I did it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And whereas it is more entertaining when things go wrong… I can’t find it within me to be sad that I’ll be entertaining you less today 🙂

**Note: Unless otherwise credited, pictures and video of the English Channel swim were taken by Katy Morris)

Most Importantly, Acknowledgements

This swim truly takes a village and, I may be biased, but there is no village better than mine.

There is nothing more dangerous than acknowledgments, especially for something like this – so very many people contributed to this achievement that I am bound, almost by definition, to leave someone out. If you are that person, please know that it isn’t because I have actually forgotten you or don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me. It’s only that I’ve just swum for 11 hours in the Channel and I’m quite tired.

Soooo many thanks to:

ALL of the swimmers I’ve swim with over the years – with special Channel thanks to everyone at Wrightsville Beach, NC, the pre-senior group of Wave Swimming, Cary, NC, the Durley Sea Swimmers of Bournemouth, and Swim Bournemouth Masters. And most especial thanks to my lane partner Lizzy Kudlak, without whom I would never have gotten through some very tough workouts, Heidi Williams who made me realize again and again it was silly to ever think that I was “too old,” Will Headland who improved my speed in the chop markedly and is a joy to swim and travel with, and who joined the ranks of Channel swimmers 3 days before I did, Katy Morris, who gave me some very welcome swim companionship during Durley Week as well as amazing support on my swim, and who I have every confidence will have an amazing swim when it is her turn next year, and Sam Scharf, who took to marathon swimming like she’d been doing it forever and made the last season of training in America so much fun – you guys literally inspired me every single day. (And don’t think I wasn’t picturing myself trying to beat you while I was out there in the Channel 🙂 ) Oh, and I almost forgot Burak Erdem, who not only swam with me when the water was “too cold” for most everyone else, but also let me use his shower after swims, so I didn’t have to drive home covered in salt, sand and seaweed. 

Every marathon swimmer who gave of their time and knowledge – it was not unusual to have 45-minute conversations or more with people who didn’t know me from a jellyfish. There are so many of you out there that I could take up an entire post just thanking you all – this is an amazing community!!! And you know who you are – Anything you guys need, just let me know! Special thanks to Marcus Teixeira (Wadsworth) who convinced me that Bournemouth was the right place to be and supported me once I arrived – it could not have worked out better, Marcus!

And the organizations as well:

Durley Sea Swims (and Durley Week!) – The perfect training group for the Channel, with just the best energy and support. So many thanks to all of the volunteers and all of those who gave of their knowledge and enthusiasm. Ali, Deb and Sarah were particularly patient with my endless needs for information (and hand-holding!)

Just Swim – Thanks for giving me my start in English open water swimming and introducing me around – from my humble 30-minute sub-10-degree beginnings with you guys came a Channel swim!

Swim Bournemouth – My first international Masters team – I will miss you guys!

Swim Wilmington – I never could have gotten to where I am without you. You all taught me more about open water swimming than I ever thought I would know, and are the most kind, generous, cheerful and fun group of people to swim with – can’t wait to see you again!

Wave swimming – Coach John for being open to me training with them (and merging my coaching business into his team during COVID so I could continue to make enough money to pay for a Channel swim 🙂), all of the coaches at Wave – you are amazing coaches and coworkers and make Wave a very special place. And of course, Coach Bescher, who was with me every step of the way, and who gave me some of the most challenging (nausea-inducing? Soul-sucking? 🙂) workouts of my entire life. And the rest of the pre-senior group who endured them with me. Couldn’t have done it without you!

And many thanks to those who are coaching and running my groups while I am out of the country – thank you guys so much!

Imp Masters – The Masters team that I founded – a wonderful group of caring, funny, and supportive individuals. And they have supported me every step of the way (up to and including putting the clock away in the snow while soaking wet and in a swimsuit, in order to save my shoulders). Your readiness to learn, optimism, sense of humor, and lack of ego are so inspirational!

And wider thanks are due here as well – to ALL of the adults I’ve coached over the years (FOG City, OneStepBeyond, RAM, and all of my private clients) – you share the same qualities mentioned above, and you have made my life so much richer for the last 20 years. Thank you.

The Bournemouth lifeguards, especially my friends at Boscombe Pier – They looked after me, let me leave my stuff under their hut so I wouldn’t come out to a wet towel when rain (inevitably) came up, and were amazing moral support. I was down there yesterday for the first time after my swim, and they were so happy for me. Special thanks to experienced long-distance athlete Andre for the advice that calmed me down markedly the Saturday before my swim – “You’ve done all of the work in the training. You’ve already done that. On the day, you just go.”

Coaches:

I’ve already thanked a couple, but thanks are also due to –

Susan Vanhoose – My amazing age group coach, and the person who made me “fast” for the first time. And more importantly, started me on the path to being the swimmer, coach, and person that I could be. I could not have looked up to her more at the time, and I appreciate her even more now, knowing the effect that she had on the course of my life. (Thanks for all of those distance Saturdays, frequently with me alone in the pool – who knew at the time that they would be perfect Channel training?)

Kiki Jacobs – My amazing college coach. I was going to try to express what she gave to me (above and beyond an amazing college swimming experience), but when I went to make sure that her name was still “Jacobs,” her own coaching philosophy statement did it for me: “My approach to athletics is grounded in the philosophy that to strengthen retention and engagement of students in varsity athletics, intramurals, club sports, intramural and wellness programs, all must be a positive, value-added experiences. Students grow through sport and fitness. Athletics, intramurals and recreation can teach students to become reflective, responsible individuals who interact with society in mutually rewarding ways.” I was so much more capable of exactly this after I swam for Kiki than I was when I met her as an awkward Freshman. Thanks for putting up with me, Kiki!

