FAST EDDIE'S ENGLISH CHANNEL STORY

Edited by Kimberly Howard

Thursday July 8th, 2010. Virgin Atlantic Flight 020 San Francisco-London Heathrow, Jumbo Jet 747-400! I would like to highlight the fantastic service provided by Virgin Atlantic! Very professional, very friendly and very supportive of my dream! Special thanks to the Check In people, to the In flight Crew and to the pilots! You made my flight very special!


Friday July 9th

After answering the famous question from the English Immigration Officer; What is the reason of your trip to UK? I was officially in England. He told me that if I wanted to reach France faster I could always take the Chunnel.

Eddie Peinado and Virgin Atlantic First Officer Dave Mutty who personally escorted me to the baggage claim to meet my friend and pacer Gary Bruce.

After a warm welcome from Gary Bruce who brought me special regards from the Queen, who unfortunately didn't come to the airport to receive me, we drove to Capel La Ferne, Folkestone and settle into our caravan.

Home sweet home.

After we put away our luggage we went for our first training session in Dover, a 10 minute drive from our caravan site.

I guess we never made to the beach.

After a couple pints of English beer, Fish and Ships we had to finish the damage with some home made pecan pie and chocolate cream pie. Gary Bruce training really hard!

We finally made to the beach next day for our first swim.


On July 11th Kim Howard, The President of the South End Rowing Club and the Captain of my Solo English Channel swim team arrived in London. The team was almost complete.

Kim piloting Eddie and Gary at Dover Harbour.



On July 15th, Gary and I went to London to pick up my father at Heathrow airport. I had a chance to put a swim workout at the 36 meter swimming pool at located at the Hamptons neighborhood.


The team is completed! Edison senior and official swim team cook arrived bringing a bag with spices, cooking knives and a chef's uniform.

Edison Senior and his fantastic warm smile!

David and Evelyn, Varne Ridge owners and our guests of honor for the paella dinner (at their own house), couldn't believe we were there for an English Channel Solo Swim attempt, since we were having so much fun during the days prior the swim.

Paella Valenciana.

Every night after special dinner prepared by either Kim or Edison Sr. we went to have a night cap, or many night caps, sitting at the cliff located in front of our caravan park, facing France.

Picture taken by a very tipsy Kim. In this picture Eddie and Gary drinking Sambuca, Port and smoking cigars celebrating a succesful training journey!


THE BAD WEATHER MOVES IN

On July 17th a low pressure moves in bringing bad weather.



50 MILE AN HOUR WINDS




During those days of bad weather Gary and I still trained at the Dover Harbour. We kept meeting this Australian girl that was attempting a solo double crossing. Indeed she was number two during my window using the same boat I would be using, waiting for my swim to happen so she could do hers. The most annoying thing was that she was pushing me to go in bad weather because she needed to do her swim. She even told me in a very arrogant way that she was going for a triple crossing and that was important for me to do my swim so she could do hers.

After seriously irritating me and later on irritating Gary, my pacer, we told her that the GO/NO GO decision was up to the skipper of the boat and not up to the swimmer. What a b..! On top of that she was badmouthing her previous pilot from the Channel Swim and Pilot Federation for her failure on a previous attempt. Later on we learned from other Channel swimmers how bad her reputation in the swimming community was.

JULY 17TH 23:59; MY SWIM WINDOW IS OPEN!


On Saturday July 17Th, at 7 PM I called the boat pilot, Reg Brickell and he told me that no swim for tomorrow due to the bad weather but Monday, July 19Th, it might be a good day. Since my crew and I had already done a detailed briefing about the crossing and since I was not going to swim tomorrow we decided to go to THE SHIP INN, aka "Reg's Office", for Happy Hour.

No swim? Have a pint! Picture taken by Kim Howard.

18 July 2010




At 7 PM I called Reg Brickell, our pilot and the captain of the Viking Princess, and he told me to be at the Dover dock at 5:15 AM. We had a swim!

