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