Having gone through such illness for many years in my 20's and then finally receiving a liver transplant, it completely changed my life and led me down a different path.

One of wanting to give back, and share my story with others to hopefully inspire healthy, mindful living. Also to show others what is capable if we set our minds to something and work hard to achieve it.

I’ve realized that as much as we try to manage stress in our life, and perhaps don’t seek out pain, struggle isn't something we should avoid. Rather, acknowledge it, work through it as mindfully as possible, so we can learn to grow and become more resilient humans, and have a better handle on the next challenge that comes up in life.

I would not be the same person today, had I not endured the obstacles that I’ve been able to overcome. I am here to tell you, that with a dream, discipline, and the right mindset, we can achieve anything. Here is my story, of swimming 52km across Lake Ontario, from Niagara-on-the-lake, to Marilyn Bell Park in Toronto.

When the dream began. May 2020. Pools were closed. Crissy and I headed to the lake for the first open water swim, intending to train for Lake Ontario.

The team at the Port Dalhouise Marina heading to load the boat before the swim. Photo by Dan Stenning

I asked my Mom if she wanted to do the honours of slathering me down in swimmers grease. A mixture of lanolin, diaper rash cream (zinc) and vaseline. This stuff protected my skin from chafing, and sunburn (and it worked!). It had to be applied before the swim, even though I was beginning the swim in the dark, because once I took my first stroke, I would be self supporting for the rest of the swim. Meaning, no touching other people, or hanging off the boat for support.

Standing in Tony’s kitchen after being covered in zinc and lanolin.

So, Mom and I were standing in Tony Chisholm’s bathroom, getting “lubed up”, about 30 minutes before I headed down the street to Queens Royal Park, where I’d get in the water to start the swim of a lifetime.

Tony had helped me out with my trial swim as well. He’s local to Niagara-on-the-Lake, and a friend of my swim master, John Scott. It was this connection that had allowed me to spend the last few minutes getting ready in a well lit room, instead of applying this lake lube in the dark with a headlight on in the park. Thank you Tony! Your help along my journey has been so wonderful.

To add to the fun, my videographer Kyle was there documenting this whole process. I knew that marathon swimming and all things attached was new to Kyle, so it was really exciting for me to show him what it was all about.

Kyle doing what he does best, videographing. Photo by Dan Stenning

We then took the minute walk from Tony’s down to the park. As we approached the water, there was a small but excited crowd already gathered there to see me off. The emotions began to rise, just seeing their faces- it was now that it felt so real. I wanted to hug everyone, but I would transfer my goop onto them. I found it hard to contain my excitement. I had about an hour long nap early that afternoon, intending to have another one that evening, but I was just so ready to go.

My friends and family there to see me off. Photo by Dan Stenning

We took a few photos, and before I knew it, I could see 3 lights in the distance. Those were the three support boats coming for me about a kilometre away.

Looking towards Toronto and the three support boats. Hands on hips pose.

I stood in the water looking towards the direction I was going to swim. I could see the lights from Toronto and the light pollution it created in the sky. I am not sure if this made it seem like it wasn’t that far away, or if seeing just how tiny the city looked, made it feel like it actually was a whole days swim away.

Regardless of how far it felt in that moment, I said to myself “take a moment to take this all in. Once you begin swimming, you're not stopping until you get to the other side”.

Ready to embrace the lake. Photo by Dan Stenning

There was a lead boat, “The Rn’R” piloted by the fantastic Christine Arsenault and her co-pilot Rick McLean. Christine and Rick’s job was to lead us in the most direct route across the lake, navigating through winds, currents and to give us the best window of time to cross the lake. This happened to be 11:00pm on August 3rd, magically, the time I had hoped for all along.

The team gathered on the R n’R before the swim began.

The other two zodiac boats are smaller, inflatable dingy-like boats. Zodiac 1, would be my guide. When I turn to breathe to the right, I would ensure that I kept beside this boat the whole way across. Instead of looking ahead to the lead boat (as that would kill my neck and back to sight the whole 52km across the lake) this is how it is done on a marathon swim. Sometimes swimmers like to sight from a kayak or other water craft beside them in the water.

Zodiac 2 was intended to bring food and supplies back and forth from the lead boat to zodiac 1, where I was receiving food and drink (feeds) thrown by Lynne to me in the water every 40 minutes. The feeds were either handed to me in a lacrosse stick, or liquids were tied to the bottle on a rope and tossed in front of me. I would take a drink or bite of something while treading water in 30 seconds or less, and then head back down to carry on swimming.

