False Bay has never quite let me go.
Twenty years ago I crossed it for the first time — after an earlier attempt the year before ended halfway across, when I became severely hypothermic and lost consciousness in dense fog after five hours in 14-degree water. Two decades later, I found myself looking across that same water again, and I knew I had to go back.
A swim planned for speed
I set out from Millers Point on the western side, aiming for Rooi Els on the east — a 33km crossing I hoped to complete in around eight hours, based on favourable wind and water forecasts.
The Bay had other plans.
When the goal changes
Winter winds arrived earlier and stronger than forecast. Swells built to nearly two metres. The sun appeared for barely twenty minutes in the entire crossing. Bluebottle and jellyfish stings added their own sting, and waves broke repeatedly over both me and the support boat.
As the conditions deteriorated, the goal had to change.
I stopped chasing a time and started focusing on what I could do in each moment to simply get to the other side.
That shift — from chasing the outcome to controlling the next stroke — is the whole game. It's true in the water, and it's true in every boardroom and team I speak to. You can't negotiate with the ocean. You can only decide how you'll respond to it.
The finish
After 9 hours and 48 minutes, I made landfall — though not gracefully. Strong waves pushed us past the intended beach, forcing a rocky finish while I was already showing signs of hypothermia. With my support crew and the BigBay Events safety team guiding me in, I got to the other side.
Why I went back
False Bay has been both a joy and a nemesis in my life — a dream that began when I was five years old, standing on Strand beach and staring across the water.
Twenty years on, it reminded me again of the thing I keep coming back to, on every stage and in every swim: the ocean always sets the terms, but we always have the choice — to either blame our circumstances, or rise above them.
Bring Carina to your stage.