It's weird what the ocean does to your mind. We started out having some pretty insane dreams - sleep deprivation will do that to you. Ironically, we most commonly dreamt that we were stuck in the middle of a vast ocean with no-one else around. Then we'd wake up and think, 'Oh wait, that's actually happening'. Emotionally it's a rollercoaster.
Everything we're feeling is x1000. Hungry - hungrier than we've ever felt. Exhausted - training could never replicate the sheer wipeout you feel after a long night of rowing. Happiness or comedy - seems so much funnier. Loneliness - it hits in the middle of the night when the sea is dark, you're rowing alone and only have the tunes (normally Justin Bieber, not going to lie) and your mind for company.
But like a rollercoaster, within seconds that all changes. One of the things we've made an absolute mantra is the thought that this is, truly, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We constantly remind each other that we're never going to do this again, and that thought is literally a game changer, every time.
The other thing that's so powerful on the mental front, are messages from home and our support team. Twice a day we check our Dropbox Business folder and find news, pictures and messages from our families, girlfriends and crew, and I can honestly say it's what keeps us going. We write blogs every week and use our Go Pro camera to document our experiences. It really spurs us on to know that we can upload all of this to the folder and in a matter of seconds can share this with our supporters back in the UK and they know we're OK and still have smiles on our faces.
Speaking of hunger - today has been a day of food fantasies and injury. We have just four meal options on board: chicken tikka, chilli, spag-bol and salmon and potato in sauce. I tell you, it's getting repetitive. Tom and I kill time playing, "What would you eat now?"
We are craving savoury items such as crisps and nuts more than anything. Naively, we packed the boat full of chocolate and sweets, so our teeth aren't overly impressed.
And it's not just our teeth that are feeling it. These last few days have also seen the salt-sores kick into higher gear. We always knew it wasn't going to be comfortable and actually we've got away with it until now. But now our bodies are rebelling.
We get The Claw.
That's where your muscles freeze in the oar-holding position and your fingers swell up. We're regularly checking the folder for advice from our support team who say to keep shifting grip to get variety on our blister locations. Once one part of our hand blisters, we'll shift to blister another. And the same with our backsides - oh yes, the blisters aren't just on the hands.
Our legs are a goner too. Weeks of basically just sitting means they're useless. There's nowhere to walk anyway, but when we try to stagger from cabin to rowing position we look like old men.
Speaking of which, our families say we look like old seadogs. Nice.
In the lead up to this expedition, there was one question we were asked more than any other: What if the boat flips? I can now answer this question.
Tuesday night was no different from any other. We had music on, throwing some shapes while on the oars and progress was excellent. Just after 5am a big set of rollers came in. Next thing I know, we are vertical and skidding backwards.
A giant white wall of water came out of nowhere, suddenly lit up by the moon and I was out of the boat quicker than water.
It felt like being in a giant washing machine and all I could think of was, "Don't get hit by the boat, or it's game over". Then I surfaced - no hat, no head torch but Jaybirds still in and blasting out Rhianna (iPhone must've shuffled in the commotion).
Tommy had been in the cabin and woke to find himself face down on the ceiling, eye to eye with a baby-faced Justin Bieber calendar.
We lost two oars overboard and all our water bottles. Nightmare.
So here we are, rowing again, putting nerves to the back of our minds and pushing forward to Barbados once more. It is the only way, after all.