Catalina Channel

The pool I trained at in high school was located at the edge of my school campus. At the end of every day during swim season, I would walk excitedly across the parking lot to the 6-lane outdoor pool. One afternoon, I found a swim cap on the ground. Scrawled across the cap was the statement “I swam the Catalina Channel!” I hadn’t a clue what the Catalina Channel was, and I don’t recall whether anybody ever asked me about the cap, but I proudly wore it until it practically disintegrated. The memory of finding it on the ground lingered in the periphery for about 15 years until I actually swam the Catalina Channel in August 2024.

After my first marathon swim in 2021, I had no idea how to set attainable goals for the coming years, so I developed a simple method to progressively challenge myself with the ultimate goal of attempting the English Channel in 2025.

Easy, right!? The decision was made, so all I had left to do to achieve my 2024 goal was book a pilot, assemble a crew, and prepare my body and mind for the 20 mile journey from Catalina Island to the California mainland.

I swam almost 400 miles during training, including two other official marathon swims. I put in long hours at the pool, as well as multiple 4-hour, 5-hour, and 6-hour training swims in open water. I learned all I could about what I may experience in the channel to ensure I was mentally prepared for this massive undertaking. There was potential for getting seasick on the ride out to the island. The swim starts around 11pm, so roughly half of the swim would occur during the night. The ocean currents and swells could pose a challenge, as could the potential for jellyfish stings. The water temperature drops considerably in the final few miles of the swim, so my crew would have to be on alert for hypothermia. I developed a detailed swim plan outlining my feeding and medication schedule and the timing for support swimmer and kayaker exchanges. When I arrived in Long Beach, I felt calm, well supported, and ready for the challenge.

It felt like a blessing from the universe (or, rather, Tracy Bennett of the New York Times) for the Wordle to be CROWN on the morning I would attempt a swim to complete the California Triple Crown. I slept the entire way to the island and when I woke up, I realized that the boat was no longer in motion. Captain Kevin Bell of The Bottom Scratcher had stopped in a protected cove to wait for the wind to calm down. We watched the famous Catalina flying fish launch themselves from the water until it was time for me to get swimming. Sidney took the first three-hour kayak shift, and I was careful not to splash her when I jumped into the 70 degree water like I did at the beginning of my Anacapa Channel swim. She guided me towards the beach at Doctor’s Cove with the help of a bright light from the boat. The beach was a bit rocky, but it wasn’t too difficult to stand up and clear the waterline. I was instructed to lift an arm when I was on shore and drop it once my feet were back in the water to designate the official start time of the swim. As I swam away from shore, I noticed Sidney drop back and I stopped to see what was going on. She had got tangled in a bit of kelp and was paddling vigorously to break away!

It felt like only a few moments had passed before Sidney signaled that it was time for my first feed. She was kayaking on my right and the boat was to my left. It was absolutely pitch black, and I couldn’t tell where the water ended and the sky began. All I could see were the green glowsticks on the boat and kayak, Sidney’s red head lamp, and the small lights at the ends of her paddle. Thankfully, the paddle lights illuminated her arms and torso just enough that I could tell which way she was facing, allowing me to maintain some sense of depth perception.

The water was calm and smooth, but there was a lot of activity just below the surface. There was a bit of bioluminescence lighting up the bubbles created by my stroke and a plethora of phosphorescent pyrosomes floating below me. I was nearly constantly touching gelatinous blobs and what felt like pieces of kelp. At one point, something hard hit my right foot and shortly thereafter, a small fish somehow swam its way into the top of my swimsuit!

For marathon swim attempts, it takes me about two hours to feel both mentally and physically warmed up. During this time, I focus on maintaining a steady stroke rate, stretching out, and staying in the present moment. For this particular attempt, Maja was scheduled to enter the water to support swim with me at hour 2.5. I knew that having her in the water would energize me, but I worried what she would think about the darkness and all of visible and palpable life in the water. Maja is an incredible friend and takes her role as support swimmer very seriously, so I knew she wouldn’t let on if she was nervous… but night swimming is not always her favorite, and it was really dark. She positioned herself between the boat and my left shoulder, and we knocked out 30 minutes together before the first kayaker exchange. Immediately, I realized that it was impossible to see Alison in the kayak as her paddle didn’t have any lights at the end. I couldn’t make out her silhouette and therefore, lost the little depth perception I had.

