It’s not every day that you have an earnest conversation with another person about the rationality of finding a patch of jellyfish and swimming through it, but this was a topic of great importance last week when I met with Marisa Schubert, a fourth year Oxford medic and aspiring English Channel swimmer.
Of all of the ways to get to France, it’s pretty obvious that swimming is neither the cheapest nor the quickest way, and I write from experience in saying that catching the ferry is definitely an easier way to get across. I swum the channel nearly four years ago, and normally when I think about my swim, I struggle to remember exactly why I wanted to do it. I remember the pain in my shoulders for days and days afterwards. I remember everything I ate and drank tasting of salt for at least a week after I finished. I remember sporadic parts of the swim. The feeling of nausea from following the bobbing light on my support boat for the several hours that I swam in the dark. I remember the all-pervading cold of the water and the feeling of cramp in parts of my body that I didn’t know it was possible to get cramp in, during the second half of the swim. I remember being tormented by the tides, the excitement of being able to clearly see the coast of France after about eight hours of swimming turning into frustration as I was pushed backwards for the next six hours. I remember complete numbness as I crawled onto the beach at Cap Blanc Nez, and spending the whole journey back being sick over the side of the boat. But I often struggle to remember why I thought it would be a good idea to attempt one of the hardest swims in the world. However, speaking to Marisa reminded me of some of the excitement and anticipation that I felt before my swim, and challenged me to reflect on the importance of testing our limits as human beings, whether that is swimming for over fourteen hours in cold, jellyfish infested water, or in another way.
For Marisa, the dream of swimming across the English Channel started aged eleven, when she read the incredibly inspiring autobiography of Lynne Cox, an open water swimmer who once held the world record for the fastest time to make the swim, and who also, as if the English Channel wasn’t cold enough, has swam in in the waters of Antarctica. At this point, attempting the swim was a dream for Marisa, but not something that she thought would genuinely be possible for her to do.
However, over the next few years this dream has slowly evolved into a reality as she discovered her love of cold water and started to realise that attempting the crossing may be more than just a dream, but a real possibility. I can remember always being the swimmer who inched into the sea slowly, moaning about how cold it was and often being dunked by the people I trained with, so the love of cold water is something that I don’t really understand. However the realisation that making the swim might be a real possibility and the excitement, combined with sporadic feelings of ‘why on earth am I doing this?’ is something that I can relate to well. And I think in different ways, we can all relate to this.
One of the things driving Marisa to attempt the swim is for the sense of fulfilment in seeing how far she can push herself physically and mentally. For me, knowing that I swam the channel reminds me that I am capable of coping with other challenges and of pushing through the barriers that my own mind can put up, telling me that my potential is somehow limited. The day I swam the channel was the longest, most painful day of my life, but speaking to Marisa about her forthcoming swim has reminded me of why I wanted to swim to France and why I am so glad that I did. I’m not advocating that everyone gets in the sea and starts training to swim the Channel, but I think that it is important that every now and again we consider the dreams that we have, and whether they are perhaps more achievable than we believe.
