Helen's Swims

Don't click on link in earlier email

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sat, 02 Sep 2017 22:55:00 +0000

Hi

Some of you may have received an email from this blog earlier. The blog has been hacked - a link was posted and sent out in an email to all subscribers.

As with all suspicious looking emails, please don't click on the link.

Apologies for any trouble this may have caused. Take care online.

One year on

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Mon, 07 Apr 2014 08:29:00 +0000

A year ago today, I landed at Bundeena Beach, after having swum the length of the Sydney coastline, taking 19 hours and 4 minutes to swim south from Palm Beach.

I had hoped to have written something about the swim by now but there are just fragments jotted down before I forget them completely. I planned to pull them together in time for this one year mark but other life has intervened. I will draft it into some shape one day soon, though, if only to honour the dedication of my team and broadcast the wonderful work of James and Bev, who captured the event in pictures.

I don't often wear my 'Swim Sydney' t-shirt; it feels a bit too arrogant to walk around in something with my name on it.

But a few weeks ago I needed some positive vibes around me due to a health issue and wore the t-shirt to an appointment. The consultant saw the back of it and started asking questions. When I described my support crew, her reaction was, "Wow, you have incredible friends." I choked up. Yes, I do.

Happy anniversary, team. xx

Following the Swim

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 02:32:00 +0000

There won't be any blog updates during the swim.

For updates and photos, James will be looking after the Twitter feed here:

https://twitter.com/Swim_Sydney

You don't need to log in or sign up to follow it, just click on the link.

And we'll have a live tracker on board so you can see our progress:

http://share.findmespot.com/shared/faces/viewspots.jsp?glId=06o4DOyB0Fqpq1YnQcqA9jMutW79rMNg4

This has been very kindly loaned to us by Tori Gorman, so it will say 'Tori's Tracker' in the column in the left. Thanks very much, Tori.

And if anyone feels this is worth a dollar or two to a good cause, the link to helping out the Inspire Foundation is here:

http://personalchallenge.gofundraise.com.au/page/SwimSydney

See you all on the other side, safe and sound, hopefully.

Palm Beach Start at Midday

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 02:28:00 +0000

Conditions are looking favourable for a north-south swim. We have a small SE swell running but all anecdotal evidence we can muster (lacking hard data) suggests there is a good north-south current running. We may have to head a way offshore to find it but swimming north would mean we'd have to hug the coast to avoid swimming against the current. Plus, the winds will be swinging round to the nor-east Saturday afternoon so we'll have them slightly behind us and hopefully giving us a good run down the northern beaches while I'm still fresh.

I've been lucky enough to have the expertise of Matt Hayes from Sydney by Sail on the team. Matt has done numerous Sydney to Hobarts so he knows a thing or two about currents (though I did stress that I'm built slightly differently from a maxi yacht and probably not equipped to head out to the continental shelf...)

The finish will be on Horderns Beach at Bundeena, near the ferry wharf, some time on Sunday morning. The hour goes back at 3am, so it will be groundhog day for the crew, while I remain completely oblivious. Hopefully we can benefit from this current and arrive some time mid-morning.

And yes, I'm nervous. The cold overnight, bluebottles, sharks, possibly in that order. Oh, and the 'chance of a thunderstorm' tomorrow afternoon. Lightning is never a good thing when you're swimming.

Here's hoping it will all be.

Start Date Confirmed

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 04:44:00 +0000

After days of frantically scanning six different weather sites (which probably all get their information from the same source anyway) it's starting to look good.

Forecast is for a 1 metre SE swell, and light ESE winds during Saturday, freshening in the late afternoon & evening, before dropping off to calm overnight and possibly swinging round to the SW. They should swing SE again during Sunday morning and into the afternoon but I have most things crossed that I'll be finished by lunchtime.....

It's pointing towards a south to north swim, starting at Bundeena at midday and finishing at the northern end of Palm Beach. We're just waiting on confirmation about the currents. Our expert weather guru says that the warm water temperature (a crazy 24 degrees at the moment, not that I'm complaining) suggests a strong southbound current, in which case we may swap.

We'll make that call in the next couple of days.

I was so nervous about whether we were going to get to swim at all, and it feels fantastic that we're going to start. Finishing is another matter entirely, and a whole new set of nerves.....

Night Swimming

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 05:15:00 +0000

On Friday night we had our test swim in Botany Bay. We headed down to the boat ramp on Foreshore Road (well-lit, washdown facility and lots of lighting) at 7pm, with so much kit - ropes, lights, glow sticks..... This was a trial run to see what worked and what didn't, particularly with lighting.

We hit the water as planned, at about 8pm, although I hadn't twigged that there was an exclusion zone all around the runways (obviously!) and quite how long it would take to motor the IRB & the kayaks past it.

Eventually we cleared the runways and I hit the water. There was still a fair amount of ambient light, with the proximity to the container terminal, the airport and Sans Souci, but at least the bay was contained, with little swell and wind so that we could stop and fiddle with gear, as required.

Swimming near a runway, with planes taking off every 90 seconds possibly wasn't the best option for testing comms but at least we managed to give the radios a good workout.

Lighting is now sorted and we know what we need. The shopping list for this week grows ever longer & I suggest buying some shares in a glow stick company.

Friday night's team included:

Paddlers: Collie, John, Anna & Martine
IRB wonderguy: Matt
Head logistics: James

Collie also supplied dinner & dessert too. Why wouldn't you want to eat chicken curry & cake at 12.30am on a public holiday in a car park? Everyone had so many ideas and plans on how to improve things that no one seemed in a hurry to get home.

I have an amazing support crew.

The Inspire Foundation

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 02:47:00 +0000

Once again, I have chosen to support the Inspire Foundation and its work with teenagers and young adults with mental health issues and at risk of suicide.

I've set up a fundraising page and I really appreciate any dollars you can spare to send Inspire's way. Please click on the 'ReachOut.com' logo in the right column to head to the fundraising page.

A word or two from Inspire:

Inspire is delighted that Helen has chosen us as the benefactor of the donations she'll raise by undertaking this amazing challenge.

