From that moment on, I made a deal with myself that I would continue with the swim whatever it threw at me. Failure was not an option. This meant too much to me. I carried on swimming.
Before the next feed, my crew asked Mike some advice on what to give me to settle the sickness. He said, ‘Just give him plain water and one scoop of carbohydrate powder and tell him it’s just water.’ This turned out to be a great decision. I came in for the feed and they told me just that. It did taste a little strange for water, but when your mouth has been in salt water for a while nothing tastes quite as it should. Either way, it did the trick: I believed them and didn’t have the negative mental association with vomiting. I wasn’t sure whether the sickness was down to motion or physically pushing myself – or maybe a bit of both.
My stomach finally settled down for the first time in two and a half hours. I remembered that a friend of mine, Sean Burns, had sponsored me £1 for every time I was sick. I thought, ‘Well, he owes me twenty pounds, so it’s not all bad. Happy days!’
I was now feeling much better physically and it had a knock-on mental effect too. It was strange, the changing emotions going from thinking the swim was over to feeling physically fine again. The experience taught me a lot about how things can improve and change if you stick with it and battle through.
There was no danger of the conditions letting up, though; they were here to stay and the ocean gods were determined to test my capabilities and remind me why this swim was so tough. The day before my Channel crossing, a friend who was in the military had told me that a navy friend of his said the wind would pick up after a few hours and could reach up to 20 knots by the afternoon. I had been advised that if the wind in knots is double figures at the start of the swim, they normally won’t take a swimmer across. But the wind, like the ocean, can be unpredictable; it was me who made the final decision to go, so I had no complaints.
I pushed on with the swim and now the sickness had stopped, I started giving myself positive affirmations as Clem had taught me to, telling myself things like, ‘You’re strong, you’re powerful, you are a winner’, over and over again. I was determined that the mental demons wouldn’t return and while I was saying positive words I couldn’t be thinking negatively.
As I reached six hours, Jim jumped into the water to swim with me and give me some support. According to the rules, you are allowed another swimmer in the water with you after three hours, and every two hours after that if you require it. He or she must not touch you, must ideally stay just behind you and can swim for up to one hour. In Jim’s case, however, he started swimming strongly, as if it were an hour’s sprint, and flew past me in no time, which did nothing for my positive mindset. Jim is a slower swimmer than me and I think he thought he would have to go flat-out to keep up, but after six hours I had lost some of my pace. He started swimming away from the boat towards Belgium at one point, which was quite funny. It was nice to have some company and I would rather have had him in the water than not as it did help me to pick up my speed.
Jim was great support throughout, sitting low down towards the middle of the boat and encouraging me to swim close so that the boat could protect me from the choppy water. He would shout, ‘Swim in the box, Adam.’ He would also clap to keep my spirits up. It does make such a difference to have that encouragement when you are alone with just your thoughts for company and only a boat to look at; any kind of stimulus can really help keep your spirits high.
My brain wanted to keep occupied, but at the same time I didn’t want to think too much about what was going on in case it turned into a negative. As I swam I did start to wonder what they were talking about on the boat, and any noise or smells became the height of entertainment for me, as they were a break from thinking about one arm then the other. At one stage the pilot and co-pilot started cooking bacon. I was swimming at the front of the boat and the waft that came out was quite nice. The co-pilot had his leg out on deck as if he were on a relaxing, scenic boat cruise. At one stage I shouted out, ‘Can I have one of those, please?’ To which the response was an immediate ‘No!’
At the eight-hour mark I came in for a feed. I started drinking flat Coke as I had heard it was good for settling the stomach and it was my only alternative to the carbohydrate powder. I was beyond drink, though, at this stage – it was almost not worth having it as I consumed so little and spat it out straight away.
I asked the crew, ‘How long to go?’ and the co-pilot responded, ‘About three miles.’
I then saw my crew give him a stern look, as if to say, ‘I’m not sure you should be telling him that.’ The reason being that most people give up at the 3-mile marker as it is the point where the tide and currents can be the most unpredictable. It is not like doing 3 miles in the pool or a still lake, where the flow of water will not change. Even though I knew this, my brain quickly computed that I would easily finish in another hour and thirty minutes, no problem, as my speed was quick enough; with the tides normally changing every six hours, I didn’t believe they would affect me and so I’d be likely to finish in nine hours thirty minutes.
The one and a half hours became my target – just three more feeds and I would be reaching for land in France. The conditions were still bad, with a lot of choppy waves, but I felt I had done the worst of it and it would be straightforward from now on.
At nine hours I took a glimpse ahead. It still seemed a good distance to reach land. I had been taking glances at France from the four-hour mark, even though Freda had told me in Dover, ‘Whatever you do, don’t look at France during the swim as it always looks closer than it is and once you look you won’t stop!’ She was right. I couldn’t help it. I still convinced myself that in thirty minutes’ time I would be in France, as that is what I had been told.
