MG
"If you can lose your head when all about you
Are keeping theirs…"
Adapted Rudyard Kipling...
We all have our dreams. And sometimes, just occasionally, those dreams come true. Today, a snow swim. A real, live (just) snow swim.
Driving back form Dartmoor yesterday where PJ and I had a glorious walk in warm sun (no swimming – it nearly killed us last time and I don't care what the http://devonshiredippers.blogspot.com/ are doing, I can't let myself start on that) it seemed incredible that only an hour later, the skies darkened and it began in a reluctant, half hearted sort of way, to gently snow. I dropped off PJ, and by the time the Mascot and I had motored home, a full-on blizzard was driving from the sky. I could barely contain my excitement and skipped feverishly about, basking in the glory of having swum in the sea on a day when it SNOWED!
But far greater was in store – waking up early, drawing back the curtains, there lying in wait was a landscape fresh from a Dickensian Christmas fantasy. And there's nothing like a heavy snowfall to make one feel like a sea bathe. In a flurry of texts, SW and I agreed a time and having fought off arguments from my non-support support team as I tried to silently slip away, my towel hidden behind my back, I was soon scraping the snow and ice from my car and slithering down to the sea.
The wind whipped over the car park as SW, I and the not-amused Snow Mascot met and made our way to the deserted beach, greeting each other with wry smiles of disbelief and barely concealed panic. But on the beach, we are agog at the beauty of the snow stretching almost down to the waters edge, and at the unbelievable bravery of what we are about to do. We've been dreaming of this day and there is no question of backing out; in fact, as SW points out, from our point of view snow this early is a god-send; the water is still an easily manageable temperature compared to January or February when we'd been expecting to attempt this swim. With an intake of breath and a few skips, we begin disrobing. A mountain of layers soon appears – for interests sake, I was wearing; a thermal vest, a t-shirt, a long sleeved t-shirt, a wool jumper, a puffa waistcoat, a cashmere jumper, tights, thick socks, fleecy tracksuit bottoms, furry boots, scarf, woolly hat and gloves. Fanciable. You could have thrown me fully clothed in to the sea and it would have taken a good 10 minutes for the water to penetrate.
But – the moment arrives and after only a little prancing (mostly on my part I'm ashamed to say – we notice that my hands are impressively blue before I've even submerged) we plunge. We had agreed to stay in our depths, but within the first stroke the bottom has vanished and we strike out across the flat, still water, with only a gasp and a squeak, all rational thought disappearing. I don't even notice the Knives of Cold, and SW doesn't mention his disco wings – we are completely absorbed in the majesty of the moment. Any earthly pains seem a long way away; swimming beneath a snow laden sky and looking back at the white beach give us a glow of triumph that'll be hard to beat. We get out and go back in several times – it's so difficult to force yourself out when you feel completely warm. I dive under and come back up to see SW literally glowing, and an enormous smile on his face as he gazes up at the snowy hills to the West.
Tingling skin, speed dressing, peppermint tea and a lot of complaining from me about the pain in my toes (once the numbness has worn off, my toes feel like they are in a vice being twisted; wetsuit booties for me henceforth) and we are done.
With a hat and a hood, several of my witty jokes pass SW by (that may be by choice) and the pain in my toes slightly extinguishes my sense of humour anyway, and we migrate to the cars at our new peculiar floating trot. But with SW's parting words "see you for a swim in December!" ringing in my ears, the various accusations of "crazy" "certifiable" "being a bit silly now" melt from me like snow in a frying pan.
As I recombobulate in a hot bath, the only niggling worry is, once you're standing on Everest, what can possibly come next?
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