It's go time

A comprehensive account of my swim across the English Channel, or as comprehensive as I can manage. Told from the perspective of the swimmer; there are likely to be biasses and certain confusion of chronology.

3am Breakfast in bed

The morning started out well. I was so calm I managed to speak with St George and ask them to reverse the cancelation of my credit card, the cancelation was on suspicion of fraud as the previous day Mike and I had traipsed around Dover and Folkestone going from ATM to ATM withdrawing large amounts of cash...I tried to explain Andy's policy of "No cashie - no splashie" The man on the line was not amused. 

Moments before we left Varne Ridge for Dover marina I went to wish Justin good luck, unfortunately Justin was still asleep and this was a problem as he was due to leave 15 minutes after me. 

Dover marina was cold and dark, but I was happy and excited. Loretta Cox was there to see me off, Loretta would also be there that afternoon when I arrived back at the marina, slightly less energetic and excited. I was really blown away by her kindness, a woman I had never actually met in person before, but a year earlier in the wee hours of the morning I had been speaking to her for hours and hours while Justin was in the water for his second attempt. 

I joked around with Andy and Mick my observer, mimicking the way they were so casually propped up against the side of the boat waiting for us.

Things got underway, I had WWRD on one arm and Ada and Pickles on the other. Writing them seemed a formality at the time as I had no idea just how much I would need their company.

I greased, gave the family signal, gave Mike and Charm a kiss and jumped in. 

I was calm, no real nerves, no sense of impending doom and no thoughts of what was to come. I climbed up the pebbles at Samphire Hoe and tried to commit what I saw to memory. 

4:38am Total darkness beside the boat's spotlight on me, the water was calm -it was beautiful, one of the most beautiful scenes I'v ever seen. "Ok Rachael this is it, the English Channel" I said out loud to myself.

As I started to stroke in the glassy opaque water I felt fantastic. My stroke rate was high, it felt like 63-65. Usually I'm mid-high 50's

I can't remember exactly when things started to turn, but it wasn't long before the glass turned to chop and I became fearful of swimming outside the lights of the boat. Problematically something was wrong with my left arm's stroke, whenever I tried to breathe on that side I would veer dramatically to the left and leave the safety of the spotlight and the field of vision within the wheelhouse. 

Andy came out with cups of tea for the crew, I was close to the boat and he cheers'd me, I gave him the bird. 

The sun rose without much ceremony, I flipped on to my back to backstroke and have a look at the huge tankers sailing past, little did I know of the wardrobe malfunction that was occurring, until I saw Mike and Charm yelling at me to pull up my costume! Oh well, hopefully it gave the crew a bit of entertainment. I attempted to keep myself decent for a little while, but eventually I stopped caring. 

Mike got in and swam with me for a bit, but by this time I started to worry that my stroke rate was too high for the longevity I needed. I started to feel hypoglycaemic and lacked energy, the feeds weren't giving me a boost, it felt like I was fighting a losing battle; trying to replace what I was loosing but falling further and further behind. 

I knew when I was in the first shipping lane and I knew when I was in the separation zone and I knew I was still swimming well. The problem came when I thought I was past the second shipping lane and in French inshore waters: the water had become dirtier and choppier, and James came out of the wheel house and started fiddling with the tender. "I'm there!" I thought to myself, "hell yeah, I'm going to kill it!" I reckoned I had about half an hour to swim and would do a time close to 10 hours.

Of course I hadn't dared to look at either coast, I kept my eyes firmly on the boat when I fed. 

I was so wrong.

At that point I had a feeling I was about 10 hours in, and as it happens I was correct. It was also at that point that I started to loose my mind. I started to question what my crew was doing... 

Were they even keeping time? What the eff were they doing up there? It's time for a feed I know it is! My feeds are too dilute, they are effing with my feeds, why aren't they putting the right amounts of maltodextrin in it, too much water, "FUUUUUUUUCK" I yelled underwater. My head was playing games with me.

