Please excuse me for posting this 10 months after the swim actually occurred 😉

It was July 2022. I had just completed my training for the Catalina Channel, which would take place later that month, and was starting my taper. It would be the biggest and most momentous swim of my life (and in many ways still is). I was at La Jolla Cove with Michella and met Kathy Batts and Kevin Murphy, Channel swimmers who were in town from the UK. I was talking to Kathy about my training, and she asked me if I planned to attempt the English Channel in the future. I wasn’t sure. I knew people who went over for the swim to return without even having gotten the opportunity to start the swim, with the weather and sea conditions having been too blown out. I have heard stories of swimmers getting within a mile of the French coast and the tide turning, rendering it literally impossible to swim to shore. The stakes seemed too high (and too expensive) to take the leap of faith needed to seriously consider training for it. What if I was one of the many who spent the significant time and resources training, and didn’t even get a chance to swim? Plus, my focus at the time was solely on Catalina. That was my swim and goal that was years in the making.

I didn’t share all this with Kathy. I just told her I wasn’t sure. She recommended that if there was even a remote possibility that I was interested in the swim, I should contact a boat captain and secure a slot. The boat captains were booking ~3 years out. I thought about it for a few days and ultimately followed her advice. I reached out to my predecessors and friends, Tom, Dan, and Steve – all successful English Channel swimmers. They gave me valuable advice on boat captains and how to pick a tidal window. I contacted a few boat captains with mixed responses. All that mattered was that Paul Foreman (captain of The Optimist) responded that he was able to book me for 2025 and gave me a few tidal windows to choose from. Paul shared that the weather tends to be most favorable in July, so I chose the neap tide July 19-23. I paid the deposit. 2025 seemed like a lifetime away.

Later that month, I successfully completed my Catalina Channel swim. With Catalina under my belt, THE Channel seemed like a more tangible goal. “I guess it’s happening,” I told myself. In 2023 I swam the 20 Bridges Swim around Manhattan in June, and the Length of Tahoe in July. I kept my calendar clear of big swims in 2024 to rest and refocus my training, knowing that my most challenging swim to-date was on the horizon in 2025. At the beginning of 2024, I started strength training and interval training more intensely in the pool in addition to my usual ocean swimming to build strength and speed to cut through those dreaded currents. By mid-year I was feeling stronger, and swimming faster than I had in over 10 years. Before I knew it, it was July 2024. One year out from my English Channel window. The prospect of starting my training didn’t feel daunting as it had been in prior years for my other swims. It felt exciting.

The next few months just flew by. I kept up a solid base as Summer turned to Fall, Fall turned to Winter, and the ocean started to cool down. I decided that I would complete my English Channel qualifier swim (6 hours in water less than 60 degrees) in December 2024, to “get it out of the way” before the holidays. My friend Sidney was also maintaining her base through the winter for her Double Catalina swim in July and kindly volunteered to swim with me for moral support. We did a couple long swims to prepare for my qualifier, which was slated for December 14 with Gracie paddling. I had this vision that I would complete my qualifier on one of those perfect winter swimming days. You know, when the sun is shining without a cloud in the sky, the water is glassy with epic visibility, and the water is a balmy 59 degrees – just barely below 60. The ocean had other plans than what I had envisioned.

The ocean temperature dropped to 55 degrees that week, and there was swell forecast for the weekend. We re-grouped and moved the swim from La Jolla to Mission Bay, which was a few degrees warmer than the open ocean (57 degrees), with calmer conditions. To be fair, the weather was mild, and the sun was shining. We even found a patch of water in one of the coves that was 59 degrees, which practically felt tropical. So, part of my premonition came true. That, and I successfully completed my qualifying swim with Sidney and Gracie by my side every stroke of the way! I was chilly, but not unbearably so. We ate Sidecar donuts in the hot tub after the swim, which was glorious.

