Rocky 101: Part 1

Another installment on my desire to go to hell and come back again...and I really hope I come back from this one.

Again, for everything I write, I am always late. On this occasion, however, I have actually been too busy to write. Most of this was jotted down with my Samsung sitting in the hairdressers.

And the reason for my pen to paper or fingers to keyboard I hear you ask - 8 weeks of training focusing on technique, fitness and footwork all of which comes to an almighty climax on Saturday 12^th April at the Wellington Park Hotel. White Collar Boxing for Carla and I.

It’s now 3 weeks into training and the hard work has most certainly begun. So far I've attempted about 4 or 5, maybe 6 sparring classes. Keep your hands up, don’t forget your stance, keep your hands up...why aren't you breathing? Good god, this is hard.

Footwork, timing, technique, all of which Carla and I completely lack (sorry Carla). At least it seems that when we even come close to slightly getting the hang of one, the other two just fall out our backsides.  Jab, jab, cross! Yet it's not jab jab cross, it's attempt jab, hook to my own coupin, dive for cover. Why are we doing this to ourselves?  

Whatever the remainder of training throws at us, we can rest easy at night knowing that the money raised through this event will go to a great cause. The chosen charity is Community Rescue Service.

For those of you who haven’t heard of them, they are essentially a group of volunteers, all of whom have their own jobs and yet commit to helping others in their time of need. Community Rescue Service is made up of a number of rescue units, each of which responds by pager alert 24/7. Sometimes this means one team goes out, sometimes several or all teams pull together.

These volunteers are trained in crisis intervention, rural and urban search, rescue and recovery, river and flood incidents and swift water rescue. They are also supported by regional assets including search dogs, rescue swimmers and dive response. So we can only imagine how difficult their jobs are and how dedicated they must be.

So keeping this in mind, there is no bowing out. And needless to say, for good measure, there will be future photographs and videos of Carla and I beating the absolute tripe out of each other. Or at least trying, moving targets are surprisingly harder to hit than static pads. Am I the only one who didn't see that coming?

And yet despite the nerves, self doubt and even initial slight embarrassment, there's something really wonderful about opening yourself up and facing your fear of failure head on (with a head guard of course). Similarly, it’s so satisfying to set and achieve your main objective; to simply learn, enjoy and develop.

I'm also really enjoying learning the art of curbing my ego. Delving into a sport that, even at beginner level, leaves you wide open to failure in the form of black eyes and bust lips means that the only place you can leave your ego is at the door. When you start to test your skills, nobody cares about what you say you can do or what you believe you can do. Action is the only thing that will earn respect. The obvious desire to learn, to test and improve your skills - no matter how amateurish you may feel - is the only way to move forward and progress. Such is life. Stay still and there dies progression and, on this occasion, a swift one-two to one's bake. 

Come Saturday 12^th April, whether we embarrass ourselves or take glory, it's all for a fantastic cause...and I hear there's nothing like taking a right hook to the head for a good cause.

To sponsor Carla or I, please throw a quid or two our way by clicking here, we need to raise a minimum of £250 each to make this all worthwhile.

Action Month for Fifo - The Results!

Finally! I am writing a conclusion for Action Month for Fifo. I should have no excuses as my working contract finished at the end of June, however, I have come to realise that unemployment is, in fact, a full time job in itself. Applying for jobs is nothing short of exhausting, however, I am patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity which, I am sure, is around the corner.

Anyhow, let’s get back to the business in question - Action Month for Fifo. It went fantastically – every one of us survived!



The Hell and Back Dream Team

Action Month for Fifo saw over 20 people cycling, crawling, running and enduring an awesome 580 km for Fiona. We travelled a whopping 1284 km to complete our tasks and our efforts encouraged at least 27 additional donations, bringing the total raised in Fiona’s memory to over £1500.00 for Cancer Focus NI!

Action Month for Fifo was kick started by Geraldine O’Neill who ran the Larne Half Marathon and even offered a prize from her salon for one lucky donator (winner to be announced very shortly). This was followed by water, scaffolding and scars in the Dash of the Titans at Titanic Quarter. The next week saw my brother-in-law Ciaran and lots of our loyal chums endure sweat, blood and tears via 8 foot walls, electric shocks and pellet shots in the infamous ‘Hell and Back’ assault course in County Kildare. But we weren’t finished at that. Weekend commencing 22^nd June brought myself, Cormac, my dad and plenty of his cycling buddies to County Clare to take part in the Tour de Burren. If the drive itself wasn’t hard enough, the 54 km cycle offered the opportunity to lose the ability to walk for three days (it was my own fault for not training). Action Month for Fifo was rounded up by our heroic dad who, at 64 years of age, cycled to Dublin and back in two days!


