Channel Swim 16: Shit Week. We know why. Moving on…

I can’t believe how much things have changed in just a week since the last post. In a few short days, we’ve seen riots over toilet roll in supermarkets, airlines ground their fleets, schools, cinemas, museums are shut, festivals and sports matches cancelled and ‘social distancing’ is now a thing. Many organisations and individuals all over the word are facing financial ruin as their business stalls instantaneously. Infections in Spain have leapt to nearly 30,000 with 1800 deaths, Italy at 60,000 with 5400 deaths, and UK tracking their infection curves closely.

In direct, channel swimming terms, the impacts have been equally cataclysmic. I had to cancel my Support Team ‘Get to know each other’ dinner. Pools and gyms, closed. Triathlon training and Channel Swimming groups forced to shut down or rethink how they work. The Guildford 12, cancelled. Campsites (where I was booked in for April and May in Dover) closed. Even the beaches are seeing massive influxes of people desperate to get out and do something, so I’m resigned to them being forcibly closed before the sea warms up to a meaningful temperature that I can do long swims in.

All of this is essential – it has to happen to protect as many lives as possible, and reduce the impact on everyone dealing with the repercussions.

There is one local lake open at weekends, furiously putting processes in place that will allow them to meet restrictions, but it looks from the outside like watching kids trying to stop a sandcastle from being washed away by the incoming tide; I cannot see them being able to resist the inevitable for long.

I had a great chat with Hannah the swim coach on Friday, as we walked around a lake 2m apart. We accepted the changes being forced on us and moved on. The problem was the changes hadn’t stopped coming and by the time I got home again I was having to accept a whole bunch more.

Many, many awesome people have told me to stay positive but the only thing that’s not been explicitly binned at the moment is the swim itself. The skippers are trying to work out what can/will happen but I’m fully expecting mine to call me at some point soon to tell me there will be no swims certainly until much later in the year. At which point the Fat Lady will certainly have sung.

I’ve swum nearly 500km since October, getting up at 5:30 in the morning come hell or high water, wrecking family and social life and it looks like it’s all going to be for nothing. For three weeks in a row I’ve written in my swim journal ‘Shit Week. We know why. Moving on.’.

I wasn’t sure how many more times I was capable of moving on.

For the first time I let depression get a hold at the weekend and couldn’t see the point in dragging myself out of bed to go hit the lake for a cold (but still too short) swim.

The thing is, the depression didn’t last long.

I’m surrounded by amazing people who are having a tough time.

• Friends with their own businesses are losing their livelihoods.
• Friends who work for others are losing their jobs.
• Friends who won’t graduate or have a chance to get the grades they deserve.
• Friends with immune system challenges are facing 12 weeks + in isolation.
• Friends have seen wedding plans and holidays wrecked.
• Friends have lost multiple IM or marathon distance events.
• Friends who have qualified for the British team are watching their chance to represent the country disappear.
• Friends with elderly or unwell relatives are desperately worried about losing them. I think that’s probably all of us.

All of them are amazing. Because none of them are moaning. None of them are showing the despair I know they are feeling. They have just picked themselves up and are focusing on what they can control; and are trying to bring the rest of us with them.

A great example is my Tri club. In the same short week discussed above they’ve had six months of hard work on their training camp go down the tubes. Without a single complaint, the members have collected and are proudly wearing the souvenir camp hoodies and sharing their pain caves on social media. The cycling coach has set up ‘No Drop’ Zwift cycle sessions with a shared Discord channel and Spotify playlist. The swim coach is sharing weekly strength and conditioning exercises to keep us strong and flexible. One of our young, GBR representing members is streaming workouts from his university dorm room; another member is sharing Yoga classes and another is helping with mindfulness and wellbeing (and home schooling, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish). The club chairman shared a costumed, socially distanced fartlek run with exercises, and they’ve all been sharing spotify playlists and useful livestreams. I’ve had the same sort of positivity and help from my wider friends and family too. Jo, recognised how upset I was about having to cancel the Support Team dinner and by some sobering updates from the team facing challenges of their own. She kicked off a ‘getting to know each other’ photo thread on the team WhatsApp group which quickly degenerated into exactly the sort of madness I think we all needed. Every one of them are part of a truly incredible band of people, and I love them all.

I also kind of resent them all, just a little bit, because the child in me still wants to throw a massive tantrum.

But when your surrounded by goodness and positivity you don’t have any choice but to try to be better. I needed that reminder that even though it feels like we’re all apart, we’re very much still altogether. Lying there in bed, feeling miserable but seeing this flood of proactiveness hitting my Facebook feed, I had to do something.

I reached out to my skipper to book a ‘just in case’ slot for next year. The idea was I would convert it to a relay if I got away this year. He had three slots left for the whole year, one of which is the exact slot I have this year – Swimmer 3, June 10th. I immediately asked for that to be booked for me, so him hoping that’s confirmed really soon.

I’m going to hit the open lake (socially distancing safely) for as long as I’m allowed. If they can fight for their sandcastle so can I. Twice a week is better than none. If others open I’ll do them too.

I’ve set up the bike on the turbo trainer and will be joining the group virtual rides that I’d been avoiding in case I hurt myself.

And finally, I’ve ordered one of the last rowing machines left in the country, because, in the end…

…I’m a hopeless dreamer and if I get offered the chance to swim I’m going to stand on Shakespeare beach knowing I did everything I could to be ready. And if I don’t, well, next year will be better. I’m moving on.

Not alone.

Together. If nothing else, that makes me feel a lot better.

If you have a resource to share, or just need to vent, drop a comment below.

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