Like Helen when she was young, many young people go through a tough time and need help but don’t know where to go or who to talk to to get them through those ‘dark times’. Last year we helped over 640,000 young people in Australia with information and support from other young people just like them.

At Inspire we believe that all young people in Australia deserve to be happy and well and ReachOut.com will be able to support many more hundreds of young people to learn how to help themselves and help their friends through Helen’s challenge and her generous supporters.

We're Off!

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 02:26:00 +0000

I never did finish writing about last year's 24 hour swim. I think it was a little too painful to remember.

But now the next swim is almost upon us, the one that last year's swim at Homebush was training for.

In April, weather conditions dependent, I will be attempting to become the first person (that we know of) to "Swim Sydney": from Palm Beach in Sydney’s northern outskirts down to Bundeena at the southern tip of the city’s boundaries.

It is a distance of between 60km-65km, depending on how straight a line we make down the coast and is expected to take approximately 24-28 hours, depending on conditions.

Last night we had a planning meeting with the full support crew (minus one) together for the first time. There was an incredible energy in the room and I finally feel excited that it's all coming together.

There's still lots and lots to do but we have a first-rate team working on this now.

Stay tuned!

The Build-Up

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Tue, 14 Aug 2012 11:18:00 +0000

It is now 8 weeks since I completed the 24 hour swim and it has taken me this long to write about it because I still find it difficult to reflect on it and think about it in any great detail.

My only thought in the two or three days afterwards was: "It's done." All I felt (apart from pain) was relief. I thought perhaps this would pass and some sense of satisfaction and achievement would kick in at some point. But it hasn't by now so I guess it never will. And so I write about it.

When I told people what I was planning to do this year, they’d look at me quizzically and just ask, "Why?" And whilst I knew it was a training swim for the future, it needed to be a bit more in order to get my own brain engaged with it. I still never had a good answer to the question, though, and it proved a difficult swim to ever be excited by.

Week after week and month after month, I trained in chlorinated pools, giving up my regular salt water fix. The comfort I took from this was that I knew I was always going to get in a warm pool (helpful when getting up on those cold winter mornings) and I was never going to have to battle surf and bluebottles when training.

But all year, the swim loomed before me, providing none of the usual sense of excitement but filling me with fear instead and a terrible sense of claustrophobia. Maybe it was the fear of just swimming up and down for 24 hours with nowhere to go and no real purpose? On so many occasions I was ready to quit, as training swims left me in a panic. If I couldn’t swim for 15 minutes, how could I possibly swim for 24 hours? This was insane. And why was I putting myself through this? Doubly insane.

This is one of my favourite photos:

Somewhere in between those two kayaks is a dot: 'me'. This photo was taken by James Goins during one of my training swims for the Channel. James had swum from Shelly Beach to Dee Why with me, with Millie & Margie on kayaks for support. James hopped out at Dee Why and took this picture from the cliff top of my return trip to Manly. I still look at this picture with a sense of wonder and disbelief. But most of all, this picture sums up everything I love about ocean swimming: the openness, the freedom, the escape from our ordinary, contained lives.

Swimming in a pool for 24 hours was the opposite of all the freedom this picture represents.

The main reason for doing this swim at Homebush, though (apart from the chance to raise some money for a great cause) is that there is another long swim in the planning – back there, out in the wide ocean. So this provided me a safe environment in which to learn what it would be like to swim for 24 hours. I could get out when I wanted to, eat food on dry land, have a chat to friends along the way. The lights would be on all night, ensuring my body never felt like it was bedtime, and which would hopefully make swimming through the night easier. There were lots of things to learn on this swim and I had to focus on that whenever I questioned why I was doing it.

So, I had put myself through all the training, and I was about to put myself through swimming for a whole day and night. What would it be like?

Fundraising for Multiple Sclerosis

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sun, 17 Jun 2012 04:24:00 +0000

The 24 hour swim raises money for those suffering from MS. My target is to raise $1,000 through this swim. Thanks to my friends' generosity I'm nearly there already, but let's keep going.

Did you know:

The average diagnosis of MS is 30 years old.
MS affects three times as many women as men.

Funds raised by 24 Hour Mega Swims support people with MS through:

Go for Gold scholarships. These are awarded annually to people living with multiple sclerosis to help them reach their goals. A diagnosis of MS often causes people to re-evaluate their lives and a consequent change in their goals or career. These scholarships help people with the transition, to assist people to achieve their dreams or to help with an area of great potential. They are awarded in the categories of education, employment, travel, the arts, sport and music.
Financial Assistance Programs. These are determined periodically to provide immediate support for people living with MS that have a significant need.

If you would like to help support the programs, please click on the '24 Hour Megaswim' button to the right and then the 'Donate Now' button on the right.

Thanks very much for your support.

Salt Water

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sun, 17 Jun 2012 03:36:00 +0000

Last Saturday I had my first swim in salt water in weeks. Clear water, lots to look at, plenty of fish. I miss it.

But goodness, I was cold. The water was probably about 18 degrees and I couldn't stop shivering. Those hard core training swims feel a long time ago.

Still, it will be time to start putting weight on again soon...

Test Week Done

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sat, 02 Jun 2012 09:15:00 +0000

The big 'test' weekend came and went successfully.

I headed out to Homebush to swim at the Olympic pool on Saturday afternoon, planning to start at midday to 'practice' the start. Fortunately this was a practice run as I realised that Parramatta Road has to be one of the worst roads in Sydney - it's like a car park. Note to self: leave PLENTY of time to get there on the 23rd.

12.15pm and I was in the water. There was a big carnival on in the competition pool so I swam in the training pool - not quite the same but it's indoors, which I'm not used to swimming in, and VERY warm water, so all good practice.

I don't think I've ever swum in a pool where swimmers pay such little notice to the lane signs. I spent much of the 5 hours overtaking breaststrokers in the fast lane. I remained perfectly calm the entire time (no, honestly, I did.) One of the lifeguards saw all my drink bottles and asked how long I was swimming for and, when I told her, she asked what I was training for and, when I told her that, she signified that she thought I was perfectly crazy. Quite.

