The Art of Resilience. Ross Edgley

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СКАЧАТЬ been hit by a jellyfish!’ I shouted to the crew.

      Taz rushed over to the side of the boat to assess the situation.

      ‘My skin’s still burning,’ I said wincing from the pain.

      As Matt focused on maintaining a strict course through the perilous waters, Taz looked down at my face and saw immediately what was wrong.

      ‘Yes, I know,’ he said now visibly wincing too. ‘I can see the tentacle still wrapped around your face.’

      Unbelievably, I had been WEARING A JELLYFISH TENTACLE all through the Corryvreckan.

      I unpeeled the fat, thick, toxic tentacle that had somehow threaded itself through the goggle strap and around my face, and felt a momentary sense of relief as the bitter Scottish breeze cooled my skin. Now free to continue the swim, I covered three more miles before I was clear of the Corryvreckan’s clutches.

      Climbing into the boat I collapsed onto the deck, mentally and physically spent. I now understood that the rules of conventional sport didn’t apply out here. In this wild and untamed corner of Britain, swimming technique was not going to be the limiting factor. Instead, adventures such as this one would be won or lost based on a person’s ability to summon every ounce of physical and mental fortitude they have in their arsenal and overcome chronic, crippling fatigue.

      That night I came to realise this was much more than a swim … it was a form of extreme research into the art of resilience.

      ~

      It’s 7.45 a.m. on 13 August 2018 and we’re (still) among the Inner Hebrides of Scotland.

      ‘Once you go under that bridge everything changes,’ said the fisherman in a thick Scottish accent that made everything he said sound even more ominous.

      He was old, maybe north of 70 years old, and had been sailing these waters for more than half a century. You could almost see the wisdom and seafaring expertise etched into every line of his heavily wrinkled and weathered face, and the years spent hauling in the daily catch frozen into his deeply callused and hardened hands.

      ‘Up until now Scotland has been gentle with you,’ he said.

      ‘Really?’ I exclaimed.

      I pulled down the neckline of my jumper to reveal my battle wounds that consisted of sea ulcers from the wetsuit chafing and jellyfish stings and scars from my time spent in the Corryvreckan with the Hag Goddess.

      ‘If that’s gentle, do you want to tell me what you’d classify as rough?’ I asked.

      ‘Oh, lad,’ he said with a concerned smile. ‘You’ve been swimming in the Inner Hebrides between the islands off mainland Scotland. These are close together, sometimes only a mile apart, and so offer some shelter from the wind and waves. If a storm comes in you can easily pull into a harbour for food and supplies and maybe even sample some famous Hebridean hospitality and a local single-malt whisky.’

      As he said this he turned towards Kyle of Lochalsh, a place where you could hear the ancient Gaelic language being spoken and sung by folk musicians in the local pub.

      ‘You won’t find any of that once you swim under the Skye Bridge,’ he warned. ‘Once you pass under there, you’re heading to the Outer Hebrides and beyond. With nowhere to hide or shelter from a storm, it’s over 30 miles wide. You won’t be welcomed with whisky up there. Instead you’ll find 50-knot Arctic storms and 20-ft waves. Jellyfish might be the least of your worries.’

      We all stood in silence for a moment and looked at the Skye Bridge. Spanning less than a mile across, it connects the island of Skye with mainland Scotland and the village of Kyle of Lochalsh over water that, prior to 1995, was only crossable by boat. Now it would become a pivotal landmark in the Great British Swim.

      I had been on our boat this morning doing a round of interviews with the media along with some local fishermen intrigued about my round Britain adventure. The tide had begun to turn, which signalled the media interviews were over and another swim was about to begin. As the journalists and fishermen left the boat, I sat in silence with Matt as I delicately attempted to put on my cold, clammy wetsuit over my tender and raw wounds. As I did, one lone writer lingered on deck and plucked up the courage to ask three final questions that would become integral to both the swim and this book:

       ‘Why are you doing this?

       ‘Why doesn’t your body break?’

       ‘How does your mind not quit?’

      In truth, I was still trying to answer these questions for myself.

      Fatigue and pain were deeply entrenched in each and every cell of my body, and as I sat there they were threatening to bring a stop to the swim. In front of the journalist, even though I was still not 100 per cent sure of the answers, I tried my very best to articulate the conclusion I’d come to so far after 74 days at sea.

      ‘I think the reason my body hasn’t broken and my mind hasn’t quit (yet) is because I’ve been able to fuse the teachings of ancient Greek philosophers with modern sport scientists to form my own form of philosophy called Stoic Sports Science.’

      The journalist appeared puzzled at first but then nodded with his pen and notepad poised as if eagerly anticipating my next answer, hoping I was about to dispense some profound, deep and spiritual seafaring wisdom. But unfortunately, I had nothing else for him. Since I still had over 900 miles left to swim, my newly found philosophy was far from proven. But I told him if I completed the swim, I would finish my study and the book.

      ‘Then I’ll have to wait to buy a copy,’ he said laughing.

      I smiled as we sat there taking in the vast expanse of our surroundings while pondering what had brought us together in this unlikely gathering.

      ‘Okay, why are you doing this then?’ he asked.

      I looked at Matt. He looked back at me with knowing eyes. Nothing needed to be said.

      The memory of the start of this journey (and life back on land) seemed like a lifetime ago. Many miles, tides and sunsets had passed since that day. But to understand why we were doing this, you must understand we as humans have been practising the art of resilience for centuries. It’s the one key trait we possess over all other species. Therefore, in many ways, what began on 1 June 2018 on the sands of Margate beach in southeast England was just an exaggerated expression of our unique human ability to find strength when suffering.

       PART 1 | LIFE ON LAND (BEFORE THE SWIM)

       CHAPTER 1 | WHY DID I DO IT?

      LOCATION: Margate

      DISTANCE COVERED: 0 miles

      DAYS AT SEA: 0

      It’s 7.00 a.m. on 1 June 2018 in the small coastal town of Margate. Tucked away on England’s southeast СКАЧАТЬ