I took my first stroke and immediately absorbed the sensation of the warm evening. Air and water felt alike, everything was dark. The only thing I could really see was the blue twinkle lights on the side of the zodiac. Never once was I afraid of the dark, or what might be lurking around. The only thing that touched me from one side to the other was a string or two of seaweed.

I found it easier than usual to find my rhythm. Perhaps it was because my senses were limited, and all I had to focus on was the feel of the water, and keeping in line with the boat beside me.

I knew Zach, Benoit, John and Kyle were within 8ft of me, but I couldn’t see them. It was comforting to know that I wasn’t alone, and if I was scared, help was right there.

I swam for the first hour without a break. This is normal, and in hindsight, maybe I’d swim for 2 without needing food or drink. I was unsure how I’d feel, beginning a long swim that late, considering all of my long training swims began in the morning after a full stomach from breakfast.

After a few hours, it was then really dark. The lights from Niagara-on-the-lake were no longer an aid, and the stars I could see when I took a breath, looked the same as the bubbles capturing the blue lights from the boat, coming off my hands when it entered the water.

I looked forward to hearing the bell Lynne would ring. This was our signal that in 5 minutes, she’d toss my drink to me in the water. About 4 hours in, John took my core temperature. 36F.

Cortemp sensor pill to measure core temperature.

Around 8pm (3 hours before the swim), I had swallowed a sensor, called a CorTemp pill. With a handheld monitor, John would ask me to scull on my back right next to the boat, so he could get close enough to attain a reading of my internal temperature. This is for safety, and to ensure that I wasn’t hypothermic.

The water was comfortable at 21C, however, the sun was not shining on my back, and if not adapted properly, hypothermia was a real threat.

After this temperature reading, I received some hot water to drink and soup. This did the trick, it warmed me up to 37F.

I was never concerned for how cold I felt during the swim. I had experienced many cold swims in my training, and I knew that it was ok to feel cold. It was a feeling like, sitting outside on a cool evening wearing a t-shirt, and wishing I had a sweater.

I was blessed with fairly calm conditions. The wind picked up for a few hours, and even though I couldn’t see the chop from the waves, I could feel it. I could also see the boat was bouncing, not a steady flat push through the water.

The hours of the night went by pretty fast, and for a while I was able to keep track of the time based on the 40 minute intervals. I eventually lost track, and my new focus was on the incremental increase of light on the horizon. As much as I enjoyed swimming in the dark, how wonderful it was to see the faces of my crew.

A sunrise photo morning of August 4th, taken by Steve Hulford.

My coach Benoit was quietly observing my stroke. I had asked him to give me feedback, only if I needed to slow down. My intention was to keep my stroke rate at 60 per minute. One stroke per second. It was important that I managed my energy and pace, and didn’t go too quickly. 52km is a long way, and many shoulder rotations. To make the most of each stroke, keeping them long and stretched was key to longevity. Benoit only reported the positives, “Your stroke still looks great! Keep it up!”

It was special to have Benoit there. I met Benoit (and one of my pacers, Grey) at my first World Transplant Games in 2017 in Spain. Benoit received a kidney from his mom Sylvie, who also had been essential in planning this swim and creating the Move for Life Foundation. I’ll probably keep repeating this, but this swim wouldn’t have been possible without everyones help. We came together with our collective skills and experience, to pull off something so incredible, and to some, almost unbelievable.

Malaga, Spain 2017 when I met Benoit, Grey and Sylvie.

Even before I met Benoit that year, we were trying to plan our relay swim team. I knew that he, like I, had a competitive nature. In the early part of the training for Lake Ontario when the pools were still open, Benoit gave me something like 12 weeks of training swims, to prepare me for the endurance swimming I would be doing in the open water. We had many conversations about crushing this goal.

My perspective of the sunrise was much different than the photos I saw afterwards taken by my crew. I’d view the sky in such quick moments, never really being able to fully take it in.

The water was flat now, and I thought to myself “how did I ever get so lucky?” I’ve heard that there are folks who cross the lake, who never really know how wicked Lake Ontario can be. That was me, for the most part. With some chop and currents moving against me at parts of the swim, I never reached a point that challenged me so much that I didn’t think I was able to get through it.

A beautiful shot of the calm lake. Toronto in the distance. Grey and I swimming alongside each other.

It was the morning, don’t ask me what time, but it was light. I asked John if I could have a pacer in the water. I was more so just excited to have someone enjoy this experience with me!

