I knew I couldn’t give myself an option to get out so I made a deal with myself: do one more hour and assess again. I was really shaking as I swam; the cold had got to me. When I reached the four-hour mark I said to myself, ‘One more hour, then you’re on the final stretch.’ It was tough – I was in a world of hurt and mentally breaking down, and every now and then I started my old trick of yelling in the water like a crazy person: ‘If you want to kill me then come on!’ I realised I had developed this love/hate relationship with the ocean and shouting every now and then made me somehow feel better.
I wanted to develop the mindset of never having an option to get out of the water. If I showed any sort of weakness, I could do it again and again. I needed to get into a positive habit of completing every training swim.
I managed again to incentivise myself to keep going and make it to the last hour. In my open-water training sessions the final stretch had always seemed easier than the previous hours, but there was nothing easy about this swim. The psychology of knowing that you are near the end gives you the incentive to push and complete the swim. I was desperate to finish and when I finally did it was a massive relief. I quickly got dressed and sat in my car, shivering uncontrollably, and when I glanced at my watch and thought, ‘I have to do this all again tomorrow, in fourteen hours’ time’, it was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.
I went back to the hotel and couldn’t wait to collapse in a hot bath. My shoulder was so sore and I could see in the mirror that it was slightly raised on the bad side, which was most probably as a result of unconsciously hunching to protect it when I was swimming. The pain was like a dull ache running down my arm into my biceps, which became a regular feature during my training. The longer I went, the worse it became.
The next day I woke up very sore and uncomfortable and I had to do a five-hour swim. I was dreading it. I started the swim very slowly and tried to work around my injury. This became a common issue throughout: where to position my hands to avoid irritating the shoulder. It was an added challenge I didn’t need. There was nothing I could do about it and I managed to complete the five hours, albeit struggling to lift my arm for much of the time; it was just collapsing out in front and of no real use in propelling me forward.
All week I rested it in preparation for the following weekend. I was so worried throughout training that the damage I was doing might prevent me from completing my Channel swim. I kept praying for my shoulder to be good enough to get me across – I was willing to accept the damage as a result.
The next few weeks were characterised by pretty much no swimming during the week but longer swims at the weekend. On one of the swims I did seven hours, from which I emerged looking a blue-grey colour and even Freda asked me if I was OK. I did six or seven long swims in total before my due date of 10 July. During the last couple of weeks I limited my training as I wanted my shoulder to be in the best shape possible. The first week in July I was so sore I just floated in Dover Harbour for two hours doing a little backstroke and nothing else.
The swim was so close now and the nerves were growing. Concern for my shoulder was in the forefront of my mind and I desperately tried to keep it under control. Even though I felt mentally strong, I couldn’t help having the occasional thought of, ‘What if the shoulder goes?’ Those thoughts were few and far between as I had trained myself to block them out and focus on the positives. I knew this was my protective mechanism and I switched my mind to thinking about swimming in simple terms: just one arm in front of the other. You can always do another arm stroke, no matter how tired or sore you are – it’s just one more arm.
On 7 July I travelled back to Dover in readiness for the swim. The weather was not looking good for the 10th. I had heard things can change very quickly with the Channel, and so you have to be prepared. Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent that the weather would not improve for me. After two nights in Dover I thought I might as well go home and wait for the following week. I travelled home on my thirtieth birthday. The rain was belting down and it was such a miserable day all round. I was really down.
This sport keeps you on a knife’s edge; you convince yourself you’re going to swim, get yourself prepared mentally and physically, and then you’re told, ‘No, sorry, the weather conditions aren’t good enough and we will have to wait for another date, and even then you won’t know if it’ll actually happen.’ Some people train really hard during the week, sacrifice so much, and yet they might not get a chance at an attempt that year. It is cruel, and it tests your mental focus and composure as you need to be ready to go at the drop of a hat. I have seen accomplished swimmers who are both physically and mentally prepared, but their swims are cancelled again and again and the anxiety starts to creep in. By the time they eventually go, they have lost that focus and they set off with self-doubt, which quickly overpowers them and they convince themselves to give up. It is not like competing in a pool swimming gala, where the date and time is set and unless the leisure centre burns down the race will go ahead. Here you are in Mother Nature’s hands, and if she decides you’re not going, you’re not going!