Nichola and Jeni chest deep in sludge.

I could not be more proud of everyone who took part and everyone who kindly donated. We received donations of money, love and much needed support – all of which were needed to keep us going (particularly during Hell and Back).

Action Month for Fifo may be over for now, but we have plenty of activity up our sleeves for the future. We will keep on fundraising to keep Fiona’s memory alive. There is nothing that we can do to turn back time or bring Fi back but what we can do is offer much needed support to charities like Cancer Focus that are dedicated to helping cancer sufferers and their family.

Cormac and I on that cycle. My legs and butt were in a state of shock for atleast 24 hours.

Gravity is one son of a...

 

Hell and Back Apollo – The Sequel...

I was standing in the shower watching the mud stained water circle the drain. As I reached for the fifth dollop of shampoo to wash my crusty hair, I couldn’t help but think of how proud I was of all my friends and family who took part in today’s Hell and Back Apollo. We completed (I mean survived) the course in aid of Cancer Focus, a charity which has helped and supported my beautiful sister’s family since she was taken from us in April this year.  My emotional moment is caught short when I find two, no three, sorry five small, circular bruises on my thighs. Another on my bum makes six. I can’t remember being bitten by anything. Then it dawns on me. Sniper Alley...

This is how Hell and Back Apollo ‘13 went down.

Race day. Shorts or running tights? Nerves. Jelly belly. Where’s the loo? Butterflies. Shorts or running tights? What about my dodgy leg? I’ve got the cold. What should I eat? What did I learn from last time? Shorts or running tights? And this was before we got into the car.

We make the 2 hour journey to Wicklow in an atmosphere of excitement and anxiety – all wondering how today’s event might physically and mentally scar us for life. We arrive at the venue in the nick of time for Cormac to reach his wave and set off around the trail of torture, which, unexpectedly, has turned into a 12km run. What a wonderful surprise.

As Cormac sets off, myself, Nichola and Jennifer assess the amenities and take a few 'before shots' of our brand, new, clean as a whistle, Cancer Focus vests. Next, Nichola and Jen finish their warm up and disappear through a hole in a wall with their dessignated wave. Thankfully, Ciaran and Dave quickly arrive with our newest recruit Tony. We make our way to the starting line and off we go.

It begins. Ditch of Doom – nothing like a dip in a trench of water to start things off. My clothes soak up the water like they’re genuinely thirsty. The added few kilos of water to my body weight is welcomed with a high pitched shriek. I fumble up the far side of the ditch.

We sail over the ski jump and reach ‘The Rock and Ice Baths of Siberia’. Did I miss something? Have we left Ireland? I climb up the squidgy bales of hay and slip into a skip filled with sludge and water (and whatever else). Deep breath, I’m in. Yuck. I make my way through the slime, minding the wooden plank above me. And I’m out again...with just enough time to grasp some air, wipe my face and smile for a camera in front of me. I didn’t realise that the paparazzi were offering themselves as an extra obstacle. I drag myself out of the skip, marinated in muck. I must be holding a good stone of water by now. Superb.

We slip and slide our way through the mud ahead and find ourselves in a murky, misty forest. Hold on, am I in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan? Is my name John McClane? Black Hawk Down? No, it’s Sniper Alley.  Pellet after pellet catapult off the wooden boards to my left. As I dodge a couple more, another gets me right in the thigh, another in my arse cheek. I can hear Tony and Ciaran squealing behind me. Did we actually pay for this?

We make it through about a kilometre of gun shots and pull ourselves through the Boggy Hollow. We make our way through winding trails of deep muck that engulfs our, once white, trainers. In and out, around and around, to the left, to the right, under and over. We dodge branches and trip up steep mounds of saturated earth, all the time helping each other reach the next impediment - The Slimy Swamp of Perdition.

Déjà vu. I start to realise that I’ve seen this swamp before; this is where I ended up waist deep in thick mud in February begging for passersby to haul me out.  I come to the realisation that they’re taking us along same route as February’s Hell and Back Trojan, only this time, it’s in the opposite direction. But that means...no it couldn’t...yes it does. Sugar Loaf Mountain is right ahead of me, the very mountain that nearly broke me in February.