For the next hour, I felt incredibly sleepy and was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. I would allow myself to close them for three strokes and take a micro-nap, but the micro-naps quickly evolved into macro-naps and I was concerned about actually falling asleep. I became paranoid about drowning, but it was impossible to consistently keep my eyes open. Just before the hour 5 feed, I began feeling slightly off in an indescribable way. I took the feed but skipped the scheduled dose of pain medication. A few strokes later, I suddenly and aggressively vomited all of the feed into the water. I continued swimming and vomiting, but had to stop a few times to retch above the water because I needed to catch my breath and was afraid of inhaling water.

When Zach entered the water at hour 5.5, he gifted me a life saving dose of antiemetic that he delivered via a Ziploc bag stowed in his swim cap. I tentatively drank a few sips of my feed and continued to vomit under the water for the next 30 minutes. Zach was swimming to my right, but was positioned behind me and I couldn’t really see him. We readjusted at hour 6 while Alison and John Michael swapped places as kayak support, and I took a gel at this feed thinking that maybe the liquid feeds were the culprit of my upset stomach. Retrospectively, I think the absolute darkness was compromising my proprioception and causing the vomiting. I took another half feed at hour 6.5 and thankfully, my stomach sorted itself out and I was back to taking full feeds without any further vomiting at hour 7.

The two hours before first light were the hardest part of the swim. I was feeling defeated and desperately wanted to get back on the boat. I told myself that if I could just get to sunrise, I would likely feel differently, but I didn’t believe it would be possible to continue swimming for that long. My body was feeling great, but my mind was almost inhospitable. During training, if I was ever struggling mentally I would ask myself, “Is there a reason for me to end this swim early?”  I would also ask that to training partners if they were the ones having a hard time during a training swim. If everything was objectively fine, but we were just emotionally struggling, we would keep swimming. If there was some physical need to get out, which there almost never was, we would end early. I had to remind myself more than ever during Catalina that there was no reason for me to stop swimming. I trained hard for this swim, I had the most supportive crew imaginable, and my family would be waiting for me at the finish. I would need to let my body do its job and find a way to deal with the darkness in my head.

After about 7 hours of swimming in absolute darkness, I knew that we were approaching first light. It felt like time was moving in slow motion but I kept telling myself that if I could just get to daytime, I would be able to finish the swim.  I anticipated that at that point, I would only have about 6 more hours left of swimming. The thought of swimming for 6 more hours was horrifying, but I knew that I had the physical stamina and could use mental tricks to break the swim into smaller pieces.

There was no real sunrise, but the black sky slowly turned dark gray, and then light gray, and I was soon able to see John Michael in the kayak and my support crew on the boat. The phosphorescent creatures below me lost their blue shimmer and became clear gelatinous blobs. I entertained myself by watching them move about beneath me. I told myself that the only thing that could stop me from making it to shore was my mind. I got through what everyone had told me would be the hardest part of the swim. All I needed to do was continue what I had been doing all night and what I had done for so many hours in training… Put my head down and keep moving forward. No matter what was going on in my mind, no matter what dark thoughts entered into my consciousness, no matter how I was feeling emotionally. I needed to let my body do what it is trained to do, which is swim. 

I was elated when Maja got in for her second support swim at hour 9.5. It was nice to have some company after a few hours of solo-swimming monotony. After half an hour of swimming next to Maja, John Michael exited the water and we had a short period of time without a kayaker. During this time, I was instructed to sight towards a particular landmark, but I desperately did not want to see how far I still was from land. I told Maja that I would just follow her, and she said “We actually can’t do that!” Support swimmers are not allowed to set the pace of the swim or be ahead of the primary swimmer, and Maja was on top of making sure we followed the rules. By the time we were done laughing about this, Sidney was already back next to us and ready to guide us forth.

