The hours seemed to pass much faster than expected. Soon the three-hour mark ticked by, the others had successfully completed their one-hour swims, and I was in again. The toughest part was getting out, becoming warm, and then having to strip off into your trunks and do it all again.
My second swim was similar to the first, although my shoulder was a little more painful this time. The shoulder had gradually become worse over the past few months through training, and my increased mileage was taking its toll. I tried to adjust my swim stroke to avoid catching my shoulder, but I found I was pulling across the middle of my body, affecting my speed and efficiency. I was also potentially damaging my shoulder and was concerned that I may not be able to do the solo if I carried on with this technique.
We were all going very well and the transitions between swimmers went like clockwork. Colin appeared to feel the cold a little more than the rest of us when he climbed out of the water. We all enjoyed a hot drink during our time on the boat. I have never been a huge fan of hot drinks, but when you climb out of the water in this sport, it’s the equivalent of being out in the desert, dying of thirst, and finally finding a bottle of ice-cold water. The warm liquid instantly gives you a feeling of internal insulation – like being defrosted from the inside out.
Everything seemed to be going according to plan and even though the conditions were rough we were making good headway. By the time I started the third swim it was getting dark. Although we looked close to France, looks were deceptive and we were still a few miles from land. It wasn’t until Colin was back in swimming three hours later that I sensed we were near finishing, as I could see a huge dark shadow of land in the near distance. It was now pitch-black, and although there was a light on the side of the boat, it would blind the swimmer whenever he turned to breathe. We decided to shine a torch on the surface of the water just ahead of each team member, as it was disorientating trying to work out where to go.
I was convinced Colin would finish the swim, which would have been a fitting way to complete our relay as it was he who had formed the team. But fifty minutes into his final swim, it became apparent that this wouldn’t be the case – I would need to go in for a fourth time. I had wrapped myself up warm and was fully clothed, not expecting to go in again, so although I wasn’t bursting to jump back in, I knew what a great honour it would be to finish the relay for the team.
When I jumped in we were still over a mile away. I treated it as a one-mile training session and started to sprint as soon as I hit the water. It was really exciting, although I was struggling to see as I felt blinded by the light whenever I turned towards the boat. I tried to breathe to the other side but this resulted in me zigzagging all over the place.
After fifteen minutes or so I could see one of Eddie’s boat crew starting to release a RIB into the water in preparation for the finish. I kept looking behind me, waiting for him to appear, which seemed to take ages. I realised this wasn’t doing me any good, so I switched back to the job in hand and ignored what was going on behind me.
After another twenty minutes or so, the boat appeared alongside me and the man inside shouted, ‘Follow me.’ I did just that, although it was quite choppy and I felt myself getting caught in a rip current. I looked up after thirty seconds and couldn’t see him very well; after another thirty seconds he’d moved again. It was all very confusing and I thought I wouldn’t like to have this in a channel solo after swimming all day.
Finally he came alongside me again and said, ‘There is a rock in front of you – go and touch it and swim back.’
Normally you clear the water in an English Channel swim, but he was concerned about the dangers as he only had a small torch and I didn’t have any visibility. I couldn’t see a thing as it was so dark but he told me that it was around 25 metres away.
I started swimming towards what I thought was straight ahead. I even tested myself by closing my eyes and opening them again, but it didn’t seem to make a difference to my visibility in the black of the night. I couldn’t even see my hand going into the water, and with every stroke I felt for rock. After a very tentative 25 metres or so, I finally felt something jagged and solid.
I shouted, ‘I’ve touched it!’
He replied, ‘Come back!’
But even though I thought I had touched the rock I started to question myself and feel around for other rocks to touch, to make 100 per cent sure I had actually reached land. I wanted to be certain that I finished properly.
I started to swim back in the darkness and was again quite tentative as I still couldn’t see anything. After a minute or so, I saw the torchlight flashing from the RIB. I wondered whether I would see the others jumping in to join me, but this wasn’t the case, for safety reasons. The RIB took me back to the boat and everyone was waiting and cheering each other. We had done it – we had swum the English Channel as a team! Chris broke out the champagne and we celebrated our feat.
It had been a privilege to swim with these guys and I had gained some good friends out of it too. There had been a risk that swimming in a relay would have an adverse effect on me, create self-doubt – it was my first real understanding of how much it would take to swim solo from England to France. I knew I couldn’t compare a relay to swimming it all myself, but it was a big step forward towards achieving my dream. It made me hungrier than ever!
9
IT WAS NEVER GOING TO BE EASY
I found it hard going back to work following such a high. I felt so happy, with a real sense of achievement, and I couldn’t wait to get back in the water and train.
The relay would be the last time I went into open water until April the following year – the year of my solo attempt. There was no loss of focus in the pool, though, and I was very quickly back into my five or six sessions a week. I wanted to make sure no stone was left unturned and to be as prepared as possible. My life from now on would revolve around when I could train; it became a constant focus. The swimming became a priority over my job and most other things in my life, which didn’t make life easy. If I was going to be self-disciplined, sacrifices had to be made.