I went on to enjoy a quick holiday break with family in Texas before it was time to hunker down and start training. At the beginning of January, I submitted all the required documentation to CS&PF along with my swim application and medical clearance. My application was accepted, and I held steady maintaining a solid base through January/February (swimming 3500-5500 yards 5 times per week in the ocean or pool, plus 2-3 strength training classes per week). At the beginning of March, I really started ramping up my training volume. I could write a whole blog post about my training as it was essentially all-encompassing for the first half of the year. In summary, I swam 6 times per week (4 ocean swims, 2 pool swims with UCSD Masters), and strength training 2 times per week (which tapered off to once per week in June when I was at my peak training volume, and it was just too hard to maintain TBH).

I gradually increased the distance of my weekend “long swims,” starting at 2 hours and working my way up to my peak training volume in June. I scheduled a “recovery” week including a massage with my magical friend Wyn after each key long swim. I also took an extra rest day here or there if I really need it. I am a huge advocate for recovery and avoiding overtraining for injury prevention. I want to continue swimming my whole life. My key training swims included back-to-back 6-hour training swims on June 6 and June 7. Those swims could not have gone better with perfect training conditions. The water temperature dropped to 62 that week, it was overcast, and the ocean conditions turbulent. I swam strong and maintained a consistent pace throughout both swims.

My longest training swim was on June 28. It was slated to be 8-9 hours but the universe had different plans for me. Gracie was kayaking. We decided to mix things up a little bit and do an out and back swim. The first half of the swim we were just cruising. We set out down the coast from La Jolla Shores and made it to the Mission Bay jetty in about 4 hours. I knew that we were swimming a little faster than my normal pace so I figured it would take 4.5 hours, 5 hours max to get back. Nope. It took 6 hours to get back. I did an involuntary 10-hour training swim. I started spiraling around the 8-hour mark once I realized how long it was going to take to finish, worried I wouldn’t be adequately recovered for England. Gracie talked me off the edge and reminded me to “lean into the challenge,” that the unexpected was exactly what I needed to prepare for the unexpected challenges that lie ahead in the Channel. I knew she was right. I put my head down, finished the swim, and tapered hard.

Before I knew it, it was time to fly to the UK! My mom (Paula Kelley, official Dumpster Fire Crew Chief) and I left for England on Saturday July 12 and arrived the following day. The direct flight from San Diego to Heathrow was uneventful, although the train ride with 3 transfers and cab ride to our flat in Folkestone was quite exhausting (and challenging with heavy luggage due to all our gear). We opted for a cab on our way back to London. Our flat was comfortable, affordable, and had everything we needed for our home away from home. We settled in, took a quick walk down to the Folkestone Harbor for our first breathtaking view of the magnificent White Cliffs of Dover, went to dinner, and then crashed hard. The next day we met Paul down at Dover Harbor, got acquainted, and reviewed all the ins and outs of the swim aboard The Optimist. My mom and I instantly felt at ease around Paul and knew that I was in good hands. He explained that the weather was looking favorable this week and expected to turn over the weekend (the start of my window). There was a high possibility I would swim early, on Thursday July 17, two days before the start of my swim window. He would text me on Wednesday July 16 to confirm. We parted ways, and I went for a quick shake out swim at Swimmers Beach in Dover followed by afternoon tea. I spent the rest of that day and the next resting, nourishing, hydrating, and trying not to freak out.

I received a message from Paul on Wednesday morning that we were on for Thursday. I was to meet him at Dover Harbor at 02:45 that morning. Go time! My friend Kat (crew and support swimmer) arrived via train from France around 7pm that evening. We expected a longer turn-around between her arrival and the start of the swim, time to catch up and go for a swim together. Alas, we caught up over dinner and were in bed by 8:30pm. Kat was off the train and onto the boat in about 8-9 hours. What a whirlwind for her! I am eternally grateful to her for being such a trooper. Unfortunately, my dad and Sally (stepmom) would not arrive until July 18^th. Their plan was to see me off and welcome me back from the swim at Dover Harbor. Despite the change in plans, they were extremely supportive of me taking the opportunity to swim early and we (hopefully) planned for a celebration upon their arrival.

