It's now several days since I swam the Channel and it's just sinking in. I've gone from being plain exhausted to being completely manic. What a bloody journey to get here...
The run up
The tide I am scheduled to swim on (18 July - 27 July) started on the early hours of Tuesday 18 July, and after an initial conversation with Neil, my pilot, I find that I am not, as I thought, 4th on the tide, but now 1st, due to a whole bizarre but fortunate set of circumstances. This is fantastic news because it means that I have 'first dibs' at the good weather. If it's a slightly dodgy day I can decline to swim and the day will be offered to the next swimmer in the queue. The crew are on standby every day of the tide until the weather forecast is announced at 7.30pm each day - when the pilot makes a decision as to whether you will swim or not.
The first days of the tide start off looking pretty windy and I decline the offer of a swim on Tuesday, and Wednesday and eventually Thursday, as the weather looks decidedly borderline - with reports of force 6 winds gusting in the Channel. I obsessively monitor the shipping forecast, the inshore waters forecast, the BBC's ordinary weather forecast. I look at the trees blowing outside the house. I look at the curtains billowing in my bedroom. I explain to Neil when he phones to offer me the chance to swim each day, that I think I need a better chance of good weather if I am to get across the Channel and he agrees. It's a roller coaster each day, getting nervous as 7.30pm approaches and we get to find out whether we are swimming the next day or not.
Finally on Thursday evening the weather looks settled for the next day - and there are quite a few solo swimmers primed to swim the following morning. Neil phones me and tells me I am swimming the next morning. OK! All systems go. I arrange to meet the boat at Dover marina at 7am. I phone my various crew and let them know that we are off, then feel really sick and try to get to sleep. We're leaving London for the drive to Dover at 5am. Set my alarm for 4.15am. I toss and turn and manage to sleep for just 3 hours before the alarm goes off. Much more wound up than last year when I slept like a baby the night before. Oh well.
Eating porridge in the car on the way down to Dover, and a banana. It's like the last meal of a condemned woman. I'm forcing it down. Lovely. Trying to doze in the car but it's not possible. We meet in Dover marina, all the crew in their various cars drift together and assemble. There are 6 boats leaving the marina to start their Channel swims today - five solos that I know of, and a two man relay. It's quite exciting in a sleepy marina in the early morning with lots of Channel aspirants bustling around with their crews getting ready and wishing one another luck. No time for nerves now, just relief that we are eventually off. Big hugs for Freda and Barrie who are waiting there to see all the swimmers off, and for my mom and little sis and niece.
My swim to France...
High tide today is at 8.50am and it's usual for the swimmer to start their swim at around an hour or so before high tide. We have to load all the stuff into the boat, get prepared, and then the boat motors round to Shakespeare beach for the start of the swim. There is no time to be nervous now, as I brief the crew on what I do and don't want, how to play the feeds, where all the extra kit is (spare goggles, hats, lightsticks, antihistamines and so on). It's going to be a scorcher, I put my suncream on, the boat leaves the marina. God. On the way round Irene, the Channel Swimming and Piloting Federation official observer for my swim, fills in the start of the form with my details and then Annette greases me up with vaseline everywhere possible. All the rest of the crew are being jolly organising the bags, taking photos, settling in.
On the boat I have an amazing crew - quite a few of whom have bunked of work or rearranged their lives to help me out. My big sister Sophie; my friend and fellow club swimmer Helen; Nancy "Rocket Girl" Douglas (swam the Channel three weeks before me in 2006 in 11 hours and a handful of minutes); Annette Stewart, a fantastic training partner and 2005 Channel swimmer; Paddy Turner, also a 2005 Channel swimmer. Add to that Neil the pilot and his crew Dennis and Adrian. And with them all, Irene the official observer, who is also often down helping out on the beach.
Shakespeare Beach, the start
It's just before high tide. Neil has driven the boat so close to the beach. I quip "Can't you get me any closer?" before I dive off the boat, swim to the beach. Mom, Miriam, Freya and Barrie are all there to see me off. Kiss them all quickly. My boat is the last to leave - I can see all the other Channel piloting boats already taking off a few hundred metres ahead. A little flotilla. Stand ready at the water's edge, the boat sounds the claxon. I'm off. Run into the water. Why?