Soon after that, I noticed that there was a lot of commotion on the boat. My crew seemed to not be looking at me, but beyond me. Sidney was also turning towards her right hand side to look towards the open ocean. When I picked up my head a little bit higher to see beyond her, I noticed a large amount of seagulls flying around and sitting on the water. Bird activity can mean there are fish nearby, which could also signal the presence of a larger marine animal. Thankfully, I quickly realized that a massive pod of dolphins were approaching the swim! There were hundreds of small dolphins jumping all around me and Maja. They divided their pod to accommodate the swim, and we were surrounded on all sides by these majestic creatures. This was absolutely magical and the highlight of the swim, and I was so happy that Maja got to experience it with me.  I watched them swim underwater behind us and though I didn’t hear it at the time, Zach yelled “Okay, that was your treat, now SWIM!”

Maja exited the water soon after and I was back on my own. 9.5 hours had elapsed and I was still feeling physically strong and mentally fragile. The water was calm with gentle rolling swells, and I was honestly a little bit understimulated by the tranquil conditions. I was thankful to have a calm swim, but I’m never one to complain about texture! I was still stuck in my head and not very interactive with my crew. They were all on the back of the boat dancing and cheering me on, and though I was really appreciative of them trying to energize me, I couldn’t even give them a smile back. They were, however, able to briefly break through when they all danced to HOTTOGO by Chappel Roan.

The way that I wrote the swim plan was a bit flexible with regard to when Zach would enter the water for his second support swim. I had been aware of how much time elapsed throughout the swim until Maja exited the water, after which point I had no clue what was going on. I somehow convinced myself that when Zach got back in the water, I would have less than one hour left to swim. That was never the plan and I’m not sure why I held so tightly to this belief other than I must have really needed some hope that the swim would eventually be over. I kept looking for any sign that Zach was preparing to swim. Anytime he would go into the cabin, I assumed he was getting ready, and then would feel defeated when we returned to the deck in his clothes. It didn’t help that he was wearing flesh colored courdoroy shorts, so it was extra difficult to tell that he was even wearing pants.

When Zach finally did get into the water, he swam over to me and made a joke. I didn’t laugh and just started swimming away from him once I was done feeding… I was in a really bad mood! He stayed right next to me and matched me stroke for stroke. In the San Francisco Bay, the water is so murky that you can hardly see your hand in front of you. It was interesting to be in such pristine water with Zach where I could clearly see him. At the hour 12 feed, Zach said that he had a support swim update. I knew that whatever he had to tell me, it couldn’t be good. He excitedly let me know that they cleared it with the observers for him to swim with me until the next feed, and then would get out until it was time to swim me to the finish. Though this was being delivered to me as good news, this both meant that I wasn’t about to finish, and that I had no idea for how much longer I would be swimming. I felt absolutely demoralized… and then Sidney then told me that she needed to go to the boat for a moment. This was totally innocuous, but my disoriented brain interpreted her need to restock on feeds as me having done something wrong by taking so long to finish the swim. In reality, I built the swim plan for her to get back into the water at hour 9 and stay with me until the end of the swim, and I had bottles for each kayaker to take out 3 hours of feeds at a time. Mathematically, it only makes sense that she would need to restock, and I knew that, but again, my brain was not all there at this point.