The worst thing for me was going back to work and trying to focus on my job. All I could think about was when I would be swimming the Channel. It felt like I was waiting on death row for my fate. I went back to work for three days and the swim never left my mind for more than a few seconds. I was even invited to a Michelin-starred restaurant with a customer, which at any other time I would really have looked forward to, but the last thing I wanted to do was travel a few hours to watch everyone else drink while I sipped on water. (I had not drunk alcohol for the last six months.) The restaurant had a taster menu called ‘Sounds of the Sea’, which was served with an iPod in a shell; as you ate your meal you listened to the sounds of the ocean waves splashing against the shore. This was the last thing in the world I wanted to hear only a few days before my Channel swim! It did make me smile, though, watching one couple having a romantic meal, both with headphones in their ears, listening to the ocean.
Two days later I was told there was a chance of going on 14 July. It was now the 12th and I was to ring in the morning. When I rang Mike, the pilot, he said there was a fifty-fifty chance, based on the weather, and what did I want to do? I asked for more detail to try to make a decision, but ultimately it was up to me and I was no clearer on whether to go or not. Mike said Lance, his son, was out with another swimmer in the Channel and suggested I phone again in the evening and he would tell me what it had been like. I had all my bags ready in the lounge and didn’t know what to do – there were so many things to arrange. By the evening it would be too late to find someone to look after the dogs and cats and even then there might still be no guarantee of when I’d actually go.
I was stressed and I sat on my sofa and clock-watched for the next eight hours until it hit 6 p.m. and I could phone Lance – who didn’t pick up. I tried again thirty minutes later and got through to him. He asked me what I wanted to do.
I said, ‘Your dad said I should ask you.’
‘Well, it’s fifty-fifty,’ he replied. ‘What do you want to do?’
I just made the decision in that moment: ‘I’ll come.’
Lance told me that he would pass on the message and we would try for the next morning. I made some quick arrangements to book the hotel and called my brother to come on my boat. I also managed to get the pets sorted and finally left home after 8.30 p.m. I arrived in Folkestone just before midnight. I was due to meet Mike at 7 a.m. and I hoped I would get some sleep.
12
SWIM #1 ENGLISH CHANNEL – THE FIRST TEST
I did sleep for a few hours, which surprised me considering the pressure I was under. At 5 a.m. I had the sudden realisation that I was going to swim all day and take on the toughest challenge I had ever embarked on. I tried to remain calm and after a couple of nervous trips to the bathroom I made my way to the harbour.
Driving from Folkestone to Dover was a short ten-minute trip, but I felt so
many emotions as I approached and the sea suddenly appeared. So many times I had driven to Dover in training and gone over the brow of the hill where the sea becomes visible and felt my heart sink to the ground, knowing I would be immersed for six hours before being able to come back out. This time the feeling was much worse and my objective was to keep as calm as possible. I would tell myself, ‘This is the final training session, Adam – this is what you have been working towards and after this you never have to do it again.’ On all those training sessions I had given myself so many incentives to keep going – never having to do it again was the biggest one of all!
In amongst all the nerves there was an element of excitement and a feeling of pride. I was about to swim the longest distance I had ever swum, across the English Channel, the busiest shipping lane in the world. Inside I felt like someone special for once, unique. I thought about all the hard work I had done to get there and I felt very determined. The nerves were there all right, but there was no self-doubt. For the last eighteen months, everything had been building up to this moment, and I would finally test my capability. I was up for it more than I had ever been up for anything in my life, feeling well prepared and trying to convince myself I could do it. I knew I could swim six hours – now I just needed to do that twice!
