I am an English Channel Swimmer

“I want to call myself an English Channel Swimmer, 

and put pebbles in my trunks”

Patrick Thomas – Dover (UK) to Wissant (France)– 8 September 2012

 Patrick and Vladimir on their way to the UK (1 September 2012)

Two days after my swim I was chatting to a good friend Todd on the phone and he asked me what the view was like … of both France and the UK; while swimming the Channel. Lots of thoughts were mulling through my mind at this stage … especially as my success was only really sinking in at this stage.

It basically dawned on me that we don’t get a chance to “enjoy” the swim. We don’t look at the views, nor do we take time to actually appreciate what we are doing out there. Having prepared for nearly two years to do this; the last thing we want to do at this stage is fail … for whatever reason. We are more focused on succeeding at all costs, and not at all about being fortunate enough to be here in the first place.

The swim itself in non-stop … one arm after the other. Literally. We do not take the time to appreciate the ocean, views, sunrise or immenseness of our task – which is a pity. The reality is that we don’t have the chance to do that. We have to keep swimming, non-stop … besides real brief feed stops every half hour or so. Any length of time spent dawdling about results in you getting pulled of track by the currents … and subsequent extra swimming and work to do. There is no luxury of walking during a marathon, or coasting down a hill during a tough cycle.

Basically you keep swimming at about 80% intensity for well over ten hours …

The Days Before

The last few weeks before the swim are basically an ever increasing focus on planning, organising, stressing and getting absorbed in to a vortex of “success-at-all-cost” mentality. After having re-packed numerous times and changed some basic swim-feeding tools I had my bags ready and was off to London. London offered me a few days of relaxation and time-off, as there was nothing I could really prepare or focus upon at that stage.

… except the weather; obviously. At this stage we tend to check the weather over, and over again … trying to see what is happening during our booked “window period”.

My “window was basically from Friday 7 September through till Friday 14 September. I had a number Two Slot during this period – meaning I got second choice of accepting or declining a given day proposed by the skipper. The choice to swim would have been dependent upon the weather forecast, seas conditions, my health, etc.

I met up with my good friend Myles (also from Cape Town, and down for the same window period as myself) in Dover on the Tuesday before our window opened. Our fears of the water being too cold were soon put to rest … our first swim in the Dover Harbour settled this … 17 degree water simply felt awesome. The water was rather salty, but really pleasant all round.

Patrick and Myles, Dover Harbour (4 September 2012)

Varne Ridge Caravan Park – where I was booked in – was simply amazing. I had booked a two bedroom caravan, with kitchen and bathroom, for my stay in Dover. A very good family friend, Janeen, joined me for the trip – especially to have someone familiar on the support boat for motivational, emotional and level headed support. Mingling with fellow swimmers is superb, seeing their successes is contagious and Dave and Evelyn (the hosts) are simply superb people. There are also ample left over supplies and equipment, from previous swimmers, that we could borrow and utilise for our swim.

The next few days were a whirlwind of stress, prepping and finalisation of events. As it turned out the beginning of our window period was unbelievably superb with respect to weather – changing daily, but still generally great. I have known people who came to Dover and never got to swim at all due to poor weather; others that basically told their skipper on the last day … “I will go out even in poor conditions” …not wanting to go home without at least having attempted the swim.

As it turned out for me, my number one slot – with my skipper, in my “window” – decided to swim on the first day of our window. He was doing a specific triathlon from London to Paris, and wanted to go immediately. This suited me just fine; as Saturday/day two of the window was way better than the first day. As luck would have it Myles made the call to rather swim on the Saturday too … so we both got to swim our successful swims on the same day … 8 September 2012.

The Night Before

I was down to start my swim at 03h00 on 8 September (Saturday). Myles started with his skipper at 23h30 on the Friday evening already. Each skipper has their own way of doing these things. Tides, currents, swimmers’ abilities, etc all contribute to their decisions.

My two further support crews arrived in Dover on Friday evening about 19h00 – just in time for dinner and a slight repack (for the umpteenth time) and sorting of my equipment during dinner time. Dave had come all the way from the Birmingham area; a good 4.5 hour drive. Paul had commuted a good 90 minutes to Dover.

