This morning we rolled the dice.

At 5.30am, Skipper and I stood around the navigation table trying to decide if conditions were within the range of what we'd consider safe.

At this time in the morning, there were still a few unknowns as reports hadn't yet come in. All we knew was that there would be strong winds that would cause large waves, but they'd be pushing me in the right direction. My trainer, Nicola, clicked her tongue in the background disapprovingly. She didn't think it was worth it.

Skip wore his decades of experience at sea in the lines on his forehead and around his eyes, and I trust those lines absolutely.

After all, without his direction and guidance I won't be getting to Dover.

Wherever he steers the boat, I swim. It's that simple.

It was borderline, he said, but on the right side of that line.

It was lifejackets on and tethers at the ready, just in case things got really rough.

At 6am, we left the mouth of the River Dart and ventured out into the open sea.

The closer to the GPS location we got, the more the swell grew, and the wind howled. Breathing deeply, I went to get changed.

The sea state was moderate to rough, and had turned a seething, fetid green colour.

We were all tense as Skip bellowed out over the wind: "100m to go, 50m, 30m. Swimmer ready?"

Perched in my Speedo swimming trunks on the bottom step of the stern, I screamed back: "YES".

"In three, two one. GO."

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The testosterone from shouting at each other in a drill sergeant tone, combined with the adrenaline already pulsing through me was a powerful enough combination of hormones to leave me in no doubt of what to do next.

I dived in.

My body instantly started corkscrewing from the pressure of the waves. Large swells were pushing me in directions I had no control over.

At the helm, Skip was battling to keep our boat, Aquila, within a few meters of me. Aquila was moving much faster than I was, and in opposite directions.

The crew threw two drogues overboard - buckets attached to rope - to try and create some drag to slow her down and give some stability. It wasn't working.

Every time I looked up to take a breath, all I could see was a wall of water heading straight towards me.

Caught by surprise, a rogue wave washed over me and I swallowed a mouthful of seawater. I could feel hot, yellow bile burning my throat as I tried to stop myself from vomiting.

I was getting tired. This wasn't going well.

If I carried on now, it would only be a Pyrrhic victory - I'd win this battle but would be so thoroughly exhausted that I'd lose the war.

After a 45-minute battle and 3.7km, I retreated onto Aquila and decided to leave the fight for another day.

Nicola was right, it wasn't worth it for the distance we covered.

With conditions worsening, Skip and I decided that there would be no second swim today and no swims at all tomorrow.

My team need a break - I need a break.

3.7km (2.3miles)