I passed three and a half hours and didn’t feel quite the same buzz as the week before. I’m sure this was because I had known then that I was getting out and had surpassed expectation. It is amazing how much better you feel when you know you are finishing. When I knew I could stop whenever I wanted to, there was no particular pressure. I needed to learn to swim with this pressure so that I could understand how to handle it.
As I swam through the four-hour mark, I was expecting to feel elated. But instead of focusing on the achievement, I began to focus on how tired I felt, and how was I ever going to complete the Channel if I could only do four hours feeling the way I did. I kept telling myself, ‘Just one more hour …’ and, ‘I’m on the final swim and in.’ I tried different tactics to make the time go by. Thinking about work made me feel negative and notice the cold, and singing didn’t relax me – I just seemed to lose concentration. I visualised my dad saying, ‘Don’t give up – give it everything you’ve got!’, just as I had when I was a child competing in the pool. This helped drive me on.
As I reached the five-hour mark I felt instantly better, knowing I was on the final straight –the last hour. I came in for my last drink at around five hours ten minutes, giving myself just fifty minutes to finish. I knew that all I needed to do now was swim to the left harbour wall, then right and back to the beach to finish. No matter how hard I tried not to do it, I ended up looking at my watch every five minutes of that fifty-minute stretch, ticking them off.
As I made the final swim in, I felt goosebumps – and not from the temperature. It was from the realisation of what I had done: it was a major step in the right direction in accomplishing my dream of swimming the English Channel.
I walked up to the top of the beach feeling a little dizzy and cold, but I wasn’t half as bad as I thought I would be. Freda said, ‘Well done’, and told me to get dressed quickly. Fortunately I had come prepared and had packed some emergency layers of clothing, including fleeces, tops and a woolly hat that I had purchased specially the week before. Freda told me to keep my swim hat on, dry it off and then put the woolly hat on top of it. I was desperate to take it off, not least because having latex stuck to your head for six hours is not the most comfortable form of headwear, but also because, by taking it off, I would be confirming to myself that the swim was over. I knew deep down it made complete sense to leave it on and keep the heat I had generated in; as I later found out, there is a theory that 80 per cent of your body heat is lost through your head.
I quickly got dressed. I was shaking vigorously but I didn’t care. I was so happy to have completed the six-hour challenge, and on only my third open-water swim. Once I had all my layers on I was given a warm drink, which was greatly appreciated, and yet here was another challenge: how to drink it! It may sound like a basic task, but trust me, when you’ve been immersed for six hours in cold temperatures, it is a challenge in itself due to the excessive shaking of your body. You need superpowers of concentration to keep your hands still. The other issue is that a cup of tea at normal temperature – say, 80 degrees – feels volcanic until your core heats up, which can take some time. I made a mental note for future training that warm drinks should actually only be lukewarm so that you can drink them without the feeling of scalding yourself.
They were starting to pack up on the beach and there was talk of going to a local café, which the swimmers would often go to after a weekend training session. I thought I would go along and get some food in the system before travelling back – as I was starving. I felt I could eat an endless supply of food, and the sugar cravings were unbelievable. It was great to meet up with a bunch of like-minded individuals and I felt part of something special, like an elite club. I had been a part of other sports clubs before and yet this seemed different. There appeared to be no hidden agendas and everyone seemed to be very genuine and caring, with an appreciation of what you have to go through to succeed in this extreme sport. I wondered whether that was due to the fact that you are not competing with each other. The challenge is between you and nature, not against other individuals. It’s not a race.
What I also liked was that those people who were slower swimmers were just as respected as the faster swimmers. Being slower means you have to endure the elements for longer; some people have swum for over twenty-five hours non-stop, battling Mother Nature.
I made my way back home after a good fill of food and drink. It wasn’t ideal as I had already driven for hours in the morning, swum six, and was now having to drive back. I didn’t have a choice, though, as I had work again in the morning. I spent the drive trying to stay awake – another challenge!
As soon as I arrived home, I collapsed on the couch and was incapacitated for the remainder of the night, trying not to think about the 95-mile drive early in the morning. I fell asleep on the sofa and had to pick myself up the next day and make the dreaded journey.
7
YOU GET OUT WHAT YOU PUT IN
It would be tough to go to Dover to train every week, so I knew I would have to balance it with pool training and find a more local place to swim in open water. Freda had told me after my Dover swim that there was a Channel relay team who were short a fourth swimmer for an attempt in August, and that two of the guys were from Nottingham – my home town. She said it would be a good opportunity for me to get a feel for what it would be like to swim the whole distance by myself as a solo.
It made a lot of sense and I wanted to prepare myself in the right way. So I contacted the organiser of the relay, who was a nice guy called Colin Bycroft. He had plans to swim a solo across the English Channel and had changed the attempt into a relay after suspecting he wasn’t yet ready. I thought joining his team would be a good way of understanding what I was up against.
