Vendée Globe

It's a dark night.  Stretched out on your seat in the cockpit, wrapped up in the foul weather gear that you haven't taken off since the start, you doze off.  In spite of the wind howling in the rigging, in spite of the sails vibrating in the gusts, your head slips to one side and your eyes looking red because of the salt, the tiredness and seasickness, gradually shut.  For a split second, you feel like you are drifting off in a gentle mist far away from this hostile sea. But the boat accelerates, rides up a wave and takes off.  This time it is going to be violent.

You suddenly awake feeling completely alert. Eyes wide open, butterflies in the stomach, you await the dreaded slam.  For a fleeting moment, you feel like you are suspended in space and the impact seems to take ages to come. The hull crashes down with a huge noise hitting the water, as if it was cement. You feel breathless as you are forced back into your seat.  Everything seems to shake in this tremor.  You can feel the strain the equipment is under, as it reaches the limit of its resistance. Every part has a vital role to play in this huge jig-saw puzzle of a boat.  It must hold out.   
But already, the boat is off on the attack again as it encounters the next wave.  Worry, fear sometimes. Find something to do to get it out of your mind.  Let's think.  Tell yourself that in such circumstances you are doing your best.  Speed, point of sail, adjustments, the route, so much to think about.
You have to keep going, whatever happens.  You tell yourself you are in the best position and just have to wait for the front to go over ahead of the low, and that in any case all the others are going through the same hell.
Since 13h02 on Sunday, you have been spared nothing. The emotion of the start, where you had to take in all those words, tears and the applause of the crowds before entering the world of the recluse.  The transition is clearly not easy, as you have your roots on dry land and you really feel the weight of being alone, when you have no choice but to face the low-pressure area, which is deepening to the west.
On the first night, the swell built up, and you had hardly any time at all to go from a land creature to a sea creature.  In these conditions, the human body is not happy and complains. The psychological pressure of the start did not help. Apathy, dozing off, headaches, no appetite, feeling down, vomiting... common troubles that are all part of feeling seasick.  Not the best way to face up to these horrendous seas.
In this transition phase to life at sea, the balance system in the inner ear must succeed in filtering the information about the your movements, which are basically the boat's movements.
This information contradicts the information on the posture of your body coming from other sensors. As long as these nerve signals exist, they build up and disturb the central nervous system, leading to these well-known symptoms.
Anyone, who has at some point experienced seasickness knows what superhuman effort it takes not to succumb to lethargy and apathy.
If you know what it takes to sail one of these 60-foot ocean racing boats, you can only admire these sailors, who in spite of the adverse conditions, have continued to do their best with their machines. Some hide their seasickness, but they are wrong to do so.  If you are capable alone of pushing back your limits, when confronted by the worst situations, this is a magnificent example of tenacity and determination. 

Dr Jean-Yves Chauve

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