This was the first of many stops I made, I knew it was jeopardising my swim but at the time I didn't care. I was angry and hungry and I didn't understand why I wasn't getting anywhere. I wanted out. The swim was tormenting me, "where the eff am I?" I shouted "this is so effed up" I kept yelling. 

Michael joined me in the water again and I was crying so much I had to constantly empty my goggles of the tears, I wanted to disqualify myself by touching him. I kept saying I couldn't do it any more, I had given up. Even now, 6 weeks later I can still feel the torture I was going through. I get a lump in my throat and my anxiety spikes. It was awful.

I was so angry at my crew for not allowing me to get out, I had no insight what so ever. They kept telling me that land was "just there" pointing in some direction, I couldn't see shit. They swell was high and it was choppy as fuck. Land was no where to be seen. It was agony. 

Around this point I started to give up on myself, I swam away from the boat a few times and I ignored the crew yelling at me to come back. I didn't care, the swell and chop made it hard to swim in any one definite direction.

When Mike jumped in he swam on my left to keep me close to the boat. This is one of the only photos you will see of Mike breathing to his right. 

I didn't think I was going to make it. It had been hours, I tried desperately to get out of my head and think of what was written on my arm, to sing a song from Les Miserables, to recite the script of Stand By Me or to think of the 'take a photo day' in Manly. Nothing was working, I was too distressed. I could feel the tide had turned, I could feel the strength of the water movement. I was battling with myself not to stop and scream, so I started screaming underwater- this must have been where I swallowed all the seaweed. 

On one of my stops, Andy came out of the wheel house and yelled "Rachael, stop crying you are doing better than you think. Put your goggles on and F***ING SWIM" 

I kept trying to look forward to see where I was, but I couldn't see anything. Finally I yelled for Michael to get back in the water. The plan had been for him to swim the last hour with me, but I needed him then. There wasn't going to be a later unless he got in immediately. At this point pure anger was the only thing keeping me going. I was kicking and swinging my arms over much faster than what I had trained for.

Daniel had told me that it wasn't as hard as he had thought it was going to be, that I would be fine. God Daniel, you bastard...this is hard. I fully understood why there is such a high failure rate. Had I had anyone else on my crew I would not be writing this as a successful channel swimmer. Mike and Charm could see my agony, but they knew it was in my head and that I had the ability to make it. In hindsight I will forever be grateful for this. 

I started counting my strokes in an attempt to drown out the voices in my head telling me I couldn't do it. By the time I got to 9 lots of 100 strokes I got the shits and I wasn't any closer to France. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh I screamed in frustration during one of my breaths.

I thought of something Stuart had told me about his doubles, there comes a point when he is so delirious all he can do it sing "99 bottles of beer on the wall" 

I started to count to 10, over and over and over. It was something my dad had told me he had done when he descended Mt Kilimanjaro as a teenager.

I mentioned previously I had told Michael, to get in the water, but he was stalling. He had taken his clothes off, but now his shorts were back on. He was fiddling with his goggles, cleaning them about 27 times, taking sips of water, putting his cap on and taking it off, going in and out of the wheel house and talking with Mick, Andy and Charm.

"MICHAEL- NOW!" I shouted, I knew he was stalling on purpose. 

He finally jumped in at the last feed, I threw my bottle in his direction hoping it would hit him.

I still didn't think I was going to make it. I knew I had wasted huge amounts of time spitting the dummy, I had jeopardised my own swim. "NO!" I thought to myself, I wanted to make it but had I wasted too much time? I kept repeating to myself "They wouldn't have let Mike swim if I wasn't going to make it" " 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10"

I caught a glimpse of land, fuck it was still really far away " I just want this to be over". Mike had me swimming really fast, I had a 4-6 beat kick going on and my arms were stroking furiously.

