Videos of the Swim


By Raphael Ruz:




By Steve the Observer:


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Keep on Keeping on.

"Do you think you'll write a book about your swim?" My Mum was quick to clarify her question: "I know not many would read it, but I probably would." More than a little put out, I hit back: "I think we'll be too busy making the film, to be honest, Mum, so the book will have to wait." So much is already in place. I have a working title for the film: some sort of clever play on 'Jaws', and with our Sea Dogs name, I'm trying to choose between 'Claws' and 'Paws'. Deciding who should play Graham was easy; I just need to track down Chewbacca, and see if he can do his strange roar/cry with a soft Edinburgh lilt. I think we have most of the key elements of a good film. We've had set-backs: there was a time when Graham and I were both in and out of A and E; I discovered that hitting the side of a car whilst travelling fast on a bike is not ideal for the shoulder, and definitely not ideal for the bike itself, and Graham'...
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It's all in the mind.

In any sort of endurance event, we all know that - at a certain point - 'it is all in the mind'; the moment when your limbs or lungs are already hurting, you have been contemplating stopping for ages, and something 'in the mind' keeps you going, keeps you from stopping. Determination, willpower, drive, grit - it's all in the mind. In long-distance swimming, more so - I think - than other long-distance events, the battle within those 'top two inches' is not just about keeping going; it's also about managing both the boredom and the strange wanderings of the mind to ensure that the stroke remains efficient and effective. We must add to the 'determination and drive' a strange cocktail of random, confused and bizarre musings which are also 'all in the mind' when swimming for a long time. Consider this section of internal monologue from our recent 2-hour qualifying swim in the sea off Brighton beach: "Ok, off we go. Two hours. Two h...
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We made it!! Steve reflects...

Most of the time, it simply doesn't feel real. And then, out of the blue, something jolts you back into either the harsh reality of the dark moments of 'The Swim' or - more commonly - back into the utter relief and elation of seeing rocks and sand after thirteen hours of nothingness, and suddenly I'm pinching myself, questioning whether after all that training and thinking and preparing and planning, whether we really did swim to France. One of those moments was with my GCSE French class last week. As a first-lesson warm-up, we were discussing in French where we'd been for the summer. I gave an example, explaining that I'd been to Spain with my family. A boy put his hand up: 'Sir, didn't you also go to France?' For a split second, I thought he was wrong, then saw he was smiling slightly, and I remembered again that I had indeed been to France, albeit just for the shortest of visits. To be precise, I stood on the rocks of Cap Gris-Nez for no more...
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