‘The Ice Mile’ is an extreme swimming challenge of at least one mile completed with standard channel swimming gear (swim cap, goggles, swimsuit) in water temperature of 5°C (41°F) or less. It has been called the ultimate challenge in swimming and less than 450 people have ever completed one. It is a brutal combination of physical and mental torture that is frankly rather terrifying.

On Sunday, Jan 22nd 2023 at Brockwell Lido in South London, with the water temperature at 3.8 degrees & air temperature at 2 degrees, I set out to attempt my first Ice Mile. With no hesitation, I want to straight up declare that it was incredibly brutal. More brutal than I could have imagined. I thought about how I wanted to share the experience or what I might be able to offer someone embarking on their own cold water swimming journey or ice mile challenge. What I kept returning to was that I felt incredibly different at various points along the way and the overall journey of an ice mile can’t be described as one state of mind but of various states of emotion and feelings that build up into a complex mosaic.

So I really wanted to focus on what it feels like to swim an Ice Mile and as such I want to break this into four different areas;

1. How it feels to train for an Ice Mile

2. How it feels before you swim an Ice Mile

3. How it feels during an Ice Mile

4. How it feels after an Ice Mile

The reason I am breaking it into those four different categories is that it really is a rollercoaster of emotions and my mind felt very different at various stages. It’s much better to try to understand the journey you go on rather than a specific point in time. So first up;

1. How it feels to train for an Ice Mile

Relentless. Scary. Imposter-Syndrome. Daunting. Fiery Purpose. Loving the Cold.

The above are the main words that spring to mind when I think of what it feels like to train for an ice mile.

My training for the Ice Mile lasted around 4 years in total. We’d been doing plenty of swimming challenges, long-distance river swims, maelstroms and marathon swims leading up to the start of the training but I’d never swum through winter or done proper ice swimming until 2019. In the summer of 2019, I moved next to Brockwell Lido in South London and vowed to swim through my first winter. Jack joined me, and we’d spend freezing cold mornings huddled together in the outdoor sauna, spilling our flasks of tea over each other’s shivering legs. In doing so we met some other hardcore ice swimmers, including Julie Reynolds who went on to complete an ice mile that winter. She really inspired me to push my limits and I set myself the challenge of swimming an Ice 1km, 1,000m in sub 5 degrees. This was my first stepping stone on the ice mile journey and I was able to complete 4 Ice 1kms that winter by gradually increasing my distance every week (no more than 100m extra than the last one on any swim). With my fastest taking 21 minutes. But the Ice Mile and that extra 600m felt like a whole other world. It felt unattainable, the Ice 1km had been brutally hard for me and I couldn’t understand how swimmers could do another 600m.

Then I moved to Singapore, laid to rest my ice swimming ambitions and settled into some sweltering tropical swimming. I watched on as Jack & Robbie continued their cold water swimming. Cut to COVID and a return to the UK and I picked up my ice swimming training. The Ice Mile loomed always ever present in my mind. Like a giant scary black hole, sucking me towards it. It began to feel inevitable, almost as if I was strapped to a treadmill that I couldn’t get off. But in the winter of 20/21, we entered a lockdown and pools were closed for 3 months. The cold water had been a huge comfort to my mental health during the challenging months of COVID. Then in the following winter of 21/22, I ramped up my training and committed myself to the Ice. But just as my training was peaking I got a grim bout of COVID that completely wiped me out for 10 days. It was at the exact point in January when the temperature dropped below 5 degrees. Sat feeling sorry for myself on my sofa, with positive test after positive test, I watched on as Jack completed his first ever Ice 1km at Parliament Hill. I felt devasted that I couldn’t be there to support and cheer him on. It was a crushing blow to my Ice Mile dreams.

Both winters I’d felt my strength growing, my acclimatisation improving and the ice mile felt more within reach, I was pushing out 1.3km & 1.4km swims at 5.5/6 degrees and improving. Over time I was learning to love the cold. Swimming with Jack always brought out my best training swims. In addition, meeting other Ice Milers like Nick Hungerford, a hardcore Aussie member of the Serpentine Lido, really helped fuel the ambition. Words of encouragement from him really added fuel to the fire. But I knew I wasn’t quite ready, I felt a sense of imposter syndrome when compared to other ice swimmers like Nick. Was I really up to the task? Was I just self-inflating my ability and the Wild Swimming Brothers had gone to my head? Was this the dreaded ego taking control? I wasn’t truly a proper swimmer like those Ice Milers.

