I love a good spreadsheet. I like the certainty of it, the sheer analytical joy of breaking down information into a logical arrangement, and using it to find the right answer.
I have been using spreadsheets a lot in the last few weeks, as it's dawned on me that the logistics for a channel swim are almost as hard work as the training. I have spreadsheets for:
- Tide times
- Likely timings for the 24 hours before the swim starts
- Kit for me
- Kit for my crew
- A really quite nifty (though I say it myself) model which helps me figure out my optimum feeding plan, complete with carb counts, calorie counts, and a formula which tells me at what point my body will run out of sugar and have to start burning fat (it's 4.5 hours in).
Spreadsheets: Love 'Em
It's very comforting to have it all neatly laid out like that, and it also helps me make sure my support crew have the info they need (in the end I just have to swim - they have to worry about EVERYTHING else).
I'm going back to those spreadsheets now, and the other briefing documents for my crew, over and over again. I have spent quite a lot of time buying random crap on Amazon, ProSwimwear and in B&Q to make sure all the check boxes in my kit lists are green, and I think my support crew are sick of emails and texts.
The trouble is that there is nothing else for me to do; all the training is done. After my 10.5 mile epic at Torbay (blog post on that to follow), I really can't do anymore swimming now apart from a bit of light doggy paddling. In sporting jargon I am now 'tapering', which means on a very light training schedule in order to be rested prior to a big event (actually that's a misrepresentation of what I'm actually doing, which is sitting on the sofa, watching Le Tour on ITV4 and eating junk). But it doesn't stop me worrying.
Just a small fraction of the gear currently being assembled for the swim!
I recently met channel swimming legend Cliff Golding, a man who finally achieved his dream of swimming the channel on his EIGHTH attempt, over a period of 5 years. He told me that the moment you stand on the beach with your hand raised [to signal that you are ready for the swim to start] is "the loneliest place in extreme sport". The more I think about that, the more I believe him. We're getting down to it now (5 days before my swim window opens) and I can honestly say that for the last few nights, I have lain awake for at least an hour thinking about that moment.
So to keep my anxiety at bay, and because perhaps the nerdier among you might be interested, I thought I'd run you through how the next few days will unfold from a practical perspective.
The Swim Window
First you need to understand the commercial aspects of a channel swim. Channel pilots don't provide their craft and their experience for free: there's a hefty fee for the boat, the pilot and 2nd pilot, and the official observer. With those sums of money involved there is a standard written contract which states (i) which tide (usually a 6 day period) the swimmer is booked on and (ii) which position in the queue they are (remember this is the UK; you can't even swim the channel without queuing) -there are usually 4 swimmers in the queue for 1 tide.
I am on the first spring tide in July, which runs from the 9th to the 14th. I am number 2 in the queue. This means that on the first day in that tide the pilot deems to be 'swimmable', he will offer the swim to the first swimmer in the queue. The first swimmer can either accept the swim, or decline it, at which point it will be offered to the next in line. This process continues until all the swimmers in the queue have made an attempt.
If the weather is poor, not all swimmers may get to make an attempt in their designated tide; this is known as being 'weathered out'. At that point you are essentially 'on-call'. You still have a contract with the pilot, and it is up to them to find you a slot (when they get a sustained period of good weather) later in the season.
Either way the process immediately before the swim is roughly the same.
the waiting game
Conditions: Sub-optimal
Good(ish) weather is essential for making an attempt. That DOESN'T mean it has to be sunny and warm; those things really don't matter. The main issues are the height of the swell (created by winds and storms out in the North Sea and Atlantic), and the degree of surface chop (created by wind locally). That's a very simplistic explanation that my pilot would scoff at; other factors like the prevailing wind versus localised coastal sea-breezes play a role, and wind direction versus tide direction is also a biggie - and that's why not any numpty with a cruiser can be a channel pilot - predicting a good swim window, the perfect time to set off, and the optimum course based on the conditions on the day, can be a complex business.
So it's a waiting game. Over the next few days I'll be scouring the weather websites, and so will Mike Oram, my pilot. We'll be in telephone communication, and Mike will only confirm that we're going to GO about 24 hours, or perhaps less, before I actually splash down.
The shout
When I get 'the shout' that we're going, a few things need to happen.
- Tell my support crew. None of them are local to Dover, but very kindly all three of them are ready to drop everything at a moment's notice.
- Mix my feed concentrates (for my liquid feeds) and do a last check through all my food and gear before leaving home
- Head to Dover!
- We will all congregate at the hotel in Dover which will be our base, and hopefully all grab a few hours sleep before it's time to go to the Marina.
splashing down
Channel swims almost always begin at or just before Dover High Water. There are two tides every 24 hours, so two high waters in Dover. During my swim window, the two sets of high waters run from about midnight - 2.30am, and then from around noon to 2.30pm.
It's more likely (but completely weather dependent, again) that I will start during the night, probably some time between 11pm and 1am.
Assuming this, we will probably arrive down at Dover Marina at around 9pm. We'll meet Mike my pilot, and do a briefing to make sure everyone knows what they're doing.
Once all the gear is on board, we will motor out of the Marina to one of two start-points (again, weather and conditions dependent) - either Shakespeare Beach or Samphire Hoe.
Shakespeare Beach: The Start
While we're on our way to the start point, I will get my kit on (speedos, cap, goggles, and waterproof strobing LED lights (one on my goggle strap, one on my speedos). With the help of a 'lucky' volunteer, I'll grease all the areas likely to chafe (armpits, neck and... other areas).
About 200m from the beach Mike will stop the boat. I'll jump in, swim to the beach and clear the water. This will be my last opportunity to take a deep breath and adjust my goggles. With any luck, the next time I stand up, I will be in France.
When I'm ready to go, I'll raise my hand above my head. I'll be counted down from 10. The clock will start, a horn will sound, and I will start swimming.
haven't a clue
And with exception of what I want to eat and when, that's as far as any of my spreadsheets can take me.
I can't see my paper in advance; I don't know what questions the wind and tide will ask of me, and I don't know whether my answers will be good enough. There's no formula that can give me the answer, and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Those spreadsheets are just an attempt to control what I can control, which in the end, isn't very much.
The studying is over. Time to take the exam.