I managed 15.6km in the 5 hours, just taking it nice and steady. The plan had been to complete 55kms in training between Monday & Saturday, before tackling the 9 hours on Sunday. This made it 55.4kms.

I made it down to Victoria Park pool for an 8am start the following morning, with even more drink bottles lined up on the pool deck to see me through the day (along with 3 bananas, some jelly sweets & mini mint slices for a treat.)

My plan is to try and stick to 3km / hour, which has to include time for feeds, toilet stops, chatting (might fall down on this last one....) So I hoped to cover 27km through the day.

I was pleasantly surprised to see Martine & Katya arrive to keep me company at 9.30am (OK, that may be a slight understatement, given the squeals of delight and little dance I gave.) I hadn't wanted to rely on anyone for company, so it was all a big bonus. There were plenty of smiles, chatter and laughter. Thank you, ladies. A little coffee stop picked me up before we started to crank through the kilometres. Millie then joined us for the middle of the day and relieved Martine & Katya.

Anna arrived at 1pm and I hit a big grumpy patch (related?) Goodness, those things are awful. You know you've been in them before and all the logical bits of your head know you've got through them before but when you're right in the middle of them you think it's never going to end. It lasted an hour and it was pretty miserable. Thankfully, Millie made an emergency trip to Toby's across the road to bring me back a fabulous coffee and it was just what I needed. Thank you so much, Mil.

By the time Chad arrived, the world was alright again. He swam alongside me and, with Anna on the other side, I felt like I could keep swimming all day. I broke the last three hours down into sets - 10 x 300m on 5:30; 15 x 200m on 3.30; and 30 x 100m on 1.50 (with a drink at the half hours), so plenty of rest but I held 1.37-ish pace, so I was really pleased with that. There were several moments of delirium involved but, overall, I had 13 out of 14 hours of enjoyable swimming for the weekend, which is very promising.

I managed the 27km but just went over the 9 hours to get there, by about 2 minutes (I blame Martine & Katya for too much chatting early on!) A total of 82.4km for the week.

Thank you to my fabulous friends for the company and keeping me going.

What do you eat after a 9 hour swim?

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sat, 02 Jun 2012 08:44:00 +0000

YUM! Roast chook & veggies. How good is my husband??

Dinner was practically inhaled following 9 hours up and down the black line of Victoria Park Pool.

Time to come out of swimming hibernation

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sun, 06 May 2012 06:53:00 +0000

I have been slowly coming out of hibernation all this year but it has taken until now to start feeling confident about the task I've taken on for 2012. From midday on Saturday 23 June to midday Sunday 24 June I will be swimming at SOPAC at Homebush.

The swim is part of a bigger event to raise funds for Multiple Sclerosis; see the official website at www.megaswim.com. For the past three years, Sea's the Limit swimmers have taken part in this fabulous event. The first year we entered one team of 15 swimmers. Each swimmer is in the water for 15 minutes of each hour, rotating in blocks of 3-4 hours. The whole event attracted about 20 teams.

The following year, Sea's the Limit entered two teams, amongst over 30 teams for the main event, and in 2011, we fielded four teams, with the event fully subscribed at about 40 teams.

In 2012 we hope to enter four teams again, plus me. Because what started as a bit of a joke last year - that I would swim the whole thing - started to feel like a good challenge at the beginning of this year. I have since spent the last few months battling the urge to pull out because the whole thing now feels way too big for me. And while it still feels like a very big deal, I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that I'll just give it a go and see what happens.

Most of my training this year has been in the pool, which is a lot less interesting than all the ocean training I did in 2010. However, it does mean I don't have to keep bugging my friends to paddle for me, and at least the water temperature is fairly constant.

It's now only 7 weeks to go - the kilometres each week are increasing as my weight is decreasing (finally, those excess English Channel kilos are coming off.) Yesterday, I had a 7 hour test swim and it went well. I managed 23.5kms, which included pit stops (a definite downside to swimming in a pool) and feeding time.

I held a comfortable 1.37 / 100m pace for the first 6 hours. The last hour wasn't as edifying but perhaps my head knew that the end was approaching. See, it can still freak my little head out when I think I've just swum for 6 hours and that's only a quarter of what I'll be doing. OK, I'll stop now before I have another little meltdown.

Next test swim in 3 weeks time. Until then....

My celebratory cake

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 04:01:00 +0000

I'm a little slow in posting these pictures but I wanted to record the amazing celebratory cake my friend Karen at work made for me.

A wee bit of artistic license was used (I don't personally recall seeing a giant octopus on the swim!) but the cake was simply fantastic. From the green, green 'coconut' grass of England, to the rocks onto which I scrambled in France, this was a triumph in cake decoration.

The detail was incredible - I even had finger nails!

Thank you so much, Karen.

Thank you

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 21:10:00 +0000

It is a cliche to say that marathon swimming is not a solo sport, but it is very true.

On the day, the A-team support crew of Jane Murphy & John was superb. Not only did they rarely have a moment to relax during the day, they catered for my every need, kept my spirits up and made me smile when I needed it. It’s not a glamorous job but it was one that they both did with cheer, smiles, encouragement and love. I am massively indebted to them both.

My boat crew – pilot, Eddie, and crewmen, Dave and Michael – was also incredible. Eddie did his job superbly – pointing the boat where I needed to go (even though I was often pointing in a different direction for the second half of the swim), and landing me right on the Cape. Thank you so much, guys. For you, I am but one swimmer; for me, you helped make the dream come true.

To Kevin Murphy, for your openness to embrace anyone who wants to have a go at marathon swimming, and then to encourage people to stay in the sport even once the Channel dream is over (just don't mention the North Channel....) To both Kevin & Jane, for all the mornings at the beginning of the year back here in Oz after training, when I was often late for work because we just kept talking about swimming. You kept the flame burning through the following long months of training.

To Freda, Barrie, Irene & Emma down on the beach. You are all such an incredible source of inspiration and support to so many swimmers and I am sure many dreams have come true thanks to your dedication. Thank you for making me feel so welcome.

