When telling people why he didn’t swim until he was 53 years old, Ed Accura often jokes: “My mother was a big advocate of water safety – her advice was to stay away from water!”
Dissuaded from swimming by his parents who preferred he spend his time studying instead, Accura eventually took up lessons after realising he wouldn’t be able to save his daughter if she got into trouble in the water. He’s since embraced the sport with gusto, co-founding the Black Swimming Association (BSA), which aims to tackle the lack of diversity in swimming.
Accura’s story is a reminder that many people encounter barriers preventing them from the joys of having a splash about, be it in a pool or the sea. These could be economic: one survey found that nearly a fifth (19%) of parents couldn’t afford swimming lessons for their children. Or the constraints could be mental (a phobia of water), physical (such as a disability), or cultural. Many people of colour are discouraged from swimming because the lack of role models leads them to believe it’s a privileged white pursuit. According to Sport England, 95% of Black adults in England do not swim regularly.
And yet those who do gingerly take a dip into the sea – either thanks to the BSA or their own sheer will – find swimming is a life-affirming activity with untold health and wellbeing benefits. Feeling safe is paramount to this; as Accura says: “I wouldn’t think about getting into the sea unless a lifeguard was there.” So organisations such as the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI), which patrols more than 240 beaches across the UK, play a vital role in encouraging the take-up of swimming.
Here, we meet three people who’ve gone to great lengths to embrace open-water swimming …
Pete Carr at New Brighton beach. Photographs: Shaw & Shaw
‘It makes me feel OK in my skin’
Pete Carr is a photographer who lives in New Brighton, Merseyside
Last winter, I found myself at 8am emerging shivering from a swim to be handed a glass of prosecco to celebrate the 50th birthday of somebody in my swimming group. A pink sun was slowly rising over Liverpool, geese flew overhead and an oil tanker drifted past behind. It was a magical moment, embodying everything I love about open-water swimming.
Having a swim helps with the debilitating social anxiety I’ve suffered from for many years. For someone who goes red in the face and feels sweaty whenever I forget somebody’s name, swimming makes me feel OK in my skin. I can easily stand there in a pair of Speedos with a turquoise beard and red lipstick, beer belly on display, chatting or saying “good morning” to people passing by.
Through my cognitive behavioural therapy sessions, I’ve learned “exposure therapy”. It’s taught me about confronting that thing you’re afraid of, such as speaking to that person on the street you’d usually avoid. It’s the same with swimming. When my wife suggested I take it up 10 years ago, I was apprehensive. Even though I could bob around a bit, I couldn’t really swim.
After overcoming those fears in the local pool, I graduated to open-water swimming three years ago. The first time I dipped in, I didn’t feel the anxiety or embarrassment I would in other situations. My feet were going numb with cold, but I wasn’t frightened: it made me more aware of the environment. Other people were stepping out saying: “I’m done!” but I felt OK …
It also helps that swimming is becoming more inclusive. As a non-binary person, I’m happy to say I’ve never encountered any issues. Visibility is important, though. There’s a classic phrase in the queer community: “You can’t be what you can’t see”; it’s important to put focus on people who aren’t average, middle-class, white people so people can say: “Hey, they’re like me, maybe I can do it.” Swimming should be available for everybody.
Now, whenever I think of swimming in freezing water with ice floes, it makes me calmer, reminding me I can do things others can’t. As the geeky, science-loving kid who was picked last for sports at school, and for somebody who was previously 23 stone, it feels like an achievement.
Of course, swimming in Liverpool in winter is absurd; our swimming group all think we’re silly for doing it. At the same time, we know we’re safe and are aware of the dangers (I never swim alone and always use a tow float). Recently a lifeguard on the beach asked me if I’d be willing to do a triathlon. Maybe – something I never imagined saying a few years ago – I could.
Naseema Begum at Durley Chine beach, Bournemouth. Photographs: Peter Flude
‘Watching my daughter nearly drown forced me to learn’
Naseema Begum is a fitness trainer who lives in London
It was one of the scariest moments of my life. Seven years ago, on holiday in Morocco, I was in the hotel room leaving my husband supervising our children by the pool. Suddenly, I heard screaming and a choking sound. It was my six-year-old daughter. She’d taken off her armbands and jumped into the deep end. Luckily, my husband jumped in and got her out. The incident lasted seconds but shook me up for a long time. If he wasn’t there, would I have been able to help her?
