Cook Strait & The Strait of Gibraltar
However, I was excited when swim day came. My dad and Michael were my personal crew, accompanied by my pilot’s crew of four. We boated about 2 hours to the south island, lathered up, then jumped in. It was a beautiful, sunny, clear day. I had an inflatable that stayed very close to me the whole swim, while the larger boat stayed about 15 meters away.
I got into my groove and was visited by an adorable and playful sea lion who dove right under me early on. After a few hours, I got messages from my pilot telling me to “focus on my catch”. For nonswimmers: the catch is the part of your swim stroke where you push the water with your hand and arm under your body. I was more than a little annoyed to be receiving technique advice in the middle of a channel - we were past that at that point. I understood the underlying message, though. For some reason I needed to pick up my pace. I have the experience to know when I am holding my reported pace and when I am not, and I was confident I was swimming at my typical 2 mile/hour channel pace. If I was being asked to pick it up this early on, I figured we were needing to push through some sort of current and then I’d be back on track. However, the ask for a higher pace continued. As you can see your target land mass very clearly through the whole swim, I did notice that I was not making the progress I had expected. I started to become negative, thinking perhaps the problem was me. Maybe I wasn’t holding up my end. Maybe I was swimming more slowly than usual. Maybe I am the worst swimmer these pilots have ever seen. Yeah, you can spiral pretty quickly out there.
My upper bound time expectation for the swim was 10 hours, but I personally hoped for a sub-9 hour swim. So, when I was told we were only halfway at 7 hours in, I lost it. While a 14 hour swim would be nothing new for me, it was not what I had mentally prepared for. I was already shaky mentally going into the swim, and this news broke me.
The swell started to pick up, and that didn’t help my mental state. I wondered if it was even worth it to finish the swim. I became more quiet at feeds. I thought about every possible excuse to get out. Did my shoulder hurt a little more than normal? Was I feeling cold? I quickly nixed that one - they would never believe me if I said I was cold in this water as I come from the much colder bay in San Francisco. And then I reached new territory for myself - I croggled (definition: cried into my goggles). You mean the girl who a few months ago finished a 17 hour swim cried at 7 hours?! Yes, yes I did. Cory, my amazing inflatable pilot, realized my mental state and asked me how I was and what was wrong. I later learned he couldn’t understand me through my sobs and asked Michael to “translate” for him. Good thing Michael has plenty of practice with that.
They asked me how I was feeling on a scale of 1-10. I responded with, “Physically, I am a 7”. With that out there, Michael and Cory looked at me like I was insane. If I was physically fine, what was I crying about?! They told me to keep swimming, and I continued. Every passing minute was mental agony, though. I visualized grabbing that inflatable and ending my swim. I just wanted to be on a boat. I wasn’t that tired; of course 7 hours of swimming is painful and exhausting, but it was physically familiar territory. I had a lot left in my energy tank. I think what I was really tired of was torturing myself. Torture is a strong word, but channel swims are a little bit torturous. I was tired of forcing myself through these feats that require a massive amount of physical and mental effort. My brain was just drained.
That is where Cory and Michael took the reins. I never asked to get out, but they knew that question was bubbling to the surface, and they handled it. They didn’t give me a chance to speak it, and they told me I would, indeed, continue to swim and finish the thing. So, catch, recover, kick, kick.
To cheer me up, Cory told me how fast we were going. He kept repeating that we were picking up speed, and I was traveling the fastest I had been the whole swim. At first I thought he was just telling me that to lift my spirits, as I knew that I had slowed down during my tantrum. But, he kept repeating it. They explained that the current had finally released me, and I was moving on to the north island. I started to believe it, but I could see the sky darkening. The plan had been to be out before sunset and be back home for a slightly late victory dinner. I should know by now that the ocean usually laughs at my best-laid plans and screams “think again, sucker!”. She did not disappoint that day.
The Cook Strait
The Cook Strait is the body of water between the north and south islands of New Zealand. The narrowest point, where the swim takes place, is about 14 miles. Water temperatures range from high 50s to mid 60s during the swimming season, which is fairly standard for Oceans 7 channel swims. Challenges of the swim include wind, currents, and temperature. There are also great white sharks in the strait.