At nine hours thirty minutes, the time I’d calculated I’d be finishing, I came in for another feed. It annoyed me that it was as if nothing had previously been said about me being so close to the land. By this time I was panting quite hard.
I said, ‘How long to go?’
The response from the co-pilot: ‘Three miles.’
‘Another three miles!’ I said. ‘Oh no!’
The response back from Chris: ‘Shut up, it’s only three miles!’
I didn’t have any energy to argue, although I was annoyed at being told to shut up, but he was only trying to help. This was the first time I had said anything negative; until now I had been quiet to save my energy as I didn’t want to show any weakness and allow negativity to creep in. I was just frustrated, as I couldn’t believe the information had been so wrong.
Jim then said, ‘Adam, it’s just this last final step – you know how to do it!’
Chris then added, ‘We are all really proud of you.’
Both comments gave me a huge lift and this was just what I needed. It is amazing how powerful, positive words can have such an impact on you. Whenever I support swimmers on a Channel crossing now I make sure they clearly see and hear positive body and verbal language. If they believe the swim is going wrong in any way, they might give up.
I swam off to the sound of some claps from my crew, which gave me goosebumps. I had learned my lesson and switched off any thoughts of how much longer it could take. I went back to just swimming and keeping my mind clear. ‘Just swim feed to feed, Adam,’ I would tell myself. Once I got over the disappointment of not completing the swim within ten hours, I started thinking about the positives. Every minute I swam now was more than I had ever done before. My previous longest duration in open water had been seven hours. This strategy worked really well to relax me and got me back into my zone.
Another thirty minutes and I came in again for a feed. I didn’t say anything this time as I was breathing quite heavily and I consumed very little. That didn’t matter, though – it was beneficial just to come in and hear positive words from my crew. As soon as that feed was done, it seemed the next one came along. The last few hours were ticking away quickly, now that my mind was clear and n
ot focusing on how long I had still to go. Clem had spoken to me about time distortion and how to think of each hour as only a few minutes. It is very much similar to everyday life: when you are really enjoying yourself and fully engaged, you lose track of time. I wouldn’t say that in this case I was really enjoying it, but I switched off and thought only about putting one arm in front of the other.
I came in on the eleven-hour mark – I knew it was around this time as I had counted each feed and it was twenty in total. (If I had consumed 500 millilitres every time that would have been ten litres of fluid. The European Food Safety Authority recommends that you drink two litres on a normal day. Then again, this was far from a normal day.) But as I came in this time, Chris and Jim said the words I had been waiting for since the start: ‘This will be your last feed.’ For so long I had badly wanted to hear those words, but still I told myself to ignore them and just keep swimming. After the disappointment at 3 miles to go, I didn’t want to hear any last-minute issues.
I looked up at my brother Mark and he still had the concerned look on his face that he had worn for the whole swim; maybe I wasn’t as close as the others were making out. I knew Mark wouldn’t be able to relax until I had completed it, as he desperately wanted me to succeed. Another fifteen minutes and French soil looked very close. I remembered the last part of the movie On a Clear Day, where Frank is swimming in to the finish; I now had a very similar view. The water somehow felt thinner to pull back and the waves had completely flattened off. I sensed I was within a kilometre of finishing. ‘Focus. Adam, focus!’ I would tell myself.
Another fifteen minutes went by and France now looked desperately close. I was in a metronome state: one arm in front of the other. Mike called out to me: ‘Adam, in front of you is a beach. Clear the water and then swim back.’
I couldn’t believe it. I looked forward and there it was, clear as day. I was a little confused as I was expecting to land at Cap Gris Nez, which is the nearest point to Dover and full of rocks; I never envisaged swimming onto a beach. I started to get a shiver down my spine and knew the pressure was off – there was no way I wasn’t going to make it now. I could enjoy the last few minutes. A huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I didn’t feel as tired as I thought I had been.
I could finally see the seabed for the first time in eleven and a half hours, and I knew I could stand up. I wanted to swim every last drop of water, though, and then suddenly I found myself on my front with no water left. I pushed myself up onto my feet and again the movie that had inspired this swim was running through my head. I had watched it maybe a hundred times and I knew every part of it. In the movie Frank gets to his feet and falls backwards, and that must have been imprinted on my mind. I stood up and expected to be dizzier than I was. Then for no real reason I fell backwards, which was completely unnecessary, really, but the movie was so vivid in my mind and looking back it seemed a fitting end to the swim.
I walked onto the beach and only realised then that Chris and Jim had jumped in to swim the final 150 metres, which was allowed by the rules as long as they didn’t touch me until I cleared the water. It was nice to have them swim in with me.
Once I cleared the water Chris turned to me and said, ‘You’ve done it, mate!’
I didn’t know what to do. I could hardly believe it. Before the swim I thought I might shout and do a big celebration, maybe run across the beach. My head couldn’t really compute what had happened. In the end I just stood there and tried to soak it all in, which was impossible. It was a very surreal feeling.
