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A great read about the idiocy and tragedy that is the world of cryptocurrencies and defi. Faux is at his funniest when letting various personalities from the crypto and NFT manias speak for themselves, but he also manages to convey, occasionally with quiet horror, the real-world harms that these clowns have unleashed. He's also good at clarifying that these harms aren't the result of any flashy new distruptive tech, but simply old-fashioned confidence schemes and fraud. The only innovation is making these crimes far more difficult to track and prosecute. Given the timing of the book, Faux got a lot of press for his coverage of Sam Bankman-Fried and the fall of FTX and Almeda Research, but throughout the book and certainly in its final pages, his frustration with the genuine bad actors (who continue to escape accountability) is palpable: the real villian of the story isn't SBF; it's Giancarlo Devasini.

I'm a bit torn here. I wanted to love this book, and it is a compelling read for the most part.

The positives first: Ross Edgley is insanely fit, and a passionate advocate for fitness, and wellness more generally. On pretty much every page you feel that he genuinely wants to help others find and pursue their own athletic adventures. That comes across as an infectious enthusiasm throughout the book, paired with lots of research in sports science. If you follow Ross on social media you know he has a loyal following, and when you read this book you get a sense for why: he seems like a really great guy who cares deeply about friends and family, and who sincerely wants to help others achieve their goals.

Pair that personality (and stunning physique!) with an amazing adventure, and you have a fantastic tale, crafted by a charismatic adventurer who doesn't make himself the whole story. The book is as much about relationships - family, friends, crew - and how much they matter, as it is about a crazy training regimen and amazing athletic feat: a staged tide-assisted wetsuit swim around Great Britain, with no rest days (other than storm-imposed lockdowns in safe harbour), and no setting foot on shore between start and finish.

So, that's a great read. It's hard not to love the story and the author. I'd buy the book again on the strength of these virtues.

Still, all of that said, as a marathon and adventure swimmer, I finished this book a bit perplexed and disappointed.

There's so much research in here, and it's written with generosity and enthusiasm, yet when it comes to the actual swim preparation, what descriptions there are of workouts verge from exceedingly vague to frankly implausible. After detailed descriptions of strength training and nutrition regimens, there'll be an offhand reference to 'long easy swims, focusing on technique'. Nothing wrong with that in itself: technique is critical, and long, steady swims discipline the mind (mental discipline is certainly much of what makes or breaks a long marathon swim).

When specific swim training sets are described, however, they're ... well, ... they're not entirely believable - at least, not as described (and again, these descriptions are often rather fleeting).

For instance, there is mention of sometimes knocking off 100 x 400m "sprints" (... it's not entirely clear in the text whether this is a swim or track workout, but it's noted as part of training for the staged wetsuit swim that's the subject of the book). If this is indeed a swim set, then that's a 40km pool session! Imagine a strong amateur masters swimmer or triathlete in their 30s. They could certainly (in some cases easily) hold 1:30/100m for a long 400m set in a 25m pool, which would be 6:00/400m. To hold that pace, however, and leave a bit of time for rest and hydration, they'd be swimming under that time per 100m.

So, if they were to hold that pace to try Ross Edgley's "brutal" "Zapotec inspired" set, this strong masters swimmer would need to be in the pool for at least 10 hours! That's difficult, but not entirely crazy from a scheduling perspective (I could probably find friends to get me 12hrs of pool time on occasion, and maybe even a dedicated lane) but it does show that this book, about a ground-breaking swim adventure, really wasn't written for swimmers. Swimmers will immediately want to know: how the hell did you knock off 10-12hr pool sets? short course? long course? that long lido in Tooting Bec!? How'd you get the pool time? What paces were you holding? nutrition and hydration? What do you mean by "sprint" - surely not how it's defined elsewhere in the book, or by swimmers and their coaches, because you literally couldn't do this set that way.

... I didn't just pick a SCM (short-course meters) pace of 1:30/100m out of thin air. Here's another example from the book ...

Back before this book came out, Mens Journal published a short piece describing Ross Edgely doing a 100km pool swim in 48hrs. That's a crazy thing to do, but it's feasible for a very fit amateur swimmer, especially someone who has put a lot of work into cardio cross-training, and shoulder strength and stability (which Ross very obviously has). Assuming short stops every few hours for nutrition, and briefer stops every 30min-1hr for hydration, that would involve holding about 2min per 100m, which is a manageable pace for an experienced pool swimmer in their 30s, although again, keeping it up for 48hrs would be damn impressive.

For perspective here: Chloe McCardel, who has swum the English Channel over 30 times so far and routinely knocks off those crossings in the 10hr range, has also swum the longest unassisted ocean swim of just over 124km, in a little over 41hrs ("unassisted" here refers to traditional marathon swimming rules: standard nylon/lycra swim suit, cap, goggles, no wetsuits, no assistive contact with anyone or anything, and any tidal or current assistance being explicitly noted by trained observers). That's an average pace just shy of 2min per 100m, although these kinds of average pace calculations are a bit silly when applied to marathon swims in open water. Consider also Sarah Thomas, who recently completed an unprecedented 4-way English Channel crossing. Sarah has swum 168km in fresh water, in 67hrs, so in the 2:20/100m range, although again, these pace calculations translate poorly from pool to wild swimming. Indeed, I only mention them to point out that the current world record holders for the longest unassisted marathon swims are most emphatically not blasting off 1:30/100m paces for swims over 41 or 67 hours in the water.

All of which is to say: 2:00/100m in a short course pool isn't implausible for a strong and experienced swimmer over very long time frames. The sheer boredom and sleep deprivation would likely be the hardest parts of that twisted exercise.

