Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [29]
There were times, though, during a winter storm, for instance, when I couldn’t maintain my speed against the currents, but I kept working at it, day by day, hoping it would be enough to get me across the Channel.
Having my parents with me also boosted my spirits. Knowing that they cared enough about me helped me to pursue this dream. I didn’t really know then that not all parents are as supportive, although I did realize that mine had made a large commitment to my dream, and it was one that we really shared. It was great at the end of an especially tough workout to hear my mother or father say, “You did a really good job.” They also gave me constructive criticism. Sometimes I was happy to receive it; other times, I didn’t want them telling me what I should be doing. For the most part, though, their suggestions helped.
As June 1972 approached, we decided my mother would accompany me to England, while my father would stay home, work, and take care of the family. At the end of June, my mom and I boarded a plane for England.
6
White Cliffs of Dover
Thoughts about the Channel were always in my conscious mind. They infiltrated my subconscious so that whether I was awake or asleep, I was constantly rehearsing the swim. Working off what Fahmy had told me, I imagined what it would be like when I pushed off the English shore, what the water would be like, the way the current would be moving, and I pictured what it would feel like landing on the French shore. I had never been to England or France, so I studied a map of England and Europe, studied the white space between England and the Continent, and pinpointed the starting place— Shakespeare Beach near Dover—and the finish, in an area called Cape Gris-Nez near Wissant, France.
Fahmy and I spoke often those two weeks before my mother and I left for England. He fed my mind with descriptions of London, of tall red-brick apartments with small garden plots filled with beautiful roses and multitudes of other flowers. He gave us instructions about catching the train at Victoria Station and what we would see along the way. And as my mother and I rode the train to Dover, his voice played in my head, as we moved through the enormous city of London, past wide expanses of greenbelts, and by tiny villages made mostly of stone, always centered around old stone churches with high pointed steeples.
We arrived in a city called Folkestone, ten miles from Dover. Fahmy had recommended staying in Folkestone because there was an outdoor saltwater swimming pool where I could train when a storm moved through England and the water in Dover Harbour was too rough for swimming. He also recommended Folkestone because every year ten to thirty Channel swimmers from all around the world arrived in Dover with the hope of making the crossing. It could be an intense scene, a place where swimmers were vying for pilots, waiting for favorable tides and weather, and competing to break the record; it could also be a place where swimmers from all over the world met, shared their dreams and hopes with new friends, and enjoyed being with others who understood what it took to arrive at that place at that time. Fahmy wasn’t sure what I would face—perhaps a bit of both— and he knew that I would look at all of it as something new and exciting. But he also knew what it was like to be surrounded by this kind of intensity on a daily basis. By staying in Folkestone, I could get away from it whenever I needed a reprieve, or be in Dover when I needed company. It was only a ten-mile bus trip from Folkestone to Dover.
As soon as we checked into the Prince’s Hotel in Folkestone, my mother gave me a list of names of pilots that the Channel Swimming Association had sent us, and I chose the first one on the list. Picking up the phone, I felt my excitement and impatience growing as I put my index finger in the hole above a number and dialed, watching and listening to the sound of the disk slowly rotating back into the starting position. Finally the call went through. As I listened to the double ring, waiting