Swimming the Impossible

In 1967, 30-year-old Kathrine Switzer signed up for the Boston Marathon using only her initials—K.V. Switzer. At the time, women weren’t officially allowed to compete. But she showed up, laced up, and started running anyway.

About two miles in, a race official spotted her and charged onto the course, screaming for her to leave. He tried to physically rip off her bib number. A male runner body-checked him. Switzer kept going.

She finished the race.

The photos went around the world, and five years later, women were finally allowed to run officially. But Kathrine didn’t run that day for recognition. She ran because she knew she could. She ran because they told her not to.

Which brings us to the summer of 1926.

The water was cold. Choppy. Relentless.

For most of the 21 miles across the English Channel, Gertrude Ederle swam alone, her arms slicing through the gray water while wind and waves hammered her from all sides. She wore motorcycle goggles sealed with melted candlewax. Her body was slathered in sheep grease to help with the chill.

She was 20 years old.

And she was about to do something no woman had ever done.

Born in New York City to German immigrant parents, Ederle learned to swim in a local pool and trained relentlessly as a teen. She had already competed in the 1924 Olympics, taking home one gold and two bronze medals. But she had her sights set on something bigger—the test of endurance swimming at the time: the English Channel.

To date, only five men had ever completed the swim. All were hailed as heroes. No woman had even come close.

Ederle tried once in 1925 and failed. Her trainer pulled her from the water after 9 hours, afraid for her health. She was furious—she hadn’t asked to be pulled. She knew she had more in her. So she fired him and trained harder.

The next summer, she tried again.

On August 6, 1926, she dove into the water near Cap Gris-Nez, France. She wore a two-piece bathing suit of her own design (which raised eyebrows in the press) and a homemade swimming cap. She was trailed by a boat carrying her new coach, family, and a few skeptical reporters.

As she swam, the weather turned. The tide shifted. The Channel, already one of the world’s most treacherous open water crossings, grew violent. But Ederle refused to stop.

When she finally staggered ashore near Dover, England, she had been in the water for 14 hours and 31 minutes.

Not only had she succeeded… she beat the previous men's record by nearly two hours.

The world erupted. Parades were held in her honor. President Calvin Coolidge dubbed her “America’s Best Girl.” Little girls in Chicago and Cleveland pretended to swim across their living room floors. The idea of what women could do—physically, mentally—had shifted overnight.

But the fame faded quickly. Ederle suffered a back injury that ended her swimming career early. By the time she died in 2003 at the age of 98, most people had forgotten her name.

But what she proved in 1926 never went away.

She didn’t just beat the clock. She beat the narrative.

She swam through a world that told her “no,” and she made it to the other side.

In finance, as in the English Channel, winning isn’t about brute force. It’s not about flash. It’s about stamina.

The most successful financial stories I’ve seen aren’t built on perfect timing or dazzling returns. They’re built on consistency. On showing up, over and over again, through choppy waters and unexpected currents.

People love to chase the next big thing. The “hot” stock. The new trend. The faster path.

But the truth is, the real results tend to go to the ones who can stick to a strategy, ignore the noise, and keep moving forward—especially when things get uncomfortable.

Gertrude didn’t swim the Channel because she was fearless. She swam it because she was prepared. She didn’t quit because of the waves. She expected them. And she kept her eyes on the shore.

It’s the same with your money.

Building wealth isn’t a sprint—it’s a long, cold swim. There will be setbacks. Shifts in the tide. Conditions you can’t predict. The winners aren’t the loudest or the boldest. They’re the ones who keep going.

That’s the story most people miss.

And it’s often the one that matters most.