I was wearing only a swimsuit and bathing cap and according to the contest rules of the English Channel Swimming Association one must clear the water by three paces on each end of the swim. I would be swimming in a shark cage as stipulated by the Gibraltarian government. Giving the British victory sign to my supporters, Horace, Bill, and Carlos and the news media, I plunged into the 65o water.
Although the sea was rough and choppy I felt fine. After two hours I got my first feeding. Evidently the open container of Coca-Cola syrup got laced with salt water and I chugged it down. It didn’t take long to come back up. Then it was the dry heaves and plenty of them. Then chest and stomach pain to go along with the normal feeling of hot pokers penetrating the tender issue of shoulder and groin. I handled the pain for awhile thinking it would go away.
It didn’t and Europe wasn’t getting any closer. For the first time I doubted my ability and strength. I was sick. My mind circled of all the reasons to quit. I kept on coming my with "everyone knows it’s impossible to make this swim, I’ll get out and confirm it."
The people on board the launch towing the cage must have sensed my turning negative. They started giving me the thumbs up sign for "you can do it." Knowing they were just attempting to motivate me, I thought back in anger,
"Why don’t you get in here and do it yourself."
Then it occurred to me that some of them were also sick. They had been throwing up off the back to the towboat. I also realized that if they weren’t here, I wouldn’t be here and vice versa. We were in this event together. I was on the front line, yet they were support. We all were very necessary. We were a team. Once I realized we were a team and all of us were hurting, it brought tears to my eyes, as if I hadn’t enough saltwater in my eyes. More importantly it gave me strength knowing I was part of the team. I had to do my part.
When the pain got unbearable, I started chanting my in my mind "Strength, Stamina, Endurance." It took the place of the pain. Well, not entirely.
Next thing I knew Bill and Horace were standing on the front of the cage. I swam out of the cage and staggered the three steps onto European soil. Horace jubilantly said, "Congratulations you’re the first bloke to do it." I felt like I was going to die. Then I heard Horace tell Bill, "David looks about to die." That confirmed it. I passed out.
From a long way off I could hear Horace muttering something about spending the night in a Spanish jail. Two gun toting Guardia Civil (Police) were running down the beach. What motivation! I staggered back into the water, swam to the launch; they cut the cage, and powered out to sea leaving the two Guardia Civil with raised guns shouting from shore.
My body was racked with pain and in my mind there was the glimmer of strength that knew what had just happened.
The paradigm had been broken. It was no longer impossible to swim from Africa to Europe. I realized that just because everyone else thought something to be true, I didn’t have to buy into his or her beliefs. I had a dream, turned the dream into a goal and wrote down the list of what needed to be done. I thought like a beginner, gained information about the area, the new terrain, mastered more skill of endurance and speed, and assembled the support team.
That thought set up a lifetime of exploration. Many of the adventures people thought were impossible. Impossible is just another thought. Not mine!
Next time I’ll swim to Gibraltar.
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