The first thing I noticed was the change in water quality, it became very silty. I could smell something, a smell that reminded me of when I was young and had pet rabbits. There was a family walking along the beach to my right in the distance. I think I can see some kind of a hut thing. " it's not over till its over" I was crying and hyperventilating.

5:39pm I kept stroking until I was in knee deep water and my arms were hitting the bottom, I got to my feet and staggered unsteadily a short distance up the beach.

I fell to my knees, then lay on my back and started sobbing (I also made a really big wee) 

Michael knelt beside me, "Where am I?" "Do I have to keep swimming?" "Is it over?" I asked him. I was beside myself, I didn't have a proper grasp on what was going on or where I was- in that moment all I could do was cry.
After a short period of time I sat up, took my cap off and asked him if the swim had taken 16 hours. It felt like 16 hours. 

Cross legged on a beach in France, I am crying and piling pebbles indiscriminately into my cap.

Andy kept blowing the boat's horn, there was no tender to take us back to the boat. I handed my cap full of pebbles to Michael and we made our way very slowly back, all I could manage was a breastroke/backstroke type stroke, I was shattered and sore. 

I climbed up the ladder and the first thing I did was apologise to the whole crew for swearing at them. I was in high spirits, I made a remark to Andy that I wasn't going to poo my pants, a few days before we had been joking about some of his past channel swimmers defecating post swim.

Andy was keen to get going quickly as the swell was rising by the minute and it was approaching darkness. There is no luxury about swimming the channel, the boat ride back was rough. I was sat between Charm and Michael who bore the brunt of the swell crashing over the boat. I soon started to feel sick, I wasn't so sure I could keep my promise to Andy.

I was handed a bucket and I vomited the entire way back. At first it was a relief as it was mostly sea water and some big chunks of seaweed. I asked Charm to take a photo before chucking it out. You're welcome.

I caught a glimpse of a big wave just before it crashed over the boat and soaked Michael, Andy remarked that the conditions Karlie had swum in were double what that was. That girl has guts.

I didn't look up for the rest of the trip, I continued to stare at the bottom of my bucked and heaved stomach acid.
In the calm of Dover marina I was rocking like we were still out at sea. My family had all come down to cheer me in, expecting me to be a little bit excited, maybe give them a wave, or the odd 'whoo'
This is what greeted them...

I have so many people to thank...Where would I be with out the Vladswim team; Vlad, Charm, Martin and Vicki.

Michael; who forfeited a European adventure to support me and ended up spending all his time away in thrilling Dover.

Matt Mccutcheon from SportsLab; Physio extraordinaire and all round good guy - What a legend 

Andy King, James King and Mick Randall on the mighty Louise Jane. Louise I don't know who you are but thank you too.

My family: Mum and Dad, Jess and Sam, Nat and Ronnie, Aviva and Avi, Ada and Isaac

Fellow channel swimmers and training partners, Tara Diversi and my Vladswim friends.

Dave and Judy Redelman

Finally...Thank you to myself. I did the training, I did the research and in the end I stroked my way from England to France. 

A work in progress..

Five years ago, given the scenario of what was to come I would never have believed one person would be able to survive, let alone thrive. In 2010, I had a series of losses, and I found myself losing interest in almost everything. I didn't want to do any of the things I had previously wanted to do, and at the time I didn't know why. The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality and it was vitality that seemed to seep away from me.

One of the things that seems to get lost in discussions of depression is that you know it's ridiculous, you know most people manage to wake up in the morning and get out of bed. You know most people are able to brush their teeth and have a shower and organise themselves enough to go out the front door, and that it's not a big deal. Yet I was in it's grip and unable to figure out a way around it.

And then the anxiety set in. It's a sensation similar to the one you feel when you slip over, and the ground rushing up at you-but instead of lasting half a second the way that does, it lasts years. It's a sensation of being afraid all the time, but without anything tangible to be afraid of.