I went back to the caravan and told my team members the good news. We were very excited and happy for the adventure about to come. Gary and Kim scrambled to pack their boat bags, Edison Sr. made us a quick pasta dinner, and then the four of us spent some time notifying people about the swim.

At 10, my dad made gnocchi from scratch for the boat ride, which was baking until after midnight. I prepped the vegetable soup, tea, coffee and water so they’d be ready to be heated early the next morning. None of us went to bed before midnight.

After sending some emails to family and friends, I stopped by the cliff right in front of the caravan park. The weather was good and I could see the lights in France. It was a fantastic, beautiful night. I prayed and asked the Channel Gods for protection and for a good crossing and after that I quietly went to our trailer and tried to sleep.

At 2 AM I was wide awake. I had less than two hours of sleep. Lack of sleep was nothing new to me since I intentionally did many long workouts on only one or two hours of sleep during my training sessions back in San Francisco. I woke up, prepared coffee for my crew, heated the soup, tea and warmed the water. Kim, Edison Sr. and Gary woke up one by one and got ready.

At 4 AM Gary and I drove to Dover Harbor with all the swimming, feeding and pilot gear. As we arrived in Dover, Gary asked me how I was feeling and I told him I was ready. I had trained as well as I possibly could. As an airline pilot, I did most of my training (probably 65%) tied to swimming pools all over the USA, and the rest of my training was done at home in the San Francisco Bay with the South End Rowing Club, one of the best places to train for the English Channel because of the similar conditions.

After Gary dropped me at the Dover Dock, he went back to pick up Kim and my father. During that wait I had a chance to meet Panamanian swimmer Cesar Barria, a disabled swimmer who also was attempting a solo crossing that day. Cesar and his team were waiting for their boat. He had a TV crew with him and under the Panamanian TV lights we hugged and prayed together and we wished each other “buena suerte” (good luck). Cesar lost one of his legs in a car accident.

Later on I heard his crew had to pull him out the water after 13 hours, due to the strong currents along the French coast. Cesar is a successful swimmer in Panama having crossed the Straits of Gibraltar in 2006.

At 4:45AM Gary returned with Kim and my father and at 5AM the Viking Princess docked. As we loaded the boat, we greeted our pilots Reg and Ray Brickell and met the official Channel swim Observer, Mikee Phillips -- what a character. At 5:15 we were on our way to Shakespeare Beach. It was one of the most beautiful mornings I have ever seen.

During the ride to the beach, I took a short video and then I was all business. I had on just my swim cap and swim suit and Kim greased me up with lanolin. At 5:30 we stopped 100 yards from the beach.

After wishes of luck from my crew, I climbed on the rail. Right before jumping in the water, a wave of emotions overtook me. Suddenly it hit hard what I was about to do. Scenes of my life flashed through my mind at light speed, and then my body went numb. I was nervous, excited, scared and thrilled all at once. I looked at the ocean, saluted my gods and spiritual guardians, jumped in the water and swam towards the beach.

I reached shore, stood on the rocky beach facing France, and at 5:36 AM the Viking Princess blew its horn to start the swim.

The Start

The first few strokes were all over the place. I was hyperventilating and felt panicky. I wasn’t expecting this reaction from myself at all. Apparently all the anxiety I had been beating back for months suddenly surfaced and took control of me. Even though my stroke per minute (SPM) was about 49 and I was jamming, I was swimming horribly. I wasn’t sure about the task to be accomplished. I was afraid! I was afraid like never before, to the point I almost cried. It felt like I had pulled a grenade pin and I was about to implode.

After the first 30 minutes I stopped for the first feeding. Although Gary, Kim and I carefully planned my feedings days before, I couldn’t eat what they pushed out to me on the feeding pole. I barely had a sip. I wasn’t hungry.

At 35 minutes the worst happened. My neck pain came back! In April this year, I had a pinched nerve that took 8 weeks to fix, thanks to the great care of Stephanie Gerk, Craig Marble and Laurel Condro. Two days before the Channel swim, I woke up with a stiff neck but I didn’t tell my crew because I didn’t want to worry them. I could not believe it was back now, at this most important moment.