My team all met on the boat: my brother Mark, my wife, my friend and training partner Chris, and Jim whom I’d met at the swim training camp in Gozo and who had become a good friend. Mike complained that we had a lot of equipment, but my thinking had been that it was better to be prepared for every eventuality. We had lots of snacks, including Jelly Babies, chocolate rolls and my two kilograms of carbohydrate powder; I planned to feed on the first hour and then every half hour afterwards, so I worked out I could be drinking up to twenty-five litres of fluid. We also had a safety kit, which included plasters, antihistamine cream for jellyfish stings, blankets if I became hypothermic, light sticks if it got dark, and lots of jumpers, tops, jackets and a woolly hat for when I got out.
As in the relay, there are two possible starting points for a solo Channel crossing: Samphire Hoe and Shakespeare Beach. My starting point was Shakespeare Beach, the same as for the relay, and it would take around twenty minutes to get there by boat. Jim had the worst job in open-water swimming: putting on the plastic gloves and rubbing Vaseline behind my neck and under my arms. This is done to stop rubbing and chafing from all the arm rotations, as I would be averaging around seventy thousand swim strokes across the duration. (I didn’t do it myself as it was important not to get Vaseline on my hands in case I touched my goggles and couldn’t see – well, that was my excuse, anyway).
When we came within 75 metres of the shore, I took a deep breath in and then out. I tried not to think of anything in order to keep my mind clear from any negative thoughts and stay calm. This was not the time for self-doubt or any mental glitches. I was aware I wouldn’t be coming out of the water all day, but I couldn’t allow that to dominate my mind.
I jumped in, and as my legs broke the water I sensed how cool it felt, but as quickly as I sensed it the feeling went away as my brain was engaged on the job in hand. All the training in similar and colder temperatures had prepped me for this. I felt that my thoughts were in check and I was in a strong, secure mindset, not allowing my protective mechanism to creep in and make me aware of the reality I was about to face.
I remember thinking in the relay that it was a little harsh having to swim to shore and clear the water before you can even start. I had thought I would just be magically airlifted and placed directly onto the beach – wishful thinking!
I felt pretty calm, though, considering I had put so much effort into getting here. I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want to put an anticipated time on the crossing, as the Channel isn’t a still body of water and you cannot predict what will happen. I prepared myself mentally to do whatever it took.
I turned to face the boat and raised my arms in the air to show I had cleared the water. I can see how those few minutes alone, staring out to sea and waiting to start, could affect people on long-distance swims – the mind trying to wander with the realisation of what you are about to do.
This was it, then. What had I let myself in for? It had all started with a fictional movie and a crazy idea that was now real life – there was no turning back. I waited for the signal – a siren from the boat – and then Mike shouted, ‘Hit the water!’
I dived in as if I were in a mad rush or a race against time, which wasn’t a great approach considering I would no doubt be out there all day. The adrenaline was flowing and I wanted to start with the right intent. I remember thinking, ‘Am I going too fast? Can I keep this pace up?’ As I had never swum this distance before, I started analysing my speed, all the time trying to shut out any demons at the back of my mind who were trying to question my approach.
I found it comfortable breathing to the right-hand side, so I swam to the left of the boat. As I made my way out into the ocean, I started feeling the choppy water. Most of my training had been in flat, calm water, so it felt a little strange being knocked about.
Forty-five minutes into the swim, the waves continued to knock me around, although I started to relax and still retained a fast pace. The initial adrenaline had died down and I got into my zone, switching off mentally. I even stuck my tongue out at the boat to relax myself and show everyone I was enjoying it, or at least trying to fool myself. In a strange way I was enjoying it – for the first time in my life I felt really proud of what I was embarking on, which made me happy to be out there. I was determined to not let the moment overcome me; I had to embrace it. I knew these moments in life don’t happen very often.
