Truths:-
If you swallow 800-1000 sips of water in an hour, its got to come out sometime, somehow.
Lungs don't like salt water, vomit or sewage.
Leaping into cold sea 4 times in a day with no sleep, little food and sore lungs is tough.
Endurance is the name of the game - not enjoyment, I barely said 2 words to the rest of the Seabreezers during the 16 hours and vice versa.
Fear of failing the team is what gets you in the water, the purpose you are swimming for gets you through the hour.
10 October 2012
Moralee's eyes were so wide open, as she loaded on the swim glide (for chafing) snapped her hat on her head and adjusted her goggles. Pitch dark 3.15am and she had to jump off the side of the boat and swim to shore. Not a sign of hesitation, she set the bar for the attitude we would all need for the day.
As the klaxon sounded at 3.22am she ran and dived into the sea and started to swim towards the light on the boat, 3 parents waving from the shore, and a boatload screaming from 20 meters away in the sea, and then she swam, like she always does, confidently smoothly and fully in control. The start of an epic journey.
Martin our observer put the thermometer in to check water temperature, 14.5 and with 9.5 air temperature it was nipping at the bones! Lemon had brought a whiteboard, so we could do timing countdowns, it wasn't til sarah yelled 'how long!?' With 15 minutes to go that we realised she hadn't seen any of them. It was a similar story for Lemon and I, doing the 2nd and 3rd legs. The only thing you could see were lights and shapes, and as I can't swim in a straight line, I was soon 30-50 meters away from the boat in the dark.
To get in, I climbed down some steps onto a small platform, being covered by water, and waited for the bell, I was watching Lemon, with a smile on her face as usual, but the rules state I had to pass her in the water (a proper relay) and the advice we had was just get on with it,I jumped into the sea and swam to Niki, no hugging, just a shout of 'amazing, well done! And a 'go Nikki' from her' then my arms and legs did the rest. Its fair to say it was cold, but the serpentine was just as cold, and the programming from those practice swims helped me remember that movement is key, and stopping is not an option.
Therefore after a couple of minutes the water temperature was fine, but swimming in the dark against a head wind (if that's the correct term for wind that's driving directly at you) it means that the water breaks from different angles, and at least 60% of your breaths contain some seawater, I did a calculation, in my first leg I was averaging 60 strokes a minute, I breathe approx every 3rd stroke so 20 times a minute x 60 is 1200 breaths, around 800 swallows of water...it wasn't until my third leg that I understood what impact this would have. But one thing I did discover, if you cant pee while you swim, you have about 3 litres to get rid of as you come out (thank goodness I had the excuse of still throwing up as i left the water to stay at the back of the boat)!!! Joy!!
The dark means you can't see what's coming, so you just have to trust your body to carry you through, the volumes of seawater finally made me realise I couldnt stop so learnt to throw up while I swam (20ish times in my first hour), and focus on the fact that it's only an hour. I remember the dark, the silence and the glimpses of the moon, the stars were crystal clear along with the moon which was low and huge, quite spiritual, and the only nice thing about swimming in the dark!
I was helped by a little warm glow of feeling watched over by two men recently departed from this world, my Dad Don Coope and our friend Mike Wynter who needed the help of the charity I was swimming for in his latter days, both of them died in September, and I committed to my Mum and to Mikes wife that I would swim for them. I wrote their names on my arms, one on each, and they powered me forward when I felt weaker, well, alongside fear of failure for my team and commitment to my cause inspired by cancer sufferers and survivors.
The sun began to rise and began to set on my swims, which is a beautiful experience for a swimmer even with glaring orange light on your goggles!! All of our second legs were the strongest, I pulled 66 strokes a minute, I'm pretty sure that's the fastest I've ever moved, the desire to stay warm was high and movement helps, but beyond that I realised there was a job to do, (I had that song in my head ‘when you’ve got a job to do you better do it right...) and with that mental attitude I frankly attacked the sea, using my bad mood to clear what was in my path, and get on with it. (I was miserable from the first leap in, I don't know how Lemon kept smiling, everything in my mind told me to stop, and I couldn't find the joy in it I'm sad to say).