We soldier on anyhow and reach the appropriately named ‘Satan’s Sewer’ - four tubes, each just wide enough to hold one person. We shuffle down the tubes, smelling and feeling like we are literally exiting Satan’s intestines. That’s one obstacle I don’t hope will be repeated. We slip out of the devil’s bog and reach The River of Acheron. We jump in. I’m in the zone and feel quite smug as I see dozens of men around me gripping their shrinking man hood.  We make our way out of the woods and pass the Hurdles of Hell, dipping and diving over a range of barriers.

There she is, Sugar Loaf Mountain, only this time it’s called ‘Burn Baby Burn’ and oh how she burns. I run towards the base of the mountain but abruptly come to walking pace. It’s too steep to run. Again, why did I not run more? I lengthen my strides to try to make the most of my walking pace on the uneven path. We reach road surface again and my mind gets the better of me. “I can’t do it”, Tony and Ciaran walk with me for a minute, cheering me on and letting me catch my breath. I pick a point and we start to run again. I’m feeling optimistic.

We turn the corner and the reality of Sugar Loaf Mountain smacks us in the face like a slap from John Wayne. Here comes the tourrette’s. The course has been laid out in such a way that we are zig zagging our way up the hill. Hats off to the organisers, they really know how to break a human’s soul. This is where the mental battle really begins. I look to my feet and concentrate on moving one in front of the other. Stage by stage, we push each other on. When we reach the top we all feel like Kings of the Mountain - if this was the Tour De France, we’d all have spotted jerseys. But it’s not. It’s hell and we haven’t made it out alive yet.

We start our descent with hunger in our eyes. We pass the ‘Hades of Horror’ and reach ‘Nightmare on Hell Street’ – a beautifully named street if you ask me. We crawl beneath barbed wire, under army nets and reach a, no joke, 12 foot wall which we have no option but to get over. I make a feeble attempt to bounce to the top, I slide back down with the grace of Nelly the Elephant and make puppy dog eyes at Tony who offers a helping hand. I reach the other side and have no option but to carry on and hope that some other Knight in Shining Armour can do the same good deed for him. My strength is diminishing rapidly as I reach another high obstacle which I am shoved over by a fellow participant. Thank you kind sir, off I go through the electrically charged tunnel. It feels like I’m being hit by a small bundle of fireworks but I power on.

I reach the very last hurdle and decide to go out with a bang. I fire ahead and launch myself at the vertical slope, grabbing onto the single rope offered to me for help. My feet slip from beneath me and I grip the rope like a baby would his last bottle. I’m now hanging over the edge where I yelp a blood curdling “Help me!” I’m pulled to the top and see what must be a 15ft drop before me. Que quivering flashbacks of the free fall in Indiana Land when I was 8...I fling myself off the edge and reach the bottom with a triple tumble slash roll to the mud. I slide round the corner, glide through the finish line and smile with triumph as I am reunited with my team mates.

If that’s what hell is like, give me a one way ticket back. In fact, Satan may get ready, we’re  all coming back.

Help us keep Fiona’s memory alive. Donate here to support Cancer Focus in her name.

Action Month for Fifo - Update

So Hell and Back is almost upon us, this time in 24 hours I will once again be crying with regret. With a pitiful training schedule and a string of injuries, this Sunday 16^th June sees us take on Hell and Back for the second time. Although this course is taking place in a completely different venue, it is bound to be just as gruelling.

Now I know I said pitiful training schedule, however, I did, for the first time, run up Divis mountain this week – with no stops or rests. For those of you who have struggled along this route before, please join me in celebrating this glory!

There was also a little impromptu training session for Hell and Back at the end of last week which made an excellent edition to Action Month for Fifo. It went by the name of the ‘Dash of the Titans’ and if no serious injuries occurred at that event, I will buy a hat and eat it.

From climbing over rusting scaffolding to jumping into the sea/ Lagan River (the smell and taste of that water is a memory that I shall bring to my grave) and wading our way through man built shucks of brown, murky slush (don’t ask) - I am not lying when I say that I was half expecting the majority of participants to be choppered to the finish line with a fabulous selection of wounds. I would however, have to say that my team and I were nothing short of fantastic. On top of my own dazzling efforts, I got a beautiful slash in my lower leg which I have been able to show off to all of my friends. I am particularly looking forward to exposing this to the wilderness of the Hell and Back race course this Sunday, the prospect of infection will make the experience all the more exciting.