For the next 30 minutes, Zach again stayed as close as he possibly could without touching me. We continued to make progress towards Rancho Palos Verdes, and I could see the distant coastline behind Sidney to my right and a closer outcropping of shoreline to my left behind the boat. Suddenly, the water temperature dropped from a warm 70 to what felt like 58 or 59° (it was actually about 63-64). There’s a large continental shelf a few miles off of the California coastline that causes this extreme temperature drop. For the rest of the swim, the water stayed cold with patchy areas of warmer reprieve. My core stayed warm, but I had goosebumps and my skin burned with superficial chill. When Zach got out of the water, I felt like it was not possible to continue swimming. My crew was cheering for me so loudly, and I could tell objectively that I was much closer to land than I was 30 minutes prior. I didn’t know this at the time, but I had been stuck in a current for about two hours and Captain Kevin wasn’t sure if we would be able to make the planned finish at Terrenea Beach. Deedee assured him that my speed wouldn’t waver and that it would be best not to let me know about this concern. Most people finish at Smuggler’s Cove where it is sandy and easy to exit the water, but that beach is not accessible from land. What was most important for me was not taking the shortest line or easiest route, but for me to finish at the beach where my Aunt Vicki and family would be able to meet me.

My crew started looking forward a lot more and I thought we must be getting pretty close to land. They were dancing with excitement and all had big smiles on their faces. Sidney threw me a bottle and by context clues I gathered that it more than likely had to be my last feed. On the boat, Captain Kevin told Deedee that I had made it through the current. Sidney made a hard right turn and told me to follow her. At this point, I started sobbing in relief that I was actually going to complete the swim. I usually don’t get too emotional during marathon swims, but after being tormented by my mind for what I thought was over 14 hours, I was feeling quite sensitive. I watched my amazing support crew don their bathing suits and splash into the water. I could hear my family yelling and I looked to see them waving on the beach. This made my cry even harder!

When I got to a point where I could stand, Sidney navigated me to a specific spot where it would be safest for me to exit the water. I was able to get my legs under me okay, but the rocks below me were slippery and it was challenging to maintain my balance. I ended up falling pretty hard, but knew my family was well aware they could not help me up. I was able to stand back up and walk up onto dry boulders. I lifted my arms and my family and friends erupted in loud cheering. I actually couldn’t hear the horn from the boat! After 12 hours and 49 minutes of swimming, I was finally back on land. My Aunt Vicki gave me a special flower crown made with native plants to represent my completion of the California Triple Crown. This swim challenge includes the Anacapa Channel (12 miles, completed in 2022), Lake Tahoe Length (21 miles, completed in 2023), and the Catalina Channel. It meant everything to have her and my family and friends at the swim finish.

We celebrated on the beach for a bit, and my family exclaimed that they couldn’t believe I would have to swim back to the boat after that massive effort. Honestly, that can sometimes feel like the hardest part! Thankfully, Sidney used a rope from the back of her kayak to tow me, so I got to lay on my back and relax on the return to the boat. Once I was out of the water, I felt an immediate severe soreness throughout my entire body that far surpassed any discomfort I have previously felt after a long swim. It was excruciating to have Deedee and Alison rub baby oil on my body to remove the Boudreaux’s Butt Paste. Thankfully, there was a hot shower on the boat, and it was a luxury to be able to immediately soothe my aching body. I took some Zofran after my shower and forced myself to eat a bit before falling asleep for the rest of the ride back to the marina. I felt quite terrible the rest of the day, but felt a lot better after pain medication and 11 hours of solid sleep!

I completed this swim to honor my Aunt Vicki’s journey with Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer. We were able to raise $2000 for Pancreatic Action Network and the Lustgarden Foundation, two organizations centered around research and treatment. Thank you so much to everyone who donated to the fundraiser! 

I absolutely could not have finished this swim without the support of my incredible boat crew. They got me through the hard moments and gave me the strength to keep swimming when I wanted to quit. Knowing that I had family and friends waiting for me on the beach was also paramount to my success in this swim. Captain Kevin Bell and crew on the Bottom Scratcher kept me safe, took great care of my crew, and made a finish at Terranea Beach possible. I highly recommend them to anyone who has hopes of swimming the Catalina Channel. Finally, thank you to everyone who sent love and words of encouragement while I was in the water. These big swims are team events, and I am so thankful to have you all on my team.

I would also like to give major kudos to my friends, Leah Taylor-Kearney and Erika Beauchamp, who completed the Catalina Channel a few days after me! Great work, you two!