end of his mammoth Great British Swim. One of the things I remember most about that day was that he was exhausted, he was hungry, he looked like an alien from another world … and yet he had this huge smile beaming across his face.
One of the key mindset principles that has got me through life is positivity. And for those who know him, you don’t need me to tell you that Ross has that in bucketloads. It means you have more mental energy. You’re smart. Your positive mindset can get you out of those dark places (and when you’ve read this book, you’ll see that Ross has been to a few of those).
What gives you the motivation that drives you through the pain barrier and the resilience to cope with any obstacles that nature throws your way? What is it about the mind that is so powerful it can lead you to achieve incredible things? How did Ross find the unbelievable strength to go against the grain of human nature and tackle something which has never been done before?
When I think of the answers to these questions, I reflect back on my time in the Special Forces and how training taught me how to play the odds. So in a combat situation I would be thinking about what would happen when I went through that door with an armed enemy on the other side. Is he going to get me before I get him? What are the risks of me getting a bullet through the head that kills me instantly? In most situations I’d calculate the chances were slim, so I’d say to myself, ‘Fuck that, the odds are with me, I’m going in.’
Ross overcame all the odds. The jellyfish in the Corryvreckan, the tankers crossing his path, the treacherous currents and tides, the winds and the waves, the storms. It’s a wonder the odd Atlantic shark didn’t decide to join the welcoming party!
With his physical and mental capabilities, backed up by his professional sports science qualifications and understanding of nutrition, if anyone was going to make the Great British Swim a success, it was Ross. You could be the best swimmer in the world but you wouldn’t make it past the first week without mental fortitude, resilience and flicking yourself into survival mode.
The transformative lessons you can learn from this daring endeavour are countless. Don’t let other people define you. Overcome that fear of the unknown. Purge your mind of everything apart from you against the water. Crack on, get in the zone, and get the job done.
Ross is one of the most humble and inspiring individuals you could ever wish to meet. From reading this book, the message that comes shining through is this: you can achieve anything.
Who dares swims. Good luck, mate – I couldn’t be prouder to call you a friend. You are one of a kind, a true British hero and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for your next big (and hopefully dry) adventure.
It’s 10.00 a.m. on 31 January 2018 at the Royal Marines Commando Training Centre in Lympstone, Devon. I had just completed a 48-hour training swim (covering 185 km in the centre’s training pool) in preparation for my quest to set the record for the world’s longest current-neutral swim in an ocean, sea or bay. I was planning to take on this challenge around Bermuda where the waters were warm, the food was great, and I knew lots of people with boats so plenty of support would be at hand.
Entering the officer’s mess (an area where military personnel socialise and eat) I sat down with my good friend Ollie Mason, a Royal Marine Captain, head rugby coach and my temporary training instructor, to reflect on the last few days. Perched on a couple of grand leather sofas, we drank tea and spent the first few moments in silence.
Looking around it always felt like such a privilege for me just to be here. Hundreds of officers would have passed through these doors over the years. Yet this place still possessed a kind of timeless, old-fashioned opulence and came complete with solid-oak bookcases, polished brass door frames, a grand piano in the corner and a huge painting depicting a group of commandos receiving their green berets and becoming fully-fledged Royal Marines.
The silence was broken as we were joined by one of the older officers.
‘You boy,’ he said pointing at my shrivelled feet and hands. ‘I heard about your 48-hour training swim. What is it that you are training for?’
He was tall with massive hands that made the teacup he was drinking from look comically puny. He also had an equally impressive moustache. You couldn’t have designed a better Royal Marine Officer if you’d tried.
‘I’m possibly training for the world’s longest current-neutral swim,’ I said.
He paused and sipped his tea, looking pensively into the bottom of the cup as if searching for clues before giving his verdict.
‘Can I be honest with you, young man?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please do,’ I replied, intrigued as to what he could possibly say.
‘That just sounds a bit shit.’
Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting this response. Nor did I actually ask for a response. In fact, I was still yet to introduce myself and learn his name. But it seemed the usual pleasantries had been forgotten and we’d gone straight into an impromptu brainstorming session.
Ollie then intervened. ‘I’m going to be honest, mate. I think you should just man up and swim around Great Britain.’
‘Why would I do that?’ I asked stunned at the scale of his proposed swim.
‘Well, I can think of at least three reasons,’ he said. ‘It’s about 1,800 miles so would be the longest staged sea swim in human history. You’d be bringing that record back home to British waters. And it doesn’t sound as shit as a current-neutral swim in Bermuda.
I paused to consider his logic.
At first, I dismissed the idea. Sipping my cup of tea in a semi-conscious and heavily-chlorinated state, I laughed, shook my head and shuddered at the thought of spending my summer ploughing through some of the most treacherous currents in the world up and down the coast of Britain.
But as the night wore on, and the tea supply ran low, I have to admit it no longer seemed like the worst proposition in the world. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight due to sleep deprivation, but as I sat there comatose in my giant leather chair the thought of swimming around this big rock we call Great Britain continued to play on repeat in my head. I began to think about the Great British adventurers of old, from Captain James Cook to Ernest Shackleton; it seems adventure and exploration are engrained in our British DNA, and the idea of following in their footsteps (in my own smaller way) had now lit a fire under my belly that even an energy-sapping 48-hour, 185-km training swim couldn’t extinguish.
~
It’s 7.00 p.m. on 3 August 2018 and we’re 63 days (and over 800 miles) into the Great British Swim. We’ve reached the Gulf of Corryvreckan, a narrow strait between the islands of Jura and Scarba off the west coast of mainland Scotland. There is no doubt this is the wild, wild west of Great Britain. In the summer, the towering mountains plunge into the glens below among scattered collections of pine trees. But in the winter, those same mountain ridges become shrouded in white as Arctic blizzards leave a crystalline layer of shimmering snow on their peaks.
At the moment, we are somewhere between summer and autumn. Mile after mile of gnarled, wet heathland across the firths and fells is turning a golden brown in the ever-weakening sun. All of which you can enjoy as an incredible and unique spectacle if wrapped in a thick coat, woollen hat and warm thermal gloves.
None of which you can enjoy if you find yourself submerged in 8°C seawater, midway through an attempt to become the first person to swim around Great Britain, the ninth-largest island in the world.
Which is exactly where I currently find myself. Some 856 miles into what will be known as the Great British Swim. Far from happy and far from healthy.
After swimming through treacherous storms, pounding waves, constantly changing tides and polluted shipping lanes, my lungs and limbs no longer function like they used to and have been plagued by fatigue for twelve hours a day for the past two months straight.