For some swimmers, winter marks the off-season; a time to rest, recover, and ease off the intensity. For me, it’s the opposite. Winter is when I build. It’s when I focus on technique, speed, and strength, laying the groundwork for the open water season ahead. My goal this year was to improve my pace and fitness so that by May, when long river and lake swims begin, I’d be ready for something big.
But with a back injury, that plan is on pause.
Still, winter offers something else: wild swimming. Cold, outdoors, and utterly invigorating. I love it. There’s nothing quite like the shock of icy water and the squeals of my friends and I entering the water on a silent misty morning. I love the camaraderie of the cold-water swimming community. It’s a space that welcomes everyone—though for some, it’s not without its challenges.
As a wheelchair user, winter swimming demands extra planning and resilience. Some entry points turn muddy and become slippery and they really aren’t designed for, or ideal for someone with limited balance and mobility. Due to my disability, I am unable to drive, which means I can’t rely on a warm car to recover post-swim. Instead, I have to get warm enough to wheel myself home through wind, rain, and cold before I can truly thaw out.
Luckily, I have the swim location in this video, which is just 5 minutes from home and has a pontoon to make getting in and out of the water easier. It’s not always easy, but I am lucky to have friends to help me when needed because despite the struggles, it’s totally worth it.
There’s something about winter swimming that defies explanation. I’ve never found a single word that captures what it does for me. People often call me “bonkers” for doing it. But I’ve stopped caring. If it makes me feel alive, if it brings me joy, then I’ll keep doing it!
Winter swimming isn’t just a sport. It’s a reclamation. Of space, of strength, of self. It’s where I meet my body not as a limitation, but as a partner in something wild and wonderful. It’s where I feel most free.
Even when I’m not able to swim distances outdoors, I normally still train. Winter is when I do the bulk of my fitness work—strength and conditioning to support my pool sessions, and technique drills to refine my stroke. I train with purpose, knowing that every session brings me closer to the water I love. Whether it’s indoors or out, swimming is never just physical—it’s emotional, mental, and deeply personal to me.
The cold-water community understands that. It’s full of people who swim not just for performance, but for connection, clarity, and joy. It’s a space where difference is embraced, and where resilience is quietly celebrated.
So yes, winter can be wild. It can be muddy, cold, and unpredictable. But it’s also where I find my rhythm. Where I train, swim, adapt, and grow. And when the season shifts and the lakes warm, I’ll be ready—not just because I’ve trained hard, but because I’ve stayed connected to the water, even when it challenged me most.