Harry Delong – The best coach for me as a Masters swimmer, and there at a critical time when I had small children and needed a great swimming experience to have something of my own. In addition, he showed me the dynamic stretch that has been the most useful in keeping my shoulders together this entire time (I did it on my Channel boat right before I jumped in, Harry!), and pointed out that I needed to keep my core up – which I was still thinking about in the Channel 🙂

JP Payne – who thinks about strokework in a way that fits so well in my brain. Thank you for all of the help this year – especially for having me try kicking on the same side I was stroking – it worked out brilliantly.

And so many others:

Dr. Williams, Staker Chiropractic – I could not have done it without his help during appointments, advice about what to do outside of appointments, and whatever magical ability he has to make you feel better about everything before you leave his office.

Mike – for kayaking and observing my 6-hour qualifier – let’s find a better day and finish that graveyard swim!

Molly for kayaking my 10K swim in Charlotte – another step on the way, and so much fun with you!

Natalie Thomas – for all she has done for us in Bournemouth.

Everyone who wrote a book about swimming the Channel. Reading these made such a difference for me!

Lisa Hoff – for introducing me to the Wilmington open water community – my training never could have ramped up as quickly without your help, Lisa!

Sherry Schliesser and the Hanleys – for their early advice and continued help on schools, England, etc., and an introduction to the first Channel swimmer I met after I signed up.

Race organizers – A huge part of being able to complete this swim was all of the experienced I have gained in open water races over the years. A big thank you to all of the race organizers out there who make it possible for us to pursue this amazing sport!

Alice Lee – she may not think that she did a lot, but putting it into perspective for me that the swim is a mere 12 hours (or less – eeee!), whereas the preparation is years – it made all of the difference. It made me appreciate and enjoy (almost) every step of the journey, and I was comfortable with the potential for failure. That was an enormous gift, Alice.

Everyone who followed, shared, and commented about me – I really was inspired in a very direct way by you during my swim. Knowing that you were pulling for me while I was in the water made such a difference – I was actually picturing you guys looking at my tracking dots, and trying to make those tracking dots move faster – it was so mentally helpful!

And now we get to the people who I don’t even know how to thank:

First off, everyone on the boat that day, and everyone who might have been on the boat that day – My pilots, support crew, and observer were second-to-none, and it goes without saying that I could not have done this without them. And there were others waiting in the wings who could not have been more supportive as well. Special thanks to Ali, who didn’t end up being able to go with me, but was my guardian angel and fairy godmother all-in-one – you were there in spirit!

Everything went so smoothly during the swim – thanks to Paul Foreman, Jason Parrott, Katy Morris, Ady Brown, and Sue Mchugh, none of my 3 am fears came true 😂 (well, I did get stung by jellyfish, but not badly). Your competence, good cheer, endless thumbs up and smiles, flexibility, intuitiveness, and inventiveness gave me the best day in the Channel imaginable. I have no plans at this point for a future swim, but you guys make me long for a reunion tour!

And of course, saving the best supporters ever for last, my family and my friends who are like family – for all of their support, and for their efforts to understand and tolerate the lifestyle of an aspiring Channel aspirant. Especial thanks to my parents for 38 years of being swim parents (and to this day I still miss my mom packing the cooler, making the reservations, and getting me to (and exhaustedly home FROM) events). And of course to my amazing husband and children, who have been ever so much more than patient and supportive. You make my life so happy. And it’s your turn now 🙂

The Tale of the English Channel Swim

How on earth do you relate something which was, for you, so epic, so long-awaited, so… without pen and paper to record what you were thinking as you went along? And relate it without making readers want to poke their eyes out with sticks?

I’ve given it a go – you’ll have to be the judges. And I gave some thought to getting those who have not been following along up to speed, and it’s kind of hard to sum up. I guess I would say:

1. The Channel is hard. Like, really hard. Cold, jellyfish, strong tides, unpredictable weather. 21 miles if it were in a straight line. No wetsuits allowed if trying for an “official” swim. Fewer people have crossed the Channel than have submitted Mount Everest.
2. You book it years ahead of time and only one person swims with an escort boat to protect them (or one person at a time, in a relay) – it is the busiest shipping lane in the world. Also, you could book your swim and never get weather that is good enough to attempt the crossing.
3. I live in North Carolina, USA, but moved with my family to Bournemouth, UK in March, both to train for the Channel and for the fun of living abroad. It has been a blast!
4. I’ve wanted to swim the Channel since I found out it was possible, and I’ve been training for years.
5. Drinking chocolate milk to get across is super unusual. Come to think of it, I may have been the first! 

Top level summary: It was completely awesome and perfect and everything I could have dreamed of.

Mid level summary: You know how they say that women forget the bad parts of childbirth? There may be a pretty strong analogy here 🙂 Certainly, with each passing day, the ratio of the percentage of good things that I remember to the percentage of bad things that I remember creeps upward. In the end, I think there is nothing to do but to tell…

The Tale:

First of all, the only thing you need to know about the days leading up to the swim is “chaos.” Mental chaos, communication chaos, travel chaos, emotional chaos. I went through Dante’s nine circles of chaos and back again. I never want to do another swim that is this logistically complicated – not unless I hire a mom. It was, without question, the hardest part of all of this, and at one point I said, and I quote, “I just want this to be over.” A very un-Laura-like sentiment, and one that happily went away as things worked themselves out. And I did not feel uniformly badly in the days before the swim – sometimes I felt great and ready and excited. As I said, the word is chaos. And if you are thinking about doing a big swim, just be prepared for it. You absolutely will get through it, and you just have to ride the wave.