Vanessa eagerly hopped in on the next feed. “Air fist bump, lets do this, girl!”

She was energized and I felt it. It was this energy that drew me to Vanessa in the first place. I knew she would be a wonderful teammate for this lake crossing.

Lynne on the left, Vanessa on the right.

Like two synchronized swimmers, we took similar strokes and breaths. Catching a smile every so often. This, for a marathon swimmer is the best connection one could have. When running a marathon, you can speak and breath whenever. While swimming, the connection is only through our goggles, matching strokes if possible, and your breathing is planned and usually rhythmic.

Grey was next to hop in beside me in the water. A feeling of gratitude washed over me.

Grey, a liver transplant survivor like myself, is also riding the high of being given a second chance to live. To have him a part of this journey was so special. It was now like, two miracle synchro swimmers floating across the glass-like water. Without having to say a word, I felt that we were both so grateful to have this experience together. Living, breathing, moving, thriving.

I began to feel pain sometime after the sun had risen. This didn’t come as a surprise, I had experienced this many times in training. I had to trust that the pain wouldn’t persist, and that it moved around. First it was my shoulder, then it moved to my hip flexor. It would hang out there for a while, then it moved into my shin, over to my ankle, and back to my shoulders. Muscle fatigue was inevitable, but I had trained my body and mind to endure it. I focused on the rhythm of my breath, to take my mind off the pain. I counted to 4 (the number of strokes between breaths), I don’t know how many times, as a way to keep my mind busy and from thinking about the less than ideal sensations I was feeling in my body.

A few days before the swim, John had led me through a meditation, and it was also a visualization of the swim. It amazes us both, that the visualization was almost 100% accurate to what actually happened. He even said that I’d experience challenges, but they weren’t anything that I couldn’t work through. This was so fresh in my mind as I kept swimming along. John had said, “The way to the other side, is to keep moving forward”. I made sure that is what I did.

When I saw Crissy start her shift driving Zodiac 1, I felt this sense of comfort. The same feeling I had the day before, when she arrived in Niagara-on-the-lake and came to my hotel room. My friend who knows me well, and who has believed in me and encouraged me since the beginning. Since we’ve known each other maybe 4 years now. We have swapped books to inspire each other, and our chats are always about our goals, training, her amazing endurance and stamina as a triathlete, swimming, our retirement plans and our YouTube mentors. These memories were flooding back to me as I’d breathe every 4 seconds and see her there smiling, happy to be on the water on a beautiful day.

Crissy, Zach and I on a training day in July.

It was enjoyable to share this experience with her, and show her like, “hey, I’m doing it, its happening!”

Steve was driving one of the zodiacs, but also came on board as a pacer. I was delighted at how easy it was to get Steve to come along on the swim. Before he really even knew what his job was, he said “Put me in coach, I’m ready to play!” And that was exactly the attitude he had across the lake. He was ready to give 100% wherever he was needed. In the winter, I wrote Steve to inquire about how he managed the cold water swimming that I saw he was doing with his daughter in Lake Ontario all through the winter months. In Steve-style, he was so helpful to provide tons of information on the gear he was using, and who to see to get it.

We met at an open water race a few years before, I recognized his t-shirt as it was the same one I’ve seen Grey wear. For me, it always pays off to be friendly and reach out. “Hi, do you know Grey? I see you have the same masters swimming club t-shirt!”

Aside from the chats we had online, I really only had conversations with Steve just a few weeks prior to the swim. He helped me get a hotel in Toronto so I could stay the night and we did an early morning practice pacing swim, to ensure he was a good fit as a pacer.

Steve had on the coolest goggles. Swimming without a cap, and these goggles that looked like sunglasses, it made me smile to myself. He just looked cool and ready to play!

I breathe to my right, and Steve to his left, so it was easy making eye contact as we swam along.

Having my pacers alongside me in the water gave me a focus, to synchronize and find rhythm together. When watching the other crew members on the boat interact with each other, I was making up stories about what they were discussing. Thinking, ‘Oh, Zach’s making new friends! I bet he gets along really well with everyone..they have this, or that in common…I wonder if that’s what they’re talking about?!’

I’d stick my tongue out at Zach (my husband, by the way) sometimes, just to say “I’m doing alright and having a good time”. It was cool to receive it back, like “hey I see you, I’m watching and I can see you’re still smiling”. These kinds of looks helped more than my crew will ever know.

