Tuesday 12th October

West Bay 3.00

MG

For the first time today as people stared at me as though I were mad, I was able to stare blatantly back at them – who WOULDN'T want to swim on a day like this?! We've had three days so far of utterly perfect weather, the sort we dream about and rarely get in August, let alone October. It's windy at home, but the beach is so protected by the cliffs, that the water is calm and still. The tide is low and I think the beach is deserted until I spot little huddles of people in the rocks in each alcove, like the last remaining villagers after a Viking pillage. It's a day, clearly, for sitting, thinking, looking out to sea. Not for me though. I feel very self conscious as the only person on the sand – the eyes of all are upon me as I strip off, wade in, and plunge. It's not cold – but different. There are a few exciting moments in which I am thinking, "this is… sharp". It's murky still as well, which surprises me – it's been so still that I'd imagined the water would be clearing (I'm dreaming of those days in June when the water was so clear that I thought my own shadow on the bottom 20 feet below me was a shark) but it's just as murky as Saturday and my legs are an even more shapeless blur than usual. I bob and watch the people watching me. Then out of nowhere, a ferocious wind gets up – I must have crossed an invisible line, though I can't see how that's possible, where the cliffs no longer protect me from the wind. I have to swim with the wind behind me, which is a very odd sensation, while the currents below echo those above, so I feel thoroughly pummelled. I spot some people arrive and change very professionally, so I keep my eye on them as they approach the water – but they turn out to be Prancers, in and out before I've time to say "hero".

I'm already late, so I turn and pearl dive inwards, though my inclination is to keep my eyes firmly shut in the alarming murk below. I can't believe how close I have to be before I'm back in my depth – I keep putting my feet down hopefully and vanishing without trace like Shelley in the Arno. I only scrape the bottom with my tows when I'm about three metres form the wave break – from there it's a steep scrabble out. This is why this stretch of coast is so treacherous.

As I hurriedly change and dash to leave, not, for once, thinking about how heroic, brave, romantic and enviable I must appear, one of the Viking-pillage-survivors catches my eye, and "Bravo!" he says. This warms my cockles more than any hot chocolate.

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Brighton, 5pm

Feeling a bit energetic after 2 days of too much sitting still, I decide to combine a run and a swim. This seems a really good idea until I realised I was in an unfamiliar city where there are always lots of people on the beach and I only have 1 set of house keys (the long-suffering SH who does not swim but does watch my stuff having gone back to Dorset earlier). My imagination started going overboard with most scenarios involving my bag with keys being nicked while I was swimming leaving me with no way to get in the house and no cash but with an expensive trip to the locksmith wearing only my cold wet swimwear…

I got over this dilemma by hiding a cash card in the garden (at least then I could buy a pint and some dry clothes before going to the locksmiths). And deciding not to be so paranoid.

Another beautiful mid autumn day. An easy downhill run for a kilometre led to the seafront promenade and level running east or west. I head towards Hove again, turning round at a pre-determined 2.5k mark. Just before I am due to start the up hill return home I stop for my swim. As expected the beach is busy (although the sea is empty). I stop between two people who I think look respectable – they are both reading books, surely book-readers would not nick my keys…

It feels fantastic to swim in cool water after a hot run, the water is a little clearer than yesterday and almost flat calm.  After a few minutes swimming I feel almost ready to run up the hill home. I glance nervously back at my stuff but I have managed to leave it at the bottom of a dip in the beach meaning its invisible. Either that or the book worms have got it. I am enjoying my swim too much to worry about it so continue with breast-stroke in to the sun.

When I eventually get out my stuff is fine. The book readers did not seem to have noticed my belongings or my swimming and my faith in humanity is restored. And I feel a bit embarrassed at being such a country bumpkin in the city.

Up hill is the slog I was expecting but much better for the swim. An ideal combination, kind of like a mini aquathon.


SW