The Prep

Things improved markedly on Sunday when we left to travel from Bournemouth to Dover. For one thing, I think it was a huge relief to finally be doing something. Part of the challenge of taper is that it is hard to feel that lying in bed playing Candy Crush is preparation of any kind. Especially for something so monumental. So packing the suitcases and booking the travel felt great. Chloë McCardel had previously told me under no circumstances to take the train, and she was not wrong. But with the potential to swim early, I didn’t really have any other choice as my wonderful planned crew member Ali was unavailable and she had been my ride. So the train it was, and I just told myself that I was most likely to swim on Tuesday, so I’d have a day to recover (haha). But honestly it wasn’t bad – E and the kids went with me to do all of the heavy carrying (and making sure I got on the right trains at the right time – embarrassingly quite necessary with my chaotic brain!), and it was just nice to have new things to look at and new people to talk to (enjoyed meeting you, guys who had just run the 10K in London!)

Once we arrived in Dover, we tried to get a cab, but it was too stressful (again, for my chaotic brain – I was pretty seriously nuts by this point), so we just walked the 20 minutes to the hotel. On a hot day. In the sun. Do you see why I need a mom? Oh, and did I mention that the wheel of one of my suitcases broke right after we packed it on Saturday night? E took the brunt of that, and managed to get to the hotel without passing out. Then, we had to practically run to the Marks&Spencer to pick up the water for the boat, bananas, and brownies for my pilots, since it was closing at 4 PM because, you know, England.

But once that mission was accomplished, we sat down to a nice early dinner at the hotel pub before the boys needed to catch the train back to Bournemouth (I didn’t realize until just a few weeks ago that A’s last day of school was the second day of my Channel window, not the Friday before. He really wanted to attend the last days and celebrations, so we decided that, due to the nature of swimming directly away from land, it didn’t really matter whether they were in Dover or Bournemouth). Anyway, good Sunday roast dinner (other than the flavorless veggies), and the chance to sit in the air conditioned pub. Thankfully, I had turned on the fan in my very UN-air-conditioned room before we went down to dinner and it was tolerable by the time I got back. I also immediately consumed an absolutely delicious smoked salmon sandwich from M&S that had cost me some effort to put on ice in the sink in our no-refrigerator room. It was exactly what I needed, and made me feel like I had fulfilled my fish-before-events pre-swim tradition.

At that point things start to become a blur, but mostly I was waiting for the 6 PM call from my pilot, telling me if I would be swimming on Monday or Tuesday. (Or, you know, neither. The Channel can be such a bitch.) In my head, this call was a sacrosanct thing that every swimmer gets, like clockwork, from their pilot. I got some things ready, mostly because I needed to do something productive, but as it approached 6 the only thing I was capable of was crushing more candy while simultaneously staring obsessively at my phone and willing it to ring. As I recall, at this point it looked pretty clear to me that Monday was going to be the better day, and I did do a good job of mentally gearing up. At least I got one thing right 🙂 So there I am, wasting time on a computer game, and 6:00 passes. And 6:15. And 6:30. I knew that I had probably already annoyed my pilot with my pre-swim craziness, so I texted one of my crew who has swum the Channel to ask if I should contact the pilot or wait. As expected, he told me to be patient. Tough to do when you feel like your skin is crawling off of your body, but I managed it. (Complicated by the fact that my other crew member, having, you know, a job and all, was driving part of the 5-hour trip so that she could be close enough to get some sleep if it was going to be Monday, but far enough to turn back around if it was going to be Tuesday. Katy, you are the best!)

Around 7:30 I let my “Important People” WhatsApp group, my parents, and Facebook know that I was going to proceed as if it was tomorrow and get ready for bed, knowing that I might be asleep when the notification came. Ah, now that I look back at WhatsApp, I did have good reason to think it would be Monday – my pilot had messaged me midmorning, “Before I lose signal, it’s looking likely to be Monday meeting up at 0630 in the water around 0800. I will confirm tonight after the 1800 forecast.”

And at 7:57 PM on Sunday night, I got a message, “See you at 0630 tomorrow.” I responded “Woot!!!!!!!”

My email to myself on Sunday, for last-minute things to do once I found out if the swim was a go or not for Monday:

Ask if Ady can pick us up

Make sure Katy can get key

Check gear (backpack too), rinse water bottles

Ser 2 alarms

Always make sure you “Ser 2 alarms” if you need to get up on time 🙂

So I was able to let everyone know that it was on, and that’s when I really felt better. I had finished getting everything ready while I was waiting, so I went to bed. To sleep, perchance to… not really sleep, are you kidding? I did get a few hours here and there, and I was resting quietly, so I wasn’t worried. I don’t think I’ve ever slept well before a big event, and I certainly didn’t expect anything different for this, the biggest one of all.

What I didn’t expect was that during one of my periods of blissful unconsciousness, some asshole would blare his horn right outside my window at 3:40 in the morning. My alarm was set for 4:30 AM, so it was pretty hopeless that there was any chance I wouldn’t spend the next 50 minutes vibrating internally. Man, I hated that guy. But now, all is forgiven 🙂

On the bright side, it gave me a chance to read over some of the good wishes that everyone was sending, and that was really inspiring.

