I was on my mind when I finally went down to the Wensom River in Norfolk in late fall. My quest to find a cure for my severe anxiety and decades of weekly – sometimes daily – panic attacks went badly. I had exhausted conventional treatments, so I decided to try something different. An anesthesiologist, Mark Harper, had told me about a study that co-authored cold outdoor swimming as a treatment for depression.
In just six three-minute swims on consecutive days, in 10-14C (50-57.2F) water, I was able to change the way my body responded to stress – or so the theory goes. Immersion in very cold water causes something called a “cold shock response”: an exhalation reflex, constriction of blood vessels near the surface of the skin while your body tries to retain heat, increased heart rate and hyperventilation. However, repeated exposures reduce the intensity of this response. You adapt.
“60% of your stress response, measured by changes in blood pressure and heart rate,” Mark told me, “and 50% of it is still there 14 months later.” The theory is that because your body calms down. the great hormonal cascade caused by these short, voluntary exposures, your stress response decreases everywhere – through something called “cross-adaptation”. Then, when you feel anxious in the wrong lane around a three-lane roundabout, your heart is not beating so fast, you are not pumping so much adrenaline and cortisol, and you are better able to stay rational.
In the UK, wild swimming is like sex. Sometimes it’s a little silly, but doing it is less than cultivating a reputation as a person who does it.
It doesn’t start until your heart drops. Then comes the shock, the primary awareness that you are a guest in an environment that cannot support you. A minute after my first swim, my legs felt like I had been crushed by a breeze. This was not some glorious communion with Gaia. I was an idiot in a very cold river.
When I went out, the towel felt like a wire wave on my skin. My fingers and toes throbbed. I felt sick.
But it got better. After hesitating the next day, I argued: come on, Tim, briefly enter the water with a slightly sub-optimal temperature, not up at Passchendaele. The air temperature dropped to -2C – but then, strangely, I liked it. This was my favorite moment of the year.
And what’s worth it – I’ve never had a panic attack since.
Coward: Why We Worry and What We Can Do About It Since Tim Clare was published by Canongate (£ 16.99), order your copy at guardianbookshop.com.
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