To Evelyn & Dave at Varne Ridge. The gear, the flags, the boards on the wall.... your passion for Channel swimming and your support for everyone who stays with you is wonderful. And a special thank you for the party.

To Sonia & Martin at Sandown Guest House. Thank you so much for the support you show to Channel swimmers, for making me feel so welcome, for the trip down to the marina and beach to see me off, the phone calls to see how I was before and after. And thank you for the fantastic breakfasts!

Back home here in Australia, there are also many to thank. I mentioned much of this at the trivia night, but will repeat it here in print for posterity.

Thank you to Murph Renford. You inspired me to look into this whole Channel swimming caper when you undertook your swim three years ago. Your encouragement along the way has been reassuring, and thanks also for making it possible for me to swim with my coach all winter.

Thank you to the Sea's the Limit crew and squad, for being my family when I'm so far from home.

Thank you to Charm, for being a great support on the shoreline, particularly last year when you helped feed me so often, and got me through my qualifying swim with smiles and warmth.

Thank you to Margie, for not only donating money & prizes for the fundraising, but also for giving up that which is even more valuable these days - your time, to paddle for me for hours on end.

Thank you to Millie. Your irrepressible enthusiasm for swimming, no matter how cold it is, is positively infectious. You made the training this winter so much more fun, particularly on those days when it was all such an effort for me. I look forward to returning the favour when the time comes.

For all the help with fundraising, thank you to Georgie, Suzy, Alice, Katya & Bev. The trivia night would never have been as successful without your help and support, particularly because I was so tired at the time I was incapable of making any decisions. And thank you to Karen for all your help with the design work.

An especially big thank you to Rodney at Rescue the Future and CBD Energy for organising and donating our major auction item of the solar panels and installation, which raised an incredible $5,000 for the Inspire Foundation.

And this whole year has been made all the more incredible with the support of three people in particular.

Anna Torok is the most talented swimmer I know, with the least amount of ego involved. Anna swam so many kilometres with me this winter, often in particularly cold water, pushing herself through her own pain barriers to keep me company, and never complaining (even when I was!) When she wasn't swimming next to me, she was paddling for me.

Anna, it was a joy and privilege to swim with you, including when I knew you were swimming next to me for the last few hours of the swim. I will return the favour in spades - if only I can keep up with you.

Chad, there is an immense hole in my life where your training used to be. Without you, none of this would have come to be and for that, I am forever in your debt. May we find a way to make the dream live on.

And John. Thank you. May you know how much I convey with that.

This whole journey – from the planning of it three years ago, to the big training swims along the way, to the wonderful people I’ve met, to the magnificent day I was lucky enough to experience – has been nothing short of life-changing.

Thank you to everyone who has been a part of it, who kept encouraging me along the way, who accompanied me on training swims, who followed me on the tracker and sent tweets and text messages, who donated money and time and prizes for my fundraising efforts, who shared the dream with me.

Oh, and by the way, it’s not over yet...

The aftermath

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Mon, 08 Nov 2010 08:11:00 +0000

I wrote about the following day in an earlier post. Everyone I saw wanted to talk about the swim and take pictures and we finally made it to breakfast at about midday.

Evelyn & Dave fly the flags at Varne Ridge for those who had successful crossings.

The Australian flag at the top was for me & Duncan (who landed about 300 metres further up the Cape from me, at roughly the same time too - his swim was 11 hours 33 mins); the UK flag underneath was also for me; the Irish flag under that (even though my John claims it was for him) was actually for John Daly who had a successful crossing in 13 hours 17 mins, and the French flag (just visible behind us) was for Philippe Croizon, a quadruple amputee who completed his swim in 13 hours 28 mins and was escorted by porpoises for much of the way.

This was a Sri Chinmoy relay team waiting to swim, who hailed from various countries in Europe. I happened to have on my Sri Chinmoy t-shirt from the swim in Zurich so they were excited to see that. The team had a successful crossing on 21 September, in a time of 13 hours 41 mins.

Thanks, Mum & John.

Later in the day we went to the White Horse pub, famous for successful Channel swimmers' autographs on the walls.

It was interesting to see where people had signed their name on the wall and then returned for another crossing, and then another, with their subsequent times being squeezed in next to their name.

There is now hardly any room left on the walls so I started on a fresh patch of ceiling.

And finally we headed to the Royal Oak pub, near Varne Ridge where there was another board on the wall to sign (so many autographs!) Evelyn & Dave had thrown a party for all the swimmers, which was such a generous gesture, and we had a great afternoon.

Evelyn, Kevin, Dave & Jane

Landing in France

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 01:32:00 +0000

The problem now was that I thought I was pretty much there. Of course, I still had another half hour to go, which dragged on…. and on…..

Still lumpy on the way in to France.

Finally, I saw the dinghy being lowered into the water. I had spent the first few hours swimming alongside that dinghy imagining how it would feel to see it being lowered. Dave got into the dinghy. I was nearly there!!! I swam along, heart nearly bursting out of my chest.

Then I breathed to my left again. Hang on, where was Dave? I could see the dinghy still in the water but Dave wasn’t in it.

Oh no. Maybe they lied. Or maybe they thought I was about to hit land but I’ve suddenly slowed. Or the tide has picked up. Maybe I’m not going to hit landfall after all. Maybe I’m being swept past the Cape.

I felt sick with disappointment but tried so hard not to let it affect me.

I could keep going. I must keep going. I will make this.

Ten minutes from landing.

Of course, Dave had got into the dinghy to prepare it in time and make sure everything was working OK. Ten minutes later, I saw him getting back into the dinghy and he motored over to me. My heart pounded once more.

“Just follow me, love.” Yes, I will, Dave. Right now I will follow you anywhere.

I finally saw the bottom when I was about two metres from reaching land. It was rocks. In all the times I had visualised me landing in France it had been on a beach; I had never imagined hitting rocks. And now here I was.

The waves weren’t particularly big but I tried to time my scramble with the push of a wave. The rocks were covered in barnacles which were pretty sharp. I crawled out on my hands and knees and tried to stand but my vision was a bit blurry and my legs were wobbly.