At 4:30, both alarms went off, and I immediately covered myself until dripping with sunscreen. Then I wandered around my hotel room naked, letting it dry. (Quite the picture, no?) I knew what an (awesome) sunny day it was supposed to be, and sunburn leading to dehydration and other problems was a real concern. Also, you know, skin cancer. Neither the short-term nor the long-term results would be good. Apologies to the hotel cleaning crew – I covered the floor with towels as best I could. Although I’m pretty sure they are used to sunscreen-covered bathrooms – this hotel is where a lot of Channel swimmers stay – for their races but also for training every weekend.

I ate two of my favorite bread-with-peanut-butter-and-bananas. The last bites of the second were a little tough to choke down, but I know from experience that I am grateful for these calories later in the day. And I drank and I peed and I drank and I peed. Then it was time to put on my swimsuit for another shellacking of sunscreen. I used P20, by the way – it’s the best I’ve found – spoiler, I did not feel sunburned at all the next day. I joked that I had filled the bathtub with it and dipped myself in like Achilles. Luckily, heels don’t usually sunburn.

That’s about the point where things went from moving very, very slowly over a long night to feeling like they were moving much too quickly. Soon, Katy showed up and I put my clothes on over my suit, hoping the sunscreen had dried enough. We got my bags down to the parking lot (mostly her), and I sat down on the pavement to wait for Ady to come pick us up. In no time, he was there, and a very short drive later we were at the gate to the harbor. He dropped us off, and Katy handled the bags whilst I continued to vibrate nervously and feel completely surreal. We met my observer there, and it was the woman who I had heard was an awesome observer to have – sweet!

In no time at all (possibly right after Ady got back from parking the van, possibly later – my sense of time was nonexistent), the boat had pulled up and the pilots were letting us through the gate. I was stopped from lifting the suitcase full of Nesquik onto the boat, and I gave the pilots the brownies I had bought. (I’ve since heard through the grapevine that they hate store-bought brownies – really sorry guys! I don’t own cooking equipment in this country, and I had to take the train from Bournemouth to get there 🙂 ) Those were about all of the memories I formed of that part.

Side note: I am pretty sure that I set the record for most liquid ever brought onto a boat for a solo Channel swim. Most athletes use carb powder, and just bring water and a concentrated fruit flavoring to mix with it on board. I brought, quite probably and literally, all of the pre-mixed Nesquik in England. Plus Up&Go. Plus apple juice. Plus water for the crew and to mix with the apple juice. Somebody call Guinness.

Then we were on the boat and it immediately started up and my brain was like, “um, shouldn’t we sit here and get used to things a little bit first?” They told me it was a something-minute journey over to the start site and asked when I wanted to be notified. I chose 15 minutes. Or 20? It didn’t matter – I was in the middle of a black hole, and time was warped around me. It’s so funny that I’m smiling in the pictures – if my inner state had more influence over my externals, the word “nervous” would have formed on my face in freckles. I do remember someone asking me if I was nervous and me being quite proud that I managed to say, “Yes, but I’m covering it with humor – I’m almost British.”

Oh, and I’ve totally forgotten answering all of the observer’s questions (name, age, medical issues, suit check, cap check) and the briefing from the co-pilot. It turns out that Channel boats can get caught in lobster pots. This stops the boat momentarily, until they can free up the prop (if prop is the wrong word, don’t hate me). This can be a huge problem for the swimmer, because the very strong Channel current is no longer acting on the boat, but is still acting on the swimmer. So you could get swept away from the trapped boat. So what Jason said was, “If you see me on the front of the boat, wildly waving this orange lifebuoy, catch it when I throw it to you, and hang on.” After that, the boat can get clear of the lobster pots and you can carry on. (To answer everyone’s first question – this does NOT invalidate the swim. The Rules of Marathon Swimming can be strict, but they are very much not trying to put anyone in danger ever.) I have read, at this point, possibly everything ever written about the English Channel swim, but I do not recall every coming across the information that this could happen. It is not very likely at all, but was still a tiny bit intimidating to hear right before jumping into said Channel 🙂

So back to the boat – everything is in sped up time, and I’m getting undressed and putting my vaseline/lanolin mix on my neck, armpits, under my straps, and, somewhat annoyingly to my vanity, where my thighs rub together when I swim 🙂 Everybody else is working like clockwork, and is calm and comforting and awesome. Then, like a flash, we are at Samphire Hoe. History is surrounding me and sweeping me into its current. They tell me to climb down the ladder. No, earplugs are in – they tell me it’s almost time to climb down the ladder. And I feel grateful to have a moment to collect myself. But then the next millisecond (in Laura time), they tell me to go. So I climb down, get a FIRM grip on my goggles (for those of you who remember that my favorite pair are at the bottom of Ramsgate harbor), and jump in. Not gracefully, but I don’t care.

I take my time swimming into shore, making sure that I empty my bladder (takes awhile, my hydrating has defeated the hot hotel room), adjust everything and get my mind right. As always, once I’m in the water, everything is better. Then it’s time to climb the stony beach of Samphire Hoe. I see what people are talking about – the rocks are smooth, but precisely the wrong size, and it makes them quite tough to walk across. So I do this, ungracefully. You can just take as sort of a theme for the day that everything but the swimming is done ungracefully.

I turn, and the horn blares, before I’ve even gotten my arms up as instructed. My last thought on land is “Eek, er, what?!?” – a perfect culmination of the “this is moving too fast, how can it be time already, don’t I have more training or organizing to do” that I have been feeling all morning.

