It all started as a dare last November, on a friend’s birthday, going for a birthday swim without a wetsuit in our slightly chilly Atlantic water. I’m known for wearing layers under a wetsuit, taking long hot showers and shivering on the regular, so this wasn’t likely to be enjoyable. But I’ve watched The Revenant, and recognise that our generation is maybe lacking in real discomfort…and discomfort breeds resilience, resilience builds self esteem, self-esteem is essential for good mental health…and attitude definitely boosts or blocks your immune system.
So, in the midst of a global pandemic, I packed my wetsuit away and started looking forward to the tingle of skin and simplicity of jumping into the sea at short notice, just to cool off on hot days, clear my head, connect with the elements – it just makes you feel alive! In summer we generally have water temperatures of 11-12C with the usual South Easter blowing; it looks beautiful but is ‘vrek koud’ to borrow a friend’s phrase.
In South Africa, you guys are extreme. If I say I run, it’s ‘have you done Comrades?’. Triathlon: ‘how many Ironman’s have you finished?’ Sea Swimming: ‘when are you doing a Robben Island Crossing?’… I got away with saying ‘it doesn’t count if you wear a wetsuit’ up until I started loving going in skins and planned to do a crossing when the water warmed up later in the year, when I’d trained for it, when I knew a bit more.
So, a couple of weeks later, I agreed to attempt a crossing with a very experienced mate of mine – Ty Venter – who has done the crossing every which way, butterfly, quadruple, he swims this stuff as a warm up. He planned to cross with a client first, then swim back to Robben Island with me afterwards. It was a vague ‘possibly next week’, which firmed up three days before, as the conditions looked calm and water warming a little. I swam twice in Big Bay on the Sunday beforehand, in 10-11C, 40 mins only, and it was painful. By Tuesday, it had warmed to a comfortable 15C in places, the wind dropped and it looked incredible.Then Ty had an accident on site and asked me to swim with his client. Gulp.
My newest swim buddy called me the night before. Amped. A matric from Wynberg Boys, on a mission to change the world via his charity swimforchange. I swallowed my doubt and committed to try. After all, we still had the perfect conditions, the most experienced skipper and shark spotter, and relatively warm water so it was still worth going all in. I didn’t doubt my own fitness, as I regularly swim 3-4k in an hour pool session, and am less panicky with kelp, jellyfish, seals and dolphins than I used to be!
Wednesday 4.15am, my daughter decided she’s going to morning swim training, so it was a very early start. 6am I met the boat crew, and learned that the ‘most experienced skipper’ was otherwise engaged and that he was unhappy about allowing a swim pair who hadn’t swum together before. I vowed to abort if it became apparent we couldn’t keep to each other’s pace. The skippers of the day were, I was assured, super experienced. They needed to be, as dawn broke to thick mist.
We had two boats going out, and a third swimmer starting with us – Gavin Biggs, from PE, another Team Tissink athlete. Gavin was in his wetsuit, with one boat, Christopher and I swimming skins, with the other. The boat ride to the island was cold and bumpy, riding the wake of the first boat. I kept all my layers on until the last minute, hugging a hot water bottle, and wearing my swim cap and goggles under my beanie. A bigger boat appeared in the mist, which we swerved around, but we still couldn’t see the island until we were about 30 metres away.
It was hard to get any closer to the shore, so we slipped into the kelp maze and swam our first few chilly strokes to the starting rock. Even if the water was warmer, the mist kept the air temperature cooler. I haven’t started and I’m playing mind games with my head, telling myself its super comfortable and I’m good, I’ve got this. We lined up to start, checked goggles, launched ourselves back through the kelp, hooking armfuls on my GPS watch and trying to sight the boat up ahead in the mist. From the first few strokes, I could see Christopher had spent hours working on his stroke with Tyron. He matched my pace, stroke for stroke, probably less than a metre from my side, and we managed not to collide once. Gavin seemed to set off at a tangent, and there were a couple of moments I felt like we turned 90 degrees just getting back in line with him. The two skippers just had to follow their GPS trackers, with so little visibility above water – I was glad we were all together for the first feed. Underwater views were crystal clear, and I was glad I didn’t see the jellyfish we swam over, early on. My instructions were to stay to one side of the boat, and not inhale petrol gas from the back. This was impossible from early on, as the boat needed to guide the way…we just did our best not to get too high on fumes.
I had planned a feeding strategy of 45 minutes, 30, 30 and hopefully no more. SiS electrolyte gel, a sip of SiS GO and nothing that I’d need to chew on. Even by the first stop I was past ‘conversational’ so just took whatever was thrown at me and unable to ask questions. I think I was given a gel on the third feed, and luckily they opened it, because I could barely work a bottle nozzle. I was cold. At the first feed, I thought, I’ll push through another 15 minutes – an hour is respectable – I don’t think I can do this, not today, not ever. Then I looked at my swim buddy, who just looked full of energy and determination. I lifted myself and started a mantra of names of people rooting for me on land. Over and over. My arms kept turning. I kicked hard trying to warm myself up. The mist got brighter, and a shed a tiny amount of warmth from the sun trying to burn through. If I keep going it will get warmer, I told myself. At the second feed, my spirits were lifted to hear we were over half way. Gavin started to pull just ahead (much to my competitive annoyance) and I wasted energy trying to keep up. I was fit for 3k, strong enough for 5k and the last 2.4k was a bit of a frozen muddle. Coordination wasn’t great by the third feed. My skipper asked if I felt ok to continue. I always try to make jokes that nobody can understand when my face freezes but managed to ask ‘do I LOOK ok???’, and before he could answer I said, ‘lets go’ to Christopher, not giving them a chance to pull me out at this point!
The sun had finally burnt the mist away, and though I couldn’t see land yet (we are low in the water), I could see the back of our Octopus Teacher Island. Where the surfers snorkel. The one we’ve seen Tom Hanks wandering on. The island of seals. This is my local patch and I’m overjoyed to really believe we’re going to make it. Still around 2k to go, Gavin’s boat seems to be getting smaller, and the rocks of that island aren’t getting bigger. A little seal startled us, darting under and around us, welcoming us in. Christopher did a couple of nervous breaststroke strokes, and for once I didn’t stress. By this stage he was definitely stronger than me, and I was happy he slowed briefly to check the little guy out. We’d go through a warm spot, then colder water, and I knew at this point I really couldn’t slow any more. I was literally instructing my arms to reach, catch and pull but everything seemed disconnected. I caught sight of the sandbags along the beach, put my head down and just did whatever I could to propel myself to land. A last wave and thumbs up to my skipper and a few more floundery strokes. I was past caring about how i looked. Over the last little patch of reef in Big Bay and as soon as I saw soft sand underfoot, I stood and gave Christopher the biggest hug of gratitude. Without his unwavering determination, I’d have probably cracked early on in the swim. But I’m not giving him ALL the credit – I stuck it out, I did not quit…I faced discomfort, swam through it and have experienced an incredible glow in my own achievement.
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