I’m calling it: September is the New Year. January may have worn that sash in the past, but she’s never felt like a chance for a reset the way that September does. She’s cold, and the ski season is already in swing. She’s bloated and guilty and a bit hungover from the holidays. She’s confined to the pool, save for perhaps a cursory polar bear dip. She starts and ends in the dark.
September is where the fresh starts happen. A new school year, for awesome people like my kid who kicked off their freaking Master’s degree this month. Q4, for most of us that sell stuff, and Q1 (REALLY) for those in my industry. It’s the time for the closet switcheroo, and the waning days of air conditioning. It’s a swim in the lake on Monday, and then a crushing pool set on Wednesday, still rocking a tan.
September is my birth month, so I get to start a whole new year being a whole new age. This year the idea of a fresh start resonates for a million reasons, whether that’s in redefining relationships, embarking on a new chapter in my training, or putting some things firmly in the past and others squarely in the future.
I haven’t been in the water much since my English Channel swim. I experienced the expected Channel Blues compounded by a personal situation that both drained my energy and charged me with anxiety. The gym helped, the pool didn’t. I could float in the lake, but I didn’t want to put my face in. Walks and podcasts and friends and work powered my days, and I escaped to the Island to hang out beside the ocean and started to get some clarity. Campground conversations started to pull me out of the mire and suddenly, it was the last day of August. Thank fucking god.
September starts with my renewed training goals in mind. Getting stronger and faster in the off-season made all the difference in my successful Channel crossing, so now is the time when I recalibrate the plan, both for swimming and for the other shit that sometimes slithers into my periphery. Stronger, faster, and with joy. September is when the real work begins.
It’s time to plan applications for exciting 2026 events, and to line up the timelines and support I’m going to need for the swims I’ve already committed to. It really does feel like a new year, especially this year. There will be cake, chilly night swims, orange moons, long drives, and a whole new cycle of living and learning.
“September’s coming soon, pining for the moon / But what if there were two, side by side in orbit, around the fairest sun.”
I celebrated my one month Channel-iversary this week. It might have been with a few margaritas, since something happened to my tastebuds during my sixteen hour salt bath. Coffee tastes gross, beer tastes funny, dairy products taste like chalk, but the swim still tastes like a success.
Post-swim London hijinks with Brent.
That being said, I have not been swimming very much. I feel like I’m still processing the swim, and getting little bits of my brain back. I can accurately describe hours one through four and twelve through sixteen, but there’s a big murky middle where sensory deprivation and focus took over and I couldn’t tell you whether I was happy, tired, scared, or hungry. Beginnings and endings are much more interesting to me anyhow.
Back in the Scrabble saddle.
I’ve had ample opportunity to talk with both media and friends about my English Channel swim and was frankly surprised by the level of interest. People seem to be very curious about so many aspects of the swim, giving me a steady supply of topics to write about in the future. That one constant question though: what’s next?
What is next? I made the mistake of committing myself to several summer swims that should have seen me back in the lake racing almost every weekend. I’ve pushed back against the inevitable pressure these events would put on me – self-imposed, but still pressure – and cancelled! As someone who hardly ever cancels anything, I struggled with it and still wonder if I should just pull up my pantaloons and get back out there. To be honest, I have enjoyed not “training” over the last month, and have relished the long dog walks, Rossland hikes, bike rides, hangs with friends, and gym sessions. I haven’t dragged my bum out of bed any earlier than 7:30 am, and I haven’t consumed a single ounce of UCAN.
ATLS Ambassadoring
This month, what’s next has meant my next meal or next episode of The Bear (for the second time through).
I do have a lake swim in mind for later in the season, but that’s a big maybe right now. I don’t know if the logistics can work for both boats and crew, and it’s one I’d definitely want to do right, or not at all. So maybe that’s next, but maybe not. Upcoming holidays will certainly involve swims in Zurich and Thun, but it’s all for the pleasure of leisure at the moment.
♥️
One of the best things about swimming is that there is an almost endless list of potential “nexts”. I’m waiting for the lightning bolt of inspiration to strike. There are local lakes to bag. Big ocean swims that I never considered have now become possibilities. My English Channel swim has opened a lot of doors, especially in my own head, but rushing instead of processing and savouring feels wrong. These first short swims from Sarsons Beach are my way of easing back into the structure that I love and need, but it’s really all about the ease, which I haven’t enjoyed in a few years. So go easy on me, and what’s next will reveal itself soon. Or maybe in a few months. ♥️
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.
đź“·: Stan Stores
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.
📸: Debbie Collingwood
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.
📸: Debbie Collingwood
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.