In addition, the challenges of having to pair the right temperature with avoiding the winter flu/COVID were proving difficult. It felt like things were outside of my control. It felt frustrating. This unique combination makes the ice mile training feel very different to other challenges. Perhaps it’s ok if you have a lake or lido that is consistently below 5 degrees for multiple weeks of the winter but in London, Brockwell Lido can dip below 5 degrees for a day or two and return to 6 or 7. Not knowing when this might happen makes you feel helpless. I know I could go elsewhere to do the Ice Mile but my Lido felt like my home ground, it felt safe and other lakes or lidos felt intimidating. But this year the ice goddesses aligned and my training had been solid. I did get COVID before Christmas which took me out for another 6 days, but I was fed up with these things getting in my way. I created a new mantra (a motto I repeat over and over again as I swim) of “No Excuses, No Regrets”. It was working well and stopping me from feeling sorry for myself during the illness. It’s tough having a week out of the water when it gets down to single figures. But things were aligning in my favour. We’d had repeated blasts of icy weather and I’d got quite a few Ice 1kms and longer swims under my belt as we moved into January. I was feeling ready.

2. How it feels before you swim an Ice Mile

Terrifying. Humbling. Haunting. Left Bare. Inevitable. Liberating.

The night before I was lying awake in bed wondering if I might die whilst attempting the Ice Mile. I know that seems dramatic, but I was seriously worried I might become dangerously hypothermic and that the final 200m would finish me off. That’s how I felt. Utterly terrified. It’s serious stuff swimming in water that cold. It’s life-threatening and staying in for too long can easily lead to hypothermia. It’s hard to describe what the cold water is like but it feels like you’re crawling down a hole, squeezing along, and the hole is getting smaller and smaller. As it’s getting narrower and narrower, it gets harder and harder to keep going and the further you go down it the closer you are to getting stuck and never getting back out. That’s what every extra 100m felt like. That’s what the journey into the cold, into early-stage hypothermia feels like. The cold does this to your mind, it reduces you to your absolute primal fears and strips away everything else. But those doubts are real because every extra 100m means a much worse and more aggressive recovery. It’s like you’re spending someone else’s time during the swim and every 100m you’re going to have to pay it back with interest on the recovery. It’s this part, the recovery, that I was feeling most worried about.

I’d had tough recoveries before. Long icy walks back home, wobbles in the changing room huddled together with Jack and the odd one-handed pants dance at the side of the lido. After the Ice 1kms I’d often need 20 minutes in bed with the electric blanket on and the dog as a hot water bottle. But I knew the Ice Mile recovery would be different. I wouldn’t be able to walk on my own and certainly wouldn’t be able to dress or talk. It was this that I was feeling most concerned about. However, I had assembled a top-class support crew. And this filled me with confidence and the belief that I could trust in them and empty myself of all effort and energy and they would look after me.

I had my partner Serena who had seen my recoveries on all my other ice swims and knew exactly how to deal with me and what to say and do. She’d spent many previous mornings calmly watching on post swim as Jack and I emperor penguined together for warmth in the living room. In addition, I had my best friend Luke as second who had been on our maelstrom expeditions in the Arctic where he had the rather important job as Chief Killer Whale Spotter. He is as competent and reliable as they come. I also had Julie, the original Ice Miler of Brockwell, who knew the swimming signs/stroke rate etc to look out for. She was down that morning for a swim to honour the 32nd anniversary of her medical diagnosis. She passionately urged me to “Do the swim for me” which gave me a huge amount of courage. Finally, and most importantly, were the medically trained lifeguard team of Kai and Ryan who knew me and had seen me almost every day for the past few winters. The stage was set, no more excuses, it was all just down to me.

On the walk to the Lido, I was almost silent. Usually, I’m air drumming to some Scandinavian Death Metal and amping myself up but this time I just felt quiet and afraid.

3. How it feels during an Ice Mile

Elation. Joy. Doubt. Fear. Icy Cold. Constricting Throat. Terror. Letting Go. Mind Blanks.

