MG
Cogden 11am
I've had a bad few days one way or another, rendered worse by a) a member of my non-support support crew repeatedly telling me how much colder it is in the North Sea b) weather so inconsistent that at one point I was standing in sunshine gazing out at the distant blackened peaks of Devon to the West, when my own squall sneaked up behind me from the East, and gave me a thorough drenching. The storms have rendered the sea unswimmable – KH reports it as completely wild when I bump into her on Saturday evening (where incidentally we bemuse and horrify all present by immediately lunching into a detailed discussion about our swimming hats practically without saying "hello") Consequently, at the first glimpse of blue sky our texts and phone calls cross as we over-zealously make a plan to meet at Cogden.
The sun is out, the sky is blue, there's not a cloud to spoil the view (except SW's absence in Brighton) as we meet on the beach, Percy giving me a warm welcome, despite my comment last week that I'd like to turn his beautiful curly pelt into a post-swim jacket. I've got neither mascot nor mascottini as I've come from and am going back to work, and I must say, it's a blessed relief. The sea looks dreamy and we strip off, keenly discussing our post swim wardrobes with which I am now totally obsessed. My fleece lined tracksuit bottoms render KH extremely jealous – it's true that they are so joyous that the real hardship is taking them off and putting on my ridiculous bikini (I must upgrade to a proper suit). I draw KH's attention to the "snuggle suit" which JJ has so helpfully found for her (see below) but strangely she seems a little less keen. I vote JJ, or possibly SW, invest in one. By the way JJ, SW does have gloves, but I'll leave him to explain why he chooses to have dead-person hands rather than wear them…Excitingly KH has got her turban, but she's not as happy with it as she had hoped – it's rather shiny – so she's still in the market for the Dream Turban (or "turbot" as her father misheard me describe it). I am thrilled with my Kiera Knightley hat (though I look disappointingly unlike Kiera Knightley) but am saving it as a special treat for later in the season.
We take the plunge through a churning break which nearly unseats both of us, but KH is in and away, as always shaming me with her bravery. It is glorious, just GLORIOUS. It seems unlikely, but either we've become ridiculously acclimatised or it is a degree or so warmer (possible I guess, in the stirring up of the storms) – there are no peculiar pains, no stabbing knives, just pure unbridled bliss. We swim peacefully about, coming together every now and then to exchange remarks. Even though we don't swim side by side, it is such a pleasure sharing this whole experience, and the companionship of KH or SW, whether it be a distant shiny turban, constant hilarity and banter or a beaming smile to echo my own, is really a huge part of this. Plaudits are due to JJ, who is swimming ALONE in the MUCH COLDER, icy wastes of the North Sea – really, bravery beyond measure.
We eventually emerge to the ridiculously warm sun, feeling completely warm and untraumatised. KH points out that although it is undoubtedly November, and thusly impressive, swimming today isn't really anything to feel too smug about as the air is so unseasonably warm. As she says this, two walkers hone into sight annoyingly wearing t-shirts, though we comfort ourselves that they haven't been IN THE SEA.
Feeling relaxed and tranquil and slightly hysterical, we part company and I drive back to work with the windows down, which would have been unthinkable in the post-swim shiver-fest of our last few swims.
I intentionally resisted the urge for a second swim during the perfect days we had in October, as I'm aware that that pushes me from "charmingly eccentric" into "dangerously obsessional". But today there's no fighting it. These days are numbered with the Autumnal colours in dutiful swing all around us;
...and I find myself back on the beach, pulling on my wet bikini and throwing off the traumas of the day, before I've really had time to consider it. The light is already fading by 3.30 and the beach is almost deserted, but I responsibly pitch my camp near-ish to the populated Pier, just in case of disaster. I feel horribly exposed, and can't shake off the feeling that some Big Brother figure is going to come and warn me how cold the water is. Or possibly come and save me under a misapprehension. Not Drowning, but Winter Swimming (copyrighted!). So I strip and plunge in a rush to show off my authority. Again, heavenly. Cold, but nowhere near too cold; a bit choppier, but safely so, and comforting. I can feel the strength of the sea below me, but
swimming at West Bay is like coming home; I've been swimming here all my life. This could be a May evening, and I truly wallow, pearl diving in the murky depths, gazing at the honeycomb cliffs, bobbing on the incoming waves, and floating on my back watching the gulls. The hardship of getting out is only tempered by the lure of my fleecy tracksuit bottoms.
Driving home (heater ON) and later in the evening as I feel totally restored to full strength by my two swims, there are not enough numbers with which to count my blessings.