France in sight
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.
🎥: Debbie Collingwood
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.
The White Horse Pub, Dover
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. ♥️
I’m writing this from the Kelowna airport, where I’m impatiently waiting to board my flight to Toronto, and then London, England!
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of preparations, packing, and handling last minute details. Ran out of time to get my hair and nails done, but at least I remembered to shave my armpits and moisturize my heels, which are also important aspects of an English Channel swim.
I completed my peak week of training in Slocan Lake, which at 15 degrees was the coldest body of water within reach. Extra special thanks are due to Craig and Nicole for the lovely hospitality (and cracking sauna), and Scott for the expert paddling in some crazy Kootenay conditions!
Since then I’ve tapered and sharpened and hydrated and slept and eaten, and finished a very important second quarter at my real job! I’ve connected with my pilot, Paul Foreman, and we are hoping to set off on the good ship Optimist very early next week. I will post updates here, on Instagram, and in a public WhatsApp group that you can join here. Trackers for the swim can be found here (select the boat Optimist at the top) and here.
I’m so grateful to Canadian Tire Jumpstart Children’s Charities for their support, and encourage you to help them on their quest to ensure that every Canadian kid has the chance to participate in sports and activities. Over 4 million kids have accessed Jumpstart grants – let’s help another 4 million do the things they love! I’m getting very close to my fundraising goal of $10,000 thanks to so many generous people. Every dollar goes directly to Jumpstart, and potentially to a kid with a big dream, like swimming the English Channel.
Extra special thanks go to my coach Brent Hobbs, my best pal Debbie Collingwood, and my love Holger Andreas for stepping up to crew my swim. The dream team/motley crew will convene in Jolly London tomorrow morning, and then off to Dover we go! Get ready for some silly walks, Spam jokes, and German efficiency. I’m hoping for a very short trip on the Dovercoaster this time. Stay tuned and thanks for following my grand adventure!
Well, I’m not exactly GOING, but I did GO! And it was awesome!
One of the perks of my profession is that I (usually) get to travel…a lot. Before the dreaded plague became our new normal, I was on the road approximately 50% of the time. And when I’m on the road for work, I always stash my cap, goggles, Duo, snorkel, and highly technological Ziploc baggie full of workouts in my suitcase. I hate to lose ground in my training, especially during spring when I’m full steam ahead on building kilometres for my summer swims. And my job often involves eating in restaurants and raiding the mini-bar late at night when I can’t survive without Pringles. Damn you, Pringles, and your crispy, salty, crunchy stack of freeze-dried mashed potato goodness.
Whenever I’m traveling, I search out open water swimming groups on Facebook to figure out if I can make a group swim happen, since it’s always nice to meet new fish. And failing that, I try to find a reasonably nearby pool where I can crush some laps. Swimmer’s Guide is a great resource that uses your geo-location to find nearby pools.
So I was very excited to learn that my new-ish job would take me to California for 2 weeks of meetings. And also that MY MUM (and MY AUNT and other family/friends) would be in Palm Springs during the weekend in between the 2 work meetings. I avoided the plague like the plague leading up to the trip, and was transported in a tin tube in the sky all the way to LAX where I promptly rented a convertible (a Jeep was all they had) and made the drive up the 405 to Ventura. And even though it was mostly freeway, I could smell the briny ocean air and felt the salt water in my bones. I turned right and jeeped past Casitas (apparently Johnny Cash lived there for a time) until I came to Ojai, and the beautiful Ojai Valley Inn which would become my oasis away for the next week. This beautiful complex is whitewashed adobe with stunning green spaces, surrounded by the Topa Topa and Santa Ynez mountains. It has several pools, but my favourite was the lap pool at the Spa. With 2 lanes and just under 25 yards, I had the pool all to myself all week and treated myself to a daily post-meeting swim under a palm tree.
