Channel Swim: Relay!

Monday 14th June, 1:40 am

The big diesel engines dropped to an idle as Reg picked out the Samphire Hoe beach with the spotlight. Ray was readying the inflatable with the practiced motions of a man who’d done them a thousand times before. It was nearly 12 months later and I was back on the same Viking Princess, at the start of another channel swim.

But it wasn’t me getting ready.

Sarah was quickly stripping out of her onesie, hat and goggles already on, listening intently to Ray as he explained the starting procedure. There was no hint of nervousness, just a clearly visible fierce determination as she nodded her understanding. Within moments, she was helped down into the boat, and they took off towards the shoreline.

As the second lockdown dragged on I’d reluctantly come to the conclusion that there was no way I’d be able to complete the rebuilding of my technique that Swim Canary Wharf were driving, or reach the levels of fitness I’d managed over the previous winter. I turned to my triathlon club and asked if anyone fancied joining a relay, to make best use of my slot. I wasn’t surprised to get a barrage of positive replies, and quickly picked a team based on a mix of speed, experience, diversity, fit and just gut feel.

Sarah was the first to reply, the first on my list and I knew she would be the first swimmer in the relay. Blisteringly fast in the pool and undaunted by almost anything we were relying on her to get us out as far into the channel as possible to make the most of the tide that would soon be sweeping us north.

The whole team hung against the side rails of the big boat as we saw the splash of Sarah entering the water, just a few strokes away from the shore. We cheered as she climbed out onto the beach, but lost sight of her as the boat horn blew to signify the start of the swim. For a while all we could see was the small light on the inflatable making its way back to the Princess, but soon Sarah was alongside. We had time for a few words and she fired ‘Warm, Amazing. Awesome’ at us like a cannon, grinning hugely before being given the go ahead. There were three boats around 30 minutes in front of us and we’d told her we wanted them caught. Sarah attacked the water and we knew she’d do everything she could to close the gap.

I’d selfishly left my decision as late as I could, which meant my team had very little time to train. Triathletes are used to short swims (even 3.8k isn’t really much for a pure swimmer), while wearing wetsuits and in much much warmer water than we were looking at in the channel.

Most of them also have ridiculously low levels of body fat and get hypothermia if the weather sneezes in a late season race.

I’d given my team an idea of what was going to be needed, but I’ll never forget the moment in March when half the team had joined me at the mytchett quay lake for their first ever sub ten degree non wetsuit swim. The three of them were toe deep in the water staring at me with real fear and vulnerability and I did laugh hard as I was told ‘You have GOT TO BE JOKING!’. Talking as a group, distracting each other as they inched their way in, we were soon swimming around the circuit and twenty or so minutes later, wrapped in many layers and shivering furiously while clutching thermos mugs, everyone had a much better idea of just what they were taking on.

I barely know what I’m doing when it comes to swimming, so I knew we’d need some experience in the team. I’d already mentally marked one spot in the team for Emma France, and was delighted when she bit my hand off at the chance to join us.

I suspect many people reading this will know Emma already, but as the force behind Dover Channel Training she’s been involved in and with channel swimming for many years, has many related skillsets, knows absolutely everything and yet is a totally normal and approachable human being.

I had worried when she saw the team she’d think I was an idiot, but she never had anything other than encouraging words and frequently told me privately how impressed she was at how focused everyone was and how well they were acclimatising.

2:43 am

With an hour almost up, Emma was stripped for action and ready. I’d been no help when it came to what to expect at swimmer change over as there hadn’t been any last year. Emma had never swum on the Princess, but I was still glad it was her doing the first change. The process turned out to be simple, a side gate open, new swimmer in the water and the old swimmer quickly swimming back to the dive lift on the rear of the boat before the new swimmer was given the go ahead. I’d warned everyone after a loosening up swim earlier in Dover harbour that the cold water still had the power to shock and I watched Emma closely as she bobbed up to the surface. She looked fine and, quickly given the go signal, stretched out into a long leisurely lope.

Sarah and Emma could not be more different styles from each other in the water, Sarah’s arms pinwheeling and pummelling the water with a unusually upright head, feet joining the assault on the sea surrounding her. Emma stretches out and when she kicks once per arm stroke you can almost see her accelerate. We could see she was pulling the boat along with her at almost the same pace Sarah had. The lights in front of us were now visibly closer.

Sarah was raving excitedly as she came out of the water, words coming out in a tangled rush barely interrupted by towel or poncho going over her head. She had loved every second of her hour and was ready to go again immediately. She had a long wait, the only question was where she would be when she hit the water again.

It was also only fair that Other Stu was in the team, or ClawHand Stu as he quickly became known after the first few acclimatisation swims. After all, he was the one that suggested I do the swim leg of a triathlon years ago; he was the one that suggested we follow that up with a full tri; he was the one that had initially suggested we look at a Channel Relay. I’d immediately forked off onto the solo route, but once he knew I was thinking relay, he was back in.

Stu is an awesome member of any team, funny and supportive and just radiating strength, but despite this being his stupid idea in the first place I knew this was worrying him more than most.