I had to be in the office a minimum of three days a week and there was an expectation that I would have meetings on the other two days. I found myself constantly thinking about how I could create more time for training, which had become as much a part of my daily routine as eating and sleeping. I craved it and couldn’t get enough, even feeling guilty if I didn’t do something each day – but in the back of my mind was always the concern over my shoulder and how much of this it could take. I felt tired a lot of the time due to all the driving and trying to balance things, but I realised that if you want something enough you will create the time to do it.
I knew the swimming pool’s timetable off by heart, and when working from home I would head over there for the hour-long adult lane-swimming slot around lunchtime. Sometimes I would even sneak off while supposedly working at home, phoning my boss from the leisure centre car park, just before I went into the pool, knowing he was less likely to want to speak to me again in the next hour if we had just had a conversation. Many times I would run to my locker after a session to check my phone, praying that he hadn’t called. More often than not I would get away with it; on other occasions I would make up some excuse, like I’d been on the other line to a customer. I thought, ‘As long as I do the work and achieve results, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him – or me.’
I mostly did pool work and where possible integrated a couple of gym sessions a week. The reality was that, unless it was the weekend, I would struggle to do both. My gym work normally consisted of an hour and a half of mixed cardio on the exercise bike or cross trainer, then arms, shoulders and back. I didn’t do too much chest work as I was regularly working my chest in my swimming and I was conscious of being too dominant in that area. I would lift lighter weights and do four sets of fifteen to twenty reps, on average, to build muscular endurance.
I was still driven to succeed in my work, even though
my current role had become less meaningful. I felt the Channel swim represented something much bigger and more important than my normal day-to-day job. I had always felt I was capable of something memorable in my life, and after the disappointment of so many injuries, this was a way of overcoming adversity. I realised the water was where I belonged. I’d had such a strong affinity to it all my life, yet never given it my full attention until now. I wanted to show myself I could really excel at something I cared about.
At the same time I was creeping towards the age of thirty and wanted to put some markers down in my life, to have something to really strive for. My job just didn’t do that for me. I admired those who were passionate about their work, but no matter how much I pushed to achieve this for myself, I just couldn’t seem to get the same sense of fulfilment.
When I first went into sales, I remember my dad saying, ‘My concern for you is how sensitive you are and how much you may take things to heart.’ My dad was right – the sales world is not one for sensitive people. I am the type of person who likes to get on with everyone, I like building relationships with people, I don’t like letting anyone down, and I care far too much for my own good. I found that I would become easily stressed if buyers shouted at me about quality issues or our products being late for delivery, a lot of which was out of my control but I would take it personally all the same. I would try to remind myself that I wasn’t trying to resolve world peace or famine – I was selling a kettle or a can of pet food. My mum jokingly used to say to me, ‘Well, you just don’t like work. I think you would get sick of any job.’ I was worried she might be right.
Throughout the winter, my shoulder continued to hurt. I saw a physiotherapist as regularly as I could, to try to relieve the pain. Although this made it easier for a short period of time, I knew there was something wrong which couldn’t be manipulated out or released. The pain was constant. As the months went by and training increased, I grew more concerned that the shoulder could tear at any point. I would focus on it all the time – it became like a protective mechanism in my mind, almost as if I was gearing up for an excuse if I didn’t make it. It is human nature to protect ourselves from disappointment
My physio’s name was Teresa Dixon. She had treated me in the latter stages of my cricketing days, when my knee would swell up like a balloon and I needed up to two physiotherapy sessions a week just to get back on the pitch. Teresa knew I was becoming more anxious about the shoulder and she recommended a friend of hers who worked at the clinic doing hypnotherapy, as she thought it would help my mental focus.
I have to confess, I didn’t know much about hypnotherapy, I thought it involved someone swinging a pendulum back and forth while they brainwashed you into thinking you were a chicken or made you bark like a dog. I was sceptical because I didn’t understand it, but I was willing to try anything that might help.
The hypnotherapist’s name was Clem Turner. I arranged to have a session with him at his home studio and he greeted me like a family member he hadn’t seen for years. Instantly I liked him and felt at ease. He is one of those people who you just warm to straight away, and I could sense he really cared about his patients.
I sat down in his very comfortable leather chair and he took a few personal details and asked me about my issue. I explained it was about my shoulder and how worried I was that it would affect me swimming the English Channel. After listening to my concerns, he passed me some headphones and told me to close my eyes and relax. He then proceeded to talk to me through the headphones, initially getting me into a state of hypnotic relaxation. I had never done anything like this before and wanted to laugh. Not because he was saying anything funny; I just developed the giggles.
I am not great at shutting off mentally, so trying to completely relax my brain was a new experience for me. The technique he used is very clever, putting you into a state of relaxation which then makes you open to suggestion. I went into more detail about my shoulder concerns, and once I was relaxed he integrated positive thoughts to take my mind away from the pain.
When the session finished, Clem asked me how long I thought I had been there for.
‘About five minutes?’ I guessed.
‘It’s actually been forty-five minutes,’ he replied.
