Training for
the Channel Swim.

The Challenge.

The English Channel is 21 miles of some of the busiest, coldest, and most unpredictable water in the world. Currents can push you miles off course. Water temperature sits around 15 degrees even in summer. Jellyfish, shipping lanes, and fatigue are constant threats. And the rules say no wetsuit. Just you, a pair of Speedos, and 15-degree water for as long as it takes. Not sure what was worse, the cold or having to wear those.

It’s one of the original endurance challenges. Fewer people have swum the Channel than have climbed Everest. Our dad died of a heart attack at 56. After about six months of grieving, my brother James and I decided we needed something positive to focus on. Something difficult enough to pull us forward. We decided to swim the Channel, both planning to do it solo. Neither of us were big swimmers. The occasional swim on holiday and whatever we did at school. A mile in a pool was about as far as either of us had gone. We thought we could get Channel-ready in a year. Realistically, it’s a two-year goal.

Starting From Zero.

We had the idea around September. By October we were in the pool most days, swimming one or two miles a session and building from there. The Channel swimming season runs from roughly May to September, when the water is at its warmest. That gave us a full winter to build a base in the pool before we could think about open water.

Through the winter months, the focus was simple. Swim as many hours as you can. By the time we hit our stride, we were doing around twenty hours a week in the pool. Neither of us were natural swimmers or lovers of distance swimming, and swimming one or two miles in a pool is boring. The only way I could get through it was to break each session down into bite-size chunks in my head. We also bought underwater headsets to listen to music, which didn’t really help. What did help was private lessons to work on our technique. Being more efficient in the water saves energy over distance, and over ten or twenty hours that adds up.

A Channel crossing can take anywhere from ten to twenty hours depending on conditions and currents. The average is around fourteen or fifteen hours. The only way to prepare for that kind of time in the water is to spend that kind of time in the water.

We also started cold showers from the very beginning. Two or three minutes of cold water every day. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re swimming the Channel without a wetsuit in 15-degree water, cold acclimatisation isn’t optional. There’s no shortcut for it. You just have to keep exposing yourself to it, consistently, for months. In winter we kept up with cold dips to maintain our tolerance. You can’t take months off from the cold and expect your body to remember.

During the summer months we also joined the swimming club at the Serpentine in Hyde Park. We’d get up around six, get in the lake, and swim. There’s something about being in the middle of central London at that time of the morning. Sunshine on the water, the park still quiet. That part was genuinely fun.

Learning the Channel.

When May came around, we started training with Freda Streeter in Dover. Freda is known as the “Dream Weaver” in Channel swimming circles. She’s coached more successful Channel swimmers than probably anyone else. Every weekend, we’d drive down from London and be at Dover harbour by six in the morning. Freda and her team would be on the beach, ready to go.

There were probably ten or fifteen of us training for solo crossings, plus another group preparing for relays. The mix of people was one of the more interesting parts. All walks of life, different ages, different motivations. We trained alongside someone who’d come over from Australia and had been preparing for a couple of years. There were some really fit, muscular guys who struggled badly with the cold because they had no body fat. And then some quite overweight people who seemed to excel in the cold water. One guy had already swum the Channel two or three times. Another was training for the Irish Channel, which is even harder. It was a random, fascinating group.

Freda and her associates provided all the guidance. What to eat, how to pace yourself, how to feed during the swim. The training programme built up progressively through the season. In early May the water is still cold, so you start with shorter dips. As the weeks go on and the water warms up, the hours increase. By the peak of the season, solo swimmers are doing seven-hour sessions on Saturday and six hours on Sunday. Before you’re cleared to attempt a crossing, you have to complete a six-hour qualifying swim in water of 16 degrees or under. That’s your proof that you can handle the cold and the distance.

