Alicia Arias Garcia: A 17-Year Finance Director Swims the Triple Crown – When Office Discipline Meets Cold Water

When Alicia Arias Garcia's foot touched the sands of France after 12 hours and 2 minutes of swimming across the English Channel, she did not raise her arms to celebrate. She stood quietly and listened to her heartbeat slow down in a swimsuit still soaked in the cold Atlantic. That is a moment American media usually call 'arrival,' but for me, a writer who has followed too many long-distance swims, it was the moment a Mexican woman's story began to touch the boundary between a financial career and an oceanic obsession. In Mexico, Alicia is no stranger to long executive meetings and quarterly revenue reports. She has 17 years of experience in finance, is currently general director of LAKPA México, and co-founded “Mujeres en Finanzas,” a network connecting female financial leaders. But when she leaves the office, she doesn't go to a resort; she steps into a pool or open sea. Each year, she swims more than 1 million meters — a number far exceeding the requirements of most professional pool swimmers. The Triple Crown of open-water swimming means completing three of the harshest outdoor swims: around Manhattan Island (46 km), across the Catalina Channel (32 km), and through the English Channel (33 km). There are no standard lanes, no black line at the bottom, no turning walls. Only waves, currents, and a body that must keep moving for many hours under cold stress. In all of history, only about 400 people have completed this trio. The number of Mexicans on that list is 24, and among them, only 8 are women. Alicia is that 8th Mexican woman. But she never calls herself an elite athlete. “I was not born into a swimming family. I was not trained from childhood like Olympic champions. I only have an office job and a habit of waking up at 4 a.m. to swim.” That statement reminds me of a principle I often write about in women's football analysis: Behind the numbers are women who refuse to stop. What really sets Alicia apart is not a sprint tactic but the discipline of a finance executive. Almost every Saturday morning, she spends six continuous hours swimming in water below 16°C. Some evenings she swims at night, adjusting her breathing to moonlight or the lights of a support boat. Her training log contains no 50-meter sprint sets, but rather long, steady distances that teach the body to burn energy over time. Her English Channel crossing last August (according to athlete files shared with VuaBong) began at dawn from Dover and finished in France after exactly 12 hours and 2 minutes. Just one month later, she completed the 33 km night swim to finish the Manhattan leg in 11 hours and 31 minutes. That is a remarkable sequence of efforts, but when asked about her achievements, she doesn't dwell on numbers. She talks about the lonely feeling in the middle of the sea before sunrise — and how she thinks of women who feel forced to choose between career and passion. In a slightly counter-intuitive way, I believe her Triple Crown carries less mainstream media visibility than a medal in a national championship final. Because there is no unified ranking, no common timing across three separate swims on different continents. The sports establishment prefers measurability: swim faster, jump higher, score more goals. But women's sport especially needs stories that transcend scoreboards. When the stadium is empty, our community starts knocking on the door — the phrase I use for underattended leagues applies directly to Alicia's journey. Truthfully, these three swims have no refs whistling fouls, no anti-doping tests, no rules about turning around a buoy. The only fundamental rule is to stay on course and not touch the support boat. That means her accomplishment lies in her capacity to maintain herself under time and thermal pressure. For someone in finance, work pressure is like cold water: if you don't control your heart rate, you will fade. In a resilience conference, Alicia once told students: “Failure isn't when you stop halfway, but when you let that inner voice tell you that you cannot do it.” I think that kind of inspiration is more important than any world record. What makes her story unique is that it doesn't end with a medal ceremony. When her file is officially verified in the summer of 2026, another Mexican name will appear on a list usually dominated by nations with a cold-water tradition such as Britain, the U.S., Australia. But for me, the real value lies in a female executive daring to expose a part of her life that society does not usually praise: her passion for crossing oceans. She proves that being a mother, a director, or a busy career woman doesn't block having huge challenges. Looking at Alicia's course history: she completed Catalina, Manhattan and the English Channel – different temperatures, one in the Pacific, one in the California sea, and one in a northern European strait. She didn't just adapt to cold water; she adapted to different marine ecosystems. That demands a planning capacity similar to a long-term financial project, where she must anticipate strong currents, bad weather, and the unpredictable nature of shoulder injuries and cramps. I have spoken with many American open-water coaches, and they all agree that a swimmer who completes this triple don't need to have perfect technique, but they definitely need extraordinary mental stamina. That afternoon on the French beach, when the support-boat crew pulled her up, Alicia didn't talk about future races. She opened her phone and called her colleague in Mexico. During the call, she simply reported, “My flight is on Friday.” From the outside, it looks like she is downplaying a 12-hour swim. But I understand that when a woman is used to signing major corporate deals, swimming the English Channel is like an unusually long meeting. She must stay in control, anticipate changes, and never let emotion overwhelm her decisions. We often hear stories about heroic marathon swimmers – men with icy beards and epic gazes. Alicia Arias Garcia enters this world with a different voice: the voice of a woman who knows that staying in the office until 8 p.m. is not an obstacle, but a form of mental endurance training. In her lecturing about resilience, she insists: “Don't give up just because you can't see the finish right in front of your eyes.” That is the lesson I write for the girls standing at the corner of an amateur women's football field waiting for their time to enter the game. They might not be in the starting line-up, but they train as if they are part of the match. Therefore, her story is not just a typical sports news piece. It's proof that women's sport needs new storytellers, who see beyond medals and understand that behind every stroke is a psychological journey. Having followed women's ultra-distance swimming for many years – from young girls in Mui Ne waters to veteran swimmers in Santa Monica – I've learned that true strength lies in the ability to keep going when no one is cheering. Statistics like a million meters a year, or 12 hours and 2 minutes at sea, won't tell you that. What I hope is that after Alicia's name is added to the Triple Crown list in summer 2026, Mexico's swimming community will not view it as just a personal marvel. She is opening a door that few have mentioned: working mothers, executive directors, and women over thirty can dive into cold water without asking anyone for permission to spend six hours on themselves. We have already seen a shift in women's football when players demanded fair investment; perhaps open-water swimming will follow. Then there won't be just one Mexican name mentioned, but many more girls will be braver to try open-water journeys far beyond the societal limits imposed on them.