The weather was excellent today. Clare and I cycled to the seaside to go for a swim, resolutely ignoring the fact that this is February. We joked about how blood-coagulatingly cold the water would probably be and laughed nervously. We cycled to Seapoint, about a half hour away, by which time we were melting under the heat of our plastic anoraks, so a swim in the sea seemed like a great idea. We stripped down to our swimsuits, which we had very cleverly worn under our clothes (ta-da!) and then stood in panicked silence for a second, realising it was too late to back out.
We paddled down the concrete steps which were built into the water and Clare, wisely deciding not to prolong the agony, dived (dove?) in immediately. I was a little less intrepid, wading down to the last step until the water was above my knees, and then sort of falling off the edge in a reluctant dive.
It was freezing, of course, so I started swimming. I swam out quite far, scared that the cold would get worse if i stopped moving. Then I swam in circles, screaming obscenities and laughing maniacally. I do love the sea a lot even though it is a bit cold. A concerned family who were standing nearby seemed to think I was having a stroke and looked on anxiously. Then the cold hit my bones and my jaw locked and my lungs collapsed and I couldn't catch my breath and my skin burned like it was on fire and I stopped laughing and started to panic. So I decided to get out.
Clare stayed in a bit longer and then followed. The two of us stood at the edge of the water squishing up our faces and clutching our frozen brains. Realising we were starting to turn blue we stiffly got dressed and cycled on to Dun Laoghaire to enjoy an overpriced coffee.
I couldn't get warm in the coffee place because my blood was so cold. Clare was the same. We just sat there, being slightly blue and slurring our words because our faces wouldn't work properly. On the cycle home I pulled the drawstrings tight on my hood to keep the wind off my wet hair. The hood poked up at the top in what I assume was a sort of mammary fashion, based on the fact that someone leaned out their car window and shouted "Boob" as they drove past. Which is ironic, because Clare calls me Boob.