MG
"We are all born mad – some people just remain so"
Samuel Beckett
"Hello…" I say as KH answers the phone "I'm afraid it's me…". I can actually hear her heart sinking with a "plumphh" sound as I proffer the idea of a charming sea bathe. What could be nicer?! Actually, I'm not exactly leaping at it myself, but I'd begun to think our swimming days were numbered as JJ nobly flew the flag in Norfolk , but gales raged, a woman was impaled by a branch and a kite surfer picked up and hurled into a building in France
So I fortify myself with crumpets and spend an infuriatingly long time looking for my swimming costume, having decided to upgrade from bikini to one-piece (it's been suspiciously well put away for someone who plans to swim all winter – I blame the non-support support team). Then it's off to the beach. With a pre-swim walk in mind, during which I will gird my loins, I've got two dogs – Mascot and Hairy Aunt (ancient, fragrant, be-whiskered, beard tinged with orange from a long-ago meal, but utterly beloved of all) and I choose Cogden. I wouldn't normally swim alone here, but I'm not feeling strong enough for the 15,000 spectators eating fish and chips at The Hive (Burton) and as it's so still today, I think Cogden will be OK. I can't imagine I'll be in long or swim out far anyway…
In fact, when I reach the car park and look down on the sea, I'm in such a state of keyed up anticipation that I'm too nervous to walk first, and gallop down the hill and onto the beach before I can change my mind. There's an enormous ship on the horizon, very unusual for here, which makes me quake as I think of the submarines reportedly still on the bottom of the sea just off Portland, as well as the numerous wrecks off this coastline.
I pitch within sight of the only other person, a fisherman, just in case, peel off and advance. Though it's pretty calm, the waves seem to be making a terrible racket as they break, which makes me even more nervous, and as I'm thinking this, one breaks over my knees, soaking me with spray, so I hurl myself in and cast off without another thought. Unbelievably, despite all my nerves tingling in terror, it's "reassuringly not bad" as SW would say – I was expecting far worse, and actually, I can't detect any drop in temperature from last week, though surely there must have been a down shift. It's cold of course, but by no means unbearably so. And as well as that, the sun is out, the wind has dropped, and I'm SWIMMING on the 15th November! This makes up for the murk which has gobbled up my legs and fingertips.
As always, the thoughts I came in with detach from my mind and float away, and within seconds, I'm calm and peaceful, aware only of the tranquillity of the now. There's nothing like it. But I am nervous about getting out – I think mine and SW's near death experience has given my confidence a shake-up, which is probably a good thing in these deceptive waters – so before I can get cold, I choose a quiet moment and swim madly in, backstroking till I'm almost back at my towel. It's the drop from ankle depth to bottomless that is so alarming. But I'm fine, and I give a few skips of self-congratulation as I change. No bar. No banter. But a triumphant swim all the same.
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