Unlike when you swim with teammates in the sea, gaining energy from the interactions there's no time for chat, for considering if you're going to run out of breath or for anything except swimming. I was truly proud of myself for answering that doubt full on with 'yes I can!' I promise there is nothing like swimming in 120meter (at its deepest) deep water, with only your movement keeping you afloat, that motivates you more to stay that way. But even with all our sea swims (30+ for me) you just don’t swim solidly for an hour, there is always a turn midway, or an accidental landing on the beach (yup my navigation was crap from the beginning) so there was always a moment to catch my breath!. You don't run out of breath you just breathe heavier same as normal exercise, your heart pumps harder, you take more breaths the harder you work - simples! - the only difference was the intake of sea water.
After my sunny second leg Bridget gave me a hug and a talking to 'just think how far you've come, concentrate on why you're doing it, you're looking amazing out there' - all things I needed to hear, she just took it all in her stride - such strength. I ate a bit more, with an appetite this time and realisation that if I didn't my body wouldn't be able to support a powerful swim, its hard when your tongue is swollen and chapped, and your tastebuds have gone. Bread tastes like cardboard, and the only way is to drink while you eat. Hot cups of Tea from Ben and a little snooze on the cold but sunny deck calmed me down.
The third hour was my hardest, apart from the massive patch of seaweed which fortunately I skimmed because of my lack of straight lines, I also hit a rough patch, Pete told me afterwards that he'd seen it coming, but didn't tell me because he knew that wouldn't help matters. It was like being back in Brighton on a full windy day like a washing machine churning me around. It was at that point my vomit started looking red. To add pain, I found myself with 5 minutes to go but seemingly miles from the boat, and with the cold and tiredness came a new panic. I could see the boat and thought it had stopped to let me catch up, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't reach it. The reality was it was still moving but exhaustion and fear meant I was a wreck by the time I got out. As my son Ben dried me off and helped me dress I was close to tears, coughing up blood and whispering that I didn't want to do it any more. He coaxed me gently, knowing it was highly likely I'd be in again, reminding me about my wonderful cause, and how grandad was watching over me, and how proud he was of me.
This time I ate some Goats Cheese and Chilli crisps (OMG if you haven’t had them, get some!) with my sandwich and cucumber, and a major handful of Minstrels our chocolate of choice during our training, and something that will always now trigger those girly beach visits, deciding how many more times we should get back in vs lie in the sun. The Sun - I forgot to mention that. From the very beginning I believed we would have a beautiful day, despite the crappy UK summer, only about 2 of our training sessions were truly rainy and miserable, one day in brighton, and one in worthing. The rest were dry bright and more often than not sunny, the girls would laugh as the sun came beaming out, and I’d be smug in my belief, but to the point that eventually we were all ‘programming’ the universe about the sunshine. (This was also a subject raised in Dads funeral - he believed in ‘Luck of the Coopes’ and so do I, The sun shines on the good - we were doing good that day:) So, when you check out the pictures, that’s what you’ll notice, beautiful bright blue sky and a gleaming sun bouncing off all of us. We couldn’t have asked for more perfect weather. We could have been gifted a slightly different wind - but that’s a trade off Moralee and I made on the monday when we took the decision to go despite the crosswinds they were expecting.
There's no-one who can tell you what you're going to experience on that crossing, when I got into the water for the last time, it was following Niki who struggled with major hip problems and looked in pain while trying to keep going, breast stroke seemed to help and her lovely Rob took up a position to keep her going at the side of the boat, it didnt give me any more confidence that my last leg would be easy!