So how did the Titans race compare to Hell and Back? Aside from giving me a little confidence, it’s hard to tell really. When I completed Hell and Back in February I had barely ran the length of my bedroom. When I completed Dash of the Titans last Saturday, I had certainly managed a little bit more running – but I was also recovering from a leg injury. The Titans race, although less hilly terrain, had around 40 obstacles. On the other hand, Hell and Back throws less obstacles at participants yet kindly forces them to climb hills for at least half of the entire 10km. Tomorrow will be the real test.  It will be interesting to hear what my Hell and Back virgins Nichola, Jennifer and Cormac think of it too.

So we’re ready (as we can be), we’re excited (maybe a slight exaggeration) and we’re scared (big understatement). Knee pads. Check. Cancer Focus t-shirts. Check. Remembering that no matter how much of a struggle tomorrow might be, it is nothing compared to what cancer patients suffer every day. Check.

Let's do this.

Again, everyone has been more than generous, but, if you’d still like to make a donation we would really appreciate it. Visit Fiona's JustGiving page to donate to Cancer Focus on behalf of her memory.

 

 

June...Action Month for Fifo

Update on training for Hell and Back...I’m injured! So once again my running has diminished into a poor excuse of a shuffle...but this will not stop me! To make matters worse, my Hell and Back partner (brother-in-law/ best friend) Ciaran has destroyed his hamstring. Again, we are worth more than this and whether we walk, crawl or stumble, we will complete Ireland’s toughest 10km.

It looks as though I may not make my now unrealistic target of completing the course in one hour, however, I am going to use this course as training for October. Ciaran and I have signed up to the next three Hell and Back races – all for Fiona – and a bit of fun too (torture included).

So as it happens, June has turned into Action Month for Fifo with atleast one of Fiona's friends or family members taking part in an event during each weekend of the month. 

The first weekend of June sees Fiona's good friend Lisa McConnell from B&Q taking part in the Race for Life at Stormont. Our good friend Geraldine is then taking part in the Larne Half Marathon on Saturday 8^th June (which she is going to absolutely dominate). Me and my good friends Jeni and Nichola Casey, along with Ciaran and his friend Dave will be attempting (I mean smashing) Hell and Back in County Wicklow on Sunday 16^th June. The following week, Cormac (6ft 4 sidekick/ boyfriend) and I will be joining my dad on one of his lengthy cycle excursions An Post Tour de Burren in County Clare (void of any cycling training). And for the final weekend in June, my dad (at 63 years of age) is participating in the Co-Operation Ireland Maracycle. He takes to the pedals on Saturday 29th June, cycling from Belfast to Dublin and back again on Sunday. Good grief, what a man. I’m quite tempted myself, but I shall wait and see what my walking skills (let alone cycling skills) are like following the County Clare cycle.

Wish us luck!

Everyone has already been more than generous, but, if you’d still like to make a donation we would really appreciate it. Visit Fiona's JustGiving page to donate.

 

 

Back to Hell...and back again.

Training has commenced.

My second experience of Hell and Back is looming and I have made a promise to myself to complete the course in one hour (I completed the previous course in 1 hour 31 minutes). There is, after all, no better person to compete with than yourself (que motivational music and training video montage). 10km of muddy hills, dirty swamps and pride stripping obstacles – I’m excited.

Any training related to putting one foot in front of the other I.e. Running, has so far been sporadic, at best. I plan to couple running with weight training in order to reach that goal of one hour. As of today, I have vowed to run Divis Mountain twice a week in the run up to the event. As of yesterday, I have climbed Divis 3 times. First time round I stopped about 3 times and to be fair, Cormac (boyfriend and training extraordinaire) basically pushed to the top. Second time round, I stumbled to the peak, resorting to walking (and crying) five times. Most of these struggles were induced by the million squats I had completed the night before along with the hour long circuit class I completed directly before the run. Do not try this at home. For some strange reason I thought I was immune to burning out. It is true what they say, rest is a must. When you find yourself squealing at the thought of sitting down on the loo, it's time to call it a day (just the one day mind, I've training to do.)

I've known about this event for a couple of months so I really should have increased my jogging before now. In saying that, my friends will know that I am no stranger to a bit of tough exercise and with that, the occasional dose of tourettes. I’m hoping that this will stand by me – the training, not the tourrettes.

So this day in 3 weeks and five days I will be knee deep in sludge. I hope to keep you all updated on my training journey and together we can rejoice when I, mirroring something out of 'The Hills have Eyes', cross the finish line in first place (not actual first place, I'm competing with myself remember – que motivational music and training video montage). Wish me luck!

Clean as a Whistle...Hell and Back, February 2013

So today was D-day...I went to hell (Kilruddery Estate in County Wicklow)..and made it back alive - barely.