Okay, so far so good ... but by the time we get to the intro of The Art of Resilience, that 48hr pool swim has ballooned to 185km! Later in the book, in Lesson 18, this same training session is recounted as a 175km pool swim.

To put those last two recollections in perspective: 185km in 48hrs in a 25m pool means holding about 1:34/100m, assuming no rests. If there are brief stops for feeding and hydration, as there would have to be (and as Ross describes in the book), then that's closer to 1:30/100m or faster (and even so, still with only short rests). If the distance were instead 175km, the pace is a bit more forgiving, but not much: about 1:39/100m, again without rests for water/nutrition, so, realistically, more like 1:35/100m.

To put this into further perspective: a few years ago, one of the strongest open water competitors in recent decades, 2008 olympic gold medallist Maarten van der Weijden, knocked off 24hrs in a 25m pool. He came in just shy of 103km. That's a pace of about 1:24/100m, and assuming he held that pace leaving several short rest times for a quick feed/hydration, he was probably holding closer to 1:20/100m. If Ross swam 185km in 48hrs, his pace would have been considerably slower than this world record by a world-class olympian distance swimmer, but not by all that much, and swimming for twice as long! Similarly if the distance was instead 175km.

To be clear, my concern here isn't dishonesty (although one wonders how these tall tales keep getting exaggerated and make it in to print, especially when there's already a published record of the earlier, still impressive but far more believable swims). It's just that these kinds of gaffes, distortions, and exaggerations are symptomatic of what irked me reading this book as a swimmer. Edgley has put so much research into sports science and nutrition and psychology, and he writes with so much passion in reporting those studies and his own training, relationships, and adventures... but he clearly hasn't bothered to do nearly as much careful study about the sport this book is supposed to be about: swimming!

So, what's my rating? Reading it as a general fitness enthusiast and adventure writing fan, I'd certainly rate it at least a strong 4 out of 5. But as an experienced marathon and adventure swimmer? Maybe 2. I'll split the difference and give it 3, but with the caveat that swimmers shouldn't expect a book about their sport (I'd originally been more generous in my over all rating, but revisiting this review I'm rather more sceptical than I was when I first encountered the Ross Edgely phenomenon).

Overall I enjoyed this book, particularly for the genre, but I'll confess that, over the years, I've become far more sensitive to the limiting tropes of that genre, i.e. 'amazing heroic adventure dude (and it's always a dude) doing amazing heroic adventures' and sometimes being sad (to the point of maudlin excess) about fellow climbers killed in the mountains, but ultimately concluding with variations on cliches about 'doing what we love' or 'finding inspiration and sharing wonder' or 'it really isn't that risky, when you think about the dangers of freeway driving ...'

... to be clear, I don't mean these as criticisms: I've said some of these things myself, more than a few times. I'm simply pointing out that they are indeed cliches of the mountaineering genre, although of course that genre has become more complex, not least since the popular success of Krakauer's "Into Thin Air."

Synnott writes well - indeed, at times beautifully - and he tries to overcome the limits of the genre. He doesn't always succeed, but when he does, I'd say he's at least as successful as Andrew Toddhunter, who crafted a structurally similar book around the life of Dan Osman ("The Fall of the Phantom Lord"). Like Toddhunter, Synnott is sharing the life of a remarkable figure by telling his own story. This is, of course, a venerable narrative strategy, but it's relatively novel in the 'climbing and mountaineering' genre. I think it works well, in both of these books.

The fairness and coherence of Synnott's reporting on Alex Honnold does falter at points. Indeed, there's a very brief point where the story gets weird, and one reviewer has fixated on that strange passage, reading the rest of the book in light of the gendered elements of this fleeting moment in the narrative. I don't think that critical reading is entirely fair, but it's also not wrong. Synnott doesn't always succeed in reflecting on how much of his own life has involved buying into a particular vision of masculinity, backed by socioeconomic privilege: dirtbag rockclimbers and beachbum surfers rarely start life in poverty; they are overwhelmingly white and of European settler ancestry; and of course this hardly surprising, given that mountaineering began as a sport for aristocratic English and European gentlemen of leisure.

That said, I do think Synnott is trying hard - and often successfully - to acknowledge some of these very real problems. The dominance of Lynn Hill in Yosemite climbing (and beyond) is acknowledged, although much more could be said about her story, her legacy. Also, as far as I know, this is is the first book in the climbing genre to tell the deeply disturbing story of how indigenous peoples were driven out of Yosemite valley, their stories and voices erased by state-sanctioned brutality and settler indifference.

Mark is also clearly trying to weigh his candid and balanced recollections against his obvious affection and deep respect for Alex Honnold. His recollections of Alex Lowe are likely to be more controversial among climbing elders, although whether you conclude "salacious rubbish inspired by jealousy!" or "about time someone told the truth!" will probably depend on where you sit in a complicated web of friendships and cliques that came out of the transformation of North American climbing, from a dirtbag anti-establishment lifestyle to a complex global multimedia adventure industry.

Yes, I recommend this book: it's an honest and uncompromising account not only of the climbing life, but of how that life has changed over the decades. Could that account be more introspective and inclusive? Yes, definitely, but Mark labours mightily to tell his story in a way that gives most of the players a voice, even when some of those voices would likely disagree with his interpetations. In the end that's all you can really ask of an author: to tell their story and give others a voice.

Oh, and it's also a detailed account of one of the greatest feats in climbing history, by a complex and compelling character, Alex Honnold, so there's that too!