Thursday 24th February, The Hive, 9.15

MG

After another failed swim attempt earlier in the week, we have resolved to swim today by hook or by crook. I have lobbied for a swim outing to Ringstead after the West Bay sea on Wednesday was a muddied silver with thrashing waves and a layer of scum. On top of the customary February battle to overcome the internal hibernation voice, it's not enough to persuade us. In my mind, Ringstead is a paradise of still waters and clear sea – though in fact I'm basing this on a few August visits, so who knows really. But time is pressing on us, and we agree to assess conditions in the early morning.

Waking up to the dulcet tones of Jim Naughtie proclaiming that today's weather would be "spring-like" SW and I are in textual communication quite ridiculously early and arrange to meet at Burton at 9.15; the Ringstead outing must await another day. "Are you going to the leisure centre?" asks my non-support support team, suspiciously watching me fill a thermos with cocoa "ummm…." I avert "it depends on your definition of "leisure centre"…".

At the still sleeping beach (I don't think I've ever been here so early) the sun is just squinting through the scudding clouds, and the waves, though still annoyingly thrashy, muddied and breaking just on the shelf, are certainly better than previous days this month. And at least there is no wind. SW is jubilant and enthusiastic. I want to be. But I'm battling the internal voice; February seems to have been the month that really takes insistence and determination not to just curl up and have a snooze. SW ignores my whining as we change and advance. The first spray is like a hail of bullets and I feel like crying. The waves look enormous and every time there's a calm patch a monster wave appears on the horizon. After several minutes of agonised prancing (yes, PRANCING! What has happened to us!) I run back up the beach to get my camera to capture SW drying his wings, cormorant style, in a valiant attempt to have as little contact with the water as possible...

But then, just as I'm really considering giving up, SW is suddenly in, actually swimming. Now there's no question and choosing my moment I grit my teeth, throw myself in and join him. The glow of satisfaction meets the burn of cold almost cancelling it out. We're swimming! At last! We do many bursts in the end, in and out, surfing in on the waves which once in are not as frightening as I'd thought, though at one point I do give SW permission to drink the cocoa if I drown. "We really ought to stop" he says as we poise on the edge for another dip, but it's just too tempting – the rush and submerge, the burn, the thrill and jubilation, followed by hysteria – it seems more pronounced this time than for a long time, perhaps because I'd come so close to bailing, perhaps because it has been 5 weeks since our last swim (though some would say 3…), perhaps because the water must be at about it's coldest point of the year now. Eventually, after a few more runs and dives, we skip back to the towels and the cocoa, to toast SW who has now officially swum every single month of the year; I have next month still to do. But despite this, I allow myself much self congratulation.

Not even washing seagull mess off my car for the third day running can dampen my exhilaration; as SW memorably said after one of our November swims "I have seaweed in my hair and sand in my eye, I am happy".