for the duration of the trip. This wasn't about bragging to my mates. It was about total immersion doing something I love. 

Oh, and I wore a helmet for the cycle.