Gertrude Ederle: Do Hard Things

Below is a chapter from the second edition of Chasing Greatness.

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True self-respect comes from doing hard things quietly.

– James Clear

The Boston Globe posed the question: “Who will be the first woman to swim the English Channel?”

When Matthew Webb became the first to cross the Channel, it was a breakthrough moment for humanity—proof of what the body and spirit could endure. Yet for nearly 40 years, no one else matched the feat. It wasn’t until Bill Burgess succeeded on his 16th attempt that Webb finally had company. And it wouldn’t be for another decade before a third man, American swimmer Henry Sullivan, would join them. Sullivan seemed to open the floodgates, as two more swimmers, Italian Enrico Tiraboschi and American Charles Toth, both crossed within a month.

But one thing remained clear: it was a man’s challenge. Since Webb’s crossing in 1875, no woman had even tried until 1900, when Austrian swimmer Walburga von Isacescu spent over ten hours in the water before giving up. In the years that followed, Annette Kellerman made two attempts but came up short.

For 50 years, countless swimmers came to the shores with a single goal in mind, but often left disappointed. Jabez Wolffe famously tried 22 times and never succeeded.

But why? What made the English Channel so challenging?

The Channel is a unique body of water that separates England from Northern France. On a clear day, from its narrowest point, 21 miles in length, you can see coast to coast. For an experienced swimmer, it gives an illusion of looking tough but manageable.

But it isn’t the distance that makes the crossing brutal, it’s the tide. Every four to six hours, the current shifts, forcing swimmers to either fight against it or adjust their route, which adds unexpected mileage. The tides can reach speeds of four miles per hour, matching the pace of a professional swimmer. One minute, you’re making progress; the next, you’re stuck in place.

Then there’s the weather. A calm morning can quickly turn into chaos with high winds and heavy rain, adding another layer of complexity to the challenge. Waves can rise upwards of six feet, making it difficult for swimmers to breathe without swallowing saltwater. Ingesting too much of it can lead to nausea or illness, cutting the swim short.

Because of the tides and unpredictable weather, most swimmers end up zigzagging, creating a Z-shaped pattern, which can add 10 to 20 miles to the journey, nearly doubling the original distance. And in the 1920s, when swimmers had no modern weather forecasts, no advanced training methods, and no scientific nutrition plans, it was all the more difficult.

When Toth became the fifth man to conquer the channel, the world was waiting to see if a woman could finally accomplish the feat.

Around that time, Gertrude “Trudy” Ederle was taking women’s swimming by storm. She was the Michael Jordan and Serena Williams of the sport. She wasn’t just winning. She was dominating. In 1923 alone, she broke seven world records.

What made Trudy exceptional wasn’t just her speed but her endurance. While most swimmers faded after a strong start, she had the uncommon ability to maintain her pace throughout the race—just the trait needed to conquer the English Channel.

In 1925, just a year after the Olympics, Trudy stood on the shore of Cap Gris-Nez in France with one goal: to reach the other side. The day felt like destiny. Radios buzzed with anticipation. The world was ready to witness history.

And then, Trudy failed to make it.

Just under nine hours in the water and a little over six miles from the coast of Dover, England, Trudy began to feel sick. No one knew why, but the result was clear: her first attempt to swim the English Channel was over.

But there’s something about the human spirit, something ingrained in us, that craves challenges. Some chase it for fame. Others for power, recognition, or money. But there’s one universal truth: we need difficulty.

Hard things toughen the mind.

Hard things strengthen the body.

Hard things inspire the spirit.

Nearly a year later, Trudy returned to the Channel. She wasn’t there for fortune or headlines. Trudy was there because something inside of her—a voice, a feeling, an urge—kept pushing her.

Before her second attempt, she had a simple motto: “England or drown.” She would get across or die trying.

On August 6th, 1927, just after seven in the morning, she took to the waters off Cap Gris-Nez. The air was still, and the skies were clear, but Trudy and her team knew that the weather could and would change in an instant.

The start was smooth sailing. The weather remained clear for the first part of the trip, but as she entered the middle half, things got dicey. The stable weather turned sporadic, as the clear skies were engulfed by dark clouds, heavy rain, and strong winds. It was the kind of shift that had ended countless swims before.

Bill Burgess, her guide—and one of the few who had ever crossed the Channel—was worried. He’d led swimmers through this water more than fifteen times. And now, for the first time that day, a single thought consumed him: she’s not going to make it.

The current was too strong. The waves were too high. The risk was too great. Worried not just about the attempt but for her safety, he shouted from the boat, “Come on out, girl!”

At first, Trudy couldn’t make out the words. After a few more calls from Burgess, she pieced the message together. She was confused. While the water was choppy and the weather was darkening, she was calm, cool, and steady. Tired but not too tired. Sore but not too sore. Hungry but not too hungry.

As she pulled herself to a stop, she looked at the boat beside her and yelled to Burgess, “What for?”

He was silent.

While concerns rolled throughout his mind, the mind of his swimmer, of the lady in the

water, was strong and steady. Trudy ducked her head back into the water and kept going. Several hours later, after nearly 14 hours in the water, she reached the English coast.

Her name was etched in history, and so were the two words that would make waves in newspapers and magazines: “What for?”

It’s the question people will ask when you set out to do something difficult—what for? Maybe it’s for the money. Maybe it’s to make a name. Maybe it’s to build something you can call your own. But beneath all that, there’s a deeper answer: it keeps your vehicle strong.

Friction strengthens. Difficulty hardens. Resistance fuels. Simply put: hard things build great health.

Sometimes you’ll win. Sometimes you won’t. All that matters is you give it a hack. Because doing hard things, attempting hard things, earns self-respect—the only respect you need in this world.

W.E.B. Du Bois once wrote a letter to his daughter: “Take the cold bath bravely. Make yourself do unpleasant things so as to gain the upper hand on your soul.” You gain the upper hand on your health, vitality, and well-being by doing those things you don’t want to do. Those hard tasks that drain the soul and deplete your reserves. Those challenging endeavors that push your capacity.

Whenever you’re struggling, take the advice of Du Bois and make yourself do unpleasant things. Because sometimes when you’re struggling, the best choice isn’t to fill up the tank but to empty it and find out what you’re made of.

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Thank you!