Nerves kind of gone. The first hour is fine. A bit lumpy but to be expected so close to the shore. First feed (after an hour) is fine, the time has gone quickly, a good rhythm. During the feed, Neil, the pilot, comes out of the cabin and says, grinning, "I don't know what you've been eating for the last year, but it's worked." Fantastic! The speed work has definitely paid off, and his comment makes me really happy and positive.
Second hour the wind really picks up. There is a flag on the back of the boat, and I can see that it is pointing straight to England. A straight, strong, southerly wind. The water is bouncy and I think "Shit, if it's going to be like this all the way, there is no way I'm going to make it". Second feed (two hours) we try with a cup but it's too rough, the feed is sloshing all around and there is salt water getting in. I ask Nancy to swap to bottle feeds. Nancy is shouting positive encouragement to me, saying I look really strong, Neil is out of the cabin being positive again. I am bobbing around in the chop, but now I'm thinking it's cool, in the sea you're so buoyant, it's amazing. Just go with the flow.
Suddenly, weirdly, the wind just drops. Completely. It's like someone has turned it off with a switch. I pop my head up and turn to the crew: "The wind has just gone!"
Getting the first bit over
The first few hours are always a bit hard - you know you've only just begun. But there are loads of text messages coming in and the crew are learning what to do and getting into a rhythm and so are you and the boat pilots. Everyone is full of enthusiasm and energy. The water is now so calm. We swap from bottle feeds to cups again. I'm stung by a jellyfish on my right wrist. It's fine, not really painful. I make a mental note that it might be a bit sore to spray perfume on it for a few days. Ha!
After the first four hours, where we feed every hour, we swap to more frequent feeds, every 35 or 40 minutes, I've briefed Nancy. This is where you start to lose track of time. How many long feeds have I had? How many short feeds? How many hours have I been swimming? God knows.
First wall
After about 7 hours or so, I'm feeling miserable and tired. I know that this is supposed to happen - your body has used up all the carbohydrate reserves and starts working off your fat. You 'bonk'. Is that the right term? I didn't have this dip last year but am having it now. Last year I didn't want anyone swimming with me, but this year I'm determined to make use of Annette to pace me and make me work harder. At a feed I ask if she will get in with me at the next feed. She does.
As soon as she's in with me we start to pick up my pace. I can almost keep up with her and we move faster. It's good, the time goes by quickly. I have a feed, she swims ahead. After an hour she has to get out. The rule of Channel swimming is that you can have a pacer/companion swimmer in for an hour at a time and then they must be out of the water for at least an hour before they can rejoin you.
It's not that cold, it's not dirty...
The hours go by somehow. Swim, feed, swim, feed. Maxim, tea, mouthwash, bananas, hot chocolate, a jaffa cake, horrible tinned peaches in some crazy juice that burns my mouth, more bananas, more maxim. I muse to myself about people's misconceptions of the Channel: "It's not cold, it's not dirty, it's just a fuck of a long way!" I'm wondering what time it is. The crew praise and shout encouragement at every feed. I don't know whether to believe them, as it was the same last year, lots of encouragement, and I didn't make it then. The sun seems to be stuck in the sky in the same position for hours and hours. I'm pissed off with the sun. "Move your arse, sun!" Why won't it move? It's like it's got jammed at 6pm. I want it to go down because I want it to be later. If it's later then I'm closer to France. But it just stays where it is for another feed and another and another.
The incident with the really big jellyfish
Around this time I start to see one or two really large brown jellyfish with long tentacles in my peripheral vision. Bigger than I've ever seen. I get kind of excited because I know that people say that the jellyfish get more abundant the closer you are to France.
