Here we are in Dover! Ready to swim, ready to go, all supplies organized, team is primed, shoulders are limber…..and so I wait.

And I wait.

And the forecast is unrelenting, so I wait some more.

We look at other forecasts, hoping to find a glimmer of sunshine, a tamped down wind. We hear from the pilot, who is reassuring but promises nothing. We make jokes, that “it’s a bit shit, innit.” We eat fish & chips, enjoy a pint, play Scrabble, and explore, because there is really so much to see here – so much that reinforces why the English Channel is such a special, magical, mythical swim. Just think of what’s happened over it and under it and in it. I’m not a religious person, but the Channel has a spirit, and when you’re here you are IN IT (innit).

I read messages of support over and over again, wishing I had better, more concrete news to share. I receive a lot of concerned, but well-meaning weather reports. It’s hard to believe that people are so interested in the swim, and sometimes the tears come as I’m overwhelmed with the kindness and grace of my friends, family, and complete strangers who reach out with affirmations. My eyes brim each night as I close them for another sleep, heart bursting with anticipation. Not worrying about the situation at work, the dog, the unrelenting forecast. Just breathe and rest, silent mode, no alarms.

I’m on this roller coaster of emotional torture known to Channel swimming aspirants as “the Dovercoaster.” It is indeed like being in the front seat of a twisting, turning, careening ride, but one with no end in sight. It creates a level of nausea mixed with a low grade of anger, frustration, and despair. The top layer, the visible one, is reinforced with resoluteness and optimism. I will swim.

The weather will turn.

The wind will chill out, just long enough for me and all the others on this ride to get. it. done.

In the meantime, making the most of it becomes a mantra, in the same way I’ve internalized Holger’s “you will do it” said to me a thousand times, because I miss him but I also need to believe it.

In the meantime, fun and exploration abounds. We scour Dover for fish and chips, English breakfasts and good beer. I swim an hour every day in the 2 km harbour loop, close my eyes and pretend I’m IN IT – this is what it might feel like to be actually doing it. We play in the Castle and soak up the tales, and stroll the White Cliffs, bellies full of scone and cream and jam, layered just right. I read Andy’s WhatsApp messages, but not before taking a deep breath because he hasn’t said it’s not happening yet, just to be patient and sit tight.

One of these times the message will say “Get ready!” and we will spring into action. Will it be Saturday? What will that feel like?

The bus ride back from Canterbury is rainy and dark, and I imagine that out there it’s so much worse, and I’m glad to not be there right now in a gale force nightmare.

Trust. Wait. Believe.