I swam on April 16th, about 7 months after my Ka’iwi Channel crossing. It was a good amount of time to take a short rest and then jump back in and maintain my training. As the Cook Strait is about half the distance of Ka’iwi, I was a bit more relaxed. My longest swims were a few 5 hours and one 6 hour in those 7 months, and I felt physically prepared. My training was good, but I was a little overconfident. I know from experience that none of these swims are easy, no matter how long you are in the water. However, I had the mindset that Cook would be easier than Ka’iwi - it was half the distance! As you could guess, that was the wrong mindset.
Because of the timing of my schools’ spring break, we had to do our vacationing and sightseeing in New Zealand before my swim attempt. Usually we plan for that to come after so the focus can be on the swim. Plus, having completed the swim makes the victory lap around the country we are visiting that much more fun and relaxing. Alas, that didn’t happen this time, and I certainly paid for it. I will blame it on New Zealand - it is a phenomenal place that is truly special. The whole country is a wonder. We bungee jumped in Queenstown, felt the spray of massive waterfalls on the Milford Sound, explored glowworm caves in Te Anau, hiked through Arthur’s Pass, climbed amongst natural ancient rock formations, learned more about Māori culture and wayfinding (one of my favorite obsessions), and much more. It was an amazing trip. By the time the swim came around, we had been on so many adventures that took my mind far away from the swim, and I found it very difficult to refocus.
My mentality didn’t shift for the positive until Cory and Michael explained that at the next feed we would stop for a little longer to put some glow sticks on me. I didn’t want to swim into the night. But, my crew was ready to prep the lights and keep going. I could see Cory and Michael getting lighting set up on the inflatable. If they were ready to take me there, how could I let them down? I strapped the glow sticks on my cap, took a second for a deep breath, and buckled down. They weren’t going to quit on me; I wasn’t going to quit on me. The dark water wrapped around me like a soothing blanket as the stars came out for a show.
I settled in - one arm in front of the other. After about 1.5 hours of swimming, a flash of light caught my eye - Michael was shining a spotlight out ahead. That was a fantastic sign. At the next feed, they told me it would be my last. They were using the spotlight to search for a safe landing spot along the rocky cliffs of the north island. After 10 hours and 42 minutes, I touched the north island. I had negatively splitted the swim 7 hours/4 hours due to the current at the beginning that just wouldn't let me go.
Michael and Cory manhandled me into the inflatable, and I lay flat on my back in the bottom. The relief was of a greater magnitude than I had felt before. I was overcome with immense gratitude for the crew that had allowed me to get back into that boat with a success rather than a DNF.
I was very happy to have finished, but I was also really embarrassed. I am the swimmer with the iron mind. I stay positive through pain and stress. I keep going no matter what. I support other people. But that wasn’t me on this swim. I always need my crew, but they dragged me to the finish mentally for this one. I felt like I cheated! I needed so much mental support that I didn’t feel like I finished this one on my own. I recognize how horribly damaging this sort of reasoning is, but these are my honest thoughts about this crossing. If another swimmer told me that they had these ideas about their successful swim, I would tell them that they are way off base. So why can’t I get over this reasoning for myself?
The Strait of Gibraltar
There was a quick turnaround between Cook Strait and the Strait of Gibraltar. I was on American soil for 29 days before catching a flight to Spain to conquer my 6th Oceans 7 swim. The biggest challenge, in my opinion, of the Strait of Gibraltar is getting a swim spot! It is an extremely popular swim, and there is currently only one piloting company. Another challenge is because it is so popular, pilots will rarely take solo swimmers anymore. So, you must find a group of 4 people that you can pace with for the 9 miles from Tarifa, Spain to Eddalya, Morocco. I am extremely lucky to have great swimming buddies who are also my dear friends, so that challenge was made simple.
I was really excited to swim with my best friends in the beautiful, warm waters of the strait, and to say I swam between continents! And then…I got off the plane in Spain and my tonsil was the size of a ping pong ball.
I pretended like I was fine as my ability to swallow diminished, and the body aches set in, and I became increasingly warm. I told myself I was tired from traveling. I said I would feel great tomorrow. Tomorrow came and I felt worse. While my buddies were out exploring Chefchaouen, Morocco’s gorgeous blue city, I was huddled up on a couch in Tarifa saying to myself over and over: this isn’t happening. My first priority was to not get anyone else sick as I didn’t want to jeopardize anyone else’s swim. Then, I navigated the adventure of semi-rural healthcare in a foreign country. I will just say this - I was unimpressed. I knew I had strep throat, but I was sent away from the doctor’s office with a script for the Spanish version of Tylenol. At that point, I knew me and my body were on our own. I was swimming. There was no doubt about that. So, my brain told the rest of my body to suck it the hell up and start enjoying Spain while we wait for our crossing.