In many ways the relays are very similar to solo crossings, in terms of both what you are allowed to wear and the number of strict rules you have to observe. The main difference is that you swim for just one hour at a time, without touching the boat; the next swimmer must jump in behind you and swim past you, to ensure that all the distance is covered. The timing has to be spot-on too: one hour, no more and no less, before the next swimmer takes over. The maximum relay number to date is eight people, but six or fewer is more common. The boats used in Channel crossings tend to be used for fishing when they are not taking swimmers out, and so there is limited room, hence the restricted numbers. In addition, the more swimmers there are, the less each team member will have to swim; too many swimmers could take some of the challenge element away from it. The relay I was enquiring about was ideal for me as it was just four people and therefore it was likely I would get at least three swims at an hour each time, which would be perfect.
The rules are set and governed by the two swimming associations mentioned in Chapter 3. Both are very credible, with similar rules and registered pilots who have great knowledge and in-depth experience of taking swimmers across the Channel. For the swim to be official it must be through one of these organisations. Doing otherwise could be very dangerous – the rules and regulations are there for the swimmers’ safety. Sadly, to date, there have been eight reported deaths of people trying to swim the English Channel. One of those tragedies was a British man who attempted to swim without a pilot boat and against official advice in 1954. His body was later found washed up in Holland.
I spoke to Colin and the relay space was still available so I committed straight away. I was really excited to see what it would be like – test the water, so to speak. We called the team TACC as each initial represented a team member: Tony, Adam (me), Chris and Colin. Not the most inspirational name in the world, but it worked for us.
We didn’t have a long time together before we were due to do the actual swim so we thought we’d better have a training session as a team. Three of us agreed to go to Dover on the regatta weekend in August, just two weeks before the Channel swim; unfortunately Colin couldn’t make it.
We arrived after 9 a.m. Freda hated anyone being late as this sp
ort is all about discipline. For a lady who was barely over five foot and approaching seventy years old, she certainly had a way of putting the wind up you.
I now felt really confident about my swimming, following my six-hour success a few weeks earlier, and for the first time I felt that I had earned the right to call myself an open-water swimmer.
The three of us waded into the water together and started swimming. We hadn’t swum together before and were unsure of each other’s speeds. It was nice for me to swim with other people, as nearly all my swimming had been done alone until this point.
Because relay swimming involves giving it your best for an hour at a time, the training and preparation are different than for a solo. After one hour, Tony decided to leave the water, get dry and come back in an hour later. After a short debate, Chris and I decided to keep going. We both wanted to maximise our time there and I had no excuse after my previous swims at Dover. True to his word, Tony joined in again an hour later. This is in fact good practice for relay swimmers – training as if you are on your actual relay swim – as it is not easy to get back in the water once you have warmed up.
During the second hour I suddenly felt a huge thud at the side of my temple, as if someone had shot me. My head slammed forward into the water and I had a small cut. I was completely confused as to what had just happened. Looking around, I couldn’t see anything that I might have swum into – there was nothing around me. I then looked up at the road above and saw a group of sheepish-looking teenage kids. I stopped swimming and went over to them and shouted, ‘Did one of you throw a stone?’ They started laughing to themselves – ‘No!’ The biggest boy, who was around fifteen years old, stepped forward and said, ‘It wasn’t them – don’t have a go at them!’
‘If you want to be tough,’ I said, ‘why don’t you come in here and tell me face to face?’ I was so mad. They could have killed me.
I continued swimming to catch up with the others, who were unaware of what had happened. The incident had not only distracted me from my training but also really annoyed me, which isn’t a good feeling when this sport is all about being relaxed. We turned around and I started swimming back to get out. As it was a regatta weekend with lots of events happening on the beach during the day, the police were around. I climbed out of the water and ran up the beach to advise Freda of what had just happened. She too was annoyed and immediately told someone on the beach to report them. By the time the police were notified, however, the kids had sensed what was happening and had run off. There was nothing I could do now. I was just thankful it wasn’t more serious.
All in all, it wasn’t quite the training session I had envisaged, but we still managed to complete some good distance.
We only had the chance to do this one session together as the relay was scheduled for 31 August. (There is no guarantee on dates with this sport, though, as it is very much dependant on the sea and weather conditions.) As excited as I was about the relay, I knew that my main focus was to swim across the Channel solo. But with ten months still to go until I attempted it, this would be a good test in preparation.
The three of us travelled down to Dover the evening before our Channel relay. We met up with Colin and the pilot, Eddie Spelling, at his 42-foot boat, Anastasia. It was the biggest of all the Channel-swimming boats, with lots of room for bags and plenty of upper-deck space, so visibility for supporting each other would be good.
It seemed we had all brought enough food and drink to last a week. The funny thing was that we had all received the same advice from people on what food and drink to take on the boat. We therefore brought multiples of Pot Noodles, Jelly Babies and Jaffa Cakes. (I would definitely recommend that relay teams discuss this beforehand and organise a checklist of food as well as other items, to avoid making the same mistake we did. Talk to your pilot about the facilities on the boat as well.)
