A private message on Facebook from my friend Patrick at the beginning of September: "I have to be honest, I'm getting in touch as I have a cheeky favour to ask. On Oct 6th I'm doing a swim at Guildford Lido and I need a 'buddy' - main job, making occasional cups of tea. I don't suppose you'd be free and willing, or know anyone Guildford way that likes swimming enough to watch me do it for 6 hours...?"
Well in September it was still warm and seemed like it was going to remain so forever. Even this week, the weather was in that tricky, take a coat and be too hot, wear a t-shirt and be too cold type of place. But today, when it was too late to pull out, the temperature plummeted to 9 degrees celsius and it only stopped raining for about 5 minutes out of those six hours.
Plus you'll remember that a couple of days ago I had a potentially fatal case of man-flu that kept me in bed all day. Fortunately, I woke up this morning feeling all clear and ready for action, so I walked across town to the Lido.
I had a think and I'm pretty sure I haven't been to the Lido since 1986. Back then I was a slender(ish) 21 year old, strutting around in the sunshine in a tiny pair of trunks "Morning, laydeez!". Everything about today was different. I'm a portly 53 in an anorak and if it isn't raining, there's an icy wind blowing.
But today was really not about me. About forty men and women, my friend Patrick among them, set out on the quest to swim eight miles each, five to a lane (in a 50m outdoor pool that's um... 256 lengths) in forty-five minute slots. Most of the people there were swimming a mile in between 25 and 35 minutes, so a forty-five minute slot was one mile of swimming and 10-20 minutes out on the poolside drinking tea, eating a variety of healthy and not so healthy snacks and changing clothes and wet suits while checking in on how they were doing and engaging in gentle competitive and cooperative banter.
My job was to run and get fresh tea, open the crisp packets and box of flapjacks, but most importantly bring the flip-flops and dry-robe to the poolside at the end of each slot and help him into it's warm-ish, damp-ish snuggliness.
The dry-robe is a revelation! It's a kind of mac that's lined with fleecy fur, or perhaps a waterproof dressing gown. I didn't try it on obviously as that would have required me to get undressed and do something that stretches the boundaries of intimacy with Patrick who is a good friend, but perhaps not that close. I must work though on finding a way to try one out.
I wish I could say that the six hours flew by. I'm sure they would have done if I'd been able to sit down (the garden chair we brought got soaked in minutes) or read or write some notes, or perhaps if all the other buddies hadn't also been in a similar state of wet, frozen paralysis. But it was great fun to be part of. There was a lovely spirit of sporting camaraderie and solidarity against the elements.
They also do 12-hour and 24-hour versions, but I think I've done my buddying duty for a while.