Where Did It All Go Wrong?

As a lot of you will probably already know my Channel swim did not go according to my master plan. I only managed to complete 6 hours. To be fair at least an hour and a half of that wasn’t really swimming, it was just moaning and trying not to cry. I don’t know what happened on the day. It was a nightmare and I expect a lot more from myself. This won’t be a post of self-pity, or making excuses, but instead will hopefully help me sort my head out. It will maybe also highlight any little pieces of positivity from the swim, or give advice to those thinking of attempting it. They say you learn a lot more from failure.

Checking the light

The swim was scheduled to start at around midnight on Friday 19^th/Saturday 20^th August, and we arrived at Dover for about 11o’clock. I had already been up for 14 hours as I had failed to get any sleep in the day, due to unbelievable nerves. This is something I definitely need to work on. I was literally gagging and nearly being sick with nerves for the entire day – and the day before, as initially I was going to swim then until the weather deteriorated. So this wasn’t the best preparation.

Getting greased - I was already looking nervous

We had a bit of a hold up at the harbour. Paul couldn’t get the boat ‘Pace Arrow’ in, as the harbour gate hadn’t been opened at the correct time. We eventually boarded at around half past midnight. I had a lot of people to see me off, which in hindsight I don’t know was a good thing. My focus was off a little bit and I probably put a bit of extra pressure on myself to please everyone that was there. This is obviously easy to say when looking back, the chances are it made no difference at all.

The swim started at 1am on the dot – I had been awake for 16 hours and had at least 14 hours of swimming ahead of me (so I thought). I would have had to be awake for at least 30 hours. Again this is not an excuse, some people’s swims alone are longer than this – Jackie Cobell swam her solo in over 28hours last year. That is an incredibly tough woman.

It was pretty dark

At the first feed after 1 hour I wouldn’t say I felt fine, but it came around pretty quickly and I was swimming well. I managed to get the peanut butter sandwich and Maxim in me without a problem and cracked on with the swim. I didn’t say anything though which made Simon on board think something wasn’t quite right.

My second hour was a bit of a nightmare. I completely lost my head. This has happened to me before, but not since I was suffering from the cold earlier in the season. It had never happened to the extent that it did on this swim. It was horrible. I also swallowed a fair amount of water as the waves picked up a bit, it wasn’t rough – far from it – but it was no longer smooth.

My head was slowly imploding

I was desperately trying to picture myself walking on the beach in France, meeting my family and celebrating. All I could see however, was an image of me sat on the boat with my towel over my head, crying. I couldn’t get this image out of my mind, until it felt as though it was actually happening in the water below me. It no longer felt like it was in my mind. This was very depressing.

At my 3 hour feed I was literally nearly in tears, I didn’t let anyone know as I was still swimming ok. My stroke rate was slowing slightly but nothing too dramatic, and I was still covering a fair amount of ground, but my head had completely gone.

The next hour was the beginning of the end. My stroke rate dropped massively and I was no longer moving forward, just drifting to the side. I was starting to realise the dream was over. I wasn’t doing myself any justice at all, this was really killing me, I knew I was capable of much more than I was showing.

I have always been told to swim from feed to feed. This is excellent advice and should be followed. I was thinking purely about the entire task, and this was destroying my confidence. At 5 hours all I could think was that I had no chance of getting to France, I should have been thinking “I only have 30 minutes of swimming until my next feed”. My heart and hips dropped and I was suddenly incapable of swimming. Frustratingly I wasn’t too tired but just couldn’t do anything.

Simon got into the water and tried to get me going. He couldn’t have done anymore and I cannot thank him enough – that goes for the entire crew and Pilot. I had just given up in my head and there was no telling me any different. I hate myself for this. I always said that the worst way to get out of the water was if you just gave up, and this is exactly what I did.

Paul put down the ladder at around 5 ½ hours and told me it was up to me if I wanted to get out. I asked for some painkillers and swam on, but I had it in my head that it was completely pointless. I wasn’t moving forward and my stroke was no longer a stroke. I was swimming for a maximum of 2 minutes and stopping. It was terrible. I was almost in a completely upright position and I had only covered around 7 miles, and I had covered those in the first 3 ½ hours. It really was never going to happen, and at just under 6 hours I climbed onto the boat.

I swam until the Sun came up , but I had already lost it

I am not ashamed to admit that as soon as I got onto the boat I started crying. I wrapped my towel around my head and just couldn’t stop. I was basically re-enacting the exact vision I had had in my head for the past 4 hours. If you imagine something enough it will be so – apparently.

After the trip back to Dover I met back up with my family and again started crying. I haven’t cried for a long time and now I couldn’t stop, it was weird. I spoke to the crew and apologised for my performance. Everyone was incredibly kind, both at the harbour and on Facebook etc. and I am very grateful for that. I am not going to be so kind to myself, although at the same time I need to get over it and not dwell on it too much.

Simon trying to get me going - but he had no chance

I realise it is an enormous task to swim the Channel, but I was certain I would achieve it. I MASSIVELY underestimated the psychological side of the swim. I cannot emphasise this enough. My swim was completely and utterly destroyed by my head. I felt like I had a complete mental breakdown. As soon as I started thinking negatively my stroke went to pot, my hips and stroke rate dropped and I was completely inefficient in the water.

For anybody looking to do this swim make sure you spend time sorting out your mental preparation. I was told this beforehand and just glazed over it. I should have spent far more time concentrating on it.

I’m obviously still upset about how things turned out, but I am more determined than ever to complete the swim now. Everything in life is a lesson, and I seem to be having a fair few of them in my swimming. It would be nice to not have to learn a lesson once in a while and just get it done!

Thanks a lot to everybody on the crew for putting up with me and for staying up for a night watching me on a hiding to nothing. Especially as there was a lot of seasickness going around on the boat.

Thanks also to Paul Foreman, my pilot, who couldn’t have done anymore to keep me in the water. By rights he could have pulled me out a couple of hours earlier when it became clear I wasn’t going anywhere – he gave me every possible chance of sorting my head out and getting going again. I just didn’t do it.

I will have another go, and I will swim the Channel. At least I get to write a blog for a bit longer, and it will make a far more interesting film…

“It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; Who, at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who, at the worst, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knows neither victory nor defeat.”   

- Theodore Roosevelt (sent to me by my mate after the swim)