Ever since attending a training camp in Mallorca earlier this year, I've been told not to look forwards, not to think about France, just to keep swimming until your hands hit sand. I've been told that so many times, by so many people, and although I haven't followed the advice entirely diligently, it's burned into my brain. I never imagined it literally happening, but that's exactly how it ends...
As morning arrives properly, I get my first glimpse of France, though this is also tempered by the fact that I can still see plenty of big ships. I know I must be (at best) still well in the NE shipping lane, and as it turns out I'm right; I will not be in French inshore waters for another 3 hours or so...
As soon as I hit the water and begin swimming, I feel much better. Up until now, the day has been full of unfamiliar things; the decision making, the boat, the presence of so many family and friends, the hoopla. But by now, the simple act of turning my arms over endlessly is as familiar to me as it gets; an old, old, friend...
The bottom line is this: The forecast has not been accurate, and conditions outside the harbour are not ideal. We have the option to wait until just before high water (around 11pm) by which time the swell will have died back, BUT the forecast is for poor conditions to develop on the French side around lunchtime the following day. The longer I wait to begin, the more likely I am to swim into rough conditions just when I will be tiring...
FACT: really long sessions in the pool are mind-bendingly, soul-crushingly, will-someone-please-do-me-a-kindness-and-shoot-me-now boring. Actually most of my pool swims incorporate lots of intervals (which is sporty-speak for stopping then starting again just when you've reached the optimal moment of feeling utterly ******d), but once a week I need to get used to just swimming steadily for. a. long. time.
Slog The Channel is an independent fundraising initiative in support of Carers Trust, Registered Charity No. 1145181 (England & Wales) / SC042870 (Scotland)