People think of depression as being just sadness. It's much, too much sadness, much too much grief at too slight a cause. One doesn't think in depression that you've put on a grey veil and are seeing the world through the fog of a bad mood. You think that the veil has been taken away, the veil of happiness, and that now you're seeing truly.

What I didn't know then, and do know now, is that endurance can be the entryway to forging meaning. After you've forged meaning, you need to incorporate that meaning into a new identity. You need to take the traumas and make them part of who you've come to be, and you need to fold the worst events of your life into a triumph, creating a better self in response to things that hurt.

So now people say, "Do you feel happy all the time?" I don't. But I don't feel sad about having to eat lunch, or brushing my teeth, and I don't feel sad about taking a shower. I feel sad about professional disappointments, about lost relatives, about jelly fish. Those are the things that I feel sad about now. 

And I often ask myself, what is the conclusion? What I have come up with over time is that the people who deny their experience, the ones who say, "I was depressed a long time ago and I never want to think about it again and I'm just going to get on with my life," ironically, those are the people who are most enslaved by what they have. Shutting out the depression strengthens it. The people who do better are the ones who are able to tolerate it and not run from it, those who can tolerate their depression are the ones who achieve resilience.

Our needs are our greatest assets. It turns out I've learned to give all the things I need.

We don't seek the painful experiences that colour our identities, but we seek our identities in the wake of painful experiences. I could not bear a pointless torment, but I can endure great pain if I believe that it's purposeful. Ease makes less of an impression on us than struggle. Maybe I could have been myself without my delights, but not without the struggle that has driven my search for meaning.

These days, my life is vital, even on the days when I'm sad. I have discovered a resilience and endurance inside myself that I had never formulated until that day 4 years ago when hell payed me a surprise visit.

What Would Rachael Do?

This is one of the most inspirational and touching things I have experienced. Lovely Anna wrote this on her arm prior to a long long swim in very cold water. 

Vitality

Welcome to the Wetsundays

For my first trip to Queensland, I was looking forward to sunshine, warm weather and luminous blue ocean. Instead I got rain and a 4m swell.

I flew into Hamilton Island on the last aircraft not to be grounded due to poor visibility and high winds, I raced across the tarmac and just caught my connecting ferry to take me to Airlie Beach. The route that this ferry was taking was to be approximately the route we would be swimming in two days time.

On the phone with Christie, he told me that the weather was predicted to get worse and we may have to abort or drastically change the swim. I told him the conditions weren't that bad, at the same time I covered myself with hot tea as the boat tried to negotiate the growing swell. Bugger.














In the end we cut the course 10k short of our original target. A big disappointment, but a wise decision. Attempting to negotiate massive swell in a narrow, shallow and rocky channel in the pitch dark with three swimmers in the water was an unacceptable level of risk to ask of our skippers and support crew.

The swim got off to a bit of a hairy start, one of our support crew had to pull out due to a broken down jet ski, and crossing the channel to Dent Island, our first 10k section of the swim, was a bit daunting. I wish I had some photos or video footage of the swell doubling the height of the boat. We also lost our second support boat with all the paddle crew on board for a good 30 minutes crossing the Dent channel.

The first 10k were some of the roughest conditions I have ever swum through, dare I say rougher than Melbourne... "Living the dream" I thought to myself as my paddler and support boat disappeared behind a ginormous wave.
The last 5k took us about 2 hours, it was a gruelling slog against the tide as we crossed Funnel bay and swam into Airlie Beach. Once there we were met by a cheering crowd and reporters from the local paper.

In between the start and finish there were a series of up and downs, swing and roundabouts, ebbs and flows. I may or may not have chucked a Linda Evangelista and said something along the lines of " I don't get out of bed for less than 30km." A notable down was when I all of a sudden got irrationally pissed off. Swimming about 25m to the left of the kayak, I was sick of swimming alone and wanted some company. Unfortunately my rage coincided with a feed stop, and boy did I let my feelings be known- lets just say Rob (paddler) didn't leave my side after that.