We stepped onto the boat and met the crew. Eddie immediately started shaking his head, saying it wasn’t looking good for a swim the following day, which changed the team’s mood instantly. He said it was likely to be rough sea and asked the swimmers’ capabilities. I was feeling confident to go whatever the weather, but this was no time to be macho and I had team members and safety to consider. I didn’t want this to be a miserable and unsafe experience for them. We knew from training together that Chris and Tony were good swimmers, but as we hadn’t had a chance to swim with Colin, we were unsure of his ability beyond his own assessment that he was slow.
I had heard from other Channel swimmers that weather conditions can be a real issue, with some having to postpone their attempt until the following year if their agreed swim date came and went and the pilot had no alternative slots available. I was concerned this might be the situation with us. There was nothing we could do now, however; it was a case of assessing the conditions in the morning.
Open-water Channel swimming season starts at the end of June and runs until the end of September. This is mainly due to the temperature of the water before and after those dates, when it normally drops below 15 degrees and is too cold to swim in for any length of time. Having said this, the average temperature for the North Channel in the summer months is actually 13 degrees or less.
There are now groups of swimmers who swim through the winter months. These hardy individuals, also known as ice swimmers, challenge themselves to swim a mile in under 5 degrees, without a wetsuit. There are race events held all around the world for this new test of survival, and there is even now a World Winter Swimming Championships. Who knows – maybe in the future it will be part of the Olympics?
Back in Dover, we spoke to Eddie the next morning and his thoughts were the same as the previous evening: the conditions could be quite poor. We collectively felt like a strong team so we all made the decision to do the swim. If one person hadn’t agreed we wouldn’t have gone – everyone had to be willing.
8
A TASTE OF THINGS TO COME
We brought all our gear to the boat (including our ridiculous amounts of Pot Noodles and Jaffa Cakes) and off we went to Shakespeare Beach in Dover, which is one of the starting points when swimming the English Channel. Eddie stopped the boat 75 metres from the beach – as close to the land as he dared go without being grounded.
We had previously agreed that the swimming order would be based on speed, from quickest to slowest. This meant that I would start, which was a real honour. I would have a taste of what it would be like at the start of my solo swim. Our relay wouldn’t officially commence, however, until I was standing on the beach at Dover. (These rules can vary from channel to channel depending on whether it is possible to leave the water; if not, the swimmer needs to touch a rock near the land to start.)
I jumped in and swam the short distance to the beach. I did a pretend celebration as I cleared the water, for a joke and to relax myself. I couldn’t believe that I was standing in Dover, about to swim across the English Channel with a group of guys I hardly knew. I felt nervous – but the good nerves you get from a lot of excitement with a little apprehension.
For the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of purpose. I know that, to many people, swimming across a body of water between one piece of land and another may not sound like it has a point. But to me it felt like I was doing something uniquely challenging, and it gave me some direction. At that time, everyday life wasn’t giving me what I needed; I had spent many years frustrated with my career and not knowing why. I knew deep down that there was something not right – that this wasn’t how I was supposed to live my life. Don’t get me wrong: I hadn’t had a bad life. I just didn’t feel completely fulfilled. It was not until this very moment that I found what I was looking for.
I stood on the beach and waited for a signal. A horn was sounded to signify the start of the swim and off I went. I had so much adrenaline that I dived into the water as if it were a 50-metre Olympic race. I felt all eyes on me and wanted to give it everything I had; I didn’t want to let my team down. My heart was pounding but I
was also very excited. The waves were choppy, which added to the challenge.
We had brought with us two laminated sheets, one with the number 30 on it and one with the number 5. These were a great asset to the team, as they indicated to the swimmer the number of minutes left before changeover. My own first hour seemed to take no time at all and then it was Chris’s turn to enter the water. Tony was waiting with a towel and my clothes to help dry me off.
We fell into a nice routine of one team member helping the person who had just finished and climbed out of the water, while the other team members watched the current swimmer and cheered him on. One after another we completed our hours. You have to keep to the same order you are given by the observer at the start: it cannot be changed, no matter what happens. Even if one of you is suffering from seasickness or cramp, for the swim to count each person has to do their full hour without touching the boat before the next one jumps in.
We all agreed to swim on the left side of the boat, trying to keep towards the middle section. We chose not to switch sides as this would lose us time and potentially cause confusion.
At one stage Colin started to swim off course and we all wondered whether he wanted to make a detour to Belgium. The boat had to sound its horn a few times to bring him back, which made us laugh. In fairness, though, he wasn’t as experienced a swimmer as the rest of us, but he gave it his all.
The water temperature was around 16 degrees, which felt very manageable to me as I was confident from completing my six-hour swim in a similar temperature only a few weeks before, and I knew I could comfortably tolerate it for one hour at a time.
Man vs Ocean - One Man's Journey to Swim The World's Toughest Oceans Page 4