I had a couple surprise pacers jump in with me, too. The water was glass, the sky was so blue. Coming in from behind on my right was John! It took me a second to recognize him, I think my heart skipped a beat when I realized it was him that had jumped in for a swim beside me.

John is my swim master. The swim master ensures all safety protocols are followed, and that I don’t break any of the rules. John has an extensive background in lake crossings. He’s said he’s accompanied about 20 swimmers on cross-lake adventures, most of them across Lake Ontario. Over the year while preparing for my swim, I had heard his stories about his 3 attempts across Lake Ontario (2 successful), and John having the fastest time across the lake. Even his story about the first attempt where he didn’t make it across, helped me. He had said that initially it felt like a failure, until he realized it wasn’t because of his lack of trying or preparation. The conditions didn’t allow it to happen that day, and a failure would have been to never try again. Not only once more did he try, but two times, setting a new PR and record on the third try!

Having this legend beside me gave me a smile that lasted the rest of the swim. How special to share a few kilometres of beautiful swimming alongside John Scott.

Then, Christine jumped in for a swim! At this point, I was thinking “wow! It’s just such a perfect day for a swim, I suppose everyone wants to enjoy this bliss!” Another moment during the swim where I felt so supported by the whole team.

I believe the energy of the day and the people on this swim, created a radiant, harmonious environment, and we all couldn’t help but be moving forwards together in the most joyous way to reach Marilyn Bell Park.

Considering most of the 18 hours and 36 minutes swimming across the lake were perfectly ideal, things changed with about 15km left.

Ever heard of the phrase “ignorance is bliss”? Yep, this proved to be true in this instance.

I had asked for minimal updates on my progress. I only wanted to know when I was over half way, because I thought that would be a good thing to hear - that I had less to go than what I had already done. My team was smart to keep the progress updates to a minimum, because I didn’t even realize I was basically swimming in the same spot (maybe inching forwards) for somewhere between 2-3 hours.

Usually, there is some kind of landmark to indicate that you’re moving through the water. But being in the middle of a great lake that could have basically been an ocean because of how big it feels when you’re in the middle of it, I had no way to tell that I wasn’t moving forward in my normal pace. No tree beside me that I was passing, or rock below to indicate forward momentum. Just the boat beside me, that was there the whole way along anyways.

At one point I had asked, how much left? 8-9km was the response I got. 40 minutes later, “how much now?” 8km. “Oh, I’m not moving very fast am I?”

The view from shore. Photo taken by Dan Stenning

Again, only words of encouragement from my crew, and the advice to dig deep.

The current working against me at this point was mentally the hardest part of the swim. It didn’t don on me until after the swim was done, but upon my reflection, in many ways, this part of the crossing reminded me of when I was at my sickest, and waiting for a liver transplant.

There I was, pushing on, mustering all the strength I had left to make it to the finish. All the while, my friends on the boat were there, cheering and rooting me on, as that was the only thing they could do. Physically, I was on my own. I had to use whatever was inside me, to keep pushing forward. What may have seemed like hours, watching me struggle and possibly even doubting for some time that I wouldn’t make it through the rough patch. What remained was my belief in myself, and determination to get to the other side.

This was like my transplant journey. My family was all there to support me, and watching my energy fade away. But there was nothing they could do, aside from being within arms reach for emotional support.

Also while in the hospital and waiting for my transplant, I had many new visitors come see me. Little did I know they were coming to say good-bye, because things weren’t looking promising that I’d be around much longer. I didn’t know that, though. All I knew at the time was to just hang on and believe I’d be ok. I was oblivious to my condition, blinded by my faith and perhaps that stubbornness I get from my Dad to follow through with doing what I said I was going do.

Just on the other side of the break wall, the finish within sight.

Something magical happened and I broke through this current. 5k left to go! (this was like, the information I received the evening when I was told I was going to the ER to have my transplant)

Holy shit, it’s happening! I’m so close now, I can smell the barn. I’ve just gotta give it one last push through and I will have made it to the other side.

What I also noticed, was Mayur and Lynne in the boat, and their looks of intent.

I was under Lynne Sinclaire and Dr. Mayur Brahmania’s care in the Multi-Organ transplant unit, when I was really sick and waiting for my liver transplant. Lynne had always done everything she could, to keep me eating. I was nauseous all the time, and she knew the less than savoury options the hospital had on the menu weren’t going to cut it. I remember she always made sure to ask me what it was I wanted to eat, to increase my chances of consuming more calories. Here she was now again, feeding me. This time, for a marathon of my choice, not the kind to just survive.