We had brought a whiteboard as I wanted to be notified when there were five minutes to go before a feed, as we’d done with changeovers in the Channel relay. ‘The feed’ is a Channel-swimming term meaning a drink or solid food, depending on how I was feeling. At fifty-five minutes the board went up and I made sure I was close to the boat so as to not waste any time when the drinks bottle was thrown to me. Prior to the swim I had been told about the importance of a quick feed, the reason being that those seconds can make all the difference with the tide towards the end of the swim – if you’re too slow you might have to swim several more hours before the tide changes again and eventually lets you in to land.
The whiteboard went up with FEED written on it with black marker pen. The first one was two scoops of a carbohydrate powder topped up with 500 millilitres of water and blackcurrant. The drink was lowered down to me in a sports bottle attached to a piece of rope, as the rules decreed I could not touch the boat. I was conscious of time so I quickly grabbed the bottle, put my head back and squeezed in as much liquid as I could, pretty much finishing the whole bottle in around twenty seconds. I knew the taste and it was definitely not a drink I looked forward to, but I knew it would give me a slow release of energy and it was important for me to take on fuel. I treated it like a military operation: no time to speak, just consume as much as possible, drop the bottle and continue. So far so good, I thought. My crew pulled the bottle back up to the boat and would rinse it out ready for drink number two.
The next hour was very much like the first and went by with very little trouble, apart from the choppy water making me feel seasick. One hour and fifty-five minutes into the swim, it was the same procedure as before: the whiteboard came up with a 5 written on it and five minutes later, on the two-hour mark, I stopped as the drinks bottle was thrown to me.
Shortly after the second feed, the water started to become rougher. It was as if I was swimming in a washing machine and I felt increasingly sick. At two hours fifteen minutes I couldn’t hold back any more and started vomiting. I had been sick a number of times in training and knew there was a chance it could happen at some point during my crossing – I just hadn’t thought it would be so early in the swim. I was now on feeds every half-hour, from two hours thirty minutes onwards. I hoped that by the next feed my stomach would have settled. But
this wasn’t the case. I couldn’t hold anything down so when it came, it was of no benefit at all; the drink came out of me as quickly as it went in. This continued to happen for up to four hours. I tried a scoop of electrolyte powder with hot chocolate to help with hydration, which also didn’t work and came out of me almost instantly.
I was now really worried and had to ask myself, ‘If I can’t hold anything down, how can I possibly finish this swim?’ I thought about how I was burning approximately 1,100 calories an hour. Even a full bottle of carbohydrate drink is only around 600 calories. Therefore I would be losing around 500 calories an hour with the drink. If I am sick and not replacing those calories my body will be looking for fuel to burn, like muscle and fat.
At four and a half hours, just after being sick again, I thought the swim was all over in my mind. It was the first time I had allowed any doubts into my head about not making the crossing. My mind just became possessed with negative thoughts, convincing me that it was physically impossible to carry on without food. I went into a panic state and felt really upset. It was a disaster. I had done so much training and had swum longer than this before, yet I was now telling myself it could be over and there was no point in continuing. This was the first test and it was a big one.
I started talking to myself: ‘How much do you want it, Adam? Do you really want it enough?’ The answer was clear. I imagined my dad on the boat and visualised his face saying to me, ‘Don’t you give up – give it everything you’ve got!’ This is what had driven me on during those gruelling training sessions – not giving up – and it served me well now too. I also thought about the people who had sponsored me and the time away from home, as well as the money spent on getting me here. I had personally saved up for this, putting money to one side, and my parents had also helped fund the crossing. I didn’t want them to waste their money or to feel I had let them down, even though they wouldn’t have thought that way. I had to clear my head and focus on one thing. I made the decision at that moment that I just didn’t have a choice. I said, ‘Adam, if the boat wasn’t there you would have to swim across. If you had to swim it to save your family, you would. Now get going!’
Man vs Ocean - One Man's Journey to Swim The World's Toughest Oceans Page 7