But then I (ungracefully) fall-ish into the water and start swimming, and everything is amazing. The day is beautiful, the water is calm, glassy and gorgeous, and I feel great in the water. I catch back up to my boat, and we are off. And FINALLY, I can just do my thing.

The Swim

Compared to all of that, the swim was blissfully uneventful. I won’t receive my observer’s report for a few months, so I don’t even know most of what happened. My world was the water, the air right above it, and my thoughts. And all three were awesome.

After getting absolutely pummeled by the sea in training for the last 2 weeks, it was like heaven to be able to swim normally, keep my stroke rhythm, and, most of all, breathe!

The first 4 hours did pass a bit slowly, as I expected they might, being supercharged with adrenaline. But it never felt like forever to the next feed, just a bit long. It was great to get to see everyone on the boat once an hour – they were perfect in getting me my feeds and being incredibly positive and motivating. I got stung by jellyfish once or twice during this time, but it just stung a bit for 5 or 10 minutes and went away completely after 30 minutes or so. I don’t even have marks. The chocolate milk tasted delicious. And the apple juice/water was incredibly welcome at the 2 and 4 hour feeds – it was very hot and sunny out there, and I was working h-a-r-d. As hoped for, at my 3-hour feed they told me that I was into the English shipping lanes – celebration!

I really expected the wind to pick up around 11 or 12, since that is pretty typical. But it just carried on being an absolutely pancake-flat millpond out there. I told myself to go ahead and push it, taking advantage of it while conditions were good.

After 4 hours, I was feeling it just a bit in my shoulders (especially the front of the right one – any old trouble spot that I haven’t heard anything from for months), so I asked for ibuprofen to be in my 5-hour feed. They put it in my chocolate milk, as I had requested, and I realized the flaw in my plan – I had decided to have them put 2 Nesquik bottles worth of chocolate milk into my bottle, figuring that I could drink however much I wanted, and it was better to have too much than too little. But once they threw it to me, I realized I had to drink it all to get the right dose of ibuprofen. Good thing it was a hot day and I was working my ass off – it was no trouble to get that bottle down.

I had told myself that if I was to have a shot at coming in under 11 hours, I would probably need to hear that we had entered the separation zone at my 5 hour feed. I didn’t, so I prepared myself for a bit longer swim. But then at the 6 hour feed, the most motivating thing of the entire swim happened (well, the most motivating until the end 🙂 ) – one of my crew shouted down that I was in the separation zone. But then my pilot popped out the door and yelled the most beautiful words in the English language, “No, you’re already in the French shipping lanes!!” Paul, had I been on land (or boat), I would have kissed you 🙂

So I absolutely flew on wings to my feed at 6 h 45. (Wonderful Ali had recommended hourly feeds, and then going to 45 minutes after 6 hours. It sounded good to me, and I figured I could always tell them to go back to an hour if I felt like I was getting to eat too often (is that a thing?). 6:45 to 7:30 was good as well, although I was a bit sad to realize that the change in feed times would mean that I would have to wait one extra feed (an extra 30 minutes) to get paracetamol. My shoulders were definitely feeling it by that point, but it was not the end of the world at all. I was still enjoying myself, and everyone on the boat, and the amazing day in the Channel.

Several people have asked – When did I know I could do it? I had a very strong urge not to jinx myself, so in one sense it was when I touched France. But one of my favorite ways of motivating myself – that I have been using since I was a 12-year-old swimming on my age group team at the YMCA in Clarksburg – is, “if you can make it halfway, you can make it all the way.” You can bet I was telling myself that once I knew that I was in the French shipping lanes!

(Oh, and the very first time I knew that I might make it? – in the shower a few weeks before the swim, after 7 hours of swimming had left me less sore than 2 hours of my American coach’s insane workouts. Some days, it’d be easier to do the Channel, Besch!)

It was around 8 hours that I went through my toughest patch. I had gotten the day’s worst sting from a jellyfish after we entered the French shipping lane (there was a big ship that had gone by, and in its wake I saw a lot of jellyfish and managed to trap one between my arm and my face. The little guy did not like that. To be fair, neither would I. But my face was still stinging pretty good, and it would get hot when I came up for feeds). But mostly, it has happened every time so far – whenever I do a swim that is the longest I have ever done, I feel pretty bad right after I pass the furthest I’ve swum before. Happily, I’ve been through this a bunch of times now, and I knew that if I just kept going, it would probably go away. Around 9 hours, it did, and I never really felt bad again. Some credit probably goes to the second dose of ibuprofen I got at that feed. The tylenol didn’t seem to make any difference, but the ibuprofen seemed to help a lot.

Your mind goes to some weird places out there, with so much time to think. But mostly my weird thoughts were amusing, and I might have the award for most time spent giggling underwater during a Channel swim. I was so lucky that it was a really good day for me and I was in a really good mental place. But, as others told me, and they were right – it will get tough at some point. One of the things that worked pretty well was thinking that at that time I would have been picking my son up from school, and pretending I was just really tired as I was walking over to get him after a particularly tough day of training (which I did many, many times this spring). It’s hard to pretend you are walking while you are swimming, but I managed it. Singing was also very, very helpful, as well as thinking about my stroke (I spent a good amount of time picturing the stroke of a champion named Florian Wellbrock).