The Spa pool at the Ojai Valley Inn
At the end of the week, I air-kissed my colleagues goodbye and set off for Palm Springs. The first part of the drive through the mountains was thrilling and scenic, with the remaining 2 hours a bit of a drudge, especially getting through San Bernardino. I’ve written previously about the year my family spent in California when my Dad did his Masters’ degree. My sister and I were 10 and 7 when we drove south from Saskatoon to San Diego, complete with a UHaul and my Mum, of course. After a long day’s drive, we pulled into San Bernardino and searched for a place to sleep before the last push to our new home. Upon seeing a motel sign that said “WATERBEDS!” (and the motel had a pool right out front) my sister and I lost our shit in the back of the Dodge Aspen and pleaded with my Dad to get us a room. We’d never slept in waterbeds, but we were both swimmers, so we knew we’d like it. At this point in our lives we had no way of discerning between a decent but affordable hotel and a complete shithole, but into the office went my Dad (he was so awesome) and we waited for him to come back with the room keys. In the meantime, an altercation of sorts broke out on the balcony above the swimming pool. The man and woman involved appeared to be more permanently entrenched at the hotel than regular old overnight guests, they weren’t wearing much (this may have been due to that lovely California weather but I don’t think so), and they communicated their frustration with one another with colourful language of the sort we’d only heard at slowpitch games. Our eyes grew as wide, and I think my Mum told us to cover our ears. The fracas culminated with the man’s final expression of displeasure, a deep, rumbling, back-of-the-throat conjuring of a giant ball of yellow phlegm which he spat from the balcony into the pool below. And it didn’t just pop from his mouth and straight into the water, but rather oozed its’ way south in a satisfying string. My Mum gagged as only she can, and just then, my Dad came running out, grinning with the room keys clutched triumphantly in his hand.
I don’t remember if we just drove away or whether there was an effort to return the room keys, but the story has become legend in our family and I couldn’t resist telling it here. I’d never seen a loogie horked so meaningfully before then, and I haven’t to this day.
Another awesome thing about our year in California was that we got to attend swim meets in exciting places, including Palm Springs. Our Palm Springs meet took place sometime in the early summer, I do believe, and it was so blisteringly hot that we had to be pulled out of the pool and carried to the grass after our races so we wouldn’t burn our feet on the scalding pavement. I don’t remember much else from that trip, so when I pulled into town on March 11, 2022, I was almost seeing Palm Springs for the first time. Using Swimmer’s Guide, I’d located a few options and was very much looking forward to cranking out a workout in the morning sun. But when I stepped on the deck of the Palm Springs Swim Center, I knew that I’d been there before. I knew that I’d been pulled out of that exact same pool over to that exact same grass, under the exact same shady palms. My exact same Mum was even right there on the deck! It all came rushing back to me in a flurry of memory, nostalgia, synapses firing, and missing my Dad. And I had a great swim, a refreshing outdoor shower, and a delicious smoothie.
I was here when I was 11!What one might call “Happy as Larry”
On Day 2, we ventured in a slightly different direction and headed for the Palm Desert Aquatic Center. The drive into this beautiful sports complex is lined with palm trees and makes one feel very fancy indeed, despite the very reasonable $6 USD admission fee. Having not swam in a 50 m pool since March 2020, I was overjoyed to do a 4km long course workout as the sun shone down on the sparkly water. It was very warm, but I was able to get out of the pool without being carried, even though my Mum probably would have if I’d asked her. She took some video – essential as I’m working out a few major stroke issues – and most of her photos only have half a thumb creeping into the frame. Still, what’s better than driving around to swimming pools in a convertible Jeep, WITH YOUR MUM!??
Long course, at long last!Always bring your Mum to swim practice
I had to leave the desert and head to Los Angeles for further meetings, but I wasn’t as successful in finding lap pool times that would coordinate with my work schedule. It seems that March is just a wee bit too early for the outdoor pools. I did get close to the ocean, at least, and I did indulge in catching a few rays at poolside at my next hotel, the Sunset Marquis. No-one horked off the balcony at this place, thank goodness.
Not long enough to swim laps convincingly.But perfect for this 🙂
It’s all in the balance, but it was good to be out in the world again, in a top-down Jeep with my Mum in the passenger seat.
I woke up this morning, tired – and having cancelled my usual Monday a.m. swim. I’ve been a little unmotivated lately. I didn’t realize that it was International Women’s Day.
The great Gertrude Ederle
And then, as usually happens when I spend time scrolling the socials for news, opportunities, and a much needed dopamine hit, I started to see a whack of posts, memes, diatribes, confessionals, laments, and promotions heralding THE DAY. Not to be left out, I thought about a post that I’ve been pondering a while about something I’ve really noticed in my open water swimming journey, and I decided to bloody well write it before the inspiration faded, as it has so many times during the last few months when I’ve had something to say, and then didn’t in the end. Meh. Covid.
As a relative newcomer to this open water life, it’s become clearer and clearer to me that women – or SWIMMEN (if I may coin a word) – are the backbone AND child-bearing hips of open water swimming. My training partners have mostly been women. My biggest cheerleaders are women. My support teams have mostly been comprised of women. When I planned my Christina Lake swim last fall, 5 women appeared ready to help. I meet women when I travel to events. Sometimes, we sit on the school bus to the start line and encapsulate our entire swimming history in 4 minutes, and then we’re friends. For life. The upper echelon of this community also seems committed to support and share – interacting through the channels that connect us through this weird time in the world. Jaimie Monahan has commented on some of my posts, which flummoxes me, because if I met her in person, I would probably die a messy fan-girly death.
