Sunday 22nd January, West Bay

MG and the long delayed return to the waters!

SW only two weeks since last swim....

9 degrees in the water

From my position in a café on the sea front where I am having coffee and Bridport Film Festival  planning discussion with NJ and, periodically, joyously proclaiming the sea too rough for a later swim, we see SW approach, stand on the edge of the esplanade gazing out and then turn back to the café with a smile on his face. My heart sinks. There’s to be no escape. “Are you sure this is going to be worth it?” I ask doubtfully, ten minutes later, from our chosen spot by the pier, the Winter Bathing Spot. I am staring out at the grey scummy waves. Never before have I questioned the fundamental philosophy of our swimming (“It’s Always Worth It”) and as the words leave my mouth I feel SW’s horror and repulsion; what has happened to the hardened crusader of yesteryear? (“There’s no discouragement/shall make him once relent/his first avowed intent/to be a pilgrim”).Two months without a swim and there is nothing less appealing to me in my current frame of mind than taking off the majority of my clothes in the chill wind, before the assembled Sunday morning families, lined along the pier and the beach, and submerging in the unappealing murk. But after SW has helpfully pointed out many things currently in my life that I should be dreading more than this, I take the point, and follow his lead in the disrobing. Grumble, whine, and a shiver later and we are standing bare legged but with coats and jumpers still in place.

The horrified faces of the crowd slowly turn towards us. But now – there’s no going back and we cast off our vestments and run to the sea. SW plunges and I, missing that chance, prance in the surf (“Stay in! Stay in!”) then make the dash in a calm moment. We’re swimming! And immediately, I’m cursing the fact that I have let two months go by without this. It’s AMAZING! I’m really swimming, head under, back stroke and all, and though my breath has gone and a slow prickle of unpeeling skin dances along my shoulder blades, the weight has lifted from my shoulders. It’s brief, but perfect and we dash out to stand in the surf, glowing and exuberant and laughing. The wind that had felt cold is warm, the grey light of the sky and sea suddenly suffused with colours and gold, and best of all, everything we say, is hilarious. I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without this fix.

(watched by a budding wild swimmer!)

I dash back in for another submerge, and then out to dry and dress (with some difficulty – we seem to have lost the art of modest dressing over the last few weeks). SW is anxiously shaking his head, worried about stones, dolphins and container ships that may be lost in there; I’m hoping all the various bits of jewellery I’ve lost in tumbles in the waves in the last few years is going to suddenly rain out of his ears. As we are dressing we are already a) traditionally planning what to have for lunch (nothing like winter swimming to inspire intense greed) and b) planning the next outing; a week seems far too long to wait; London? Brighton?

I drive home feeling exuberant and with only a brief shiver of cold. My hair is a tangled bird’s nest, there’s sand in my eye and a ringing in my ears, but I couldn’t be happier. Forgive me my absence, but I am well and truly back in the game now!


MG