English Channel – My First DNF

On August 6th, 2025, I swam 6.5 hours in the English Channel before abandoning my swim for mental health reasons. At 21 miles across, this channel is swum from England to France and is known for precarious weather and strong currents that force swimmers to traverse much longer than the straightest route. 

This is an iconic swim that most every marathon swimmer dreams to complete. It is included in prestigious lists like the Triple Crown of Marathon Swimming and the Oceans 7. The English Channel is considered the pinnacle of open water swimming.

The Long Road to the English Channel

In July 2022, I sent an email to each of the pilots of both governing bodies overseeing English Channel swims – the Channel Swimming and Piloting Federation and Channel Swimming Association. At this point, I was very early in my marathon swimming journey, and wasn’t even certain that I wanted to swim the English Channel. Because of the 2-3 year waiting list, my friends encouraged me to reach out and secure a slot. English Channel swim attempts are booked on either a neap or spring tide, and each pilot books multiple swimmers per tide. Being able to swim is never guaranteed, even if you are the slot one swimmer. I have many friends who waited out their tide window in Dover, only to go home without ever having a chance to attempt the channel. 

Of the responses I received, Paul Foreman had opened his books for 2025 the day I wrote to him, and I secured a position as the slot 1 swimmer on a neap tide from the 1st to 8th of August. 

I put the English Channel out of my mind and pursued numerous other open water swims. I grew immensely as an athlete and person. I made friends across the world who understood and shared my fascination for pushing myself to the limit. I found my place among people who love the water the way I do.

2025 was a tumultuous training year. After completing the Catalina Channel in August 2024, I suffered from what I now consider to be a form of PTSD from my experience in the channel. While marathon swimming has generally been a positive influence on my mental health, I hadn’t much considered the potential traumatic impact of participating in the sport. I did not want to continue marathon swimming after Catalina, but decided to keep my plans for Cook Strait and English Channel and see how I felt as the year progressed. 

Swimming the Cook Strait in February 2025 was an incredible experience that restored my love for the sport and connection to the water. I went into that swim purposefully a bit undertrained, with a structured training plan to follow leading up to the English Channel. In March, I completed a number of pool 10ks with my training partners and was feeling strong and connected to my community. However, things began to unravel a bit in April. I made a semi-spontaneous decision to participate in SCAR, an event I completed (and loved!) in 2023. My plan was to swim the middle two lakes, Canyon and Apache, with my friend Christine as kayak support. I completed Canyon but was not feeling right mentally. I had Christine drive me the 1.5 hours to the Phoenix Airport and sobbed my way through the terminal as I navigated booking a last minute flight and going home alone in the midst of a mental health crisis. Retrospectively, I didn’t give that episode the attention it deserved, and think it may have been a canary in the coal mine of sorts for my English Channel experience.

In May, I traveled to Loreto, Mexico with some of my favorite swimming buddies for our third annual Baja Blast Swim Camp. In June, I tackled a choppy 6-hour training swim in the San Francisco Bay with kayak support from the incredible Sean Johnson. In July, I traveled to Cork, Ireland for my second Cork Distance Week. Though these three months were full of great training, I could not shake the pervasive feeling that I wasn’t good enough to swim the English Channel. I lacked confidence in myself in a way that I haven’t felt since my first marathon swim. I carried that heavy uncertainty with me as my wife and I boarded our flight to London.

The Dover Coaster

Deedee and I decided to spend 5 days in Amsterdam adjusting to the time change before heading to Dover a few days before the opening of my swim window. I had heard many stories of the Dover Coaster, the loving moniker for the myriad feelings experienced while waiting seaside for your pilot to call and give you a chance to swim. Paradoxically, I felt more calm in the 6 days leading up to my swim than I had the whole 6 months preceding. 

It was immediately evident that I wouldn’t swim in the beginning part of my window, as nearby Storm Floris created unsafe conditions in the channel with winds up to 45 mph. In Folkestone, Deedee and I were joined by one of my closest friends, Maja. We had a great time exploring together as we waited for the opportunity to swim. We met with my pilot and toured the boat alongside the relay team in slot two of the tide window. As it so happens, this relay is made of my podmates from the Albany Bulb, who I did not know when I made my booking but now are all beloved training partners. We swam in both Folkestone and Dover, and spent time with Jessica Kieras and Andrew Packer who were also riding the Dover Coaster. 

On August 4th, Paul let me know it looked possible to swim on the morning of August 6th. When I got the call on August 5th to confirm our meet time and location for the next day, I did not have any emotions. I thought I might feel excited or even a little nervous, but I was hollow. Maja had to leave that afternoon, and another friend Laure traveled from London to be my second crew person. I prepped my feeds and had my usual pre-swim meal of pesto pasta.

The Swim

Of note, I was honored to have the opportunity to swim the English Channel on the 99th anniversary of the historic crossing by Gertrude Ederle. On August 6th, 1926, she was the first woman to successfully cross the English Channel. Additionally, 2025 marked the 150th anniversary of the first ever English Channel crossing, done by Matthew Webb on August 24th, 1875. The wind and tide forecast looked incredibly favorable, and I could not have had a more perfect day to swim from England to France. 