Highlights

Finding a rhythm and body roll like a boss. Travelling fast near to the shore and just feeling awesome. Belting out "I dreamed a dream" by Les Miserables and surfing the face of the giant swell. Yew!

Lowlights

Getting ANGRY!

What did I learn?

I get angry! Much like others have stages of drunk...I have stages of swim, one of them is anger. I look forward to what the Channel is going to cook up. Charm, I apologise in advance for any abuse I hurl at you, its the swimanger talking.

I also learnt that I
close my eyes whilst swimming quite a lot. You know when you're driving and you arriving somewhere but you cant quite recall how you got there? Thats happens to me when I swim, am I having micro-sleeps in these times? Im not sure, but I do catch myself having been swimming blind for ~20 strokes.

I hold my breath; again no idea why but I was breathing every 9-10 strokes.

Anyway it's done, and time to think about my next big training swim...maybe palm beach (wharf side) to Manly wharf?

Finally, I would like to thank my two shoulders (brought to you by Matt McCutcheon from Sports Lab), who despite some pain at the beginning carried me all the way through my longest swim yet. I would also like to thank Fantine from Les Miserables who got me though some tough patches and kept me bubbling away.

(Unfortunately all ofthese photos are not of the swim itself, but the days following when the conditions were much calmer)  

Highway To Hell

So according to Captain Matthew Webb (first man to swim the English Channel) "Nothing Great Is Easy" well, WHERE were those words of wisdom as I battled along the Highway to Hell en rout to Hell's Gate?

Melbourne Cold Water Camp was extreme, extremely horrific...
okay it wasn't that bad, but crickey it was tough.

This Melbourne business is for English Channel swimmers, or if you're Lochie (Catalina) or Colleen (North Channel). It's an opportunity for aspiring channel swimmers to complete their qualifying swim and to generally really really get into the swing of whats to come.

We arrived on thursday and gathered for a briefing on the weekend's activities and to meet the newbies; Michael Christie and Karlie - Welcome.
Then it was straight in for our first 1.5hr swim, followed by a night swim 2 hours later.
Easy Peasy

Next morning we wee'd into cups, had blood taken, weighed and had our fat pinched all before a glorious 3 hours in sunny, clear "warm" water. Last year this swim was my undoing, but this year it was a delight.

Have a look at that! Greg and Ben are still hanging out in their speeods and Michael up the back is in a singlet. (please take no notice of the other shivering swimmers)
We warmed up, ate, tried to rest and then had to get cold again 2 hours later for our second swim of the day (1.5hrs) only this one is on no feeds.
I was spent, and all of a sudden it's not fun anymore, actually it's kinda shit. I'm tired, and tired of being cold.
Thats four swims down, but they will all be dwarfed by tomorrow's marathon challenge.
This is not a good time to lack motivation especially considering the dire conditions predicted...Thanks Melbourne.

4:45am and the house is a buzz of activity

I forgot to mention we all took a magic micro-chipped pill at midnight so we could have live readings of our core temperature coming from somewhere in the depths of our gut. At 5:45am standing in the howling wind my tympanic temp was 35C  but my core was 41C.
"Wow" you might say, and you wouldn't be wrong- it was like Alice Springs in there and despite "feeling cold", my core temp didn't deviate very far from 41C the whole 8 hours in 14C water. A very useful adaptation for the kind of swims I intent to take on.

Its not easy to describe the feeling of standing in our cossies; freezing cold, howling wind and pitch dark knowing that jumping in means committing to 8 hours. Especially considering that outside the relative protection of Brighton Baths the ocean is (for want of a better word) turbulent...
Actually it is easy..."a sense of impending doom" would pretty accurately sum up what I was feeling when this photo was taken.