I see the crew getting ready for a feed - dangling my cup over the edge of the boat and I swim towards the boat. Just as I'm a metre or so from reaching them I see a huge jellyfish just below my feeding cup stretching right the way along the edge of the boat in my path. It's certainly several feet long. A quick veer to the right and I manage to miss it. I panic for a moment but it's also quite funny. It's like my crew have deliberately put it there right in my path. Nancy shouts "Good girl, well done" for my avoiding it, which is sweet and positive and not in the least bit panicky. I swim a wide berth around it and we regroup for the feed. A bit later I swim right on top of another massive brown jelly, and have to struggle to keep my legs high to avoid landing right on it. Altogether I see about 7 or so of these beasts in around an hour. Then I don't see any more of them.
Neil and Nancy tell me I have to up the pace again. They say "Don't sprint, but up the pace". They do this to try and get you to be in a certain position to catch the tide going in to France. I try to up the pace a bit for half an hour. Then they tell me that Annette is getting in with me again. This time it's not fun, the boat and Annette shoot off and I'm left lagging behind. I'm pissed off and complain "I can't keep up with you, and you and the boat are just leaving me behind!" I feel like they are off together having fun and I'm just dragging my heels. I'm in a huff. Like a kid in a street with the parents shooting off leaving the slow kid behind. Annette comes up to me and tells me that the boat is doing it on purpose to try and increase my pace. Whatever.
Onwards and onwards
The sun has become unstuck from that position at last and is getting lower. At a feed Neil puts his head out of the cabin and says that we are coming out of the South West shipping lane, which he tells me to encourage me. I know that we are in the SW shipping lane because the ships are moving from right to left in front of me rather than left to right (which is their direction of travel in the North East shipping lane). Another feed and there are still ships passing in front of me. I think "I don't want to see another bloody ship in front of me, I want them all behind me." I say to Neil "I thought you said we were at the end of the shipping lane?" He tells me we are right on the edge of it. That means about 4 miles from France and the sun has still not set. It must be around 9pm, I'd guess.
He tells me that the tide has turned and is taking us in to France. "We're heading for Cap Blanc Nez" he tells me enthusiastically. I don't really believe him. I point to France "The tide is going that way?" "Yes!" "Really?" "Really!" This is the first moment I actually think that we might make it. By now it's dusk - almost dark - so we must have been swimming for around 13 or so hours.
"Your Channel swim begins now, Sally"
More feeds. A bit later. It's dark now, I've got a light stick on, I'm tired. I can't stay near the boat. The crew keep telling me I'm really close to France but I don't dare look. I'm near to France but I'm drifting too far away from the boat. It's hard to see the crew on the boat although I know they are there. It's hard to judge the distance from the boat. Every time I come in for a feed it takes an impossible amount of time to get to the boat. I imagine that they are driving the boat away from me because it's taking so long to get back to it, but of course they aren't. I complain a lot. It seems to take five minutes to swim 100m. After about an hour or so of struggling, Nancy is feeding me and says "Listen Sally, you have to really pay attention to this. You have to stay closer to the boat. There are a lot of French fishermen with boats out here who don't care about you and they will run you down if you don't stay right by the boat. If you don't do this we will have to pull you out of the water. Do you understand?"
I do understand but I'm very weak by now and it's getting choppy and windy. I try so hard to stay by the boat but sometimes I find myself far away again. Now I'm panicking that a) I'm going to get run over by a French trawler and that b) I can't stay with the boat so they will pull me out. Every time the boat is a bit far away from me I stop and wail "Wait for me! Wait for me!" in a pathetic lonely voice. "We are waiting!" they all shout back in chorus. This keeps happening for about an hour. It's so tiring. I feel increasingly desperate.
Meanwhile, the sea is getting rougher and rougher. I think to myself "We're landing on Cap Blanc Nez, that's a cliffy bit, there must be chop because it's a headland" I try to struggle on. It's getting relentlessly hard to battle the chop, and I keep stopping and wailing "Wait for me! Wait for me! I can't keep up with you! I'm trying but I'm too tired." I'm utterly miserable now. So tired. At this point, I feel like I will never make it to France. I have no idea that we are swimming against a strong head wind and getting nowhere at all for quite a while.