I have never felt marginalized or disaffected within the open water swimming community. The connections I’ve made through events, training, and even my social media presence have largely been with amazing and awesome women, who sometimes reach out just to extend a wave of support. The power of this community is that it is free of boundaries, free of bullshit, and full of heartfelt support. If you’re reading this and you’ve ever reached out to me, I hope you know how much it’s meant.
The great Lynne Cox
Here’s where I name some amazing SWIMMEN so shout these names RIGHT OUT LOUD and you can too: AS LOUD AS WE CAN:
Jaimie Monahan, Ali Gartland, Ella Chloe Foote, Chloe McCardel, Emily Epp, Deanne Steven, Debbie Collingwood, Suzanne Welbourn, Sarah Thomas, Beth French, Lynne Cox, Elaine Davidson, Alina Warren, Joanne Malar, Amber Honeybaker, Catherine Breed, and many, many others.
And let us honour:
the women who cross Channels
the women who cross Channels several times (my goodness)
the women who dream of crossing Channels
the women who support paddle
the women who drive the boats
the women who get their boat licenses the day before a swim so they CAN drive the boat and support their nieces
the women who share a lane
the women who can handle the cold
the women in the hot tub, laughing
the women who lend a cap when yours rips
the women who lifeguard
the women who volunteer
the women who drive their daughters to swim practice
the women who make Rice Krispie squares for their daughters’ swim meets
the women who swim through difficult times
the women who are just starting out
the women who break records, and barriers, in this sport and all others
We need more than just a day to remember and honour our commitments, contributions, and responsibilities, but let’s take these precious 24 hours and stand with each other, trailblazers and newbies alike and those in between. Or swim with each other. Just don’t touch my feet.
I won’t miss my other swims this week.
Strong women. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them. And may we swim with them, always.
Farewell 2019. I’m glad to see your buttcrack as you saunter off into memory with your pants pulled halfway down.
Still, there were highlights among the lowlights. Aren’t there always? Swimming offers me the most consistent vehicle for balance. No matter what’s happening, I always feel better when I’m in the pool. Even if I’m just floating around, thinking “Look at where you are in the world.”
Highlights
Swimming in beautiful European lakes during my summer bike touring adventure. Eibsee, Walchensee, Lake Sils, Starnbergsee…beautiful, clean bodies of water that felt so amazing and rewarding after long days on the bike.
312,000 training meters.
Second successful Skaha Lake Ultra Swim. I was slower, and it hurt more, but I made it across the finish line and scarfed a giant sandwich and kissed my kid who paddled the whole way beside me.
My first open water swim in Sweden – the Riddarfjardsimningen – was exciting and fun and a great way to build in a destination swim with a holiday I’ve wanted to take forever.
Getting the green light to swim the Sri Chinmoy 26 km Lake Zurich swim next August. This will be my focus for 2020. I’m gonna give it my all.
The Lower Columbia Masters Swim Club – an opportunity to swim locally with great friends. I didn’t make as many practices as I’d have liked, but I did get to swim with the team for FrightFest in Kelowna in October. I’m lucky to have such a sweet community of fellow open water enthusiasts.
Lowlights
Being sick and tired for 3 months after my Dad passed away put a major dent in my training and my annual kilometer goal.
My Dad passed away. I don’t know that I’ll ever get over it, but I hope he’d be proud of what I hope to accomplish in my swimming goals.
Not organizing a swim in Copenhagen while I was there. Not that I didn’t have any fun. And now I have a good reason to return!
Cancelling plans for the Slocan Lake and Christina Lake swims, which would have been really awesome additions to my summer events. I need to remember that summer is only really 8 weeks long and that there are only so many things that one can do. This one was pretty busy.
2020 Goals (resolutions come later…. once January has a chance to pull itself onto the deck)
Sri Chinmoy 26 km Lake Zurich Swim. I’m going to do it!
Portland Bridge Swim
Christina Lake – a good warmup for the above longer events
7th Across the Lake Swim
Cough up the dough for a proper training smartwatch
Consistent, focused training that will take me into the Lake Zurich swim in the best shape of my life. I’ve found a Kelowna-based coach and I am so excited for this man to kick my ass!
Yoga, biking, skiing, and all the other cross-training activities I love.
Look at where you are in the world. Not so bad, is it? I wish you all the best for 2020.