I knew I had to clear the water line so I saw a rock next to me and climbed up that. I turned around and sat down so that I didn’t overbalance. Only the top bit of the rock was dry so I pulled my knees up to my chin in the hope that that would mean I’d cleared the water line. I had made it.

Happy happy happy.

I looked around me, appreciating the scenery, taking in the rocks behind me glowing a peaceful yellow in the sinking sun.

There was no whooping up and down, no screaming with excitement, just a contented and satisfied song that started as a hum in my heart and built into a glorious tune that sang through my soul during the following days.

‘Having a moment’.

Anastasia stayed about 150 metres offshore but I couldn’t see it at all as it was silhouetted in the sun. Apparently John was screaming his head off and deafening all on board; I couldn’t hear a thing.

Dave was in the dinghy about 50 metres away but also silhouetted. But then I noticed that he had his hands in the air with his thumbs up. I was suddenly struck by the thought that perhaps he wasn’t saying ‘Well done’ thumbs up, maybe he was saying ‘Go higher’ thumbs up. Maybe I hadn’t officially cleared the water line. (Yes, I now know how ridiculous this was.) I couldn’t bear the thought that I might get back to the boat and Jane would tell me that I needed to go back and climb higher.

So, better to be safe than sorry, I slid down the other side of the rock (of all the injuries I thought I might sustain on a Channel swim, a lacerated backside was not on the list) and found a rock that was completely dry. This must be classed as ‘clear of the high water mark’, I reasoned. Just in case, though, I turned towards the boats and threw my hands in the air to signal to them that I thought I had finished, and hoped that Dave would come over and tell me if that wasn’t the case.

Meanwhile, of course, the crew was on the boat watching me going for a climb amongst the rocks, thinking, ‘What the hell is she doing?’

Rational thought: a casualty of 11 hours of swimming.

I then had to climb back over the rocks and into the water to swim to Dave. As soon as I got back in, I started to feel cold and I didn’t want to be in the water anymore. It wasn’t far to reach Dave but I was glad he was there to take me back to Anastasia; 11 hours was fine but don’t make me swim another 50 metres!

Dave hauled me on board, wrapped a towel round my shoulders and zoomed me back to Anastasia. Along the way he said, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to get back in the water to get on the boat,’ and right at that moment, I was so happy because I couldn’t bear the thought I might have to get wet again. It was strange how happy I had been in the water but now how quickly I didn’t want to be in there anymore.

Tired by oh so happy.

The best hug from Jane.

The first thing Jane said to me was '11 hours and 5 minutes'. I couldn’t believe it. I had expected 12.5 – 13 hours. I sort of knew that I was going OK because the sun still had a way to go to the horizon, but I had never imagined anything under 12 hours.

Jane and John quickly helped me get out of my cossie and into warm clothes. They had filled a hot water bottle which I cuddled under my t-shirt and then they sat on the bench on deck on either side of me to keep me warm.

A bucket was standing by in case I was sick – apparently this is quite common once you move from horizontal to vertical and feel the motion of the boat. Usually pilots prefer the swimmer to stay on deck for half an hour or so just in case.

I was fine for about 45 minutes but I had been sipping water all the time (the worst ‘injury’ I sustained was a painfully sore throat and ulcerated tongue from the salt water) and John received about five seconds warning to reach for the bucket in time. Clearly my body had decided it no longer required the litre or so of Ribena and Maxim mix still in my tummy.

The boat trip took about three hours back to Dover. We enjoyed a magnificent sunset and beautiful moonrise.

I finally went below deck when it started to get cold; the wind had picked up and we were pitching from side to side, and I found it hard to hang on.

Cap'n Eddie looking serious...

...and crewman Dave looking not so.

Back on dry land, we packed up our gear, and said goodbye to the crew.

Me & Cap'n Eddie

We headed to the petrol station to buy an ice cream (about the only thing I wanted on my throat, which by now felt like I’d choked on a cheese grater) and went back to the caravan park, where my mum had driven down to Dover and was waiting to welcome us back. Dave & Evelyn had decorated our caravan with a banner, with my mum adding the UK & Aussie flags for extra decoration.

I enjoyed a wonderful hot shower and finally stopped talking at about 10.30pm when I collapsed into bed.

What do you dream about when it's just come true?

The next few hours

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 01:07:00 +0000

At some point (time has become very vague by this stage) I started to wonder whether I had made it through the separation zone and into the north east shipping lane. I couldn’t see any ships around me and I felt that I was still swimming along at a cracking pace (for me) and surely I must be seeing a boat heading in the opposite direction soon.

I asked on one feed, “Am I in the next shipping lane yet?”

“You’re well into it,” Jane replied. Oh, OK then. Good.

As if to prove a point, three big boats came by in fairly quick succession.

Fifteen minutes later.

And five minutes later. This was the closest I came to one of these big boats, which was quite close enough. When I saw them a distance away it would seem like we were heading straight for each other, but they move deceptively quickly through the water so there was no way I was going to be anywhere near them.

The water here was still fairly flat and easy to swim in but as we drew nearer to France it started to get pretty bumpy again. I also noticed that I would breathe to the left and see the boat about five metres away, but when I next breathed to the left, six strokes later, I was about thirty metres away from the boat.

Eventually I realised that this was the tide pulling me away from the boat but I started to get very frustrated at not being able to stay next to it. At one point I couldn’t see the boat over the chop when I was breathing, which meant it was too far away for my liking. I stopped to look up properly and it was about fifty metres away.

A-team support crew nearly copped a few choice words after this remark was shouted over to me:

“Do you think you know the way better than the pilot does? You need to change your rudder.”

I felt such frustration boil up inside. Sarcastic comments were definitely not required! Still, diva swimmer bottled it up, put her head back down and swam calmly back over to the boat, with not one swear word uttered (out loud, at least.)