Between sessions there were hot drinks and jelly sweets on the beach. The harbour was about a mile from wall to wall, and every hour or so you’d get out for a warm drink and sweets before going back in. Getting out was fine. The air temperature felt warm compared to the water. But having to tiptoe back into freezing cold water knowing you’ve got another hour of swimming ahead of you was the worst feeling. The nutrition plan was detailed. During an actual crossing, you feed every thirty minutes with a warm sugary drink passed over the side of the support boat. Everything was practised in training so nothing was new on the day.

One thing nobody tells you about long-distance cold water swimming is the amount of food you have to eat. We were told to eat marzipan every day. Lots of it. We were also told to put on about a stone in weight because during a crossing attempt you can burn around 10,000 calories. You have to load up on high-calorie food just to maintain your weight. It’s one of the more counterintuitive parts of the training. It actually feels quite unhealthy. That was one of the downsides.

After a big five-hour training session, we’d pile into a local cafe and eat everything in sight. Then fall asleep for the rest of the day. Looking back, we probably should have done a relay first and then built up to the solo. But we wanted to go straight for it. That’s the kind of decision you make when you’re driven by something emotional rather than something logical.

The Mental Game.

People assume open water swimming is a physical challenge. It’s not. It’s almost entirely mental. There’s no wetsuit. It’s just you and the water. The cold is the first thing that gets you. Not the kind of cold you adjust to, but the kind that sits in your bones and stays there. Your body screams at you to get out. Every instinct you have is telling you this is wrong. To stay warm you have to swim fast, but it’s a distance game not a sprint, so you have to pace yourself. Swim too hard and you burn out early. Hold back and the cold gets in. That’s the battle, and it’s pure mental.

Then there’s the darkness. In open water there’s no line on the bottom, no wall coming up. You can’t see what’s beneath you. Once, my goggles broke mid-swim and I had to do an hour with my eyes closed, only looking up occasionally to check where I was going. Just me and my thoughts in cold, dark water. Sometimes you’d get water trickle down the side of your throat and you’d end up being sick. Treading water, being sick, then carrying on swimming. Your mind will go to places you didn’t know it could. That’s where the real battle is. Not in your arms or your lungs, but in your head.

Training with my brother made it different. It wasn’t just a solo challenge. It was something we were building together. The accountability, the shared suffering, the early mornings in cold water, building distance and tolerance week by week. After a year, I completed a 10-mile open water swim in freezing conditions. That’s a long way from where we began.

Why I Didn’t Attempt It.

It’s about three thousand pounds to charter the boat for a crossing attempt. That’s a big gamble if you’re not sure you can do it. I remember going down to Dover during the week one Wednesday, a nice sunny day midsummer. Standing on the beach, looking out across the water. You could vaguely see France in the distance. And I think you really have to know in your heart and your gut that you can get there. At that point in my training, I had that doubt. That reservation.

You also get a lot of fatigue and injuries on your knees and joints from the distance. I think my body or my mind was probably looking for an excuse. But by late August I just wasn’t mentally ready to attempt it, and three thousand pounds was not something I wanted to gamble on a doubt. James was the stronger swimmer and felt he could do it. He’d also had a bet with our dad before he passed away that he would swim the Channel. So his why was a lot stronger than mine. Hats off to him for going for it.

The Day.

James’s crossing attempt came in late August. We got to Dover around five in the morning. It was still dark. The water was cold and flat. On the boat it was me, our aunt, someone from the Channel Swimming Association to verify the swim, and the guy who drove the support vessel. You have to hire the boat and have an official observer on board for the crossing to count.

James jumped in, swam to the shore, touched the land on the English side, and then turned and started swimming out towards France. He looked strong from the beginning. Steady, composed, covering ground. The nutrition plan kicked in every thirty minutes. A warm sugary drink handed over the side of the boat, all prepared with guidance from Freda.

After about five or six hours, he was still looking strong. I remember leaning over the side to hand him a warm drink and his hands grabbing mine as he took the cup. They were like ice. Completely frozen. But he was still swimming, still moving forward. You could see shipping containers on the horizon. The middle of the Channel is a strange place.

