We did it!

With the expert navigation of the pilots of Optimist, unrivalled coaching and encouragement from Brent Hobbs, and Debbie Collingwood’s superb attention to all of my nutritional needs, I swam from England to France in 16 hours and 33 minutes on a spring tide.

I started at 2:30 am GMT from Samphire Hoe near Dover and walked on to the beach at Wissant, France at around 7 pm CEST. I spent ten minutes celebrating with Brent (who followed me in from the boat as Official Safety Swimmer) and a group of lovely French people who were enjoying the beautiful evening sunlight. Then, as the French Coast Guard dictates, I walked back into the water, swam about 200 metres out to the boat, climbed a ladder, hugged and cried and hugged and cried, and then promptly fell asleep for the three hour journey back to Dover.

To be honest, my brain hasn’t seemed to “upload” the swim quite yet, potentially due to some unexpected post-swim information that demanded some extra processing. I can remember sections, like standing on the pebble beach in the dark at the start, thinking “Holy shit, I guess I’m going to do this!?!” when the boat sounded the horn and I went for it. I remember finding it difficult to confirm where my position should be relative to the boat, especially in the dark, as I was told to swim on the starboard side. I do always breathe bilaterally, but my right side is dominant and much more comfortable.

I received my first jellyfish love bites on my face and my forearms about an hour in. It hurt and it stung and the pain lasted much longer than I expected, but it turned out to be nothing I couldn’t handle. Nobody peed on me from the boat, thank goodness. I saw many other pretty and colourful jellies along the way, which also made the experience feel magical and surreal. Sometimes they bumped into me, as if giving me a little nudge.

And yes, despite taking Zofran and other anti-nauseants and antihistamines ahead of time, and relying on UCan as my priority energy source, I still vomited around 4 hours in. If it hadn’t been for Debbie’s approach to my feeding plan, and the magnificent concoctions she created that gave me nutrition, hydration, and pain and nausea management exactly when I needed it, I don’t think my swim would have been succcessful. Because this swim is HARD – and required me to turn on my speed and kick and push and get faster and stronger just when my body would normally tell me to go and fuck my hat. I always had enough sustenance and calories and focus. Maybe it was eye of newt after all. Maybe she’s….a wizard.

The middle of the swim – hours four to twelve – are murky in my mind. The sun rose, I changed to polarized goggles, and I was aware that my left boob was just hanging out the whole time, even though I had specifically chosen a bathing suit that normally holds the girls in and doesn’t chafe. I guess my boob wanted some glory too. I tried to adjust this during my feeds to save time, but she persisted. Oh well.

The last four hours in French waters were hard and forced me to dig deep to places I’d hoped I could access but never really had before. The strength of the current that was pushing me back into the Channel instead of into the Cap forced me to use every bit of mental and physical strength I could muster. Brent communicated this risk to me during my feeds, and I knew he meant it. I could sense the concern from the captain and Stan, the official observer from the CSPF. This is the section where most swims are aborted, especially when the tides change. And given that while I am a swimmer with reasonable technique and endurance, I am not particularly strong or fast. I’m 50 and more physiologically suited to pinching perogies. I have small hands and feet, and I’m 161 cm tall. The “Channel weight” I’ve maintained during my training helps to keep me warm and buoyant (and cuddly), but it doesn’t make me faster.

So – I had to find the will somewhere. I had to reason with myself, and tell myself that I could do anything for one more hour, and then another hour. I had to think about my Dad and conjure his voice, saying “Come on! You’ve gotta be tough!!” I had to use the power of the words of the people on the boat, who believed in me. Somehow, the shore grew closer, and then I was standing. And then I was walking, and crying, and clearing the water on all sides as required.

There were many more people who contributed to this effort. People who paddled for me, like Scott. People who built kick-ass training plans, like Amy. People who swam with me, put in kilometres alongside me, and urged me to get in the water, like Phred. People who saw that I wasn’t actually very tough, like my RMT Terry Downs who watched me levitate when she tried to work on my neck. And Jess Deglau, who is an amazing physiotherapist AND one of Canada’s best butterfliers ever. Emma France from Dover Channel Training, who introduced me to UCan.

Holger. My Mum. The Hoffmans. Nicole and Craig. Martyn. Kylie and Robynne. Donna and Don. Brendan. Sarah. My ATLS SwimSquad. Gary and Jane and the lovely champagne!

And Catherine Taylor-Ludolf. Without her kind and selfless offer to switch spots, I would have had to wait until September, 2026 to attempt my English Channel Swim. I know she’s gonna smash it out of the park. She’s such a star.

I also just achieved my fundraising goal. I raised $10,000 for Canadian Tire Jumpstart Children’s Charities through the generous donations from people all over the world, including The Earl of Sandwich, who we met on the train from London to Dover. Many people donated twice – which truly makes my heart grow three sizes. Jumpstart has been a dream to work with. I will keep my donation page open as long as folks are interested.

After a few emotional days in Edinburgh, I sit on the grass in London Fields, where I’m just about to have a swim at my favourite London Lido. Everything is going to be ok, and maybe this is just the beginning.

Everything is ok and maybe this is just the beginning. ♥️