It’s done! On 21st September 2022, setting off at 06:23 AM from Samphire Hoe beach near Dover, I successfully swam across the English Channel. It took me 12 hours 32 mins to crawl my way to the French coastline, where I beached myself exhausted. I can say unreservedly that it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, and I certainly didn’t have things my own way; early on my body fell apart and it felt as though I was thrashing through porridge. To make matters worse, I began spectacularly rejecting my 30-minute feeds, and although this can be common affliction for a Channel swimmer, throwing up so violently (and having to swim through it!) is not something I am used to; I felt very frail, the swim was in jeopardy and we needed to adapt.

Finally, with the amazing help from my on-board coach, Nils – my stomach complied. The next 8 hours passed in a fugue state, interspersed with moments of stubborn defiance and then much longer moments of wanting to make it stop! Despite all my training, I seemed to have lost all power in my shoulders, and I couldn’t propel myself through the water as efficiently. My groin and hips were in tatters, with spots of cramp prickling up both hamstrings. I didn’t voice any of this pain to the boat. In my head, to externalise it made it real and their sympathy wasn’t going to help me! So, I just sloshed onwards in silence, locked in my own head. Turns out I'm quite boring!

Towards the end, just when I was utterly spent, the call came to lift my pace if I had any hope of hitting Cap Gris-Nez (the nearest landing point in France). To have missed it would have added another 3 or 4 hours onto my swim….a thought inconceivable to me in my state. The next 1 hr 30 mins was raw torture, getting stung head to toe as I elbowed my way through enormous blooms of barrel jellyfish, dragging my legs through the water which had become two inanimate planks of meat. I had entered the so-called 'graveyard', a name given to an area of water where attempts are most likely to fail - such is the brutality of the tides.

At last, I mustered my best impression of Gollum to crawl onto the nearest available rock on the Cap, clearing the water and officially ending the swim. Unable to properly stand, I crouched and gave the thumbs up to my boat then had a little cry….it’s OK to! My coach had joined me for the last agonising 50 metres of swimming, and I flopped back into the water and gave him a grateful hug – it was over, and I had delivered. Cue support crew going bananas on the boat!  

With some time to digest the events, I’ve settled on some golden rules for those silly enough to consider a Channel crossing attempt;

1.     Don’t Look Back At The White Cliffs – they’re massive and don’t get smaller;  

2.     Don’t Look Out For France – same rules apply, see above;

3.     Focus on your micro-targets. Tackle it feed-by-feed, stroke-by-stroke;  

4.     It Will End……Just. Keep. Swimming

The degree of support I have received throughout the whole challenge – as well as on the day itself – has been astonishing. Inching your way across the busiest shipping lane in the world in excruciating discomfort is a very solitary experience, and it becomes very easy to entertain dark and negative thoughts. It came as an enormous comfort knowing how much support I had, the simply astounding amount of money raised for Great Ormond Street Children’s hospital - £20,000 and counting! This is a figure I never thought possible, and will go a long way to help some of the country's most vulnerable children suffering from rare diseases. My crew kept me updated with messages of support on a small whiteboard; I’d glance at this in between strokes and couldn’t help breaking into a smile – thank you to everyone who has followed and supported me, I couldn’t have done it without you.