We didn’t rent a car in Folkestone, and I had serious anxiety about whether a cab would pick us up promptly at 02:00 and get us to the harbor on time. After word-vomiting these fears on a few friends local to the area who I know through Sarah’s Swimmers group, Julia connected me with her local friend and fellow swimmer Lorraine. Lorraine graciously offered us a ride to the harbor in the morning. After a paltry 3-4 hours of sleep riddled with adrenalin and needing to get up to pee practically a dozen times, my alarm went off at 01:00. Quick breakfast and coffee before Lorraine picked us up at 02:00, and we were off. We arrived at the harbor a bit early and were ready to go.

There were a few other soloists and relays at the harbor preparing to board their boats and depart on their journeys. We chatted with them briefly, then Captain Paul arrived and it was go-time. We took a few pictures, boarded The Optimist, and departed the harbor entering Channel waters. Jason (Paul’s co-pilot) and Steve (my CS&PF observer) reviewed some necessary details pertaining to CS&PF regulations and my swim plan with us. After that, I went below deck to lay down on the way over to the starting point of the swim, Samphire Hoe which is southwest of the harbor. Before I knew it, we had arrived, and it was time to get ready. I got my suit, cap, goggles, and lights on- then my mom helped me cover myself with an aggressive layer of Badger Clear Zinc sport sunscreen (my preferred product).

In what seemed like a blur it was time to enter the water. “Swim far, swim pure,” my mom said to me as I approached the ladder at the back of the boat. My final parting words to my crew as I was climbing down the ladder were, “It’s time to fuck around and find out!”. I reached the back platform of the boat, then took the plunge. The water embraced me and felt comfortable. I swam into shore and carefully emerged onto the beach, clearing the water line. I stood on the pebbly beach at Samphire Hoe before dawn with a spotlight shining on me, illuminating the White Cliffs of Dover behind me. I entered the water at 03:45, started swimming, and didn’t look back.

The first hour of the swim was just settling in and finding my rhythm and position relative to the boat. This was my first time swimming next to a boat without also having a kayaker. I found my comfortable spot quite quickly. It was dark, so Paul and Jason had a spotlight on me so I was easily visible in the water. I am light-sensitive so I didn’t love this; but I knew that first light would be coming soon, and the light wouldn’t be needed for long. I was extremely relieved that my swim had started during the early hours of the morning, knowing that I would only have to swim in the dark for 1.5 hours or so before sunrise. This was a welcome departure from my last long swim (Length of Tahoe), which started at 9pm and required swimming through the entire night – one of the longest nights of my life. What a luxury to swim through the day this time.

The conditions started off with a bit of texture and rolling swell but overall, very pleasant and “swimmable”. I was later told that there was fog at the start of the swim, but I didn’t notice at the time as I was focused on maintaining my position relative to the boat. Before I knew it, we were an hour in, and my mom was waiving the doughnut sign she made signaling it was time for my first feed. I realized I hadn’t yet consumed enough caffeine and requested coffee with the next one. After I was properly caffeinated, I noticed that we were passing another boat that started a little before me. That felt good! We entered the shipping lane a little after 6am and I had boats and ferries in my peripheral vision occasionally, although fortunately we did not need to stop to allow any to pass in front of us. The sun came out a little before 7am and we were making progress as planned.

Honestly the first half of the swim was quite pleasant and uneventful. It felt routine, what I had trained and prepared for. My mind was active as always, but calm and collected. My friend Neil swam on the same tide as me the year prior, also with Captain Paul. Neil advised me that if Paul got his fishing line out, things were going well. When I noticed that Paul was indeed fishing, it brought a smile to my face and peace of mind. I also noticed there were quite a few jellyfish in the water – compass jellyfish, blue jellyfish and moon jellyfish. Only compass jellyfish are the stinging variety. My first sting I simply stated, “ow” as I breathed to notify the crew I had gotten stung – but I didn’t stop or miss a stroke. Compass jellyfish stings really aren’t that painful, just an uncomfortable “zap”. I didn’t let it get to me, and if anything, the jellyfish were something interesting to look at in the water. Things were indeed going well.