We met Paul at 0645 and boarded the boat. Co-Pilot Jason and our observer, Dawn, from CS&PF gave us a safety briefing and let us know what to expect for the duration of the swim. We motored the ~20 minutes to the swim start at Samphire Hoe and Deedee hurriedly prepped my skin with zinc and vaseline. Suddenly, I was standing on the beach under the towering White Cliffs of Dover. I remembered to look back and spend a moment to take in their beauty before re-entering the water and beginning my swim. I felt a profound sense of emptiness and disconnection from the swim and my surroundings. I had envisioned this moment for years, looking forward to my chance to swim the English Channel, but when the time finally came, I wasn’t mentally there.

The first few hours of the swim were unremarkable. The water was calm and warm at around 65F and though I touched a few moon jellyfish, they were non-stinging and didn’t bother me. I was taking feeds in less than 20 seconds and making good forward progress. My mind was calm and devoid of thoughts, typical for the flow state I enter during long swims. Usually during marathon swims, Deedee has near constant eyes on me. This helps me feel safe as I splash along. I was worried about her being seasick, as the boat was rocking considerably and she was only visible to me during feeds. Laure took over the responsibility of keeping eyes on me, and I later learned Deedee was cycling through vomiting and laying on the deck trying to collect herself. 

I started to have intrusive thoughts about running into a dead body sometime around 3 hours. Progressively, the intrusive thoughts became more disturbing and it became more difficult to refocus on the present moment. Much of the swim feels like a blur, but I distinctly remember a period of time where both Laure and Deedee were not visible to me, and I was certain I was going to drown.

The next thing I remember was a flashback of my Tahoe Width, where my mind was starting to unravel while my friend Hailey looked on supportively. During that moment in Lake Tahoe, I yelled, “Where’s Deedee?!” before having a panic attack that almost ended my swim. Similarly, I yelled for Deedee and was able to continue swimming for a time with her in eyesight. When she started preparing my next feed, I again began panicking and asked Laure if she could pour the feed so Deedee could stay on the railing. They quickly shifted roles, I fed and continued swimming. 

For some time thereafter, a song lyric from one of my favorite bands, Glass Animals, played repetitively in my mind: 

You get lost in the ocean
What you do when you are so broken
The flood, the feeling comes over
How are you so loved and so lonesome?

This song is from their most recent album, I Love You So F***ing Much, an album that explores themes of human connection and love throughout time and space. This song is deeply meaningful to me. It is both a comforting melody and a sad narrative of the loneliness and disconnect one can feel despite being surrounded by immense love (please please please take a listen for me!). As many of you reading likely know, I struggle with depression and have gone through periods where this disease has felt all consuming. As these words played through my head, I knew I wouldn’t make it to France.

By hour 4, I badly wanted to get out. I tried for two hours to recenter and focus on anything but the intrusive thoughts, but it was a slow losing battle. During our initial meeting, Paul had made it abundantly clear that after a death in the channel in 2023, he would not push me to continue swimming if I said I wanted to get out. He would have no option but to end my swim, so I knew exactly what I needed to say. Never in my life did I think I would say those words, but I did. 

Deedee was shocked and immediately tried to troubleshoot. She asked me to talk through what was happening. I told her I was physically okay but so upset. Paul, Laure, Deedee, and Dawn looked down at me in disbelief. I then said that maybe I should take another feed and try to keep going. Paul watched protectively over me and for a brief moment I thought I would be able to continue. That feeling did not last long, and panic again took over. I was screaming underwater and sobbing into my goggles. Everytime I breathed towards the boat, Deedee was nodding her head at me in support. I shook my head back at her. No, I was not okay. This was not happening. I was not going to finish. I needed to get back on the boat. 

I felt my body come to a stop and I yelled, “Paul, please let me back on the boat.” He had the ladder in the water faster than I could finish my sentence, and then somehow I was on the deck of the boat in Deedee’s arms. I could not believe that I was out of the water and that the swim was finished. My first attempt at swimming the English Channel was over, and it did not end in me triumphantly finishing my Triple Crown on Gertrude Ederle day.

Nothing really prepares you for the heartbreak of your first DNF. Though I have always appreciated this as a possibility, it’s impossible to understand the extent of the devastation until you are within its darkness. All of the feelings are still very raw, as I write this just a few days after my attempt, but it feels important to share this messy reality before I have had time to process and have something insightful to offer. Right now, it is just hard, and that’s okay, and I am okay. As I have invited you all to share in my triumphs, I am resisting the urge to self-isolate and am instead stepping into vulnerability and inviting you to share in this defeat, too.

The day after my attempt, we ended our time in England early and flew home. The next day, I was embraced with immense love by my friends at the South End Rowing Club. I am so thankful for everyone near and far who reached out, shared their own DNF stories, and offered love and support. It truly means so much and is easing the sting of this experience. I know that this darkness will pass, and there will be so much learning and growth from this first attempt at the English Channel. Thank you for being with me for every part of this journey. 

As Lost in the Ocean ends, 

Even now, I’m here and I’m hoping
For sun in the afternoon