Hello troopsies — Suzy Rook here 🩷

On the 8th of June 2026, I’ll be swimming 1 kilometre in Arctic ice water in Svalbard, the northernmost inhabited area of the North Pole. Just me, a swimsuit, goggles, a swim cap, and temperatures that could be as low as 1°C.

People keep asking me why?

The answer is simple really — because I needed something to hold onto.

Over the last 5–10 years my mental health has taken an absolute beating. Like so many people, life has brought wave after wave of trauma, stress, heartbreak, grief, pressure, and loss. I think sometimes we become so used to surviving that we don’t realise how heavy life has actually become until our body and mind finally force us to stop.

For me, that stop came in the form of cancer in 2025.

Back in 2019, during my last pregnancy, I discovered a large mass on my neck. Over the years it was scanned and checked several times and during Covid it was believed to be nothing sinister. But as time went on, the lump became larger and larger until eventually it began impacting my breathing, my voice, and my overall health. I constantly felt like I was choking and became hoarse all the time.

On the 1st of September 2025, I underwent a major 8 hour operation to remove the 10cm mass from my neck and throat.

The surgery left me with a 7-inch scar across my throat — a wild story starter if nothing else. We jokingly called the lump “Mary Doll.”

Six weeks later, I was told Mary Doll was cancer.

Nothing prepares you for hearing those words.

The physical recovery was brutal, but mentally things became even harder. At the time of my diagnosis, I was already trying to process the devastating loss of one of the most important people in my life — a dear friend who passed away from cancer in December 2024. She had been like a second mum to me since I was 14 years old. Losing her broke my heart completely.

Then only months later, I found myself facing cancer too.

Around the same time, my neighbour was also battling cancer and sadly lost her life earlier this year. Watching people around you lose their battles while trying to navigate your own fears is something difficult to explain unless you’ve lived it.

Everything started to feel incredibly heavy.

I’d be lying if I said I coped well all the time. I didn’t.

Having three very young children made everything feel even more frightening because serious illness doesn’t just affect you — it affects everyone who loves you too. There were moments I genuinely felt mentally exhausted, overwhelmed, fearful, and emotionally broken. This is normal in the circumstances. I knew I had to ride it out and pick a focus.

By January 2026, I knew I needed something positive to focus on before my mind disappeared into dark places.

So I did what I’ve always done throughout difficult times — I turned to cold water.

Cold water swimming has become part of my mental health scaffolding. It gives me structure, routine, clarity, peace, purpose, and a reason to keep moving forward on the difficult days. It gets me outside, out of my own head, and back into my body again.

Since my surgery wound healed enough in November 2025, I’ve committed to daily cold water immersion. I’m currently over 212 days into consecutive daily dips, dooks, and swims lasting between 10–20 minutes every single day.

I swim in seas, lochs, waterfalls, and freezing Scottish winter waters. Recently I’ve even started training in an ice chiller to prepare for Arctic conditions.

And somehow, amongst all the chaos, grief, trauma, fear, and recovery — I found myself again. Hope, grit & determination to live. "Life is for loving, but we have got to live".

This challenge isn’t really about swimming in freezing water.

It’s about mental resilience.

It’s about survival.

It’s about healing.

It’s about learning how to live again after trauma.

After retiring from international rugby and becoming a mummy, life became incredibly challenging in ways I never expected. Looking back now, I can honestly say I’ve spent years running on empty while trying to be everything for everyone else.

Cancer became the final straw that forced me to stop and truly look after myself.

I strongly believe chronic stress, grief, trauma, and emotional exhaustion eventually show themselves physically in our bodies and minds. We need to take mental wellbeing seriously. We need to normalise asking for help. We need to stop pretending people are weak for struggling.

Mental health is not a weakness.

Surviving difficult times is not weakness.

Speaking openly is not weakness.

As someone who worked professionally in social care and sport, I knew where support existed and understood that what I was feeling was normal after trauma — but not everyone has that knowledge or support system.

So I want to use this challenge to remind people that it is completely okay not to be okay.

Please talk.

Please reach out.

Please ask for help.

Whether that’s your GP, family, friends, support services, charities, online groups, or even a stranger — you deserve support. You deserve to be heard. You deserve to stay.

I also want people to know that cancer in younger people is real. We cannot ignore symptoms or dismiss ourselves because of age. If something feels wrong in your body, push for answers.

Physically, my recovery is thankfully going well and I’m incredibly grateful to currently be cancer free. Mentally, however, healing takes much longer. Trauma leaves scars you cannot see.

But I’m trying. Every single day.

This Arctic swim is my way of reclaiming myself after one of the hardest periods of my life. It’s proof to myself that despite everything, I am still here.

Still fighting.

Still healing.

Still swimming.

From February 2026 onwards, this fundraiser will focus on:

🩷 Mental health awareness

🩷 Suicide awareness and prevention

🩷 Trauma recovery

🩷 Cancer awareness in young people

🩷 Wellness and wellbeing through cold water therapy

🩷 Encouraging people to seek support without shame

Cold water has become a lifeline for me. It may not fix everything, but it has helped carry me through some of the darkest moments of my life.

To anyone currently struggling silently — I see you. I hear you. You are never alone.

Thank you so much for supporting my journey, my recovery, and this cause so close to my heart.

Down, but not out 🦋🩷

Love yas always,

Over and out.

#BOSH 🩷🏴🥶🐻‍❄️🩷