The next couple of hours were hard work. I had heard and read the stories about the tide off the French coastline and here it was in action (and today was the middle of the neap tide when it was at its slackest.) On one feed, Jane said to me, “Just focus on the boat, Helen, just focus on the boat.” This really helped as I spent the next hour or so focusing solely at the blue lettering of Anastasia on the bow and made sure I stayed next to that. France will take care of itself, just keep looking at that boat.

John saw this tall ship out for a sail. This was still about two hours from the finish and just look how close that shore looks.

Before the swim I had been prepared for ‘hitting the wall’. This has happened to me on previous long swims, the first time just after the six hour mark, the next time at the seven hour mark, the next time at the eight-hour mark. I was hoping I could push it out to nine or ten hours before it hit. And I had also resolved that no matter what was going on in my head, I wasn’t going to waste time shouting about it, I was going to deal with it while still putting one arm in front of the other.

Hitting the wall is an awful feeling in my experience. One minute I can be absolutely fine and then it hits so suddenly and my entire mind and body is overwhelmed with fatigue. However, I went into this swim knowing that I had a hideous time pushing through it on my swim last year and if I could do it then (particularly in those conditions) I could do it today, with the sun shining.

I had a feed (maybe 9 hours?), put my face back in the water and felt it start to hit. As soon as I recognised the familiar feeling I tried to put the brakes on it.

Don’t think about it. Don’t give any time to it. The sun is shining. You are in the Channel. You are living the dream. Over and over, just don’t pay it any attention.

But then I did a really stupid thing. I looked up at France.

Freda always advises: never look forwards, never look back. But all day I had loved looking back at Dover; on my feeds I would flip onto my back and kick, and look at the white cliffs. And then I'd look forwards at France before I set off again, loving the fact that I was in the middle of the English Channel.

But this time was different; I shouldn't have done it. France no longer looked like the benign coast in the distance that I was happily swimming towards. It looked threateningly out of reach. It was still two or three hours away. I felt the feeling in my head growing stronger.

I looked up to the sky, gave a quick roar of frustration, put my head back down and just kept swimming. Marathon swimming is a deceptively simple concept really: just put one arm in front of the other – I had heard it time and again from Channel experts – but in the end, it’s all a mind game. It’s no wonder they call it the ‘graveyard’ just off the French coast, where so many dreams have been laid to waste.

Don’t give in to it. Don’t give in to it. Do not look at France again. One arm in front of the other til the water runs out. One arm in front of the other….

And not long after, the feeling passed. I had hit my wall (only a mini one this time, though) and just sailed on through it with only one shout and no swearing. I really was being quite well behaved.

Once I started to see recreational sailing boats nearby and a bird flew overhead that wasn’t a seagull, I knew that land was getting closer. I had never doubted that I would make it but, as I was getting tired, I still couldn’t tell how much further I’d have to go and the bumpy conditions were once again preventing me from finding a natural rhythm.

On one feed, John asked me what I’d like on the next feed.

“Sand,” I replied.

On the following feed, John asked me what I’d like on the next feed.

“For you to tell me there aren’t going to be any more feeds.”

The preferred landing spot for Channel swimmers is Cap Gris Nez, the closest point to England. I always thought this was where the faster swimmers landed and, having not put myself in that basket, had envisaged walking up a beach somewhere. But in front of me I could now clearly see land with a lighthouse on top. Surely this was the Cape?

My big fear now was that I would miss the Cape, that the tide would sweep me past it, as so often happens. As the land drops away on either side of the Cape, this would mean perhaps another hour or two of swimming to reach a beach. I knew I could do it if I had to but I hoped so much that I wouldn’t. Land appeared to be so close, but still I was being carried away from the boat and felt like I was swimming at a 45 degree angle just to stay close to it.

“Am I going to make that landfall?” I asked Jane, with trembling voice and sounding a little desperate. I wanted to prepare myself for the fact I might have another two or three hours to go.

“If you just keep swimming you’ll hit that land,” Jane replied.

“You promise?” A little more desperate.

“I promise.” Jane had spoken. I believed her. I was going to hit that land. With renewed strength, I powered on.

And then I heard those words from John at the next feed:

“This is your last feed. No more feeds. You're done.”

“Really?”

“Really,” said Jane. “Congratulations – keep going and you’re a Channel swimmer.”

I put my head back down. One arm in front of the other. Just as at the beginning of the swim, my goggles were filling with salt water, but this time they weren’t leaking.

The first few hours

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sat, 30 Oct 2010 06:43:00 +0000

As soon as I started swimming, I realised I hadn't got a proper seal on my goggles and water was slowly seeping in. I stopped every couple of minutes to tip my head back, drain them and try to seal them properly but I was getting a bit frustrated.

I didn't want to stop because I'd heard so many times that a minute wasted in England could mean an extra hour swimming in France. Eventually, though, I had to stop as I knew I'd lose more time in the long run having to keep emptying the goggles. I took them off, tightened the strap a few notches and put them back on.

I had also heard about pilots who told their swimmers (with varying degrees of politeness) to stop wasting time and get on with it. I called up to the boat that I was just fixing my goggles and Dave's reassuring Scottish tones wafted over: "Don't worry, love, you just take your time. Better to get them sorted now. You take all the time you need." I instantly felt much calmer. The goggles were soon back on, with a proper seal, and I settled down to swim.

Ten minutes in.

Swimming into the sunrise - magic.

When I breathed I could see the white cliffs on either side and I was so excited. I had dreamed of this moment for so long and now that it was here I wanted to enjoy all that it was.

The water was quite calm just off the coast but once we moved further away from land, it started to get a bit bumpy. The wind was behind us and quite gusty; every so often a wave would pick me up and push me forwards (I was quite happy to surf my way to France) but then the chop would hit from either side and it was hard to get a rhythm.

Just after the first feed, so one hour in, and there were big brown patches. It was probably just silt as it didn't taste unpleasant or smell, it just gave me quite a ridiculous beard which John said he found amusing at the first couple of feeds.

I counted my second feed (two hours in), my third feed (two and a half hours in), my fourth feed (three hours in); I didn't want to be counting them but I couldn't seem to help myself. I don't like to know the time when I'm swimming, I just like to drift along with it all. But this time, I was completely present in every stroke. This was no bad thing, as I was determined to appreciate all of it, but I still didn't want to know how long I'd been going.