My swim plan was to hammer out the first 6 hours (or approximate half) of the swim, and have Kat get in to support swim once we had passed the separation zone. After around 6 hours (at 9:45 AM), we reached the separation zone and Kat hopped in to swim with me for a half hour. It was nice to have Kat’s company. We hadn’t swum together in about 5 years since she moved to France! We planned to do a couple acclimation swims prior to the crossing, but since my swim happened early we didn’t get the opportunity. We swam together as if no time had passed, as if we were swimming in Solana Beach or Cardiff as we had so many times years prior. Around that time the conditions also started to get a little spicy and choppy.

The next few hours the conditions continued to prove challenging. As Kat later described, “victory at sea” conditions. My observer log noted at 11:45 “the ocean is getting messy,” at 12:15 “conditions have deteriorated,” and at 12:45 “ocean very messy with some white caps”.  I will admit that I was a bit annoyed by the conditions. I train in all conditions, and I was prepared for whatever came my way. It’s a different story when you’re 8-9 hours into a swim and chop is hitting you in the face when you’re trying to breathe. One can get frustrated. I reassured myself that while annoying, the conditions were totally manageable, as I had experienced much worse before. In fact, the conditions for my Santa Barbara Channel crossing from Anacapa to the Mainland were substantially worse. I put my head down and kept swimming.

At 13:15, Kat got back in to swim with me for an hour after the crew noticed I was slowing down a little bit. Having her down in the trenches helped boost my morale. We later looked at her Garmin track for that hour, to see that we travelled 5K in 1 hour. It was fucking cool that she had the fastest 5K swim of her life in the middle of the English Channel to post to her Strava. Kat returned to the boat and at my next feed, Captain Paul came onto the deck and told me that he needed “a power hour” from me. I responded, “I don’t know if I have a power hour in me”. He replied, “well give me all you’ve got, girl!”. I knew we were getting to a critical part of the swim where I needed to make enough progress to French onshore waters so I could land on shore before the tide turned and swept me North, rendering it impossible to finish the swim. A Channel swimmer is told to do a “power hour” (or swim hard for an hour) if they need to make significant progress swimming against a current or before the tide changes. Naturally this is when my mind started doing weird things.

I had pretty much been swimming strong/threshold pace for the entire swim. I was tired and fatigued (but not totally exhausted). How was I supposed to pick up my pace and swim harder? I told myself, “lean into the challenge” as Grace had encouraged me during my training swim the prior month. This is what I prepared for. I leaned in, but my mind was unfortunately filled with dread and worry. I had a sense that something was wrong (I even verbalized this during a feed) and just I couldn’t shake it. What if I had put forth this much effort and come all this way only to have the tide turn, making it impossible to finish? To make matters worse, I was having trouble hearing my crew up from the boat with my ear plugs in, so even if they offered encouragement or reassurance, I could not hear them.

It didn’t help that I had TOTALLY lost track of time. I typically have a good sense of how long I have been swimming because I take ibuprofen every 4 hours. My mom tossed me a small container with pills in it which I had trouble opening at my 4-hour feed. The rest of the swim they dissolved the pills in my feeds, so I didn’t know when 8 and 12 hours had elapsed. I fixated on the thought that I had been swimming FOREVER. I thought that I was going to end up having a 14-15-hour plus crossing, if I even finished (which is totally fine, I was just in a mega time-warp). Key track from my internal soundtrack during this portion of the swim, “All Fucked Out” by Laura Jane Grace. As Laura has pointed out, being “all fucked out” is totally different than being “fucked up”. IYKYK.

“I’m all fucked out of the real thing. I’m dry like bread, stale and crusty. I got just the ends left, I’m all fucked out. I’m missing the in-between”.

I was not in a good headspace, and my mental spiral went on for a while. Then, I noticed that Captain Paul and Jason were giving me a thumbs up and clapping from inside the cabin. I could see them each time I breathed to my left. I guess I was doing better than I thought. I knew I needed to dig deep within myself and find the courage to let go of the worry.  I tried to calm my mind by envisioning an empowering meditation my friend Wyn shared with me a week prior. I noticed around this time that the water was calming and becoming a brighter more turquoise color. The clouds were parting, and the sun was coming out. I saw a piece of kelp float by, and a sailboat in my peripheral vision. I knew that we had hit French inshore waters. I knew I would finish. My fears dissipated and I put full faith in my crew and myself. I told myself, “If I am truly getting close to the finish, I will enjoy every moment left of this swim”.