Around seven hours in, he started to slow. He’d stop, tread water, look around. That’s when the mind games kick in. No land that looks close enough to reach in any direction. He started telling himself he didn’t have it in him. I jumped in and swam alongside him to try and keep him going. We did that on and off for a few more hours. But eventually the cold won. James decided to get out.

It’s a hard thing to watch. When he got out, his body was blue. You could see the cold had really got into his bones. He’d put everything into it and got just past halfway. I think James would have confidently made the distance if the cold water wasn’t a factor. Put him in a wetsuit and he’d have made it, no problem. But that’s not how the Channel works. Not fitness, not technique. The cold. That’s what the Channel does. It doesn’t care how ready you think you are. It finds the gap.

What It Taught Me.

We didn’t swim the Channel. It’s easy to stop there and call it a failure. But twelve months before, the furthest I’d swum was a mile in a pool. I ended up doing a 10-mile swim in freezing open water. That’s not nothing. That’s a huge distance from where I started.

Somewhere in the middle of training, I remember thinking this is not fun. The early mornings, the cold, the marzipan, the relentless hours in the pool. But looking back years later, it was one of the best adventures I’ve done. With my brother, after losing our dad. That context changes everything.

Would I do it again? It’s a big commitment. You’re giving up both days of every weekend for an entire season, and you really need a strong reason to keep showing up. If I did go back, I’d do the relay in year one just to get experience of the crossing and build confidence. Then attempt the solo the following season. That’s what I’d tell anyone thinking about it. Don’t try to rush it in one year like we did. Unless you’re already a seasoned swimmer and it’s your passion. Swimming wasn’t mine, so I was going against the grain a bit.

Right now, other goals are higher up the list. The Marathon des Sables feels more suited to me. Running plays to my strengths more than swimming does, and you probably get some better views than staring down into brown dirty water for ten hours. But the Channel is still there. Maybe one day.

The Channel experience was part of what led me to sit a 10-day silent Vipassana meditation retreat, which taught me a different kind of endurance. And if you’re looking for reading that sits alongside these kinds of challenges, check out the books I recommend.

Common Questions About Channel Swimming.

How long does it take to train for an English Channel swim?

Realistically, at least two years if you’re starting from a low base. We tried to do it in one year and it wasn’t enough. You need a full winter of pool training to build distance, then at least one full season of open water work before you’re ready for a crossing attempt. Most coaches, including Freda Streeter in Dover, will tell you the same thing.

Can you wear a wetsuit to swim the English Channel?

No. Under Channel Swimming Association rules, you swim in a standard swimming costume, goggles, and a cap. No wetsuit, no extra neoprene, nothing that provides thermal protection. That’s what makes the cold such a significant factor. The water temperature in the Channel sits around 15 degrees Celsius even at the height of summer.

How do you acclimatise to cold water for Channel swimming?

We started with cold showers every day, two to three minutes, from very early in training. That builds a baseline tolerance. Then it’s about spending consistent time in cold open water through the season. There’s no hack for it. You just have to keep getting in. The body adapts, but it takes months of regular exposure. We were doing this years before the ice bath trend came along, so sitting in an ice bath for three minutes didn’t feel like much after that. Training with experienced Channel swimmers in Dover harbour is the standard approach.

Who is Freda Streeter?

Freda Streeter is a Dover-based Channel swimming coach known as the “Channel General.” She’s coached more successful Channel swimmers than almost anyone and was awarded an MBE for her services to the sport. We trained with her about fifteen years ago, and she was already quite experienced then. She has since retired, and Dover Channel Training is now run by Emma France. But the tradition Freda built, weekend training sessions from Dover harbour with guidance on technique, nutrition, and pacing, still continues.

How much does it cost to swim the English Channel?

The biggest cost is the support boat, which you have to hire for the day of your crossing. That can run into a few thousand pounds. On top of that, there’s the Channel Swimming Association registration fee, travel to Dover for weekend training sessions over several months, pool memberships, and nutrition supplies. It’s not a cheap thing to pursue, especially when you factor in the time commitment of training.