Mayur had also seen me at my worst, when I was 90lbs of fluid and bones, wasting away each day. I knew this marathon swim was something new to him, and not in his field of expertise. He had prepared himself as best he could, I knew he read all about the aspects of this challenge that I had set out to do. But in this moment when I really took note of how focused he was on me, I felt proud. Proud to show him the other fierce side of a transplanted survivor. I was more than honoured, to be the person who could show him, who knows how fragile a transplant recipient can be, just how unbreakable we actually can become.

Now, in the water with me was Grey, Vanessa, Steve, and John! I had this fucking smile I couldn’t get off my face. Tears began in my goggles. All moving together in this harmonious effort to accompany me to the wall at Marilyn Bell Park. There is a really cool video of this moment, saved on a “Highlight” on the Move for Life Instagram account. This moment happened while my new favourite song played, it’s called “Magic” by Polo and Pan. “It’s magic, you know…never believe it’s not so…it’s magic”

Ahh, I get goosebumps when I hear the song. Look it up and play it, it’s a great tune.

There was Kyle, rocking to the music (that I couldn’t hear) and shouting words of encouragement. I had never seen Kyle show so much emotion before. As I said earlier, this was a new kind of experience for him, and from my perspective, it was at this point in the swim when he realized just how long this swim was. When fatigue set in for him, sitting on the boat all night and day, it was maybe then that he was able to wrap his mind around what it might feel like to have been swimming that whole time. I’m grateful for the interest he has taken in making video and documenting this entire journey. Kyle is working on creating an epic video to encapsulate the year+ long adventure.

I also noticed Kat rocking out on the boat with a big smile. Her look was that of a proud mom, (which she is, but not my Mom). Kat was the first marathon swimmer that I had a zoom call with, to begin my research about long swims and cold adaptation. Months leading up to the swim, Kat’s encouragement and words of advice from her own experience always had me intrigued. I knew this bad-ass ice miler of a woman was looking on in some kind of awe. I knew she’d endured this similar kind of pain, and I felt that this time, I was actually inspiring her.

One stroke at a time, one second after another…I knew I had been keeping a fairly consistent 60 strokes per minute. I began counting to 600. 600 was the number of strokes and also seconds I was averaging to complete 1km. If I just counted to 600, 5 times, I should be really close to finishing! And hey, math is not my forte but I had lots of time to think about it…these were some of the mind games I’d play with myself.

My sister looking for me, along with my Mom and friends Maria and Jackie. Photo by Dan Stenning

Steve said, “do you see that windmill? And that big ball? We’re going to finish somewhere in between those two spots.” I looked up more often than I probably should have, to check my progress, and to see that I was in fact getting closer to the park.

We were just on the other side of the break wall, about 500m left to swim.

It was at this point in time, where I had actually felt like I had finished the marathon.

The last push to the wall was like the lap around the stadium holding the flag, taking in all the cheers and excitement of the event that had just happened!

The last few strokes into the wall. My crew beside me cheering me on. Photo by Dan Stenning

The feeling of accomplishment washed over me. I knew it was just a matter of minutes before I would be able to say, “I did it!”

I lifted my head out of the water, and John said, “Jillian, do you hear the crowd? Can you see the people in the park, they’re waiting for you. Take your time, take it in.”

And that I did. I paused for a moment before putting my head back down and started swimming towards the wall. All of a sudden the pain went away, and I was sobbing to myself. The ugly, heaving kind of crying. I took my last few strokes into the wall, and touched the wall as if I were in a pool race or something, the way I had always finished a timed swim. I laid back in the water to absorb the applause. My friends were there…my family, strangers, passerby folk, transplanted friends, and the land crew.

The moment I had trained so hard for. Touching the wall at Marilyn Bell Park. Photo by Dan Stenning

On the wall is a ladder that was put down in the water for me to climb. Kind of a weird way to end an ultra marathon swim. As if 52km isn’t enough, one must test what they have left to get vertical right off the hop and climb into the park. I think my adrenaline got me up the ladder without much issue. Yes, my feet hurt upon contact with the ground, but the satisfaction of being done the swim was all that mattered. I plopped down on the closest support and I was quickly wrapped in a blanket by my mom.

The last test of strength. Climbing the ladder into the park. Photo by Dan Stenning

My parents!! The look on their faces was of complete relief, and happiness. My dad had a look on his face that I rarely see. I knew he was proud too.

Sharing the first few moments out of the water with my mom was something very special and I think this photo captures it so well.