I started panicking and feared severe pain was going to spread across my back like it had in April, preventing me from swimming. Thinking of this made me even more tense and afraid. I was crumbling. What if I don’t make it? Can I swim 12 more hours this way? What if it takes longer? Could I last? I had doubts for the first time.

At the one hour mark I stopped for my second feeding and asked if Gary could jump in to pace me, but the observer Mikee said he couldn’t get in until the third hour.

After that, I gave Kim the thumbs down signal for the first time to let her know I was in pain, but I could tell she already knew something was wrong. I yelled between breaths, “Neck! Neck!” and her face went dark. She disappeared from the side of the boat. (Later I learned she was grabbing the Advil.)

At the next feeding, Kim sent me Advil but I lost it the water, which she didn’t see and I didn’t tell her because I didn’t wanted to lose more time.

I continued swimming in pain, breathing only to my right because it hurt too much to turn to the left. I wasn’t happy at all. I started thinking: Two years of my life ending like a sand castle crumbling on the beach. Two years of hard work, commitment, discipline – all to end on English shores. Then I got mad at myself for getting into that state of mind. I punched the water.

At the fifth feeding, Kim sent more Advil and this time I was able to swallow it. But I was not doing well, and I could see the concern on everyone’s faces. The pain got worse to the point I barely could turn my neck. I stopped a lot, tried to stretch, and did the breast stroke on and off between freestyle, which slowed to 40-42 SPM. I was afraid the pilots and observer were going to call the swim off on behalf of my safety.

At the third hour, I took more Advil but still couldn’t eat. Gary jumped in to pace me and we took off at a good pace – 48 SPM. After stopping so much and swimming so slowly for three hours, 48 SPM felt like a sprint. A half hour later, we were up to 56 SPM. As a joke I stopped and gave the middle finger to Gary because he was making me work hard. He replied in his Royal British Army accent, “Fuck you, as well!” Then my father yelled from the boat, “Fuck you!” not knowing what it meant, and we all started laughing. For the first time in nearly four hours, the pain in my neck began to subside, though it still hurt. I felt my humor coming back, just a little. At one point I even started swimming back towards England as a joke, and I asked Mikee for a cigarette, since he was chain smoking next to me the entire time and I was practically smoking anyway.

I was bummed when Gary got out at the fourth hour. There was no longer a distraction from the pain. My stroke per minute dropped a lot. The neck ache came back stronger than before, after swimming hard for an hour with Gary. I mentioned to my crew several times that I was tired and didn’t feel good. For an hour and a half, I swam mostly breaststroke and I still couldn’t eat. I was a breaststroker in high school so at least I was moving forward. The rest from freestyle was good for my neck, but I still felt like I was going down. I lost a lot of time swimming slow, but it was the only way I could move forward. My crew couldn’t get a stroke count much of this time because I was stopping so much. Around this time, a small jellyfish stung my chin.

At the five-and-a-half hour mark Gary jumped in again, but our pace was nothing like the previous pace; we maintained a 46 SPM for most of the hour when I wasn’t stopping. I was getting cold, shivering a little. I still couldn’t eat. After one hour Gary got out. After the swim I heard he got cold too. The water temperature was below 60 degrees Fahrenheit for sure.


I would like to highlight that during all those painful moments, Kim not only prepared my feedings, but she also was cheerleading and smiling and giving me the thumbs-up and telling me I could do this. From the very beginning when she noticed I was struggling, she wrote notes to me and leaned over the boat to make sure I saw them, messages like pain is temporary, glory is forever, the White Horse is waiting (the pub where Channel swimmers sign their names on the wall), make the South End proud, you ARE an English Channel swimmer, and many more.



Meanwhile, my father was so concerned about me that, as he told me later, his hands were shaking and his heart was pounding from anxiety.

The Turning Point

At six-and-half hours, I stopped for another feeding. I was still feeling bloated and the fumes from the boat were making me nauseous. But at that point, Kim and Gary refused to let me continue swimming unless I ate. Gary yelled, “We are not moving until you drink that whole bottle!” It was warm matté tea mixed with Hammer Gel for fast energy, and for desert they sent me a HoHo. To be frank, I loved it! I suddenly realized how hard they were working on my behalf. I realized how much they wanted me to succeed. I felt that swim was as important to them as it was for me.