Some last minute changes were recommended, and a few very valuable ones implemented. Paul and Dave have both successfully completed the Channel numerous times and have supported other swimmers successfully. Paul was the “driver”, more focused and specific in activities and in what was expected at any stage. Dave was more chilled and supported us with the little touches … he brought a whistle and a Father Christmas beard and hat to vary the support and encouragement that was offered to me … variation is vital with the monotony of such a long event. Janeen was the personal support – she had the connections to all the people writing in support messages, she prepared the food and drinks and shouted all those messages from the supporters back home.

Janeen, Paul and Dave

Paul and Dave were both rather shocked and surprised at what I was planning to eat. A wide variety, and copious amounts, of food and drinks. My intensions were to have a large amount and simply eat what I wanted at each stop … rather too much and choice in the event of me disliking anything on the day. As it turns out this was a great idea – I have trained endlessly with certain energy bars … but on the day I simply had no interest to consume these at all.

  My equipment for the swim (7 September 2012)

With equipment packed and sorted – one final time – we all headed off to sleep about 21h00. This theoretically left us with some decent sleep time till 01h15 … but for some reason sleep was not very forthcoming at that stage.

Besides some strong chainsaw noises emanating from some sleeping individuals; my state of anxiety and nervousness was at a previously unfounded level … I can honestly say that I have never felt so nervous or scared for anything before. After the swim I spoke to several people, and they seemed quite surprised that I was nervous as they thought I was extremely chilled and relaxed in the days leading up to the swim.

The Early Hours of the Morning

In the morning I basically acted purely on auto-pilot. It was kinda weird … totally numb with nervousness, the unknown. Suddenly the day we had worked towards for so long was there. It sounds so clichéd, but that is exactly what it was. Previously it had always been that day, one day, in the future … that day was now …Eish.

Dave and Paul were great as they knew where to go, what to do and just lead Janeen and myself down to our boat with all our stuff. We met three other boats/skippers down there at that time of the night. One lady was attempting a triple crossing (eventually managed two-and-a-bit). Brian, who was supporting Muna (I had met Brian several times on the beach). And one other person who went out too; on the boat Suva. All-in-all there were a total of nine skippers out there with their swimmers on that day. The conditions were simply perfect for everyone.

We basically got down to the harbour, parked the cars and headed for the boat. Soon after arrival we loaded our stuff onto Anastasia (our large and comfortable boat; about 32 feet long and can take up to 14 persons). I never actually got to go downstairs – I waited up top as we got going and ended up sleeping on top after I finished.

Anastasia (early in the morning, 8 September 2012)

Before we left the skipper requested his final payment … the final payment of a large sum of money… but which has been worth every penny for this trip and experience.

We were soon pulling out of the harbour at about 03h00. We had a 10 minute cruise out of the harbour and round to Shakespeare Beach;, from where I would start. Soon after heading off it was time to strip down to my Speedo briefs, goggles and cap … and then stand with arms up and legs apart, while I got coated with sun tan lotion and ample Vaseline against chafe. One doesn’t utilise the fat or lard anymore. Lanolin is also not necessary. A suitable application of Vaseline is sufficient to prevent any chafe – under arms, between thighs, neck and shoulders. I also had a light stick fastened to the back of my Speedo briefs and a flashing light on the back of my swim pack … after all they should try keep me in sight in this pitch black water and night.

 Applying the Vaseline and sunscreen

The Crossing

Its time to go now; you must leave … leave this comfortable space, warmth, camaraderie, support and love.

I felt a bit like a young lion or elephant that has been sent forth into the wild … forced to leave his herd and find a new life out in the wilderness. At 03h15 it is kind of nippy out, and definitely quite dark. The boat had offered visual and mental stimulation. People and warmth. Light. A buzz of activity…  and great support …

… and now I was expected to jump into this cold water … and swim away in to the unknown, darkness and bob along, alone, for the next twelve to sixteen hours … at that stage, with the anxiety, excitement and nerves it was a sudden lonely feeling.

Basically I swam the 40m to shore – onto Shakespeare Beach – stood up, looked at the boat, raised my arms to signal my start… and quickly started to swim. Swim. Swim … and swim some more.

I do wish I would have waited another few seconds to absorb the reality and moment of it all … but at that stage I was “on a mission” … succeed at all costs … now!