In some way, in among the happiness of achieving my goal, there was also a little sadness. It seemed crazy – why on earth would I feel like that! For so long I had dreamt about this moment and for eleven hours and thirty-five minutes all I had wanted to do was finish and complete the swim. Perhaps it was the realisation that my epic battle to achieve this dream was over and I had to go back to normal life. Or perhaps I was worried that it was the end of long-distance swimming for me – something that had dominated my life and filled a void that I struggled for so many years to fill.
As I stood there on the beach, a French family walked by and the man said, ‘Have you just swum from England?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘I think so!’ I started to question myself – maybe I had just dreamt that I swam the Channel.
The man asked if he and his family could get a picture with me; I felt really honoured to be asked. Chris took the picture, which I have to confess did not portray me in a good light, swollen blotchy face with an egg-shaped tan line from where my pink swim hat had covered the rest of my skin. It’s fair to say it was not my finest photographic moment. The family left and I thought, ‘What happens now?’ The rules are that you are allowed ten minutes on the beach before the French authorities can ask you to leave. Before the swim I had found it really funny that I had to take my passport on the boat in case I was asked to prove my identity. It was a good job they didn’t come and check it now as I looked very different from the passport photo.
Mike shouted for me to swim back to the boat. I really didn’t want to swim one more stroke, but I didn’t have much choice as the boat couldn’t get in any closer and it’s not as if I could board a plane on the beach and fly back to the UK. I hadn’t considered needing to do this, and even though it was less than 100 metres away, all the adrenaline had been sucked out of me; even swimming one more metre seemed a major task. I swam a very slow head-up breaststroke. My arms felt as if they had lead weights on them. I could see my crew celebrating and cheering, and I climbed onto the boat and dried off.
I was really hungry and not as tired as I thought I would be. I ate a couple of chocolate rolls and was immediately sick. My stomach was still not ready for food. On the way back to Dover, Mark was inside on the lower deck, which would have been warmer but being down there made me feel worse. I stayed outside at the back of the boat in the fresh air. I didn’t feel too cold, considering; it was just that my shoulders hurt and in particular down my left bicep tendon, which was really sore. During the swim I hardly noticed the pain; I was so focused on getting across. Now the pressure was off, my brain could relax and I was reminded of the injury.
The boat took around two and a half hours to get back and I was so excited to talk to my parents and tell them the news. I hadn’t realised that Mark had phoned throughout the swim to keep them updated and had stayed on the phone for the last few hundred metres so that they could get a running commentary. Mark has always been very thoughtful like that and was conscious that they would have been worried about my safety.
As I stepped off the boat back in the UK, it seemed very strange that I had just swum to another country. We went straight back to the hotel in Folkestone; I was really looking forward to a shower. The three things I always wished for the most after training for long periods of time in open water were: 1. a shower; 2. food; and 3. sleep. Normally in that order of priority. There is nothing quite like getting in a shower after feeling mildly hypothermic.
We ordered large pizzas all round and I felt so ready for proper food. But when it arrived I couldn’t actually eat any. My brain wanted it, but my body wasn’t so sure; my stomach felt so uncomfortable from all the sickness. I really did enjoy the shower, though – it was amazing!
The next morning I was due back at work, which was over five hours away. I phoned my boss and asked if I could come back in a couple of days. I had already taken most of my twenty-five days’ holiday allocation so I was pushing it, but my boss, Tim, was very supportive and allowed me to have an extra day’s rest.
I checked and found I had raised £1,200 for the Make-A-Wish Foundation and £500 for a Cats Protection home. Things couldn’t be better.
13
I NEED ANOTHER CHALLENGE
When I drove back to work I was the happiest I’ve ever been. I felt fantastic. One of the office girls had tied ‘congratulations’ balloons to my desk, which was very kind, and I spent most of the morning talking abou
t the swim to different people and being congratulated. When I finally did get back into the actual work, I found it hard to put my mind to it. Chasing up on orders and making calls to buyers put a bit of a dampener on the feeling I had wanted to last for ever. But I felt I had achieved something memorable in my life which could never be taken away.
Over the next few weeks I found it tough – everything went back to normal everyday life and I felt like something was missing. The swim had got under my skin and the daily discipline of pushing myself to achieve a big goal was now gone and I missed it.
By the time a few months had passed, it almost felt like it had never happened at all. There was a big gap to fill … again! The swim had changed me. I had thought I could put it to rest and get on with my career but I just couldn’t. It was more than a swim: it had changed me for ever. I felt alive when I was training and now I felt lost without it.
Apart from my shoulder, the rest of my body had physically recovered well. I was lucky my shoulder had managed to make it that far after eighteen months of training and then swimming across the English Channel, but it was only a matter of time before something serious would happen if I continued to ignore it. My only option was to contact a shoulder specialist to arrange for an MRI scan and to find out exactly what was wrong with it.
Man vs Ocean - One Man's Journey to Swim The World's Toughest Oceans Page 8