I looked towards England and barely could see the White Cliffs of Dover. I looked to France and to my surprise I could just make out the tip of Cap Gris Nez, my end goal. For the first time that morning, it dawned on me that I could reach France. I looked at my father, Kim and Gary. They screamed, “Come on, Eddie! You can do it!” I put my face in the water and swam. I told myself I had to change my attitude and deal with whatever was going on because I still had a very long way to go. I thought about all my long trainings and how much they prepared me for this crossing. I remembered the seven-hour “15 Coves of Love” in 59-degree water that I did on behalf of Adriana Ospina, a South Ender who suffered a serious bicycle accident. I thought of all the hotel pools I dragged through on my layovers, all the kayaks I towed from Alcatraz.

I thought of my 10-hour workout in the St. Ignatius pool with Diane Davis. I remembered how hard it was and how good it felt when I finished. It was during that workout that I had the vision of my father on the boat -- and there I was in the middle of the Channel looking at him. He kept his eyes on me the entire time.

At hour seven, Cap Gris Nez looked really close. I imagined how it would feel when I reached the beach. I told myself to focus on the successes and not the failures that I was going through. It was time to let go of the bad moments and the neck pain. It was time to change my attitude, swim hard and enjoy the crossing. As I swam I told myself, “I can do this!” At that point, I decided my only options for getting out of the swim were in France or in a body bag.

At my next half-hour feeding, I looked around and once again realized the outcome was up to me. For the first time in my life I really felt how much control I had of myself and my destiny. It was up to me to regain control. It was up to me to become an English Channel swimmer.

Powerful, efficient strokes kept me moving forward at an average of 45 SPM. At hour eight, Gary got back in the water and together we increased the pace to 55, covering precious miles. We exchanged a few choice words and laughed. I was so grateful for his company. I had found my groove, and although my right leg cramped up a few times, I only stopped once. I just kept swimming, feeling more and more confident about the swim.


Gary got out at hour nine, less than two miles from Cap Gris Nez. I could now see the French landscape clearly, and I passed the big buoy that I recognized from the end of my relay Channel swim in 2002, giving me a burst of energy. Unfortunately, the end of the ebb tide kept pushing me south for another hour as I watched Cap Gris Nez fade to my left. During this time, Kim kept eye contact with me the whole time, either leaning over the boat showing me her cleavage (inadvertently or intentionally I wasn’t sure, but it helped) or to mimic a strong elongated stroke to keep me focused on perfect form.

At last at hour 10, slack tide hit and I was able to advance due east toward the French shore again, swimming at a consistent and efficient 48 SPM. I was tired but felt strangely energized, almost euphoric.

At hour 11 the water began changing color, from dark to light, from deep to shallow. I was getting closer to France! But I knew, as people who know the Channel say, that this was “where the real swim begins,” where most English Channel swims are decided: one mile from shore. I knew from hearing many stories that once you miss the Cap, whether on an ebb tide (water pushing you south) or a flood tide (water pushing you north), it might be hours before you make any progress toward France. Many a swimmer has spent literally hours and hours being pushed back and forth just off the coast, like a cruel joke.

Gary got in and we swam hard despite my fatigue. I asked Kim to feed me in 15 minutes instead of the usual 30-minute mark so we could make some progress. As expected, the slack tide quickly turned into a roaring flood tide, pushing us north. I swam hard but held back to keep some energy in reserve. Once again I watched Cap Gris Nez pass me, only this time to my right. I decided then that I could swim at least another six hours if needed, and it might very well be needed. By now I was tired but feeling good, happy, confident I could do this. We swam at 50 to 52 SPM for a solid hour.