Sometime in these hours, the lid of my feed bottle had started popping open when they threw it down to me. (No fault at all of Eissen’s Dentistry who generously supplied these, my favorite bottles). After this happened twice, and we had thrown two full feeds with ibuprofen back into the sea (ah, so it must have happened at the 5-hour feed), I suggested using the back-up bottles I had brought. We switched over to them and it worked. Not quite as well as, 1) the reason I hadn’t used them in the first place was that the opening was a bit smaller and it took quite a bit longer to drink from them and 2) My addled brain did not realized that my crew had flipped the safety latch down and I couldn’t figure out why pressing the button to open the top was not working (😂) But all in all we didn’t waste much time, and Ady eventually started sending the apple juice/water down in milk cartons that he had brought, which worked great. He also (brilliantly and on his own initiative) put the liquid pain killer into the apple juice instead of the chocolate milk, figuring out the flaw in my plan on his own. For some reason, I had had the subconscious idea in my head that the meds couldn’t go in the apple juice. It never surfaced as a conscious thought… until I was in the middle of the ocean. Can I tell you how useless most mid-ocean thoughts are?

I had convinced myself that once I entered the French inshore waters, everything was groovy and my landing inevitable. This was an absolute bald-faced lie, born of watching others make it easy on the tracker over the last couple of weeks, but it was an incredibly motivating bald-faced lie, so I’m all for it. My message to other Channel aspirants – definitely tell yourself any gosh darn thing you need to in order to make yourself happy and keep yourself going. The truth can come after you touch France.

So I swam happily along, thinking happy thoughts, and occasionally giggling to myself under the water. What a fantastic position to be in. And full credit to the conditions – hour after hour, I kept expecting it to get choppier, and hour after hour it stayed an absolute joy to swim in. I was tired, but I knew I was close, and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me.

OK, I’ve got to correct that image of my mental state just a little bit. I was confident, but not completely above some occasional paranoia…. All day long, I could pretty much always see someone on the boat. Someone was always watching me (and with nothing else to look at, let me tell you, you are aware of pretty much everything going on up there), and I could see them going about their business as well. (I spent a good amount of time trying to decide if I was jealous that my pilots were getting to go fishing during my crossing. I magnanimously decided it was OK 😂). But at some point getting near the end, suddenly I couldn’t see anyone – not even the pilot at the wheel. And it went on for what felt like a good long while. It was like looking at a ghost boat. My (not completely bulletproof) brain decided that my pilot had had a heart attack and that everyone was frantically tending to him and we would have to turn around.

I don’t know where everyone was, but I’m happy to say that Paul continues to enjoy not having a heart attack.

But mostly it was all good. I had been instructed (and read) not to look forward to France or backward to England. I had not obeyed scrupulously, since it was easy to see them during my feeds and wees.

Oh wait, we must pause for a moment to talk about the wees. Before my swim, my observer had let me know that she would be asking about my “weeing” all day, and not to get annoyed. There is a rare but potentially life-threatening condition known as SIPE, and if you are not urinating it can be a potentially serious concern. (Please please please, do not follow my lead in becoming COMPLETELY paranoid about this during taper – know that it exists and the signs to watch out for, but don’t worry about it ahead of time.) I let my observer know that we call it “peeing” in the States, so that’s probably what I would say, but that I would happily keep her in the know.

So here’s the thing, I used to be able to pee while I was swimming, no problem. As most swimmers know, on some teams it is frowned on to get out of the water to pee – you’re expected to go during practice. Sorry if that’s upsetting to anyone who uses pools and didn’t know 🙂 But just think about how much babies pee in the pool. Or don’t 🙂 But sometime in my adulthood, I seem to have lost the skill. And I was even having problems peeing in the ocean when just treading water! But, as with everything in my Channel prep, I tackled the problem with dedication and stick-to-itiveness 🙂 Every open water swim included pee training as well, and I got better. But what I couldn’t master in time was peeing while I was swimming at any reasonable speed. Or eliminating a satisfactory amount while swimming. So I decided (especially during my paranoid phase), that it was better to stop for 15 seconds (yes, I timed it) and completely void my bladder than to slow down dramatically anyway and have unsatisfactory pees.

I could never have predicted that this would turn into one of the most joyful and funny parts of my swim. It took me a bit to fall into a rhythm, but after a while, once an hour, when my crew would signal that I had 5 minutes until my next feed, I would go to breaststroke arms with my head up and no kick and shout, “Wheeeeeeee!!!!!!” It let my observer know that I was continuing to wee apace; it let my pilot know that I’d be slowing down for a moment; and I found nothing more entertaining and fun-feeling than shouting “wheee” once an hour. As is so frequently true in the English language – the British version was better after all.

So, because I was doing heads-up breaststroke, I got some great views of France. But I did a phenomenal job of taking those beautiful views (and the ones of England’s gorgeous white cliffs) and locking them up in a mental box labeled “tourism.” They were awesome and I was free to look at and enjoy them, but they had nothing at all to do with my swim. For that, my only job in the world was to swim next to the boat and swim to the next feed until I hit France. I did such a good job at this that I’m a little surprised that I didn’t just plow into France without knowing it 🙂

This did mean that I missed everything I had expected about the finish of the swim. I didn’t hear my crew say I had a mile to go (I only heard about half of what they said to me during the day – apparently it was enough.), the dingy never got lowered into the water, and because of the way the timing worked out, I was never told that it was my “last feed.” Which is a shame, because I spent one of my hours preparing a comeback 🙂 Instead, as I was swimming along, I suddenly saw Katy standing by the ladder in a swimsuit, getting ready to climb down and be my safety swimmer!!!! Katy is amazing in many, many ways, but at that moment she was also the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

My crew had been cheering me on for a while (which seemed both incredibly inspiring and like a lot of pressure when I was in  the water 🙂 ), and “The Cap” had been looming quite large when I breathed to the left, but it really did come as a surprise to me. I lifted my head up, and they shouted, “mmm blrb to stay shffff.” I brilliantly shouted, “What?!?” and heard back “Swim straight in!” I said, “Swim straight in?!?” and they said, “mrrfff to the gargle frthhhhh!” So I took matters into my own hands and swam toward the gigantic French cliff face in front of me.