I've mentioned the weather and allow me to reiterate -it was torrential. The Highway to Hell and Hell's Gate were in fine form. At Hell's Gate the swell and chop were coming from every direction and just as I got a full stroke in, between mouthfuls of dirty water, I was hit by a wave rebounding off the rock wall.
The sun came for about half an hour, just long enough to give us some hope for an improvement in the weather. Alas is was just a tease, an attempt to remind us what we were missing out on.

And then the conditions got worse.

Getting in and out of Brighton Baths was becoming dangerous, we risked slicing our delicate water-logged skin squeezing through the barnacle covered railings in-between sets of waves. Swimmers were dropping like flies, being pulled out left right and centre with hypothermia.
Coaches made the decision to change locations to the calmer waters of the marina, and by "calmer" I also mean colder. It was a good choice, I couldn't pass through Hell's Gate any more- It was sole destroying.

I often get asked what I think about during long swims and how I keep myself entertained (we are not allowed to use any artificial entertainment such as a waterproof MP3) My go-to options include singing the soundtrack to Les Miserables, and reciting the entire script of "Stand By Me."

This particular swim was unique, I couldn't quite get into the rhythm of my usual entertainers, instead the only thing that came to mind was profanity and so I went with it. I went A-Z through the alphabet turning each letter into a swear word, directing my fury toward Melbourne and the conditions.  What the eff am I doing here?
I also made up a song that my 4 year old niece Ada would have found hilarious, it went something like this: "Poo Bum Wee Wee, Bum Wee Poo, Bum Bum Bum Poo Poo Poo. Poo Bum Wee Face Bum Wee Poo, Wee Wee Poo Bum Face"

 Stuart having his temperature taken.

This photo was taken at about 7hr 45min, destroyed, but alive, we all have a new benchmark. It was the hardest swim I've done, but I've done it. No matter what I am faced with in the future this Melbourne swim will always be harder.
I hope to hell the English Channel does not throw these kind of conditions at me, and if it does I will now for it. I will swim proud, with my shoulders back, look it squarely in the face and proclaim NOTHING GREAT IS EASY!!!



A huge Thank You to Tara, Vanessa and Diane. Nicki, Sab, Ali, Texan and the Pirate. Super coaches and mentors Vlad and Charm.

It just got REAL

Shit got real today, really real.

Out of the blue, on a beautiful sunny day in a warm pool in the middle of sydney.
It was the inaugural 100x100m superset, much to the dismay of last years competitors, Charm wrote the program and that means only one thing: Business.

I chose to lead the lane, and in true Charm style we were kept in the dark about the time repeat and tempo of each 10 x100m block until the previous one was completed. Hardest were left to the end when we were spent, grumpy and sore.

2H 1E was a slice of challenge
3H 1E was a cutting reminder of how hard a 10km is possible to be
4H 1E carved the meat from bones

The first 7km were unremarkable: Warm up and drills, fairly standard stuff and up until that point it has been a beautiful autumn morning.

However, curiously the weather started to turn; it became grey, cold and windy. The water became tempestuous, I was no longer lapping up and down the Andrew 'Boy' Charlton pool in the Domain- I was in the English Channel. (Cue dramatic music: Dun Dun Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaa)

"Sprint!" yelled Charm. The tide was turning. "Put your head down Rachael and GO FOR IT." 

I compelled myself to go faster, the water got colder and dirtier and "Louise Jane" my support boat was to my right, if I didn't get across this tide I'd be pushed backwards and pulled out. 

The ABC pool was a distant memory, "We are in French waters!" I yelled to Michael "I can smell the baguettes!"

3H 1E C'mmon pull it out of the bag Rachael, you have been training too hard and sacrificed too much to slow down now. Focus on the catch! Open your arm pit! Finish your stroke! I can see France, this will NOT slip away from me now, I yelled to myself.

4H 1E I HAVE to get across this tide, slack water isn't far away. But I'm tired I groan to myself, my arms are fatigued and my shoulders are hurting. 