At hour 12, Gary got out, and I was close enough to shore that I could see people on the beach. At this point, Kim, Gary and my father were going crazy, jumping and screaming that I was almost there! It was time to swim hard. It was time to live up to the Fast Eddie name and sprint. I was on fire! My stroke felt powerful, stronger than it has ever felt. I could feel my hard training paying off. I could see my name written on the wall of the White Horse pub. I could see my name etched on the English Channel Swim plaque at the South End Rowing Club.

Ten minutes later, Ray Brickell lowered the dinghy on the water – a sign I recognized from my 2002 relay swim that meant I was going to make landfall soon. Another burst of energy surged through me. My heart was thumping so hard I could hear it in my ears. I sprinted even faster. I had fuel left in me! I felt like I could swim forever. I felt nothing could stop me. More flashbacks from my 2002 relay crossing passed through my mind, of the last moments finishing the swim. I knew it was a matter of moments before the Viking Princess could not proceed due to shallow water and the dinghy would have to escort me to be beach.

Stroke by stroke I neared the bow of the Viking Princess; she could not proceed anymore. Kim, Gary and my father were all at the edge of the boat screaming. As I passed the bow, an unexpected cry erupted from my lungs, so loud my crew heard it. I mouthed “Thank you” to my crew; I thanked the Viking Princess for its protection during the swim. I could see Kim and my father crying and smiling, and Gary was leaning as far over the bow as he could, still clapping and yelling, “The White Horse is waiting! The White Horse is waiting!”

The Last 400 Yards


The last 400 yards I took what was mine. I sprinted all-out. I thought of the thirty 200-yard sprints I did at the University of San Francisco pool with Tom Keller, a successful English Channel swimmer and good friend from the Dolphin Club who helped me train for the Channel. Then Ray showed me the last sign from my crew, the one following the sign that read “There are people waiting for you on the beach!” This one said simply: NUDIST COLONY. I laughed and swam harder.

Suddenly the water felt really warm. I wasn’t cold but it still felt luxurious to swim those last yards in 65-degree water.

Fifty yards from shore I could see the rocky beach and though I thought I was already swimming as fast as I could, I swam even faster, until I touched the bottom and I could not swim anymore. With the rocks scraping my knees, it was time to stand and run to dry land. I took a few long strides onto the beach, turned around, and raised my arms. The Viking Princess blew her horn, marking the official end of my crossing. I had made it! 12 hours, 29 minutes. I dropped down on my knees and with my arms outstretched I cried from pure joy. I did it! I crossed the English Chanel!

Down on my knees I thanked the Channel Gods and my gods and I sent a kiss to Kim, Gary and my father on the boat. I was so grateful to Reg and Ray. I felt literally on fire. I wasn’t anywhere close to cold. I almost felt like getting back in and swimming back to England!

Due to French regulations I could not stay in France for more than five minutes, so I rushed to fill my swim cap with French rocks to take home. I made my way to the dinghy where Ray was waiting for me with a big smile. We shook hands and made the quick trip back to the Viking Princess.

When we got closer, I put my hands together and bowed my head and gestured toward my crew on the boat and said "THANK YOU." I felt electrified. Kim and Gary pulled me in from the ladder even though I didn't need help, and forced me to get dressed even though I wasn't cold. My eyes and tongue were swollen, but not as swollen as after some of my extra-long cove swims in San Francisco. I hugged Kimberly for a really long time and whispered to her that I could not have done it without her, and then I shook Gary's hand, thanked him and called him a bichon (gay in French, our inside joke). We laughed. I shook the hands of Reg, Ray and Mikee and thanked them, and then I hugged my dad and, in true Brazilian form, we both cried. We could not stop smiling.

After bundling up and sitting in one of the deck chairs, the first thing I asked for was my father’s gnocchi (mashed potatoes, ham and cheese balls baked in tomato sauce). It was a smooth, relaxed, happy two-hour journey back to England. We arrived just after sunset and the sky was lit up with beautiful red and gold clouds, just as it was at dawn that morning. The Dover coast guard passed us at the opening of Dover Harbor and they nodded at us as we passed.