I thought I knew why that was.

We’d entered the Neptune Steps a few years ago, an evil brutal cold water race designed to batter you, and Stu had not had a good day. I still think he was unwell going into it, but I think that difficult time in cold water was ‘living rent free in his head’ as they say, worming away at him. I don’t think the fact he kept coming out of the water with claws was particularly helping either. Obviously, we all laughed supportively at him, but for some reason this was more helpful for us than for Stu.

Give Stu a solo event of an description and he knows he will do his best until he falls, but this was a team event and I think he was worried about letting us down.

Everyone was struggling with their own nerves; but we knew he wouldn’t be the weak link.

3:43 am

Emma was done, and together, our ladies had dragged us right up to the back of the line of boats in front. That quite literally had to mean we were making good time, right? Stu jumped in as Emma made her way to the rear, and watching again I saw the shock of the cold water hit Stu hard. I saw him reach for his determination and push immediately into front crawl, not wanting to lose a meter for the team, but with his lungs still trying to crawl out through his nose, this wasn’t working properly and I could see him struggling a little.

We’ve all had races where we lose our breathing rhythm. You can hit a spiral of gasping for air turning into a mild panic and before you know it, you’re in real trouble.

Earlier Stu had asked me to record some footage of his swim with his GoPro. I grabbed it and without paying much attention to the camera stuffed it in his face on the end of the long selfie stick. Stu immediately focused on the camera. With something else to concentrate on, his breathing slowed and he settled into his graceful, powerful stroke.

Stu was going to be our last swimmer in darkness. I’d told him I was giving him the privileged slot where the sun rose, and he understood the significance of this and had thanked me gravely. I think everyone had worked out I’d just sorted the swimmers in order of speed, but I appreciated the gesture anyway.

Stu is the sort of channel swimmer who watches the people on the boat as he swims, making eye contact and maintaining a connection throughout his swim, unlike Emma who was just focused on the big boat shaped thing she was swimming alongside. We did try to give Stu the connection he was looking for, but on the other side of the boat the most spectacular sunrise ever was taking shape, so he may have been on his own for anything from a few minutes to a fair chunk of his hour, with sunrise officially happening in the last minute of his swim.

I’ll say it again though, the sunrise was properly amazing so I don’t think anyone could blame us. I haven’t checked with Stu, but I’m sure he’s fine.

Once Emma was out and Stu was away I chatted with her about her swim. We’d noticed a certain, ‘variability’ in her direction while in the water and Emma shared that she’d really struggled with actually seeing the boat – she knew it was there, but wasn’t sure how far away it was thanks to the actinic spotlights blazing from the deckrails, and felt like she’d been zigzagging a lot. She really hadn’t and by the time she was out, our relay team had already covered 11k.

I looked up diversity in the dictionary. It said ‘the condition of having or being composed of differing elements’. We were a pretty diverse group anyway, but then Jess came along and merrily ticked off every possible other box. Any description of Jess is probably going to start with the word ‘Unique’. She’s flamboyant, and funny, and creative and irrepressibly enthusiastic in a truly spectacular way. She was also young enough to be the child of most of us, but somehow manages to project maturity while still bouncing around things at the speed of light.

This maturity was completely evident in the way Jess tackled training. With an amazing fashion creative job that had demanded her travel into London when most of us had been locked in our houses, Jess had struggled to join a chunk of the training the team had been doing. But this hadn’t stopped her, she’d put in long cold swims on her own, and had stunned the team by soloing her 2 hour qualifier when we were still cursing the weather and demanding everything warm up by another degree or two.

4:43am

As the suns lip poked over the horizon we were forced to drag ourselves away from the colours and make sure the next handover went smoothly. It was no surprise that while smiling Jess found the breath for one last furious rant about the outdated swim costume regulations before slipping smoothly into the water and banging out stroke after stroke like a metronome.

I can only imagine the torture that not being able to talk to anyone for the next hour was for Jess, but it did crack us up when we noticed our focused and determined swimmer poking her tongue out at us as she swam.

We were by now well into the English Shipping channel, the ‘northbound carriageway’ if you like of the sea, and were surrounded by huge shipping vessels as well as six or seven small channel boats that we’d by now caught. At the time, I’d thought that the the sun being up making everything easier to see and Jess being adventurous explained why she was so much further in front, behind and away of the boat, but having discussed it afterwards, I think the Brickells had their hands full navigating at this point as Jess was convinced several time the boat was going to carry on to France without her.

5:43am

Like everyone else I was bricking myself that I was going to ruin it for the team.

I was worried I was going to be too slow (I know my technique is getting better, but right now I’m losing, not gaining speed).

I was worried I was going to be seasick on the boat (not a problem in a solo attempt, poor Lance.).

Mostly, I was worried that it would take me five minutes in the 13.9 degree water to find my rhythm and I’d be losing ground all of that time.

In the end, I don’t think any of it was an issue. I put my head down and and attacked the hour like it was a sixty minute time trial. When the swim was over, I raced to the step for a short stop/change, and gasped as the lift raised, knowing I couldn’t have done more.