Shortly after this this resolution, I stopped for a feed and my mom exclaimed, “you’re almost there!”. I was too scared to look up, even though I could see the shore in my peripheral vision. I knew this is the part of the swim where shore becomes an optical illusion; you could swim for an hour, and it looks like you made no progress relative to shore. At the next feed she once again exclaimed, “you’re almost there!”, to which I responded, “what does that mean?” but put my head in the water and started swimming again before receiving an answer. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was my last feed. I carried on for a bit, breathed to the left, and saw my mom holding up the “69” sign she made to indicate that I was approximately 500 m away from finish. I now had the courage to look up and see that I could easily see the buildings (and people!) onshore. I also noticed how swiftly the current was pushing North. Each time I looked up to sight my landing, I was looking at something different on shore. I continued making progress towards shore and soon was able to see the bottom as I approached a buoy line near shore. I ended up having a perfect landing on the boat ramp at Wissant Beach. I took my first steps since I departed from Samphire Hoe early that morning, emerged from the sea, and cleared the water line. I swam the English Channel.

It was a nice afternoon and the beach was busy. There were about a dozen people there to greet me, cheer for me, and take photos as I emerged from the sea. A kind older man joined me on shore and shared “I tried to keep up with you and swim next to you, but you were too fast!”. Other beachgoers asked how long the swim took me, and I had no idea – I estimated 14 or 15 hours. Kat was swimming in with me too (although we got separated due to the strong current) and when she joined me on shore the first thing I asked after giving her a big hug was, “How long did it take?!!”. Kat shared that I finished in about 12.5 hours. I thought she was fucking with me. No way! But it was true. What a pleasant surprise. I was hoping I would finish in the 12-hour range – but I was prepared to swim for as long as it took to get to the other side.

After soaking in the moment, it was time to get back on The Optimist. The boat was quite far away, I looked back at it and thought “ah shit I don’t want to swim all the way back there”. Fortunately, Captain Paul came to pick us up in the rib (which he doesn’t normally do). He took us back to the boat and then we were on our way back to Dover, me now an English Channel and Triple Crown swimmer. The boat ride back was foggy, surreal, and beautiful. We arrived back to Dover Harbor around dinner time and were promptly in a cab back to Folkestone before I knew it. I showered thoroughly, ate an enormous plate of pasta, and crawled into bed before 9pm.

The best part about swimming before my window? We had a full week and a half of holiday ahead of us! The highlights included:

• Celebrating and signing the wall at the iconic White Horse in Dover with my mom, Kat, Dad, Sally, Aunt’s Kate and Kristie. The delight of finding the names of my friends and predecessors on the wall

• Walking the White Cliffs of Dover while staring out at the English Channel and contemplating the meaning of my accomplishment

• Spending time with local swimmers Halani and Sarah and experiencing the swimming community in Dover

• Enjoying a fun day in Rye with my dad and Sally

• Getting a tattoo of my swim track at BRB Tattoo in Folkestone from a rad artist named Caz

• Pastrymaxxing at Rachel Leigh Bakes, a delicious local bakery in Folkestone

• My last glorious submersion in the Channel prior to our departure

• Enjoying a long weekend in London with my mom and long-distance bestie, Lindsey

The most important part of the highlight reel? Feeling all the love and support from my family and friends. I have the utmost love and gratitude for my mom, the most wonderful, dedicated crew chief in the history of Channel swimming. Not only did I feel her love and support with every stroke I took during my swim, but also during my training. Every week leading up to my swim, she sent me a handmade card highlighting a noteworthy woman who swam the Channel before me. Many of whom were close friends of mine. This was extremely inspiring and motivating when the demands of training started to wear on me.

My first mate Kat, Dad and Sally, Aunts Kate and Kristie, Lindsey, who all travelled from far away to support me. All my friends and family who supported me from back home, especially those who spent countless hours training with me, and those following my swim and cheering for me in the group chat. Captain Paul, Jason, and Steve for safely guiding me across the Channel and observing my swim. The local swimming community in Dover. It wouldn’t have been possible without you all.

I am so grateful. Thank you.