Back at Dover Harbor, we saw Liam, a 6’7” or taller Irish swimmer we met at Varne Ridge who successfully crossed the Channel that same day. We celebrated together. Liam told me that what I accomplished nobody could ever take away from me. I knew the same was true for him.

We packed the car and rushed to Varne Ridge to share the good news with the owners Evelyn and Dave. They were ECSTATIC! We shared the good news with some of the swimmers and their crews and families who had come out of their caravans to greet us. Then, starving, we rushed down the road to the Royal Oak pub for food. They had stopped serving food, but re-opened the kitchen for us when Gary told them he had a hungry Brazilian in the car who just swam the English Channel. We had steaks, ribs, fish and chips and beer. Gary and I were both sweating from the heat of the long swim (he swam four hours with me!). When we got back to the caravan, we all collapsed like rocks.


Most photos and videos by Edison Peinado Sr. and Kim Howard.

The Day After

At 6 AM I was already up. I barely slept. I was restless and still hot. Spending 13 hours swimming under the sun really overheated me. Gary was packing his bag since unfortunately he had to work that day (he is also an airline pilot). Together we walked to the Varne Ridge cliff for another look at the Channel. It was a surreal feeling looking across that body of water, trying to let it sink in: what we had done the day before. We were mesmerized. I think our brains were still there in the middle of that channel reaching for France. It was another perfect day and we could see a line of fishing boats escorting a new batch of swimmers on their way to France.

After a warm goodbye, Gary left for London and I went back to bed. Eventually Kim and my father woke up. They were dead tired but their faces were radiant.



During the following week, Kim, my father and I rented a car, took the Chunnel to France and drove to Belgium, where we visited our good friends Kees and Marian, rode bikes every day, ate like kings, drank beer made by monks and enjoyed the beautiful farmland and all the animals (cows, sheep, horses, miniature horses, donkeys, cats, dogs, ducks, birds, even lamas). We made a short trip to Amsterdam, where we stayed with friends, took a canal boat tour and walked till we couldn’t walk anymore. My father flew back to Brazil from Amsterdam, and Kim and I went to the northern coast of France for two days.

We made our way back to Dover via car ferry, and experienced another surreal view of the Channel, still hard to believe that I swam that distance. Gary met us at Dover Harbor, and we went for our last swim. The three of us drove up to Varne Ridge to say goodbye to Evelyn and David, and we ended up having a nice late lunch with them. It was a perfect way to finish our trip.

BACK IN SAN FRANCISCO

Artwork by Pedro Ordenes.

Sign posted by Diana Craig.

The following is from an email that my friend Bill Wygant wrote. Bill is a past president of the South End Rowing Club and successfully swam the English Channel on a relay team with his wife, daughter and three other South Enders.

Last night our newest English Channel swimmer cooked everyone hamburgers for Happy Hour. Perhaps more importantly, we placed his plate on the English Channel Plaque in the Day Room.

Fast Eddie Peinado
2010
12hr 29 m

Eddie’s crossing displayed an embarrassment of physical riches and a huge heart. Perhaps not since JP has an English Channel swim been planned as meticulously and carefully. His training schedule involved tethered swims in small hotel pools after flying all day, sometimes for hours at a time. His baseline was an Ironman and the conditioning accelerated from there to marathon bricks of biking-running running-swimming. During his training we were given stories of his going out for a long run and ordering up a pizza to be delivered along his course. Once, club members arrived back at the club after a long run without him and finally located him by cell phone: he was eating pasta at an Italian restaurant in Marin before completing the run. During swims he at times towed 3 kayaks across from Alcatraz and many times completed an Alcatraz swim by circling the Cove while we watched from the dock. Of course his 15 Coves of Love will be hard to match, if not for the quantity, for the imagination he displayed in doing it.



