I was terrified of the dark when I was little. It's another thing I have to meet head on and get over.
It's one thing to say you're going to swim the channel. It is another quite a few things from saying that, to actually landing in France. For me it is and will, I suspect, continue to be, a steep learning curve. My preparation for swims is usually to turn up and just get on with it.
I usually find out later what I should have known before I started.
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| Dover Marina 10pm Friday night |
She is what I would call a proper swimmer, not a wannabe, a dabbler or a paddler like me. Ever since I bumped into her in the 10k pen at Eton Dorney just over a year ago, she has been gearing up to where she was on Friday morning. Ready to swim the channel. Whatever it takes.
She isn't the best at following orders though, as evidenced by her almost immediate disappearance into the darkness upon entering the water at Shakespeare beach. Luckily the skipper had a P.A. to remind her in his most endearingly diplomatic terms, "Oi! Try following the boat!"
I learned a couple of other things on Friday/ Saturday morning. These might sound asinine, but I'll share them anyway, if only to demonstrate my naivety; the channel is a really long way to swim and it consists almost entirely of water.
Just another piece of water. Just like your local pool. A bit wider is all.
The other night it resembled a mill pond, albeit a really wide one with no mill, no ducks and no obvious edges.
I sat out on the foredeck waiting to give the ever grateful and gracious Alexia her feeds.
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| Daybreak in the separation zone |
The low hum of the diesel engine was out of earshot here at the bow. The deep stillness only broken by the rhythmic slapping of the swimmer's stroke, and the distant rumble of thunder from a storm that seemed like it would never reach us.
Sitting underneath the vast sky, the gentle sea spread broadly all around, peace descended. I was filled with the awe you only get when you feel at once insignificant, humbled by, and yet intrinsically linked to everything around you.
The thought that such moments could be rare for me when our roles are reversed entered my mind. I smiled inwardly.
The storm wheeled around to the west, the night grew pitch dark and slowly at first, the surface of the water was peppered with tiny splashes.
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| In sight of France |
Not that that would bother me if I was swimming. I took cover. Alexia rallied on.
I saw the sunrise over the separation zone before I took my turn to sleep. It was a clear and beautiful light. When I woke up the fog had come down and it was steadily raining. Alexia swam on, annoyed to see me eating the sandwich I bought the night before. I was oblivious, having just woken up. I thought she was trying to splash me because she was pleased to see me.
I can only guess how deep Alexia had to dig into her reserves of grit and determination, how many times she wanted to give up, how many times she had to just get her head down and carry on.
It was a privilege to be part of Alexia's crew, who of course are worth a mention here. The swimmer is totally dependent on the pilot, boat, feed plan, moral support of a great crew. It is a team effort, you'd never make it alone.
Maximum respect to Alexia for a great swim (the girl did good) and to the awesome team that was assembled to make it possible.
I had plenty of time to consider if 'because it's there' is a good enough reason to carry me through my channel swim to completion.
It's probably fair to say that time will tell.