On the second feed my only words were, "This is a bit f***ing bumpy." John was using my back-up bottle for my feeds, which I couldn't understand because he knows which bottle I prefer. I was determined not to be a pain in the a**e swimmer (this time (because I have been known to have my diva moments in the past)) so I didn't say anything but I couldn't get a decent airflow with the back-up bottle. By the third feed, though, John had switched to my proper bottle, so I think maybe at some point my diva sneaked out and demanded, "Other bottle." The feeds then went down much quicker.

Three hours in and the water was much cleaner.

I had a rough idea that the first shipping lane was about 10 km into the swim, which I thought would take me about 3 hours. So when the fifth feed came and went and I still hadn't seen a ship, I started to get a bit anxious. I knew I wasn't going terribly fast because I still couldn't find a rhythm in the uneven chop, but I didn't think I was going that slowly.

And then, behind me, I saw it. My first ship. I was ridiculously excited. And it meant that I was already well into the shipping lane.

I was, at this moment, sticking my head up to say to John, "This is so f***ing exciting."

I then looked forwards to see what looked like a solid bumper-to-bumper line of ships cruising down the south west shipping lane. But the shipping lane is four miles wide, so these ships weren't actually in one long line, it just appeared as though they were from a distance.

I didn't see too much of John and Jane during this time. The sides of the boat were quite high, so when I turned my head to breathe, I wasn't rotating enough to see them. The only time I was aware of them was when the feeding pole came down to me.

With the wind behind us, it blew the diesel fumes from the exhaust at the stern towards the bow, so Eddie positioned the boat just ahead of me so that I wouldn't be breathing in the fumes, and I swam alongside the stern.

Hanging off the back was a little dinghy that would shepherd me into shore on the French side. I spent a good few hours looking at that boat, dreaming of the moment I would see it being lowered into the water, meaning I was there! And then I realised that I didn't want to wish the day away; that time would come anyway so I should just concentrate on the here and now, which is exactly what I spent the rest of the day doing.

The only time the diesel fumes were really an issue was at the feeds, where I had to be in the middle of the boat, which meant that while I was trying to drink, I was also breathing in the fumes. Having me slightly behind the boat must have been hard work for Eddie because he would have always had to try and keep just in front of me, while not losing sight of me.

On one feed, Jane told me to swim up by the bow to see if that made any difference. It was probably easier for Eddie but I had been OK at the back of the boat. A couple of feeds later and Jane told me to switch to the starboard side of the boat. The sun had moved over its zenith and they didn't want me swimming in the shadow of the boat and potentially getting colder, although the cold was the furthest thing from my mind. As we headed over to France it was warming up from 17 degrees to 20 degrees.

Fortunately, I started to lose count of the feeds after about four hours and time drifted by. There was a small crisis on the boat at one point when the lid of my drink bottle came off and fell overboard while the A-team was preparing a feed. Not wanting to go back to dodgy back-up bottle, Jane used one of Kevin's feed bottles. It was a perfect drink bottle - good airflow, good nozzle, decent flip top, and a proper screw cap (it's amazing how technical a drink bottle can be to a swimmer!) I'm disappointed I forgot to buy a couple before I came home.

I remember coming into the boat for a feed at maybe six and a half hours and saying, "Having a bit of a sticky patch." I had just started to feel a little grumpy, so I simply reminded myself how bad the Channel can be, how magnificent it was on my day, and how I had nothing to grumble about.

At every feed, Jane told me how well I was doing. John often tells me I'm swimming well but I know he says it because he loves me. But I believed everything Jane said; I thought that Jane must know, having been on a support boat so many times. Her words were reassuring at every feed and kept me buoyant.

And so I swam on. The first three hours were a little tough with the chop, the middle five hours were fantastic - the water had levelled out, I found a wonderful rhythm, I was completely happy, and then there were the last three hours, where getting in to France was as tough as I had imagined.

And we're off

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 06:59:00 +0000

It took about 20 minutes to motor out of the marina, past the harbour wall and head round to Shakespeare Beach. I had the odd wobble, clutching John's arm at one point and looking slightly more panic-stricken than was strictly necessary. "I can do this, can't I?"

What else could his answer be at this point? "Of course you can," he said. "You know you can."

Yes, I did know it. Just a little wobble.

The air temperature was about 7 degrees and by far the coldest part of the day was standing in a cossie on the deck while John plastered on sunblock and some grease. (Thankfully no pictures of this bit... A-team support crew was busy being 'A', and not taking photos.) The wind whipped around me, biting into my skin and making me so keen to jump in and warm up again.

I fixed the glow light to my goggle strap and asked Jane to attach the other one to the back of my cossie. "Don't worry, you won't need that," she said.

"But what if it's dark by the time I finish? I can't fix it on to my back myself," I worried.

"You'll be finished long before dark," Jane replied, with alarming confidence.

Looking out to sea, I could see other swimmers' boats bobbing around far ahead of us. The earliest swimmer had set off about 4am and I was either the last to set off, or the second last.

"How come everyone else has already started?"

"Stop worrying," said Jane, "You're a fast swimmer; you'll be fine."

I have never felt like a fast swimmer. I train with people much faster than me and I seem to lack the ability to change pace for more than about 30 seconds; after that, it's just the one pace all day. All that bothered me was the thought that I would much rather have set off in the dark in order to finish in the daylight, rather than have the dark at the end of the swim.

Still, as happened throughout much of the day, if Jane said something, I believed it. Having so much experience of Channel swimming and having been support crew so often, her word was gospel to me right then. If Jane believed I didn't need that light stick on, then so be it.

Eddie pointed at the boats ahead of us. "See those?" he said. "They're your target. Now go get 'em."

I descended the ladder at the back of the boat and in I jumped. The water was sooo much warmer than the air, it felt lovely. Unfortunately, I banged my heel quite hard on something on the way in and it started to throb. 'Brilliant,' I thought, 'I might well be the first person to fail on a Channel swim before I even reach the beach at the start.' Wouldn't that be something. But I think at that point, even if I'd broken my ankle I would have ignored it and carried on swimming.

