swimming the English Channel
Sam Penny's journey to conquer the Everest of swimming
This story is only about the day of my English Channel swim and the few days either side. This is not about the journey, which was far more challenging than this day. One day I will attempt to capture the journey in words. "If the journey wasn't challenging, the destination wouldn't be rewarding". Firstly, getting to Dover is a waiting game. One of the traditions of the Channel is that just after 7pm, you get a call about whether you are swimming the next day or not. The boat pilot waits for the 7pm weather forecast before the final decision is made. Quite often, you have a fair idea if it's going to be a swimmable day based on the forecasts. But you just need to wait. And wait we did. On four nights we received a call from our support head, Tim Denyer, about if we were swimming. We based ourselves in Canterbury which was only 25mins away from Dover. Such a beautiful village and gave us many opportunities to escape and keep our minds occupied. Dover isn't the most exciting town. Bascially you only go to Dover to leave. Each morning I would drive to Dover Harbour for a swim. I'd always run into other Channel swimmers. The camaraderie was surprising. Out in the water we would chat, on the beach we would chat, in the cafe we would chat. Relay teams and solo swimmers were all there to realise their dreams. All had been along their own journey to get them that far. Here we all were. We all wanted the same thing. We weren't competing against each other, we were supporting each other. I was slot four on the boat Viking Princess. What this means is that there are three other swimmers that need to swim before I have my opportunity. One by one they left. The weather had been perfect and when our tide started on 1 August, the first went. By the 3rd, all three had gone and succesfully made it. I was next in line. On the Friday 3 August I had tracked two friends make their journey across the Channel. One in 17hours, the other in 11 and a half hours. But both were now channels swimmers. They both made it. I waited for my call. Friday night call: Winds were too high on Saturday but looking good for Sunday Saturday night call: Sunday was a swimmable day but Monday looked ideal so we just will swim on Monday. This was Tim's call, not ours. Probably a great idea considering the two solo swimmers failed that day. Sunday night call: It's on! We meet at Dover Harbour at 4.30am. The weather was looking ideal! The winds were going to be calm all day. We were excited as you'd expect! Months of work was just about to be put to the test. When we got there, the boat's water pump had failed so we couldn't go. We watched nine other boats leave the harbour as we headed back to Canterbury. It's very hard to describe how we felt. To hide a lot of our disappointment, we hid behind the phrase, "it is what it is". We had mastered all we could, such as training and nutrition, but weather and a mechanical failure was out of our control. There was no sense in being angry. What would be the point? Instead a few tears from Helen and I, sitting for an hour in disbelief and then we left the house to take our mind off it. We made some dumb videos and laughed all day long. Constantly in our thoughts though was whether the boat was going to be fixed in time. We knew a weather change was coming through later on Tuesday afternoon and will blow any chances later in the week. We HAD to go Tuesday. But only if the boat could be fixed.
Monday night call: We waited for that call. We paced endlessly. We knew an engineer was fixing the boat at 5pm and that they had the parts. It was now 7pm... Any minute now. The previous three nights, our call came within 20mins of 7pm. It was now 7.30pm. 8pm. 8.30pm. Something must be wrong. Why haven't we heard anything? 9pm came and still nothing. I sent a text to Tim. "Are we going?". He called straight away. The boat couldn't be fixed but they had found another Channel boat to help us out, Louise Jane. As the weather was expected to change for the worse at about 3pm, there was only room for a 12hour swimmer. Louise Jane still had one more swimmer on the tide to take across, but this swimmer was a 20hour swimmer. It would have been unwise to try and take this swimmer across as the chance of success would be extremely low. The whole point of these boat pilots is to pick the weather to increase your chance of a successful crossing. They are experts at this. Luckily, I was recognised as a 12hour swimmer, so at 9pm we got the green light that we were swimming with Louise Jane the next day. We had to be at the harbour at 5.30am. A very civilised time. There wasn't much excitement as we had already been through the emotions the night before. We had already had a practice run, we were already packed so we went to bed and got a brilliant night's sleep. There were no nerves. Game Day As we had "rehearsed" this the day before, the morning was very straight forward. Drink coffee, eat some pancakes, pack the car and drive the 25mins to Dover Harbour. Due to our unfortunate day the day before, we hadn't told anyone apart from close family that we were on. Helen didn't want to jinx us so we were under "radio silence" until we were on the boat and it started moving. It arrived, we boarded for our short journey to Shakespeare Beach where we would be starting from. Now it was real! It was time to tell the world that this thing was happening! Helen greased me up with the special Channel grease, meanwhile I finished a couple more pancakes, a sports drink while we motored into position and waited the pilot's ok for me to dive overboard. It's time to dive! I had imagined that dive into the water so much in my head. Off I went. Oh crap! As a dived in, I got a cramp in my foot. This can't be! All I could think was that this was going to be a long day. I knew I hadn't drunk enough fluids the day before and before my swim had started, I was in trouble. It was a good dive though. I swam the 50m to shore. As I walked up the beach, I fixed my goggles one last time. I looked up at the white cliffs in front of me as a wave of adrenaline rushed through my veins. I was just about to swim the English Channel. It was at this moment that I really knew this was happening. All those months of training and determination were just about to be tested. I turned around and put my arms in the air. The boat sounded its horn to signal the start of my swim. I shouted out "Shake and Bake Baby!" Even at this time, I still didn't take myself too seriously. I wanted to enjoy this moment, not be eaten up with nerves. As I swam alongside the starboard side of the boat, it then started to move with me. My