Freelance writer Nicola Joyce, 27, from Shirley has fulfilled the ultimate swimming challenge crossing the English Channel. She tells Living, in her own words, how she achieved her dream and the difficulties she encountered...

People often say to me 'Swimming the Channel, eh? Ah, that was always a dream of mine when I was younger'. Like them, swimming the Channel had been an ambition of mine since a very early age but, unlike all those people, it stayed with me and I actively pursued it in to adulthood until, this July, I ahieved my goal.

At 3.20am on Saturday, July 24 I stood, shivering, on a narrow strip of shingle just east of Dover, ready to take on the English Channel in the biggest challenge of my life.

Approximately 55,000 arm-strokes, 26 miles, and exactly 14 hrs 15 minutes of swimming later, I climbed out of the sea on to the beach near Wissant, France: a Channel Swimmer.

The English Channel isn't called the "Everest" of open water swimming for nothing.

It's no surprise that the success rate for the swim is still low, despite advances in sports nutrition and psychology since Matthew Webb first made it in 1875, fuelled by beef, tea and beer.

To date, approximately 800 swimmers have been successful, about 250 of those being women.

Eighteen months of training, including on the open water in the freezing sea was so gruelling that making it to the date of the swim in one piece was an achievement in itself!

However, during the swim I came up against a challenge at every turn.

First of all there was the obstacle of swimming in the dark, which was unsettling, depriving me of even more senses than usual.

Once the sun had come up, I was faced with having to swim through thick groups of jellyfish, which stung me (but provided me with some welcome company, and were very beautiful to look at close up!) and dodging the ferries, SeaCats and tankers using the shipping lane.

The water was very cold and, as I was wearing no wetsuit or grease, posed the threat of hypothermia if I stopped too long to tread water while taking on board regular food and drink.

With my arms turning approximately every second for over 14 hours and my legs kicking constantly, pain took over my body from my neckto my ankles. When I hauled myself, exhausted and disorientated, on to the sandy beach east of Cap Gris Nez, my overwhelming emotion was not one of jubilation, or celebration at a life's goal realised.

It was simply a feeling of utter relief.

My plans of informing one of the people walking on the beach that "J'ai nage la Manche" and of picking up stones for myself and crew went by the wayside as I simply stood in confusion and disbelief that the past 14 hours were over.

No more than 15 seconds later and I was being encouraged back on the boat again, where I endured a horrendous three-hour journey back to Dover, which left everyone on board incapacitated with seasickness.

What a dignified end to such an achievement!

Those of you who have taken part in marathons, triathlons or team events will know the feeling of elation when you cross the finish line and have a medal put round your neck, or when the whistle blows and you can see the final score. With a Channel swim, there is none of that. There is no finish line, no set route, no crowds to cheer you on.

You have no fellow competitor or team-mate to talk to, and can't predict your finishing time no matter what your pace is.

While swimming the Channel is an immense achievement, there is little immediate joy in the victory.

It took a few days to sink in, and to reflect on the accomplishment that I won through the many silent hours in the water. Now, when I drive along the quayside or walk the dog at Calshot, I remember with pride what I achieved with the sea's assistance, and look forward to using the lessons I learned for my next challenge.

I understand you can swim the Solent.