Before leaving Morocco, we encouraged my daughter to get back into the water, so she wasn’t scared off from swimming. At the same time, I realised I needed to get some water safety skills so I could help my children and others if they got into trouble.
I’ve never been a strong swimmer. In the sea, I’d never venture too far; in the pool, it’s always the shallow end. For many years I never found an opportunity to do water sports in a safe way with other women. My phobia of water spiralled.
A few years ago, I joined a social housing boating club, run by women, which has given me confidence to try boating and sailing. I also undertook a course at the BSA earlier this year, which taught me new swimming techniques and strokes. As a family, we’ve swum at beaches across the UK: Woolacombe in Devon, Botany Bay in Kent, plus beaches in Dorset, Essex and the Isle of Wight. This course has made me much more confident to swim or take the kids out on a kayak. I’m also a scout leader in Tower Hamlets and have arranged for the BSA to teach the troop water safety skills too.
Despite becoming more proficient, I’ll always stick to lifeguarded beaches. Whenever I see the RNLI, it gives me reassurance, knowing it lets me and my children swim safely. When I don’t see lifeguards, it makes me scared.
Shortly after finishing the BSA course, I took a paddleboard out on the water. Within minutes, I’d capsized and was in the cold water. I felt the air being knocked out of me and started panicking. Then I remembered the techniques the BSA taught me: how to calm myself down and let my heart rate get back to normal. I safely clambered back on to the board and enjoyed the rest of the session.
This summer, we’re visiting Scotland as a family, to go white-water rafting and canyon-jumping. When I leapt into the pool on the BSA course, I had knots in my stomach. Now, I can’t wait …
Annie Young at Botany Bay. Photographs: Liz Seabrook
‘It’s helped me push new boundaries since cancer’
Annie Young is a clinical development scientist who lives in Hertfordshire
On Christmas Eve 2016, I noticed a lump on my right breast. Less than a fortnight later, I was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer. It was strange because I was working in oncology at the time, writing a report on patients trialling drugs for … triple negative breast cancer. Now, ahead of surgery and radiotherapy, I’d receive similar drugs myself. These drugs, in my chemotherapy and steroid regime, really took their toll. I suffered tiredness, nausea, malaise, and a rollercoaster of emotions, spanning self-pity to anger. Taking family trips to the seaside, such as Southwold in Suffolk, where I could inhale salt air and hear the waves, helped.
After my treatment, I threw myself into activities to make up for missed time: from a Holi-inspired colour run culminating in an outdoor rave, to helping out at food banks. And cold-water swimming.
My first cold-water dip post-cancer was in a lake and I’ve loved it ever since. Even when it’s pouring with rain, you feel as if you’re in nature, getting into a rhythm with your own body. It has a huge reset effect. While some people inch their way into freezing water, I seemingly have a good tolerance for jumping straight in. In fact, I’ve even got a water butt in our garden, which I fill with cold water and sit inside. Perhaps my experience with the cold cap – a helmet worn to reduce hair loss in chemotherapy patients, often frozen to -5C – has helped me here.
Working in clinical science, I also know cold water has healing benefits (pdf). Cold water drains body heat four times faster than cold air, so you feel the chill more quickly. This releases hormones and neurotransmitters such as adrenaline, noradrenaline and dopamine – the so-called “happy hormone” – which makes you emerge from the water feeling motivated. Cold-water swimming may also help women with menopausal symptoms such as flushes and night sweats, which can affect many patients post-chemotherapy.
As for my own swimming endeavours, I’ve since completed a mini-triathlon, an outdoor 5k for charity, and three half-Ironmans, one of which involved jumping into the sea from Eastbourne pier.
I also swim on holiday in Cornwall with my husband and two sons. Knowing the beaches are guarded, to see lifeguards blowing on whistles telling people to stay within flagged areas, always makes me feel much better. Whenever we go swimming, we also wear our tow floats – they’re great for grabbing on to whenever you feel tired.
There are times when plunging into freezing water when I think: “Why am I not sitting on the sofa watching TV, or still in bed?” But open-water swimming has proved to be massively beneficial in my recovery from cancer, and a distraction from the “scanxiety” since. It’s set a new baseline, helped me push new boundaries by going against my natural instincts, and hopefully move on …
Play it safe this summer: visit an RNLI-lifeguarded beach. If you get into trouble in the water, float to live, until help arrives.