It turns out that what they were yelling was apparently, “Swim to the shingle beach.” I don’t really know what that is, which probably kept my brain from processing it, so a bit of a language barrier kept me from getting to what was the easiest landing place. Instead, I found rocks covered in the most slippery foliage that exists on the planet. I fell off twice and then finished my swim. Ungracefully.

The Aftermath

It was amazing to have Katy there – she was as happy as I was, and perhaps had even more energy to be so in that moment. She wore her go pro, which was awesome, and she also dedicatedly searched for a pebble for me, but alas, there were none to be found. I am OK with that, and not planning to do it again to go get one!

We swam back to the boat, and I’ve gotta say, it’s amazing how quickly your arms can go from super powerful to, “gah! come here, boat!” The first thing I said to Katy was, “I feel great!” and it was true – I could have turned around and started back for sure. (Making it the whole way… well, let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.) But the second I let my will and determination drop, my arms were ever-so-grateful to just paddle around like a 6-year-old. But we made it to the boat, and I didn’t have any trouble climbing on (not saying that it was graceful!). I really did feel a small moment of sadness to leave the water where I’d had (mostly) such a good time. But I was completely chuffed to be able to talk to everyone about everything that had happened that day. Or, you know, anything at all. Human contact, especially that of these wonderful humans, was very sweet.

I was standing around chatting (now there’s the Laura we know), and Katy told me to dry off so I didn’t get cold. And I realized the wind felt good. I was hot. After having just swum in 17/18-degree water for almost 11 hours. It’s so nice that I’ve finally found a way to use my freakish tolerance for cold 🙂 But on a day like that, and working that hard… I’m just grateful for water cold enough to keep me from overheating.

I did go ahead and put on clothes, as one of my mental promises during the tough times was picturing myself sitting on deck, dry, with comfy clothes on and nowhere to swim to with no salt water in my mouth.

Then it was hugs all around, and I found out my time from my observer – 10 hours, 44 minutes!!!!!! I can’t say how happy I am with this time. I worked really hard for it, as did all of the coaches and swimmers who helped me along the way. Full credit to the conditions – they were impeccable. The wind picked up a teeny bit at the end and I did get some bounce (and unexpected gusts throwing water down my throat on the breath), but even that was just on and off. It was absolutely the perfect day to swim the Channel, and I got really lucky with my start time as well. Even though you can’t compare swims (faster swimmers than me will have slower times because there’s just no way to swim as fast in the chop), I’m going to go ahead and be happy that it is the fastest time so far this year. There’s a lot of swimming left in the season, so I don’t expect that to stand, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be totally pumped about it. (And is it wrong of me to hope that the team of 16-year-old boys that beat me to the Cap that day know that they only beat a 44-year-old woman swimming solo by less than 30 minutes? Yes, it is very, very wrong. Bad Laura.)

I went up on deck and luxuriated in talking to Ady and Katy. And in looking back at France. And talking to my pilots. And in having more chocolate milk. I’m not kidding you guys, you should try it – it never gets tiring, and makes me happy every single time. (But not the English pre-mixed chocolate milk – Nesquik is the stuff.) I had some apple juice/water (I was really really thirsty), and a donut someone handed me. I found some cherries downstairs that they generously let me have and I was really excited about, but after I ate a couple I found some moldy ones and decided that my stomach had been pushed far enough that day to avoid taking chances. Oh, the other great thing about the chocolate milk? It was one that they had put to cool for me (another weirdness – I never use hot drinks, and on a day like this was unspeakably grateful for cold ones), and it was half-frozen – perfect for my jellyfish-stung face (and for tasting like delicious ice cream. Nesquik, I can believe you didn’t want to sponsor me 🙂 )

We had a great ride back. I had been tentatively dreading it – you never know how you’re going to feel, and many swimmers get seasick on the ride back. But the amazing conditions and the fact that I was feeling really, really good at that point made it super enjoyable. My throat was a little sore (a tiny bit from the salt and mostly because I was then shouting over the engine and waves excitedly for 3 hours), and I felt a bit woozy (not seasick at all, just kind of fuzzy), but mostly just super super happy.

We pulled in, got all of our stuff off, hugged everyone and said goodbye. What a perfect end to the perfect day.

Epilogue

Except it wasn’t the end 🙂 So here’s the thing, one of the things I started dreaming about before I even really knew what the English Channel swim entailed was writing my name on the wall at the White Horse Pub. It’s absolutely covered in the records of some of the 2000+ people who have made the crossing, and (at least from my uninformed perspective) it was legendary. In addition, one of my favorite authors as a child, L.M Montgomery, had included the following poem stanza in one of her books about a girl hoping to become an author:

How I may upward climb
The Alpine Path, so hard, so steep,
That leads to heights sublime.
How I may reach that far-off goal
Of true and honoured fame
And write upon its shining scroll
A woman’s humble name.

I had finally found a scroll upon which I might be able to write my humble name! The wall of the White Horse pub.

I found out a few weeks ago, that the White Horse is no longer allowing Channel swimmers to write their name on the wall 😂. And I honestly wasn’t too disappointed. At this point in my life, there are simply other things that matter more.

