"Let me be absolutely clear: the distance of the swim is 4.7 miles."

It wasn't just the three OTS-ers in the audience who were taken aback by this revelation -  an audible murmur of concern rippled through the entire auditorium.  Had something been lost in translation?  We hoped so ...

Rewinding back a few months, when Stuart Black, Stephen Lue, and myself signed up for the 2009 Annual Hellespont Race in Canakkale, Turkey (about 5 hours by bus south-west of Istanbul), we were confident that a 4 kilometer open-water swim, although challenging, was not impossible. After all, we were swimming that distance every Sunday at London Fields Lido, and that water is open too (technically...). And even if swimming across the wild seas from one continent to another turned out to be comfortably within our capabilities, we just couldn't resist the romance of it all: Greek myth recounts Leander's nightly swim across the Hellespont for trysts with his lover, Hero; flamboyant literary bisexual Lord Byron did the intercontinental swim to prove his atlhetic prowess; and this is probably the only body of water that has been whipped, branded, and shouted at by royalty (King Xerxes of Persia) - the race's credentials couldn't be kinkier.

But in the months leading up to the event, the horror stories began bubbling to the surface: the currents were strong, there were jellyfish and sharks, the waters were horribly polluted, we would only have 90 minutes to finish the race or we would be hauled out, humiliated. And then, at the pre-race briefing, this news that the race was in fact not 4 kilometers long (as the Swim Trek website assured the non-Turkish competitors it would be), but 4.7 miles. We were assured, no-one had ever died doing this race, but it was little comfort. Gastroenteritis was a given though.

The next day, a ferry took the three of us and 285 other Turks and foreigners to Eceabat, the start, Europe. Everyone was talking strategy: swim till you feel the southerly current, then turn right; 20 minutes to the radio pylon, 20 to the stadium, 20 to the finish; or just follow a Turk. But in the end, sun blazing bright, Asia in the distance across a calm cool blue expanse, the knowledge that tanker and container shipping traffic is halted for just 90 minutes only once a year for this race, we forgot the fear and instead prioritised enjoying this fantastic swimming experience to its full...

...And enjoy it we did. But the pistachio nut on the baklava was that we did well! Stephen Lue, 6 minutes short of the race record, won bronze in his age group with a 52 minute crossing time. Stuart Black, coming in only five minutes behind him, finished faster than the medalists in the age group below his, and I was just happy to have survived despite two head-on collisions with jellyfish (right in the face. Not the stinging kind, but I still screamed...).

Safely on the shores of Asia, looking back across the Hellespont and the strait we had just conquered, I had no idea how far any of us actually did swim in the end that day. I do know though that ferries will forever now be over-rated modes of transportation for us. In fact, Ive heard there's a guy who'll carry your passports along in a boat if you want to swim from Gibralter to Morocco ...