I’d also knew I’d given myself the slack hour when little progress is made – at every chance I’d tried to make decision that would maximise success for the team. I was still gutted when I saw how short the line of my swim was on Strava, but I need to just toughen up and take it.

Back in October I’d done a lake event in skins. We’d watched with horror as Fiona, long overdue, dragged herself out of the lake and nearly collapsed, hypothermic. Although in real trouble she’d refused to give up until she’d completed the swim. We’d helped her to her van and the team had got her dressed warmly while we cosidered racing her to the hospital.

The response to my appeal for team mates had been typically Fiona. She’d told me she knew she struggled with cold, but thought this sounded like a fascinating journey and she’d love to come along on that whole journey even if she wasn’t in the team.

Fiona is tall and slim, and at that October event (which wasn’t that long and wasn’t that cold) had been wearing a wetsuit. Obviously there was no way she’d be able to acclimatise and complete a 2 hour qualifier in much colder water with just a swimsuit on. I asked her if she’d be interested in joining the team as a reserve, coming on the journey, and she’d be able to tackle the qualifier with all of us.

I’d been open about the challenge and felt good about the solution, even if I hadn’t expressed my thoughts on the long odds facing Fiona’s chances at the qualification.

Then 24 hours later, James, who was the sixth member of the team, smashed his collar bone to bits. Shortly after (Late march, basically), with a shiny titanium plate holding his shoulder together and an amazing, he was still assuring us he’d make a June swim. And he really did give it everything, turning up seven weeks later at an 18 degree Guildford Lido and banging out 60 minutes swims far faster than he’d ever done before. The temperature proved too much however, and after several goes in the space of a week at a sub 15.5 degree qualifier, James finally conceded that he just didn’t have time left to acclimatise.

Fiona, meanwhile, literally did not know when to quit, and had had to be dragged out of local lakes and even Dover harbour, having lost the ability to speak words or control any of her major (or minor) muscle groups, and tangoed repeatedly with the possibility of being hospitalised with hypothermia. She knew she was struggling, but unbelievable courage and determination meant she refused to be beaten…. even when she was.

We were deeply concerned that she was going to hurt herself, and the awful weekend came where I took her to one side and suggested that she might be putting herself in danger, that the repeated close calls must be taking a toll, and that there would be a swim, but it possibly wouldn’t be this one. I told her how we both knew she’d never be able to nearly double her endurance and make the qualifier, which was due at the end of the week. I could see how upset I’d made her but she nodded and promised to think about it.

The next day, I had a long message from Fiona, thanking me, telling me she understood and agreed, that she’d loved every minute and would withdraw from the team, leaving us as a five with no reserve, but would just have one last go at the qualifier in the week.

She may have nearly drowned, but she swam every second of that qualifier, then got herself out and mostly got herself dressed.

This actually caused a massive potential problem – If we put Fiona in to swim a first leg, and cold meant she couldn’t complete the second or third swims then the swim was over for the whole team.

I didn’t have to discuss it with anyone.

Fiona had been set a challenge, she’d passed it through sheer balls, and she was part of the team. We focused on making sure she carried on improving and acclimatising, and she carried on doing everything we asked. Just knowing she could do 2 hours in much colder water than we were expecting was a powerful tool in her toolkit.

We knew we’d cracked it when the team were complaining the week before the swim window that the local lake was too hot to swim in.

6:43am

I’d be lying if I didn’t say we were watching anxiously as Fiona jumped in to take over from me. I believe there was a sharp intake of breath but by the time I was out of the water she was in a comfortable front crawl. I settled in to watch her like a hawk, but she grinned at me, knowing exactly what I was doing and letting me know she was fine.

An hour later she was still fine. As she came up in the lift, she had the biggest smile possible on her face and it sat there for most of the rest of the day.

With the pattern set, and changovers now old hat, the rest of the swim was more of the same. Emma livened up the late morning lull by shotgunning a handful of blueberries at Stu and then offering the team points for targeting different parts of me as I swum – I whanged a few back at her with some venom later, and we all knew when someone had scored a hit. We passed channel boats and they passed us in return as the teams fastest swimmers hit the water. Jess sunbathed in a black onesie to warm up while Sarah started laying out beach towels like she was recovering from a big night in Ibiza. I had a nasty moment when I thought last year was repeating on me and I had to get into the water to make it round a critical buoy before the tide turned, but I’d misunderstood the situation and had loads more time than I thought.

Fiona dispatched her second swim as smartly as the first, and when she got out assured us she would have been able to do a third hour there and then.

After an altercation with local french fishermen about the ‘bad brexit fishing deal’ that involved cutting another channel boats drogue line all while their swimmer was in the water, we were surprised to be buzzed then circled by a french gendarmerie helicopter that saluted us with its sirens as it flew off. In one final piece of drama, a possibly sunstrokey Sarah punched through the strong tide pushing us up to Calais by pushing to her limits, and although Stu was suited up and ready, Emma brought us home in a strong time of 13:58.

Start to finish it was a brilliant day, made that way by the team around me and all the hard work they’d put in.

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