Salty Bones

Man O' War bay by Durdle Door, Dorset, July 2018.
Man O’ War cove by Durdle Door.

The sun is burning hot and the sea shimmers a thousand beautiful blues.

We pick our way down a washed-away jumble of steps and baked mud, beyond a sign that says not to go further. The beach is toasty under my soles and tingly around my toes.

We set up camp half way round the bay and I strip quickly down to my bikini, head straight to the water because if I don’t get in now I never will.

The water is sharp and cold, a shock, a relief, icy as it slicks across my goose-bumpled skin. It cloaks me, hides me. I float, I swim, paddle, sit, stand, wriggle till I’m soaked through to my blood, salty down to my bones.

And I stay longer and longer, a fear bubbling under my skin until the cold forces me to ignore the fear.

Getting out is the worst part because my head hates my body, even though my body doesn’t really deserve to be hated.

Somewhere lost – very lost – inside me, I know that. I know it but still I don’t believe it.

The short walk back to our spot makes me, ridiculously, want to cry.

The towel is my saviour, a shroud, a thin paisley-strewn defence against eyes that will surely hate my body too if they glimpse it.

A book is my saviour too, releases me from my self.

Butterflies dance over pebbles, brush across my knees. They save me as well.

And the skylarks, they save me. They sing and sing, cheep and cheep, and they lull me away from the thoughts that circle round like vultures desperate to pick apart, literally, my flesh.

As we head back, back up those jumbly stairs, back up a very hilly hill, I try to love my legs, love every sinew, every muscle, every bit of cellulite – the real bits and the (apparently) imagined bits – as every one of them helps me back to the car, but I struggle to undo over half-a-life’s worth of muddled thinking. Of being and knowing and believing.

How can going for a swim be so hard?

Cobwebs

You know the saying “blow the cobwebs away”? After walking at Durdle Door today, I’m pretty sure I’m sorted on the cobwebs front for life.

It was so – so, so, so – windy. My face hurt. My ears hurt. My eyes hurt. My eyelashes even hurt, as the air tried its best to burrow into my eye sockets and brain.

Between the steps down to Man O’ War beach and the steps to Durdle Door, the air funnelled through so hard it was like being battered in the face and chest. I thought, at one point, my shirt and jacket might sink through my skin, tear through my ribs, and rip out through my spine, leaving a tangly mess of me and my clothes in the churning sea below.

Luckily, that didn’t happen. Which is good, because it means I can go again sometime.

Maybe when it’s a little less windy, though.

Man of War Bay, Durdle Door, Dorset, November 2017.