As I entered the 3.8-degree water I felt incredible, all the waiting and I was finally in the water. I felt great on the first 10 lengths (I’d have to do 32 for the mile) and it all felt right. The sun was shining, the water felt lovely and whilst I would have been happier with 4.8 degrees at least there could be no doubt about the temperature. My stroke felt strong, my catch solid and I felt at ease in the lane on my own. Then around 16 lengths in (the midpoint), I started to feel awful, I started to feel really negative. Why was I trying this? Was I just doing this because a few people were now gathering around and clapping? Was I just a fraud all along who had been pretending to train for an Ice Mile when in truth my ability was nowhere near that level? Was this the dreaded ego? I had all these thoughts running through my head and felt lost.

Then I remembered just to use my training and to myself to focus on my breathing. Breathwork is the antidote to cold water. Just go inwards, travel inside yourself, and take the time to feel my breath and feel the air in my lungs. I decided I’d just concentrate on my breath and then see how I felt. After a while of this, I decided to check my watch (I’d lost track of counting lengths). I saw I was on 1,200m or 24 lengths. Not bad I thought. Further, than I thought I’d swum. Getting closer. I then started to get incredibly cold on the next 4 lengths. I could feel my lungs becoming like blocks of ice. My throat felt icy cold and my whole core felt freezing. Then, only 4 lengths to go. What had previously felt like Everest now felt within reach. What always felt like an extra 200m was now only 200m away. Within grasp. Then I approached the shallow end for the last 2 lengths. All it would take would be to tap that wall turn around and go for the final 100m. I had a moment’s hesitation “Am I really doing this, am I really turning around rather than getting out?”. I touched the wall and turned for the final 100m.

I don’t remember those last 100m so it’s difficult to tell you how I felt. I can tell you that my arms felt like lead, and I can remember veering into the lane ropes. I felt like time was slowing down. Then I remember looking up and seeing lots of smiling faces. All I was thinking was get me the hell out of this water. I just managed to haul myself out before my support team took over. They helped me hobble to the side of the pool and the claps turned into worried looks. The only part of the first bit of the recovery I remember was rather embarrassing. The first bit of the recovery involved walking with support to the poolside, towelling down, getting dry and getting my wet stuff off and dry stuff on. We’d laid it all out in order, to begin with. But the problem was I just sat down and didn’t move at all. All I can remember was looking down and my pants weren’t on properly. I mumbled in ice speak to Serena to ‘get my blooming pants on’ and that’s my only memory.

Then Luke bundled me into the warmth of the changing room for 20 minutes and I scared the local dippers with my non-stop shivering. The only part of this that I remember is that someone tried to give me a glass of cold water which I proceeded to shake all over myself. Luke did mention that I also told him that I thought I was going to die so it’s good to know that that recurring thought kept coming up! It’s quite unsettling to see someone go through an Ice mile recovery and I had the sense that I was causing some concern to my fellow dippers. But Luke stayed with me and kept feeding me pits of chocolate and hot tea.

After 20 mins I was ok to walk home and warm up by the radiator. Another 10 mins and I was fine, warm shower and feeling ok.

4. How it feels after an Ice Mile

Joy. Relief. Disbelief. Pride. Elation. Fear of going back into the Cold.

At the time of writing this, it’s been nearly a 7 weeks since the Ice Mile. 32 lengths, 1,600m at 3.8 degrees. Since then I’ve not swum more than 10 lengths, 500m in a single swim. I felt shattered afterwords, exposed and exhausted. I’d filmed the swim in order to get it ratified (still pending as technically it’s 1,609m not 1,600m DOH!) and it was a strange feeling to watch the video of me finishing. To see yourself in that state, unable to walk unassisted and unable to walk can be very scary. It felt slightly traumatising.

I gave myself a couple of days off but then felt the cold water calling me back. But I was terrified, I was genuinely scared to even get back in the water. I felt like a first-timer, filled with nerves and trepidation and suddenly empathised with all those people who wondered why the hell would anyone voluntarily swim in cold water. But I knew I needed to get back in. Cold water offered me so much more than the Ice mile challenge. It gave me enormous physical and mental benefits. It was my favourite part of the day. The pre-swim nerves and excitement, the shocking embrace of the cold, the focused mind in the water and the post-swim rush and endorphin high. I missed it all.

As I settled into just enjoying my swims I felt grateful to have even had a chance at attempting an Ice Mile, let alone completing one. It had been this huge presence in my life for years, it had been a dream I had been chasing that at times had turned into a freezing-cold nightmare. But I missed it, I missed what it had turned me into and once more I headed off into the water in search of something that could only be found deep within the icy depths of the cold.