So it was with a pumped up, motivated team around me who became excited that I would be the final person in who would land, we were only 1.4km from the shore, and ‘All’ I had to do was to ‘Cane it’ to use Peter’s words for 30 minutes and then leap out onto the rocks in France. It looked so close. I still haven’t debriefed it from all angles, so I don’t know the full picture, but my experience was that I ‘Caned it’ - Martin reported my stroke was again at 66 a minute, but after what seemed like an age, and calling on every resource in my kitbag, (I thought about all the people I know/knew who had cancer throughout my life, I thought about those who survived and how they have lived their lives in more meaningful ways, I thought about their fears, their treatments, their experiences, and I tried to get some perspective on mine. I used Dad and Mike as my arms, knowing they would both gift me a little energy if I asked, I thought about everything except how far i’d gone) It was about then that I hit sewage. Initially I thought the boat had dumped its toilet load, but it hadn’t, the smell and taste of the water were disgusting, I have no idea how bad it was, just that the smell alone was making me gag, I kept trying to pretend it wasnt there, but there was no mistaking it, and my lungs can vouch for it...
I don’t look up when I swim (its called Spotting), because its still something that makes me even more unstable in the water as my legs drop down. As a result the only place with ‘data’ was the boat - which I was miles away from again. I kept watching the dingy at the back, believing that at any moment someone would be getting in it, and would follow me to the rocks (I am quite clumsy so I confess I wasn’t looking forward to mashing my face into the rocks, but Pete gave me a lesson about going with the sea swell!). Anyway, no-one got in the boat, and no-one was making any moves towards it, I was feeling completely in the dark - yes the sun was setting, quite beautiful, but also I couldnt see detail on the boat, when I ginally got closer I could see a sign, held high, and with a sinking feeling realised it said 50 on it. I swore outloud and hard, no wonder I was feeling so spent. At that point I finally looked up, and there was France, still about 800 meters away and I definitely groaned, All that F’ing work, and I hadn’t even made it, and there was no way I was making it in 10 minutes, Bridget would be taking us home.
What I hadn’t realised is the tide had turned, Niki drew the parallel to watching me swimming in a slip stream the current was so fast, but I did what a team does, I got us as far as I could, apparently good enough to hit the bay where the tide dropped and gave Bridget a cold,dark but hopefully more tolerable ride home.
The last 10 minutes was hard, the only resource I had left was my automatic mode, learned after hours of drills with Peter, floating, arm extensions, paddling up and down, and finally doing the crawl, I counted my stroke. I knew that if I got to 700 then I had done the last 10 minutes, there was nothing else, just me, the stroke and the water, my words when I used to do the pool drills and the hours of learning to swim from 18 months ago were ‘I am in my own Merry Hell’ and I truly was. What a revelation and a weird cycle back to the early days of my swimming. (It wasn’t til 3 days later they told me about the massive Jellyfish I had missed by an inch....).
I could barely get back to the boat, Bridget was eager to set off but I was holding her back, and it took the last heave to get me out of the water, and the second heave to finish off emptying my stomach and lungs. My relief was audible and visible i’m sure, my final strip off and dry was accompanied by Bridget who I could see through the changing room window at the same level, the sun was pink behind her, and she was powering through the water with no hesitation - taking us in.
Niki Lemon was yelling to me to get upstairs to come and share the experience of Bridget landing, and we did, we watched her little green dot disappear into the darkness and make her way to the beach - too dangerous to land on the rocks now, and suddenly she was there, standing on the beach in Calais, with us screaming our joy at her for getting us home, and at ourselves for our unbelievable achievement.
If anyone wants to know why we didn’t join her on the last leg - we talked about it many times in the lead up to it, but there was absolutely nothing that would have got me back into a wet swimsuit and back into that water for a 5th time - as romantic as it might seem, the pain of trying to get 4 of us dry and changed in a 1meter square changing area and also the crew trying to watch 4 green dots in the dark - it was a ‘No Way’ from many voices. Would I do it again? Nope not on your nelly.
So it was done. 10th October 2012 a relay team called the SeaBreezers conquered the channel in 15 hours and 19 minutes. For me I conquered a long term fear of the water, found 4 deep friendships, discovered the resources I have within me, raised money for an important cause, and achieved an extraordinary journey which will be told to my Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren, I hope, with pride.
WWW.Justgiving.com/Nikki-Watkins-Seabreezers