However, legend had it that there was a NEW pub letting swimmers record their achievements on plaster. So Katy and I planned to drop our stuff off at the hotel and go find it. And here, I encountered our first problem – when I got to my room, my key would not let me in. Immediate visions of having nowhere to sleep that night flooded my brain (the most needed sleep of my entire life – well, no, second to after childbirth), sweeping mysterious pubs aside. I went to to front desk and explained my problem. He checked the register (and I held my breath until I almost passed out) and said, “No problem, let me get you another key.” Phew. So I walked BACK up the stairs… and that key didn’t work. So I walked BACK down the stairs. By this point I had to pee extremely badly (ALL that chocolate milk). So badly that I explained that to him and the other woman who was also having key problems. They recommended the bathroom in the pub right next door. For a minute I stubbornly persisted in wanting to go in my own room. But they were having trouble getting it figured out, which brought me to my senses and I went over to the bathroom and had the BEST PEE. I mean wee.

We finally got the keys worked out, and Katy and I dropped my stuff in my room and I put on a bra. Then we were off to paint the town (well, draw on the pub, at least). This story is getting long, so let’s suffice to say that we walked around the town of Dover for over an hour, only to eventually discover that they pub had closed at 9 PM that night, before we had even gotten into my room at the hotel. But the view of Dover Castle lit up at night is quite beautiful, and Katy is an amazing person to hang with, so it wasn’t all a loss 🙂 Oh, and when I eventually broke down and went up to ask the White Horse people where the other pub was, it turns out that the door was locked, not stuck as I thought. The proprietress was NOT happy with me. What can I say? I swam the English Channel – I’m a rebel now. I shake doors that seem to need shaking.

We finally gave up and went back to the hotel, where I had the world’s best shower. It was pretty late by the time I got into bed, but I was way too jazzed to sleep, so I read all of your amazing comments – it was incredibly moving, and I love you guys!

I didn’t sleep particularly well, but I loved the fact that it no longer mattered. And I was so incredibly lucky – I did not end up having to execute my non-plan of getting myself back to Bournemouth with all of my stuff (including an un-rollable suitcase) by myself on the train. With suitcases still significantly full of Nesquik (only 11 feeds! Plus the ones we lost in the drink). I would have tossed the Up&Go and apple juice if necessary, but I’m not sure I could have parted with the Nesquik (Oh Nesquik, why is this love unrequited?). But in a stroke of amazing luck, it turned out that Ady was headed toward Bournemouth on Tuesday and was willing to take me along. Not only did that mean I didn’t end up sobbing in the middle of a London train station, unable to lift my arms, but I could just leave the suitcases in his van after the swim (which ended up saving them from being a part of the great hotel key fiasco of 2022). I took a train up from Dover to Sittingbourne (£6! – the very first time that something involving the Channel swim has been cheaper than expected), and we had a lovely drive over together. I did end up walking to the train station with my backpack and a couple of small totes, but it was probably good to get the blood moving a bit. The only thing that bothered me was that it was quite warm. And I’m just not built for that anymore 🙂 Apologies to Ady for smelling gross 🙂

E came out and met us in the parking lot, and between the two of them I didn’t have to lift a thing. Which wasn’t necessary, but pretty awesome.

Since then it’s been a whirlwind of congratulations and thanks and interview requests. And I got to spend Wednesday at A’s last-day-of-school party (hosted by parents at their house – an amazing 9 hours of fun!!!) where everyone wanted to hear about the swim, which was awesome because it dovetailed perfectly with my inability to do anything but talk about the swim. But don’t worry – I’m not letting it go to my head. And it’s nice that life keeps things in perspective. For the last 3 days, my Facebook has been filled with – me. Everywhere I look, there I am. But just now, looking for info about someone else’s swim, I loaded the page and it was someone asking about mattresses. I have officially had my 15 minutes of fame, and now… it’s back to mattresses 🙂

What’s Next

It seems to be everybody’s questions (geez guys, haven’t I done enough?!? 🙂 ), and I have a few answers I like:

Something where I don’t train for over 20 hours a week and look less fit.

Swim slowly in warm waters with pretty fish.

An Ironman triathlon.

Let’s face it, the last one is the most likely 🙂 But not soon – we have now started the year of E. And boy does he deserve it. But “Channel depression” is a real thing, and swimmers are cautioned to be thoughtful about having something to fill the gap that not having Channel training and the wonderful marathon swimming community will leave in their lives. (And for me, doing something I wasn’t sure that I could do every week for over a month. That kind of goal attainment can be very seductive.) My suspicion is that I am addicted to endorphins, so I do plan to continue to train – just at reasonable, sane levels for awhile.

So that’s it, and I couldn’t be happier. It was a perfect day in the Channel, where I realized a lifelong dream, and so very many people came together to make that happen for me. A huge thank you to all of you!

I leave you with our 14-year-old’s quote upon arriving in Dover Harbor and seeing the statue of Captain Webb, the first person to swim the English Channel: “He gets a statue, but all you get is credit card debt?!?” 

I’m happy to say we are debt-free, but he certainly has captured the spirit of the thing. Unless, of course, you include the amazing lifetime of memories we now have and the unparalleled friends that we’ve made along the way.

Florian Wellbrock Videos for Those Who are Interested

(Disclaimer – Don’t necessarily agree with all of the commentary on that last one 🙂 ) 

He takes his time catching the water, and then he pulls it back like a hammer (a hammer with a paddle on it? Need a better metaphor 🙂 ) And he almost fully catches up, but the way he does it, it’s almost as if he is maintaining a constant aerodynamic front.