I honestly still can’t believe that I’ve swum from Robben Island to Blouberg. This had become such a massive goal of mine and I’m so proud to have completed this adventure.

Although the idea had been rolling around in my head for a while, it was only in January that I thought, “it’s crazy, but I need to do this”. In the first week of January, I made the right calls to the right people and was told that I’m fit enough to aim for an April crossing. On the 28^th of April 2021, I completed the 7.9km swim after 2 hours and 48 minutes in 15-degree water.

In the first hour, I saw an insane amount of jellyfish. On each stroke, four or five would float past underneath me. I’ve never been stung before and for the life of me, despite a lifeguard telling me right before I jumped into the water, I couldn’t remember whether it was the pink or the white jellyfish I should be worried about. The trouble about water that’s just grey-blue and continues as far as the eye can see is that you have no perception of depth. I had no idea whether these jellyfish were within arm’s length or not, so I was anticipating a sting each time I pulled my arm through the water. By some miracle, I managed to avoid being stung at all. I’m even 90% sure that I hit the top of one while kicking, I can still feel that blubbery wobble as my foot hit the poor guy.

At my first feed, an hour into the swim, I voiced my concerns about the creatures who were keeping me company – they were freaking me out! I’ve noticed that swimming long distances tires out not only my body but also my brain, and this makes my thoughts really pliable. If I, or in this case, my lifeguard says, “just try not to think about it, you’ll be fine”; my brain, in all its exhaustion, thinks “aye aye captain!” And so, I stopped worrying and found other thoughts to keep me company.

I thought about the warm sun on my back, which took my mind off the stinging feeling occasionally pulsing from my too-cold toes. I admired the stunning view of Table Mountain each time I breathed to my right side. I thought about how many moments, how many thoughts, how many hours of planning and weeks of nerves had all culminated into my being here. As the wind picked up, however, my thoughts started to become less appreciative of my situation.

As huge swells hit me from my right shoulder, I thought, “oh, sh*t’s getting real now!” Where I had previously seen Table Mountain, I could now only see the next swell heading my way. This was much tougher than I had expected. The absolute insanity of what I was doing began to dawn on me. “What on earth am I doing here? Who the f* put me up to this?” I wasn’t about to remind myself that it was all my idea because snitches get stitches, and I didn’t have the time to engage in a delusional war with the voice in my head.

Amidst all the doubt and difficulty, I did not once consider stopping, climbing back onto my support boat, and giving up. I knew I’d trained enough to cover the distance. The swells added a different challenge, but I could feel that I was putting up a good fight. I kept taking a recce of my body, “you have pain in your right hip, your left knee, and your left shoulder but it’s not debilitating. You’re tired but you’re still going strong. Keep pushing.” I am immensely proud of myself for the determination and courage that I displayed.

I tracked the time by feeds. The first feed meant that one hour had passed, the second came after an hour and a half, the third after two hours, and so on. I was aiming for a time under three hours, so I had a maximum of four feeds. On my third feed, my skipper told me that I was one kilometre away from the rocks of Big Bay. I couldn’t believe that I’d made it so far. After all, you can’t track your position very well when all you can see is water, occasional glimpses of the mountain, a cargo ship waiting to dock, and the two very wet faces of my support team peeking out from hoodies and ponchos. I’d been tracking my movement through the ocean by watching the cargo ship inch from the left side of Table Mountain to the right; it was a painstakingly slow process. To hear that I was so close to the beach revived my spirits and gave me a new burst of energy.

As I got closer to the beach and I started recognising buildings and seeing figures on the shore, I had only one reason why I wasn’t bolting for the finish line – I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk. I had been lying horizontal and kicking my legs for so long that I legitimately wasn’t sure if my body would cooperate with me. I thought maybe I’ll bodysurf my way towards shallow water, but I quickly put an end to that idea as images popped into my head of being dumped by a wave. I didn’t spend this much time becoming one with water to be spat out of the ocean like a limp lettuce leaf.

I breathed to my right and saw surfers in the water. All my anxieties disappeared as I realised that it was shallow enough for me to stand. I took a few more strokes for good measure, hopped onto my feet, and started hobbling. According to my mom’s recount of those last few metres, “you took so long to walk out, you were moving so slowly”. Mine goes something like, “left foot, right foot, left foot again, yep there we go…”

I was so elated to hear the shouting and cheering from all my family and friends. I’m so grateful to have so many people celebrating my success, both on the beach with me that day and scattered throughout the world waiting eagerly on the edge of their seats for each update. I was immediately wrapped in 3 towels and ushered into the lifesaving building where I enjoyed hot chocolate, jelly babies, fluffy blankets, and hot water bottles while defrosting in the sun. All these things were offered to me by the family of the other girl who’d completed the swim. I hadn’t given much thought to what I’d need after reaching the end and the extent of my packing was one Midmar Mile towel and a change of clothes. Where was my head?

Some extra thoughts about my swim:

• I didn’t suffer from the cold as much as I’d anticipated. Everything went numb after about 10 minutes in the water, and then it was quite easy to convince myself that I was actually warm. It’s more proof of that palpable mind I mentioned.
• On my first feed, I struggled to speak since my mouth was affected by the salt water. After the swim, I looked as though I’d had botched Botox done on my lips.
• I knew I was an impressive combination of exhausted, cold, and delirious when I accidentally swallowed a gulp of water and it didn’t taste salty at all.
• After stressing about jellyfish so much, swearing at whoever had brought this hardship upon me, and promising myself that I’ll never swim again, I’m horrified to admit that after calming down and settling in, a voice in my head came out with, “so, like, maybe the English Channel crossing in the future?” You really can’t fix crazy.

Although I’m still struggling to grasp the magnitude of my achievement, I know for certain that I’m a freaking superhero and that if I could do this, I can do anything.