The sky was growing lighter by the minute as I swam the 100 metres or so into the beach. There were a few stones but it wasn't nearly as bad as the 'beach' we trained at in the harbour, which was very painful to walk on in bare feet. Sonia and Martin had actually driven down to the beach to wave me goodbye too (also their second trip down to the beach that morning as well - fantastic people!)

Also there was a man called John, who took these couple of photos and emailed them through the next week. Thanks very much, John.

Arriving at the beach ready for the start.

A quick goodbye to the beach crew and I fixed my goggles, waved to the boat to signal that I was ready to start, and headed back into the water. It was 6.35am.

Still getting ready...

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 06:43:00 +0000

On the morning of a swim, I'm usually so nervous I can't eat a thing. I know I have to, so I try and force some food down. The morning of the 18th, though, and I was tucking into a massive bowl of hot porridge, courtesy of A-team support crew (who had already started excelling at such an early hour.) A glass of juice and cup of coffee and we set off down to the marina.

We met up with Jane Murphy, official observer for the swim and the other half of the A-team support crew. Also down at the marina were Sonia & Martin who run the Sandown Guest House, where I had stayed the previous week. They make it a habit to come down to the marina to see off their guests at the start of their swims, and one of their daughters (still in pyjamas and dressing-gown) came too. It was lovely to have friendly faces around, and to have their support, and I can highly recommend the Sandown if you're heading to Dover. What made the gesture so lovely was that they had already been down at the marina at 4am to see off another swimmer, Chantal, before coming back down to see me at 6am.

Just after 6 o'clock, my boat, Anastasia, pulled round to the dock. My first sighting of her!

Jane tells me Anastasia is the luxury vessel of the fleet. Only the very best for A-team support crew.

I was to spend many hours looking at that bow.

My fantastic crew: (l-r) Dave, Eddie (pilot), and Michael (Eddie's son.) Sonia, from Sandown Guest House is just visible in the background.

Happy the moment was finally here!

Getting ready

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 09:45:00 +0000

After the wind howled all through Tuesday night as well, we woke on Wednesday to see a blue sky. I couldn't believe it. The clouds had been so dense the previous day, it seemed impossible that it had blown itself out. I don't think I could make a living in an environment so changeable; I don't know how the pilots cope with it all.

Still very windy but France was visible again on Wednesday.

Without a doubt, the most stressful part of it all was deciding on the right day to swim. By the middle of the week most swimmers were being told 'Saturday the most likely' by their pilots, and Eddie had said 'probably Friday or Saturday'. The weather forecast looked really good for Saturday so I had settled myself that this would be the day.

What unsettled me was that I saw Duncan on Thursday and he said that his pilot had told him he was off the next day. I spoke to Kevin - what did he think? Duncan was the only swimmer going out on the Friday, which made me think I didn't need to worry. But what if Friday turned out to be half decent and then Saturday blew out.... I nearly walked a hole in the floor of the caravan with my pacing. What I really wanted was someone to make the decision for me.

Which is exactly what happened on Thursday night. I spoke to Eddie and he said Friday still looked a bit dodgy and we'd more than likely be off on Saturday. Finally, thank goodness. No decision on my part involved. Brilliant. Saturday it was.

We got quite a shock on Friday morning when we were having breakfast in our caravan and saw Duncan and his crew walking by the caravan. It turns out that when he spoke to his pilot the night before he had also been told Saturday.

Friday was spent putting all the gear together, mixing up the feeds and, of course, being interviewed by the BBC (which is what every normal aspiring channel swimmer fits into their preparation.)

The owners of the caravan park, Evelyn and David, are absolutely fantastic. They know that it's hard for overseas visitors to bring everything with them for the swim, so they have all the gear ready to loan out - feeding poles, packing boxes, blankets, hot water bottles, thermoses, light sticks, sea sickness tablets....

I had to pack and unpack my feed crate several times for the cameraman to shoot (riveting footage....), trying to pack everything in the same order each time, for continuity's sake. By this time I had memorised what was in the crate so well that I was quite sure we hadn't forgotten anything.

And so all that was left was to have a good pasta for dinner the night before and get an early night.

I had been waiting for this day for three years, ever since first listening to Murph talking about his swim before he came over to England. This time, there was none of the usual panic or nerves, just an absolute rock-solid belief that the next day I was going to swim to France.

Time to get some pics up

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 08:14:00 +0000

Several people have now asked when I'm going to write about the swim, so sorry it has taken me a while to get to. I haven't found the ability to write about it yet (and not sure I have even now) but I still walk round with a warm glow inside. Even though Botany council has been doing its best to ruin it.

So a few pics of the days leading up to the swim.

John and I arrived in Dover on the afternoon of Saturday 11th September, with the first possible day of the tide window being Tuesday 14th. Sunday and Monday morning it looked as flat as a millpond, although a front was due to move through some time Monday afternoon. France was clearly visible.

All the cliff top pics are taken from just across from the caravan park. Here, we'd gone out to look for a swimmer who had recently set off.

The front most definitely did move through on the Monday afternoon. My pilot, Eddie, had taken a relay out at 1am Monday and managed to get them across before the weather turned, but had a Force 8 on the trip back, making it a long and rough crossing for all. The wind howled round the caravan all night and all the next day. It was a day to curl up with a book (or check the weather forecast for the hundredth time.... that day....)

When cabin fever (or caravan fever) set in later that day we went for a walk at Samphire Hoe, an area made up of reclaimed land from when the Channel Tunnel was excavated. From the car park, you can walk along the sea wall to a beach at the far end, from where some pilots start their channel swims.

Just a wee bit windy.

Doesn't that look inviting....?

Dover Harbour in the distance.

In the press

noreply@blogger.com (Helen) — Sat, 02 Oct 2010 11:51:00 +0000

Made it into print. Duncan tipped off the press and we got a mention in Fitz's column.

(Scroll down to the 'Team of the Week'.)