Blaaaaaaugggggh I'v started vomiting. Charm's telling me its okay "less to carry" "Keep swimming, you are doing so well" She hasn't left my side the whole time. Forward I swim towards the smell of croissants. 

As I'm turning my arms over, feeling the power in my stroke, and the pain in my shoulders I start to think of my family. They have watched me emerge from a fog, weighed down by the black cloud that shrouded my life. I'm doing it for them, doing it for me, doing it for them. 

Mum and Dad must be beside themselves watching a tracker in Dover, eagerly waiting for updates from Charm. It's the middle of the night at home Jess, Sam, Nat and Ronnie are following their computer screens. Ada has some idea that her Aunty Rachael is 'schwooming' a long way, and Pickles has been walking around roaring like a lion pretending to be a fish. 

I won't let them down, they have been strong for me so that I can now be strong for myself. I get a rush of excitement, and harder I pull.

Finally, I can feel the water going slack-the sun is shining and I can see the bottom. I feel sand under my feet, as my hand touches the wall.

Im well aware that saturday's 100x100 will be a piece of piss compared to the channel crossing. 

It's all just become a bit of a reality for me now, I'm actually doing this. 

Ps I didn't vom in real life

Channel Myths: Busted!

Sometimes (quite often) I have to remind myself that swimming from England to France is not something that most people decide to do in their lifetime. The confusion comes each morning when I  am immersed around swimmers, so many of whom have either already swum the channel or aspire to. So why wouldn't everyone else want to do the same?!

I have noticed a few myths swimming around and I will attempt to blow them out of the water.

In a straight line, at its narrowest point, the Dover Strait is 34km across.
Unfortunately I am not Trent Grimsey, and I won't be swimming in a straight line

Swimmers get pulled north and south by the tides that enter and exit the Dover Strait. This is an enormous amount of water movement, hence the typical 'S' shape.

Tides change every 6ish hours, they flow North-East to South-West in and out of the strait. So when the tide changes its direction, it turns 180 degrees and flows back to where it came from. Often the difference between high and low tide is 6m. This is enormous. 

There is one exception to this...and his name is Trent Grimsey. Aka the current record holder for the fastest channel crossing. 6hr 55minutes

Gone are the days of covering ones self in porpoise blubber or what ever it was. Thank goodness for that- After a horrid experience with duck fat I am glad this has been given myth status.

We do not wear wetsuits because for the swim to be officially recognised and acknowledged as a true channel crossing we all have to adhere to a stringent dress code. Cosi, cap and goggles-Just like Trudy Ederle (the first woman to swim the channel) and Capt Matthew Web before her.
It is a proud tradition, and one that breads open water swimmers tough.



So no wetty, no grease..just Vaseline and lanolin to help ease the chafing at the back of my neck and under my arms.

I will be stopping every 30-45 minutes for a feed, this is not a rest break. As the water moves at such a great speed, I cannot afford to hang around chatting, for risk of getting pushed too far north/south. Coach Charm will be making sure these stops are for fuel only and will last around 20-30 seconds. At the moment gels are the flavour of the day, though I will be experimenting with Ovaltine.

There is also no touching of the boat or person. Channel rules dictate that the swim is to be totally unaided, an observer onboard will be checking that I do not break any of the rules.

This is what a channel "feed" looks like, liquid carbohydrates handed to me via a bucket on the end of a broom stick. 

Despite appearances long distance swimming is not a solitary sport. On every long saturday swim I know Coach Charm is waiting for me on the beach with words of encouragement, and to shoo me back into the water.
The Vlad will always be visible somewhere along the course in his yellow kayak and hi-vis rashie.
Along the way I also get to bump into these legends and exchange a few words, usually profanity.

When all else fails, I get to think about my special little people; Princess Ada and Pickles. These two little dudes have gotten me through when I just didn't want to swim anymore. When I had 80,000 good reasons to stop swimming, somehow imagining Isaac's smile, and Ada calling me "Aunty Rachoool" gets me through.