They tell me that I'm a mile from the shore. Annette gets in with me for the third time. She puts on a really stern voice. She says "Sally, I have a message from Freda: 'Pull through hard with your arms and kick your legs!'" She adds "Sally - this is where your Channel swim begins! Now, swim!" Annette is right. This is where the swim begins. Everything else was just a walk in the park compared to this. "Dig deep!" she shouts. "Nothing great is easy" shouts Nancy. It's a supreme effort but I try to sprint and work as hard as I can. Annette is doing breaststroke and I'm sprinting as hard as I can and can't keep up with her. It's hideous. It's so exhausting. An hour passes, she gets out.
"Less than a mile now" they say. Another feed. The boat is being spun around by the wind and twice I find myself on the wrong side of the boat and the crew can't see me in the pitch black. I shout "HELP! I'm over here!". The crew rush to the other side of the boat to try to find me. "Swim ahead towards the beach and we will catch up with you" Helen shouts at me. "But you keep telling me to stay with the boat!" I shout back, distressed. Besides, they are telling me to swim to the shore and I just can't see the shore. I can just see black. I have no idea how far away it is now. They've stopped feeding me because every time we feed we are going backwards. This all seems endless.
Finally they give me a feed and tell me that I have to make a final push. On this feed, Dennis, one of Neil's crew says to me "You have to stop stopping because every time you stop we go backwards." This is just enough to snap me out of feeling sorry for myself. I just try to swim as hard as I can for the shore. I've no idea if it's rock or sand awaiting me.
Suddenly, they are shining a spotlight on to the land, and Annette is in the water with a light stick on her head. She tells me to follow her in to the beach. My heart is pumping but I still feel desperate and unhappy and exhausted. I still don't believe I'm going to make it, I think. We've been so close to the shore for hours. Annette is a good few metres to the right of me, and I can see the spotlight on the beach and I'm wondering why she wants me to follow her when I can now see the beach. I head for the beach. "Follow me, Sally!" she shouts out. I swim towards her with all the energy I have. We swim on and on, and suddenly she yells "Oh my god, Sally! SAND! Stand up!" She is so excited. She is standing. I stand up. Soft sand beneath my feet. But the water is still up to my neck. I can't run. I try though. I don't want to swim another centimetre. But it's too deep to run. I give up and swim again. Another few metres. Everything is happening so quickly. Annette stands up again. "SAND!" she shouts again. I stand up again. This time it's shallower. I can run. I run and run through the shallow water up the beach. I know I have to clear the water. I run until I'm ankle deep. I turn around and face the boat. Raise my arms in the air. Annette blows a whistle. The swim is over. She is standing a metre from me and reaches over and gives me a big hug. I don't know what she says to me but I embrace her, an incredible sense of relief. She lets go of me and I can see her scanning the beach for a stone for me. I am just standing there, swaying. No stones. She grabs me firmly. "Sally, we have to swim back to the boat right now." I don't realise this at the time, but Neil is very close to a sandbank and the tide is turning. His boat could be marooned and Annette has had strict instructions to land me and get me back on the boat as fast as possible. I'm staggering. "I can't swim back Annette. I can't" She says "Sally, you've just swum to France, of course you can swim back to the boat!"
In the end I have to hold on to her foot with my left arm and paddle with my right arm, and she swims and tows me back to the boat. I marvel at her power and strength. At this moment I feel weak and vulnerable and pathetic. I'm just so incredibly relieved it's over. No tears, no joy, no elation. Just exhaustion and relief. On the boat they unpeel my costume and goggles and hat and dress me and shove me in a sleeping bag. I'm really cold and utterly tired and weirdly dejected. I'm sick as a dog. Everyone falls asleep.
Now though? Now it's sinking in.
I'm dry and rested and happy and relieved and proud.
Guess what? I swam to France! I did it! What a bloody journey.
21/22 July 2006
Shakespeare Beach, Dover, England to Cap Blanc Nez, France
18 hours 52 minutes