view for the next many hours was merely going to be the blue hull of the Louise Jane with its little dolphins on the bow and stern. My feeding plan was to stop every 30mins for a very quick gulp of whatever my nutritionist had specified. The early cramp in my foot had started to manifest itself as cramps in my hip flexors each time I had to tread water at my feeds. The water was warm as was the day. I had trained for cold water, but was well over 19degs, 2 more than what I was expecting. Meanwhile the day was sunny and expected to hit 28degs. I asked Tim to up my fluids as I was concerned about dehydration. At my third feed, I felt it wise to tell him about my cramps. He called my nutritionist back in Australia to tell her to see if we needed to change our plan. After another 90mins, the increase in fluids and a magnesium drink had resolved the issues. Every hour I felt so good. After 3hours I said to Helen and Tim, "I just feel so comfortable". These were the first words I had uttered since my start. If fact, I spoke less than 20 words on my whole swim. I felt so great in the water. I had zero pain, zero fatigue and my pace was strong. As each hour went by, my condition didn't change. I just felt great. I stormed through 6,7,8hours. Now I was in uncharted territory as I had never swum more than 8hours before. Everything was going to plan. We were ahead of schedule, the feeds were going well, my stroke rate was always around 69 (dude) and I was not fatiguing. I often get asked what I think about on long swims. Usually I will have a song in my head, I'd count, maybe drift off and think about work stuff. But on this day, it was boring! After the excitement of the start leaves and you get into the rhythm, all I did for the entire day was count to ten. Stroke...breathe...stroke...blow bubbles and that's one...stroke...breathe...stroke...blow bubbles and that's two... Sometimes I would drift away and realise I was at 18 so once I got to 20, I'd start again, counting to 10. I just couldn't think of anything. I couldn't get a song to stick. I was in a trance. But it worked. Every 30mins came around fast. Each feed meant I was getting close to France. Every breath I could see Helen, Tim and the crew chatting and laughing. They looked like they were having a great time. Meanwhile, there I was. Counting to 10. And swimming. It's not fun swimming for hours, but it was what I was there to do. We knew the weather was going to change around the 8hour point and just like clockwork, it did. The wind picked up to produce a rather annoying chop, but worse still, the chop was bouncing off the boat back at me. With chop coming at me from both sides, my rhythm had been broken, I had to change my stroke to suit the conditions and then my shoulders started to go. A few hours of this was going to be torture. On several occasions, my left shoulder seized to the point that I couldn't even do a stroke. An intense pain would strike me in my shoulder. Was this happening? I still had 4hours to go. This wind was getting worse. On each occasion this happened, Tim and Helen weren't watching. It only happened a handful of times, but when it did... WOW! It was intense! Then Helen saw it and saw I was in trouble. She told me after that she told Tim and they kept a close eye on me. From the past experience, I knew that I could change my stroke style to take the strain off the muscle that was flaring up. It took a good couple of hours to work through this. My shoulders were killing me, but no longer seizing. I was now "fine". That day, I always had in my mind that it would be a 12hour swim. I had 23 feeds to get through and I was counting every single one. Tim would hold up a sign when I would enter a new section such as the shipping channels, separation zone or French inshore waters. I felt relieved when I hit French waters. France was perhaps 2 and a half hours away? I was still in this chop. Each time I looked up I could see France but it still looked so far away. And then Tim told me he needed another 5% from me. "I've already been giving you 100%!" I exclaimed. I was in pain. I can't give more. If he needs more, does it mean the tide is going to take us past Cap Gris Nez and add another couple of hours on? I started to feel down. I had had enough of swimming. At 8hr30min, Tim said I was on Grant Burrell's track. Grant had swum the day before and done just over 10hrs. Surely not! Have I just got 90mins left to swim? But now he was wanting 5%more? We were getting close to 10hours and France was not getting closer. In fact, you can see Dover for nearly the entire swim. It's so depressing. 10hour feed and everything changes. Tim said, "give me everything and we'll get in under an hour". No way! Less than an hour of swimming! I tried to go hard but the pain in my shoulders was still so intense. I tried to lift but I couldn't. We hit 10hr30mins and Tim throws another bottle for me to gulp down. "Mate, this is your last feed. Take a quick gulp, just go boy!" And go I did! All the pain left my body as the rush consumed me. I flew. I could sense France was getting closer. I could see the excitement build on the boat. Tim held up a sign "400m to go!" In my mind, 400m was going to be 6, maybe 7mins. I absolutely nailed that last 400m. I went as hard and as fast as I could. I could feel the end of months of hard work becoming a reality. I worked my arse off for this last 400m and I was going to fly. After seeing nothing but jellyfish the entire journey, I suddenly saw the ocean floor. Wait. That's France! I am swimming over France! In a cruel way, to complete an English Channel swim, you have to clear the water. I was headed to the cliffs of Cap Gris Nez at low tide. At low tide, the surrounding rocks are called Devil's Teeth and I realised why. After having to swim and pick my way over rocks for 30m I finally made it to a part where all the rocks beyond were above the waterline. This was the end. After swimming for 11hr2mins, I had to negotiate slippery and uneven rocks. My legs barely worked and I had no balance. A cruel way to finish but it's part of swimming the Channel. I stood up, raised my arms and at that moment, it was over. I looked up at the cliffs and back at the boat. My job was done. As a momento, I told the kids I was going to bring them back a rock from France. With 6 of us in the family, I picked out 6 rocks and stuffed them down the back of my togs. I then had to pick my way back over the rocks and swim back to the waiting tender to take us back to the boat. I felt triumphant as we motored back and I saw Helen. I staggered onto the boat and we hugged. This was an emotional moment. We had lived this journey everyday for so long and now it was over.