I couldn’t believe it – the time had flown by. I felt relaxed and revitalised. I couldn’t believe how effective the session had been – it was as if I had been given an injection of positivity. I thought to myself, ‘This stuff really works!’
I left Clem’s house with a spring in my step. It had been great to switch off for that short period of time and just listen to his voice shutting out all the perils of daily life. He also gave me a CD that would help me relax and bring back the feelings I had enjoyed in the session.
I had never before stopped to really think about the importance of my mindset and how what I focused on could determine my outcome. There was a realisation I would have to train my brain as well as my body if I wanted to succeed.
10
STATE OF MIND
I booked a distance-swim camp in Gozo, Malta, at the start of the new open-water season in April 2008. It was the ideal location for Channel training as the water temperature would be very similar, and it would also allow me to get another six-hour swim under my belt. I knew if I could get one completed early it would be a great confidence boost before my solo Channel swim later in the season.
I had managed to persuade Chris, one of the relay team members, into going for a solo Channel swim as well, and to come along to Gozo also. Throughout the winter we had become friends and had trained together at a local pool. Chris had his own mental concerns about the Channel and I told him about hypnotherapy. We both had a session with Clem prior to the swim camp.
The night before we were due to travel to Gozo, I agreed to pick Chris up at 2 a.m. to leave for the airport. I arrived at his house and phoned him, trying not to wake the neighbours. There was no answer. I rang again and still no answer. After approximately twenty-five missed calls I was starting to panic, thinking we would miss our plane. I tried throwing stones at his window and knocking on his door – still nothing! After forty-five minutes he eventually appeared at the window, looking dazed. Another five minutes and I would have had to leave without him. I said, ‘I can’t believe you didn’t hear the phone or the knocking!’ He told me he had put Clem’s hypnotherapy CD on at 9 p.m. and was so relaxed he was in a deep sleep.
It was now a big rush to make the plane. Chris drove very fast and when we arrived we had to run through the airport. We made it with a couple of minutes to spare before the check-in desk closed.
In Gozo we were handed our schedules. With swimming sessions planned every day, it did concern me that my shoulder wouldn’t cope. I wasn’t used to swimming every day without a rest day in between.
The first day was a gentle late-afternoon swim around a small area close to the beach, to get us into the swing of things.
On day two we started bright and early and hugged the coast for an hour. After just twenty minutes I was stung by some sort of jellyfish; I’m not sure what kind it was but it left me with lacerations on my wrist for three weeks, which created a nice bracelet-shaped tattoo. We then had lunch on the big safety boat, and once the food had settled we swam two hours back to where our hotel was.
The swim should have been simple enough, but I started to feel seasick early on and my goggles filled up with water, which made me uneasy as I kept having to stop to adjust them. The waves were a little rocky and it caused me to vomit a few times. When I finished I was glad it was over; I hadn’t enjoyed it at all. It knocked my confidence a little and I couldn’t help thinking, ‘It’s only two hours and I’m having these problems – it doesn’t bode well for my Channel swim.’
I went to bed that evening thinking about the six-hour with a little apprehension. The two-hour had been a reminder that swims weren’t always going to go according to plan.
The next morning we met at the boat for 9 a.m. with e
verything we needed: sunscreen, Vaseline for friction, swim hat and goggles. We had a thirty-minute ride to a place called Fungi Rock, which was about one kilometre to swim around. The choice of venue was a good one as it was safe, protected from the open sea. When we arrived, the temperature was taken at 16 degrees. I tried to tell myself I had done this before and I knew how to do it. But among these thoughts I also kept thinking, ‘I can’t remember what 16 degrees feels like … I wonder if I will feel the cold.’
The group set off together and as soon as I hit the water I started analysing the temperature in detail, thinking about every part of my body as I swam and confirming to myself that I did indeed feel cold and it wasn’t as warm as Dover. This was my only focus as I swam around the rock for the first hour. I couldn’t get the temperature out of my mind – it was punishing me – and the more I thought about it the worse I became. I started praying to reach the warm patches where the sun was beating down on the water. The inside of the rock was quite protected and the only warm patch was at the entrance, which felt at least 1 degree warmer, but the problem was that I’d swim through it and immediately feel colder as a result. The only other way to enjoy the brief relief of warmth was by urinating as I swam, which again didn’t last long, but at approximately 37 degrees Celsius was definitely worthwhile. As you can’t get out to go to the toilet, why not make the most of it.
I reached the two-hour point and waited for the RIB, which was going to each swimmer in turn to give them a warm carbohydrate drink. I said to John (who was the senior guide), ‘I’m freezing to death!’ I sensed the look on my face was one of panic and shock. I kept thinking, ‘How could I possibly feel this cold so early on in the swim.’ I’m not sure what response I was expecting from John – my plan wasn’t to get out and he certainly wouldn’t have let me out – but I just wanted him to know how bad I felt. I was annoyed at myself for accepting that I was cold like it was a weakness and it felt like the temperature was winning. John predictably told me, ‘Just keep going’, and I pushed on.
Man vs Ocean - One Man's Journey to Swim The World's Toughest Oceans Page 5