I was so happy that mom was a big support for my training swims. She had come along on my 7 hour training swim, and my 9 hour training swim, as well as many others at Post Stanley in Lake Erie. To show her that I was capable, gave her and I both peace of mind that I could handle this big, long swim.

Zach hugging me! So many emotions. Photo by Dan Stenning

Zach swooped in for a long hug and a kiss. The most comforting thing, was this. 18 hours and 36 minutes of no physical contact or touch with Zach might be up there with the longest time “apart”. Crazy, considering we’ve been together 15 years.

I felt through this hug that we shared, just how extremely proud he was of me. Zach had sacrificed the most over the last year. His time to help me in various ways, he stepped in to take care of things when I couldn’t. All the days he just listened to me pour my ideas and fears on him. I relied on Zach to keep me in check. He always ensured I was eating enough, getting my protein in, sleeping enough, and he designed my strength training program to ensure my body was in the best physical shape going into the swim. I was gone for half days, and full days so I could swim. He jumped into paddle boarding real quick when we needed someone to help with long training swims. Having spent maybe an hour on a SUP in his life, he came out for 5 hours one day beside me on the water, and did it again on another occasion.

He even got a license to drive the zodiac boat so he could be there on the swim. Not to mention all the cold dips we did together in the fall and winter, to acclimate to the cold. My other half, the one that made me a Best, and it turns out that along with this new name that I took on the year I had my transplant, I believe this is where the journey started to become the best version of myself.

John handed me his phone as I was sitting there; I had received a phone call from someone very special. Marilyn Bells voice was the sweetest thing to hear. Marilyn was the very first person to swim across Lake Ontario in 1954 at the age of 16. She is still very much involved in solo swims following her path to this day. She said she had stayed up all night to watch the GPS tracker, and was amazed at how straight we moved across the lake. She and I both attribute that skill to Christine and Rick.

On the phone with Marilyn Bell! Photo Dan Stenning

Also a delight to hear her say, was that anyone who swims across Lake Ontario, has become a member of her family. This special family I’m fortunate to say I’m a part of isn’t very big. I am in admiration of her and equally as excited to meet her as she says she is to meet me.

Marilyn had also called me a few hours before I began the swim. Even the fact that she took interest in my swim gave me chills. She told me about her swim across the lake 67 years ago, and we talked about the what I planned to eat along the way, and she told me about what she had. It meant so much to have her wish me well, and knowing she was looking on, gave me just another reason to make it across the lake, I couldn’t let Marilyn down!

My parents and I smiling. Photo by Dan Stenning

After hugging probably every person there, and having an interview with the media that was there, I found a shady spot in the park to sit. I had people come over to me to share their congratulations and happy tears with me.

My Dad and sister Geni looking on as I struggle to get words out for an interview. Photo by Dan Stenning

My good friends Brad and Mai, were just beside me, ensuring everyone had something to eat, and handing out Move for Life t-shirts to the crew.

Brad and Mai share a hug. Photo by Dan Stenning

I had asked Brad sometime in the winter, if he wanted to be a part of the foundation. Without question or any hesitation, he jumped at the opportunity. It was almost like he was waiting for me to ask. Am I ever glad he joined the team. Brad’s ability to stay calm, ask the good questions, and oversee the project as a whole, had kept the team organized and working together. When I saw Brad, I also saw his caring heart. It felt like my hug wasn’t enough to say “thank you”. He will say it was, because thats the kind of person he is. He is selfless and so willing to help, regardless of how busy he is with his work and family life.

Another wonderful soul I can not go without mentioning, is Sylvie Charbonneau.

Sylvie hopped on board at the beginning as an incredible support for the team, to help us get the foundation up and running. Never short of ideas or dreams, Sylvie brought her creativity and enthusiasm to every conversation we’ve had about planning this swim, and moving forward as a team onto other projects and future events. To swim across a lake was a lot to wrap my mind around so without her help organizing hotels, rides, and meetings, things would never have worked out as smoothly as they did. It took the whole village to pull this off.

I was so happy to be going home to my own bed that night. Surprisingly, as physically exhausted as I was, I didn’t sleep very well. My mind was buzzing, and my heart rate was still elevated. I knew I had opened a door for new opportunities, for myself and I felt that I had inspired others to now see possible doors for them, too.

I plan to continue on this path of advocacy. As long as I’ve been alive, I’ve been so in touch with my feelings and I’m learning to trust my intuition. It feels right.

the journey to the other side

swimming thoughts

long swims