As we motored back to Dover, we just chatted and laughed. The sense of relief was huge. The sense of achievement hadn't sunk in. I was now a Channel swimmer but should I be feeling something different? We got back to the harbour and still had a 2hr drive back to where we were staying that night in Surrey with my brother. Along the way I stopped for a couple of burgers which gave me hiccups for half an hour. During this time I did a radio interview back in Australia, trying to hide my hiccups. I started to read through all the social media comments and messages people had left. There were hundreds. Helen had done live videos throughout the day which brought everyone in. There were just so many! We finally arrived in Surrey. I wasn't tired. I couldn't sleep. My arms weren't working that well but I felt reasonably fresh. I woke at 5am the next day. Sore still in my shoulders but didn't need more sleep. We packed to fly back to France for a holiday just a couple of hours later. We were so relieved that I was capable of travelling. I milked it and made the kids take the bags. In retrospect, my Channel swim was easy. I almost felt like a bit of a fraud because it was so easy. My swim was only 11hours compared to some who were over 17hrs! But then I realised it was easy because I never missed a training session, I worked hard for months, I did what my nutritionist told me to do, I did everything Tim asked of me. I remained focused all the way for months. It was easy because I was ready. I prepared for the worst and got the best. I trained for cold water and night time swimming, but they didn't happen. After spending a couple of days resting in Provence, France, I woke on Thursday morning and finally sat down to read through some of the comments and messages. Then it hit me what I had achieved. I never intended to be an inspiration to others, but that is what happened. I had shared my journey with everyone they all felt part of it. Crazy was the other word that was used. After 4 days rest, I could swim the Channel again tomorrow. But I won't. :) When I started back in August 2017 on this journey, it was crazy. 34km across the English Channel. It's a bloody long way! But the more I trained, 4hr, 6hr, 8hr swims became normal. 10km swims were short swims, of which I would often do 3times a week. The closer I got to Game Day, the less crazy this challenge became. Game Day was more of a formality. It was the journey that was the challenging part.
9 Comments
Susan. Penny
12/8/2018 07:51:18
What an inspiring coverage. Great swimmer and great video coverage. It’s better than reading a book. The message is also there for your kids and that is work hard in life and you will succeed
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Stewart Penny
12/8/2018 08:23:48
Sam’s story demonstrates the power of passion and personal commitment. It always amazes me what can be achieved by ordinary people. Thanks for the story whilst fresh, Sam.
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Falu and Michael Eyre
12/8/2018 10:25:56
WOW Thank you Sam for such an amazing story, as Sue said it is like a book and Falu and I were right there with you I almost felt wet reading it. We also realize that the swim itself, while initself a monumental achievement, is only the tip of a huge iceberg of training, commitment and giving up many pleasures to achieve a single incredible goal. Well done and we feel privileged to read your exhilarating account. You and Helen deserve a scrumptious curry meal for your efforts. 😘
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Sam Penny
12/8/2018 15:46:10
Thanks Falu! Curry is always welcome ?
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Dwaynski
12/8/2018 11:57:28
Congratulations to you and your crew, mate. I can't wait to read the full account. Though this teaser was an emotional run down.
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Dwaynski
12/8/2018 11:59:44
That should read "rub down", not "run down". 😉
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Sam Penny
12/8/2018 15:45:00
Thanks Dwayne. The support from so many people has been overwhelming and unexpected. Thanks for all your comments along the way mate. They really helped.
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Rich
12/8/2018 19:28:50
Hi Sam,
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Peter Keay
13/8/2018 13:27:20
Amazing Sam. Proud to know you. 6 Ps obviously worked a treat....
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AuthorSam Penny is attempting to swim the English Channel in August 2018. Follow his journey here. Archives
August 2018
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