There really isn’t that much to say to describe the swim itself … it was really just a routine of placing one hand after the other into the water in front of myself … over and over again. Considering my 14 hours and average stroke rate of around 60 strokes a minute … that gives me a good 50 000 strokes I must have completed on that day. The 34km are equal to 1360 lengths of your local 25m swimming pool; and the total displacement I covered - taking into account my lateral deviation for currents and tides – would be equal to a marathon.

13h56 of non-stop swimming.

I soon got into a rhythm. I was actually surprised how soon I was comfortable, relaxed and happy to be out there. The anxiety, nerves and excitement dissipated; and I basically took my time to settle in next to the boat (after originally deviating and drifting away a couple of times). I was well lit up from the boat. There were numerous lights on the boat and I was basically quite content swimming along, beside the boat. This comfort made me all the more happy as I had heard that normally the first and last hours are the worst. I also know numerous swimmers who found it took them two to three hours to settle in and get a rhythm or a degree of enjoyment in their day.

I had opted for 45 minute feeds for the first three hours and then 30 minute feeds following on from there. A feed basically entails the crew notifying me, a few minutes before feed time, that I need to get closer to the boat (I utilised a large Smurf soft toy, that the crew hung over the side of the boat). Then having a drink bottle and plastic feed box thrown out for me – to eat a little morsel of energy food and take a good glug of drink…. At all times keeping these feed times to an absolute minimum … about 30 seconds max.

  Feed time

In retrospect I recon I should have fed every 30 minutes from the start. At two hours (roughly) I was real hungry, and getting a little chilly. By 3 hours I was not happy … I presume fuelled by a lack of sufficient feed/energy and coupled with the dropping temperatures during sunrise.

At my 3h30 feed Janeen recorded (on my feed sheet) that the crew was a bit stressed, as I had not talked at that feed stop at all. I have a tendency to always say something – mostly some dry, humorous comment or at least a thanks. At 3h30 I simply showed a thumb down sign and carried on swimming. I was not happy at all. I was cold, hungry, mildly nauseas. And mentally not focused at all… just not happy. I am sure this lasted a good hour to 90 minutes. And I had some major doubts as to how I would ever complete this task. When reflecting back on the whole swim, this was definitely the lowest point during the whole day out.

Over these 90 minutes the crew showed their worth … they started encouraging me more. They apparently upped the concentration of my carbohydrate drink (which is not encouraged long term, but good for a brief dose of carbs and energy). They got out a whistle, shouted support and wrote more frequent words of encouragement on the whiteboard. Luckily it was also the time when many normal people were waking up and starting to forward through their first support messages … it is unbelievable what a difference this can make.

 Somewhere in the English Channel – 8 September 2012

At four hours I took my first scheduled four-hourly Ibuprofen tablet … basically to reduce discomfort and tension in tired muscles. These tablets kick in relatively quickly and I feltl a noticeable ease in the shoulders and arms.

With all the support, adapted feeding, encouragement, mentally digging deep and going through my continuous mantra … “one arm after the next” … I came through this spot of bother quite chirpy and happy … I am sure the warming sun and light also had a positive effect.

Everybody asks what one thinks of while swimming. To be honest most of my thoughts revolve around my stroke rate, technique, efficiency and just keeping up a good tempo. The messages on the whiteboard, as well as the greetings and support called out to me, definitely helped … but I still find myself always drifting back to make sure my swim technique is alright. I have always noticed that my pace slows down considerably when I let my mind wonder elsewhere.

I had my long-ish list of key motivational names or phrases written down for my support crew. They were instructed to write a new one down every thirty minutes, and hold it up briefly for me to see. Out of this longer list I found two or three that really helped me through the swim. One of the dominant ones was wanting to have the congratulatory banner displayed across the window of my caravan, back at the campsite. All successful swimmers have this banner awaiting them on their return. Another was being able to walk into the Cape Long Distance Swimming awards evening (two weeks after my swim) with this accomplishment under my belt. There were several peoples’ names that come to mind as well. But in the end the strongest driver for me to carry on and complete the crossing was my own desire … by far the strongest driver on the day. I have done numerous adventures or sports events … but somehow I really wanted to accomplish something really difficult … and the longer I swam, and the tougher it got … the more I wanted to complete it …

The desire for this moment is what motivated me the most

It is weird how little things help keep your spirits up or let you question things. Hearing that Trent had completed his swim and broken the world record was great. I had met him and chatted to him a bit … he is a great Aussie youngster; and his record was a really positive thing. I do wish they would have told me when Myles finished his swim … it would have been a great extra little motivation for myself.