A couple of weeks back my brother-in-law encouraged me to sign up to 'Hell and Back' - Ireland's toughest 10km. And today was the day. I couldn't be happier that I took part, however, my knees, joints and back would highly disagree.

Satan's run began with a splash into a pit of water cold enough to shrivel any man's proof of masculinity. This was followed by a struggle to get out of the pit, which was then followed by a lengthy run. My big toe literally felt as though it had frozen istantly, however, I persevered and ran on with my ice block trainers. Despite the cold feet, I was feeling suspiciously good, running as though I had endured plenty of adequate training prior to the actual race. Happy days. And then came ‘little’ Sugar Loaf Mountain.

As if peering up at the top of this mini-Everest was not painful enough...the pain in my calves also began to increase...rapidly, with leg strength declining at a similar pace. As I tried to squeeze the last of my energy gel into my mouth (with copious amounts of mud) and the gap between my team mates and I slowly increased, my motivation levels took a dip. Why am I doing this? I hate running! I don't want to be here. Shut up! But the mountain kept coming! I buried my pride and took to walking, which evidently was much easier, and faster! I reached the top. Glorious! Now to get back down...which was actually much scarier. I had little control over my feet which were accelerating at what seemed like the speed of light - yet people were still passing me! A few taps on the back from fellow contestants and I was on my way - feeling spritely again with a renewed sense of energy..this is fun! (The little energy gel pack may have also aided this.)

I made it to the next obstacle - climbing back uphill, under a net (which made numerous attempts to steal my pony tail). People are stopping! What are you doing? I have renewed energy - get out of my way! I reached the top. Next! Sandbags on shoulders - back up the hill. Go! Thank God for circuit training. And back down the hill.

More running and more downhill running. I pass a couple of people, a couple of people pass me. Keep running. I am then met with what they call 'Satan's Pit', a positively lovely name for a pit. I clambered over a shuck filled with tyres (and rather gracefully if you ask me). I then meet a six foot fence, similarly to how a Shetland pony might meet a garden wall - with a large yelp. But again, I surprise myself, take hold of the rope and leap to the top...where I sit admiring the view until a steward yells at me to hurry it up. I slide down the back of the fence like bird poop on a car windscreen. And off I go! Leaping (stumbling) over holes and wading (crying) through more icey, muddy water. The next fence, I run at like a thoroughbred...and bounce off it like a beach ball. My fellow contestants to my rescue again! Pulling me to the top of the fence and helping me down the other side - happy and motivated once more. More running.

Through the forest I go, dodging knee deep muddy puddles as though I’ve a grudge against Peppa Pig. I'm feeling good as I approach the river crossing. Giving Tarzan a run for his money, I grip a rope and make my way across the river, and back, and across again. Freezing. But I continue and finally reach 'The Swamp' (Peppa has her day). The first half of the swamp goes swimmingly, however, the remaining half is plagued by bad decisions. Instead of patiently following the pathlike, shallow mud I decide to follow a couple of lads right trough the middle of the swamp, possibly adding minutes to my time as I try to suck my body out of the hoover-like sludge (Peppa is clearly laughing at me now). With help from my new comrades, we climb the ladder-like fence and continue the run.

I must be nearly finished. I can hear the music at the finish line getting closer. I feel like Rocky when he realises he is going to beat Ivan Drago. But still I am running. Boom. Another obstacle.

I crouch under the barbed wire and start wriggling to the other end. This isn't so bad, although my hands are getting colder in the surprisingly icey mud and my already bloodied knees are taking a beating from stones and other sharp materials camouflaged within the mud. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH. Is this finished yet? The lads keep me going and as I slowly, and carefully, get to my feet, I notice the ‘Shock of Horrors’ approaching. I make a run for it and sprint (and slide) through the electrically charged obstacle. I reach the other end! I’m alive! Great..another six foot fence...but no rope! Again, I rely on the help of my new comrades who help me overcome one of the last obstacles.

I keep running, leaping over holes and slipping down slopes and as I conquer the last ditch...I hear my brother-in-law and the rest of our 'team'. I'm nearly home! Run. Run. Run! I hurdle the haystacks and dive into the mud and water filled skips (thanking the Lord for the numerous runners who have gone before me, subsequently forcing much of the brown stained water out). I leap onto another haystack and as I hear my brother-in-law shout my name my right foot shoots down a break in the hay. My right leg is nowhere to be seen. “Come on Órla!” Let’s go! Out I pounce and away I go, limping over the finish line – I made it to Hell and Back...Alive!

So who's joining us for the next one?