Wait we did. The wind wouldn’t cut us a break, and I was nervous I was going to have to return home not only sick, but with no crossing attempt at all. But I started to feel better. Or, at least, that’s what I told myself. My body said “I am being attacked”, and my mind said, “hold my beer”. I ignored my illness, my nervous system followed suit, and we were back in business. I swam a few times in the ocean. I took a day trip to Cádiz. I went for walks about town. My friends cheered me up with their presence. I wasn’t sick…
After 7 days of waiting, the wind finally broke for a few hours for us, and we completed our crossing in 4 hours and 44 minutes. The water was clear, it was a sunny and hot day, and I had my best friends beside me. We supported each other the whole way. The biggest treat was about halfway through when I thought I spotted dolphins. More and more gray shapes appeared under and around us, and we quickly realized they were tuna! We swam through a school of hundreds of yellowfin tuna, and we could clearly make out their beautiful bright yellow markings. It is a vision I will never forget.
We had a fantastic and delicious victory dinner together, and then I was on a plane the next morning at 7:00am. But as soon as I stepped on that plane, my body gave out. My brain had forced my body to accomplish the task at hand, but it could no longer hold down the fort. I tested positive for strep once I returned home, and it took a while for me to recover, even with the help of antibiotics.
I think many can relate to the experience of going through a stressful period at work or school, finally achieving the task that has been keeping your cortisol levels high, and then immediately after the relief sets in, you fall ill. That’s real. Your brain was releasing chemicals that boosted your immune system during that period of work, and then once you were able to relax, your immune system ebbed and you became more susceptible to pathogens. That is not to say that stress is a good thing, but it is an example of how powerful our thoughts and feelings can be.
The Mind
Two swims, forty days apart. The Cook Strait: completed by my body. The Strait of Gibraltar: completed by my mind.
I already knew the extreme power of the mind, but these two swims really exemplified the majesty of the human brain to me. It can be our biggest helper, and it can be our biggest downfall.
My brain failed me in the middle of the Cook Strait, so how did I still succeed? The answer is obvious: other brains helped me out. When we open ourselves up to the power that others can lend us, we are unstoppable. Unless we are the last human on Earth, we will never run out of brain power. There is always another brain available to assist ours - even when it seems like there isn’t - if only we can allow ourselves to ask for the help. Allowing our community to do some of the mental lifting for us can heal a hurting mind. Don’t think - just listen when other brains tell us to keep going.
When I started to spiral in the Cook Strait, my self-confidence was low and my self-talk was brutal. When I was given compliments and encouragement by my crew, I didn’t believe them at first. I thought they were just saying those things to make me feel better. But here’s the thing - it doesn’t matter if they were lying or not. If they were telling the truth, I know other people see some wonderful qualities in me. If they were lying, I have people that care for me enough to want me to feel better about myself, which means I have some wonderful qualities to warrant that care! We are often our biggest critics: we say things to ourselves that we would never say to another. When someone goes out of their way to help us reframe our minds in a positive way - we need to listen. If we are unable to see our beautiful self-image, let others show it to us. Conversely, when we are able, we can be the mirror for another.
When I am at my lowest, no matter the cause of the feelings, my self-confidence usually plummets with it. I start comparing myself and convincing myself I am no good at the things that I work hard at. I am lucky to be confident in my community that can be my mirror in those times. And though I forget, it would do me well to more frequently remember that everyone feels these same things on occasion, no matter who they are.
So, if you see the big swims as a product of unshakable determination and confidence, you are wrong. Here, I’ll prove it to you! I have a car that has a broken windshield, two doors that don’t unlock, a check engine light that goes on every once in a while that I ignore, and I am really overdue on that oil change. I cannot keep up with my laundry for the life of me, so I will forget that I actually have a ton of black tank tops and don’t need another from Target because they have been sitting in a laundry basket in the corner of my room for a month. I get really bad phone anxiety and am incredibly good at faking it, but I make Michael make the phone calls whenever I can. My to-do lists are never completed. Ever. I just give up on things that are not going to get done and accept it begrudgingly. These are all small quirks that don’t really matter in the end, but they put a crack in the facade of having it all together. None of us do! We are all just trying our best.
So at those times when your mind tends towards defeat, you are not alone. The communal mind is amazing, and that includes yours. Don’t waste it. Love you, D.