At times there was no one visible on board (which is naughty, naughty, naughty) … and it is weird how lonely it makes one feel out there … even if just for a minute or two, or a mere ten meters away. There was some nice music to be heard from the boat (although I do not remember what it was).

One doesn’t really pick up any stress from on board … not that there was any need for them to stress … but one did get a sense that at times they had discussed my speed or swim style, etc and suddenly came to the side to offer extra encouragement or motivate me to increase my stroke rate. I didn’t realise the extra concentration of drinks, and I wasn’t at all concerned when they substituted one drink for another … that was their call … they had the knowledge … I was just putting one arm in front of the next.

There were three moments that affected me to a degree … at one stage around 7 hours (at that stage I really had NO idea how far along we were) one of my supporters shouted to me that we should be able to hit the “Cap” (the ideal landing spot, but quite difficult to get right) after 11h30. This motivated me tremendously and I upped the pace noticeably. It cheered me up, energised me and made me push real hard. The only problem was that I still had about four and half hours to go … which I did not realise at that stage. After powering along quite strongly – and feeling real good – I started to put things together … especially considering that I had just had my second Ibuprofen. The penny suddenly dropped and I realised that this 11h30 was a long term forecast … and I was killing myself with my pace.

Even though one can’t slow down completely to a walk or rest a while by sitting down … one can slow down and recover a bit by going a slower, steady pace. Once I had digested this confusion and realised that I was still going to be out here for a while I relaxed and just kept plodding along and tried to discard these hopes and desires of landing spots or great times.

The next “issue must have been around 10 hours … I was suddenly really cold … although I still felt quite strong. I was just real cold. I mentioned it at the next feed stop and the team immediately sprang into action again … they adapted the drink once again with an increased carbohydrate concentration and started dancing and shouting to encourage an increase in my stroke rate. I had been (comfortable, and strongly) sitting at a 50 to 52 strokes per minute stroke rate … but now had to work a bit faster and harder to build up some warmth in my body. The conditions had been good enough to get a good slow, strong stroke rate and glide nicely through the water. But the slower arm turn-over did allow for my body to chill much more than I wanted.

Basically for the rest of the trip – a good four hours – I literally just pumped my arms and kept digging deep. They must have been some of the most focused four hours I have ever pulled through. Being tired, working hard and just plodding along. I was still a bit confused about my goal of reaching the “Cap” in 11h30 … especially because no other timeframes were shared with me. The only information I had requested was updates on which shipping lane I was in or when we crossed the “border” in the middle.

Towards the end … still not seeing any land from the water … you start getting a little frustrated. My third little “issue” was seeing the boat Suva ahead of me; one of the other skippers /swimmers that I was catching up to. There was some communication with me regarding pushing real hard to reach the “Cap”. I am sure I upped the pace and effort big time at this stage … but looking at some of the footage after the swim … efficiency is not exactly superb after so many hours of swimming. The weird thing was that they kept saying I was catching up to them … and doing real well … but Suva was drifting far off to the left and definitely “getting away”. It took me a while to realise that I was doing well. I was still quite strong and heading for the “Cap” (towards the right/South) while the swimmer off Suva had missed it, slowed down significantly … and was therefore drifting North/away to the left of me. The whole bit was at that stage a little confusing … but in hindsight makes perfect sense.

Unfortunately the turning of the tide, as well as my depleting strength, resulted in us just missing the “Cap”. The problem is that the land is set further back on both sides of the “Cap”. The changing tide, coupled with extra distance to the land, results in an extra two hours of swimming to reach land … if you do miss the “Cap”.

When I realised the enthusiasm and focus for this elusive “Cap” had subsided on the boat, I knew I just had to dig deep and carry on … “One arm after the next” … over and over again ... for a few extra hours …

At this stage I had some distant glimpses of land … land masses and cliffs you could actually make out … but geeez … one just didn’t seem to get any closer. The water had become extremely calm and flat … absolutely divine to swim in. and time just dragged on … and on … and on … that “terrible last hour” was ahead of me.