Eddie’s gift to us is that he actually took us along for the ride; he engaged us and made the swim available to everyone who was interested. This is perhaps as large an accomplishment as the swim itself and far above a minimum standard to just get by and complete a crossing. Because psychologically, it is much harder to tell everyone your goal, load your boat up with your parents, your wife and friends and head off to conquer a major open water venue like the English Channel. In a very public way Eddie took on the Channel with all of us peering over his broad talented shoulders, and succeeded. Sitting in my office, work left undone, I watched those last few GPS plots of his swim. When he was just south of the Cape, we got word by e-mail that the boat captain had told Eddie that it was now time to “be Fast-Eddie” and the line from that point was straight and true to the beach. Etched before us all on our computer screens was a physical plot of a remarkable person's character.
Congratulations Eddie, that was a remarkable swim.

I learned that evening while adding my nameplate to the plaque that I am the 21st South Ender to cross the English Channel, and based on the CSA list of successful crossings, it appears that I am the 15th Brazilian to do so.



Final Words

For two years I trained for the 21 miles that put me face to face with the biggest challenge of my life. For two years I didn’t go a day without thinking about swimming the English Channel. It was, to say the least, quite a challenge to combine this level of a training schedule with my life on the road as an airline pilot. The long training workouts brought out the best in me and helped push me beyond what I thought were my limits. I already miss the grueling training and having that goal to work toward. But most of all I will miss the people who were part of my journey.

The priceless support from my family, friends and the South End Rowing Club – emotionally, spiritually, physically and financially – has left me feeling lucky and thankful for a lifetime. I am especially thankful for the love and support from my crew: my wife Kim Howard, my father Edison Peinado Sr. and Gary Bruce, my good friend and pacer. I am equally indebted to the priceless piloting of the Brickell brothers, Reg and Ray, and grateful to the Channel Swimming Association. I also can’t imagine doing the swim without David and Evelyn Frantzeskou, proprietors of the Varne Ridge Holiday Park in Folkestone, who were fun and gracious and endlessly helpful.

But one thing I learned from this swim is that even the best support team in the world, which I had, can take you only so far. At some point during an event like this, it’s up to the individual to decide whether to give up and get out or stay in and keep going. I’ll tell you: that ladder at the back of the boat tempted me more than once. If we don’t figure out how to control our minds and bodies and push ourselves, no amount of encouragement, as helpful as it is, will keep us going.

Some people say that swimming the English Channel has something to do with spiritually connecting two points on earth. Some people say 21 miles is the size of your ego. For me those 21 miles represent a pinnacle: the highest point I’ve ever reached, a place I can now look back on and draw from when I need courage to face future challenges.



To reach that pinnacle, I surrounded myself with family and friends, learned from fellow athletes, and put together a world class crew that guided me there. And I kept my eyes on the prize. Every time I walked by the English Channel Swim trophy at the South End Rowing Club, I touched it, I even kissed it. I visualized my name on it. I wanted to have my name among those Channel swimmers. I had a goal! And I decided I wasn’t going to give up until I reached it.

Now that I’ve swum the channel, yes my name is on that plaque. Mission accomplished. But I’m still humbled by the many amazing athletes at both the South End and the Dolphin Club next door. I am surrounded by some of the best rowers, swimmers, handball players and runners in the world, no exaggeration. They inspire me and keep me thinking about what’s next.

What is next? This is the question I get the most. First, I’m going to give my body a rest, lose the extra pounds I gained for the swim, and get my speed back. And before investing in another big adventure, I plan to pay down my student loan as much as I can and take on the challenge of upgrading to Captain at SkyWest Airlines.

As for my next sports adventure, it’s hard to say. I have never been as passionate about swimming as I am now, so my next event will probably be another swim. There are so many that I would love to do; for example:

• The length of Lake Tahoe, California/Nevada: 20 miles
• Lake Zurich, Switzerland: 26 kilometers
• Lake Windermere in northern England: 11 miles

I am also considering running the Marathon Des Sables, a 151-mile run across the Sahara Desert in Morocco, inspired by fellow English Channel swimmer Madhu Nagajara. Maybe I’ll learn how to mountain climb and take on Mount Everest.

The important thing is that I feel like I could do anything. That is one of the best outcomes of accomplishing something like this: you realize that life is limitless. It is yours for the taking.



Thanks to all of you! I could not have done it without you!

Fantastic sign done by Pat Cunneen.