At the one and a half mile mark the crew started getting ready and excited for the completion. In the back of my head I knew I had this in the bag … but I still had endless doubts coming through my mind. Many people had stopped with total exhaustion with less than two miles to go. What if I cramped badly … right now? Sudden weather changes could surely scupper this attempt? And then I kept thinking of the unfortunate incidence earlier this year where a strong Irish swimmer died of a heart attach a mere mile and a half from the end … at this stage your mind plays many a stupid tricks on you.

As I saw Paul and Dave get ready to swim with me onto shore, I totally relaxed mentally. I gave it a bit more effort physically. Another crew member was already on a little kayak to drag me back to the boat after the swim. A yacht had come cruising past me The sun was out, it was calm, flat and beautiful. The coastal village of Wissant was growing as I got nearer and I could clearly see people on the shore … this had been the moment I had dreamt of so many times. Even writing this paragraph now, I am tingling with goose bumps … it is a moment I want to remember for ever.

I was soon approaching the shore quickly. Numerous people on the beach had stopped to look up at us. And Paul and Dave were close behind me, swimming to the beach with me. At one stage I looked back and it was as if Paul was about to jump onto me … kinda confusing … with a huge grin and all. I suddenly noticed this illusion was created by him already standing up, walking in the shallow water and looming over me … that thought suddenly signalled the end: “hey Patty, you can walk from here!”

I stood up and walked. A little wobble to gain my balance … thank goodness this was a sand beach I landed on … it makes the ascent onto the beach much more graceful. All videos I had watched up to now had been of people finishing the Channel on stony beaches where walking out of the water is not very comfortable at all.

As I stepped out the water I raised my arms … to signal that I was on dry land. It was amazing … but again I regret I didn’t relish in that moment just a little longer. There were numerous people on the beach … funnily enough they actually avoided me; and rather approached Paul and Dave to find out if I had really swum across the Channel.

It was too brief a moment to encapsulate all the feelings of the last two years; and the 14 hours I had just endured … but awesome never the less. Thanks to Dave for remembering to pick up some pebbles … important to accompany the ones I picked up in Dover a few days earlier. These I placed … as is expected by Channel Swimmers … into my Speedo trunks to take back to the other side (well, at least to the boat).

A nice little touch was a lady who had her iPhone with her on the beach. She captured my arrival and a nice photo of me with Paul, Dave … and Vladimir (my little smurf, who has travelled with me on numerous adventures … including to the top of Kilimanjaro, to Perth and strapped to my bicycle for the Cape Epic MTB race). By the time we got back to the boat the lady had already emailed the photos to Paul’s phone (he gave her the email on the beach) … which was a nice little touch.

 Successful: Dave, Patrick and Paul at Wissant, France

The return to the boat was quick … I held onto the back of the little kayak and got towed back in. I climbed onto the boat and just felt so relieved, happy and overwhelmed. A really great hug from Janeen and a dry towel … I was eventually finished and collapsed on a bench.

“Geez … I actually made it”

I didn’t hang around for long before I fell asleep … a quick change of clothes … I remembered to down a sea sickness table; the crew had already provided me with a bucket … I obliged with emptying my gut briefly and efficiently … and went off to lala land for the two hour cruise back home.

Lights out …

The most amazing sunset ever and the calmest seas went by unnoticed by me. Several people messaged and phoned … but Janeen politely excused me … thanks. I was far too tired and overjoyed to really take it all in.

An awesome sunset boat cruise back home for the crew

It took several days (actually life has been so busy since then, that it may only happen once I slow down back home) to actually sink in that I had done this. I don’t have a certificate or meal, nor a finishers shirt or results page in a newspaper to check up on … but this one event will stay with me more than any of the other commercial races and adventures I have ever done …

… thanks to everybody who helped me get this “one” … From the direct support on the day; encouragement during my swim; support and tolerance I received over the last two years; and all those that believed in me … also; all the love, support and friends I visited while on my  extended UK (France) trip.

“Thanks Myles … that was a great journey …” (9 September 2012, Dover Cliffs)

 ... And now only one question remains: “What is next?”