This week is a recovery week for me and so my distances and intensity is down. What I am discovering is that the last three weeks have clearly had better results than I had thought.
My easy effort is at a pace that a month ago would have been a hard effort. Tonight I was out for an easy run and glanced down at my Garmin to discover that the pace was about 15 seconds above what I would have expected. "We are going too fast" I said to Adrian and we slowed down, but I don't know why, very quickly we were back to the original pace.
All is still quite slow, but progress is in the right direction and more rapid than my stalled weight loss would indicate. So I am feeling confident about the race season ahead.
03 September 2014
02 September 2014
Three Great Decisions
Shortly after my last post I injured my hamstring (AGAIN!!) refereeing a rugby game. Then, one thing led to another and I found myself well behind on my training. I didn't let it go completely as I continued the odd run and refereed at least one game of rugby per week so I maintained a moderate level of fitness, but I was far from ready for a marathon. As a result I have canned the idea of a marathon in 2014 - not what I had hoped but certainly a sensible decision.
However, I continued to get niggly injuries from rugby so a month ago I decided to withdraw for the remainder of the season. This is one of the best decisions I have made all year! My body just can't handle changing direction all the time and the cooling down between halves or between two games on a Saturday.
Around the same time I decided to commence triathlon training to see how things would go. This was another great decision! The mix of disciplines has allowed me to train more and train harder, but to reduce the impact on my body.
The end result is a fitter, stronger and sturdier body with (fingers crossed) fewer injuries and a more sustainable fitness program. The other outcome has been a renewed enthusiasm for entering events and I have signed up for a half marathon (plan is just to finish at this stage) and the Lake Wanaka Half at Challenge Wanaka. I have also rediscovered the joy of training around the Otago Harbour and, as much as it pains me to say it, how good I feel after I swim.
However, I continued to get niggly injuries from rugby so a month ago I decided to withdraw for the remainder of the season. This is one of the best decisions I have made all year! My body just can't handle changing direction all the time and the cooling down between halves or between two games on a Saturday.
Around the same time I decided to commence triathlon training to see how things would go. This was another great decision! The mix of disciplines has allowed me to train more and train harder, but to reduce the impact on my body.
The end result is a fitter, stronger and sturdier body with (fingers crossed) fewer injuries and a more sustainable fitness program. The other outcome has been a renewed enthusiasm for entering events and I have signed up for a half marathon (plan is just to finish at this stage) and the Lake Wanaka Half at Challenge Wanaka. I have also rediscovered the joy of training around the Otago Harbour and, as much as it pains me to say it, how good I feel after I swim.
08 April 2014
Stronger and stronger
It is the best feeling to have the sensation of being strong in whatever you do.
This last week or so I am finally have a strength in my legs (and to a lesser extent my core) that has not been there for at least two years. Running, while still not fast, is comfortable and I can lift my pace when I need to. Even when I my legs really tire (about 2 hours into the 2.5 hours of running for the weekend), I am able to keep plodding along, when only a matter of weeks ago I would have stopped to walk.
Rugby refereeing has started again and I am just astounded how much time I have compared to last season. I can make decisions with so much more clarity and avoid potential collisions with players or the ball in a way that was not possible before.
Even working at a two-storeyed venue last Thursday, I absolutely delighted in bouncing up the stairs. No pain, no puffing and no tiring..
How can I have let myself go so badly after Challenge? This feeling is too good to not continue being fit forever.
This last week or so I am finally have a strength in my legs (and to a lesser extent my core) that has not been there for at least two years. Running, while still not fast, is comfortable and I can lift my pace when I need to. Even when I my legs really tire (about 2 hours into the 2.5 hours of running for the weekend), I am able to keep plodding along, when only a matter of weeks ago I would have stopped to walk.
Rugby refereeing has started again and I am just astounded how much time I have compared to last season. I can make decisions with so much more clarity and avoid potential collisions with players or the ball in a way that was not possible before.
Even working at a two-storeyed venue last Thursday, I absolutely delighted in bouncing up the stairs. No pain, no puffing and no tiring..
How can I have let myself go so badly after Challenge? This feeling is too good to not continue being fit forever.
24 March 2014
10km, 10 hours, 10 seconds to total exhaustion
The weekend before last I completed my first race in a couple of years and it felt great to achieve something truly physical again. The time won't set the world on fire (1:00:33 for 10.3km - 189th out of 374 male runners), but it is a start.
I am still very overweight and I had a lot of people encouraging me ("oh you are doing sooo well, keep going" kinda thing). Little did they know that this wasn't actually that much of a big deal for me in terms of physical achievement. In fact, a few people where quite clearly surprised when I would pass them shortly after they had passed me on a hill.
The reality, though, was I was absolutely exhausted at the end of the race. Well actually, I was pretty shagged by the first drink station (4km) and it was about this time in the race that I started to think about other times that I have felt so exhausted, yet so completely happy to be so.
Briefly, I recalled how I felt on the run of Challenge Wanaka. Completely drained, cramping and literally screaming in agony. Ten hours into a 15 hour race and I was nearly completely out of energy, but I pushed through and got there. In fact at about the 10 hour mark I was somewhere around the Gunn Road hill and I had to turn around and walk up the hill backwards to avoid the chronic cramps that had plagued me for the preceding 90 minutes.
However, it was the recollection of 10 seconds of physical activity that lead to total exhaustion and collapse that stayed with me for several kilometres on the race the other weekend.
10 September 2001
It has been almost 3 weeks since the accident and nearly a fortnight since the surgery to remove the massive swelling that had afflicted me since the accident. By now I'm a bit of gun in my wheel chair and, mercifully, I have been able to get outside on the balcony and even managed a meal at a restaurant to celebrate our wedding anniversary. I can transfer myself to and from my wheel chair and even things like getting on and off the bed pan have become somewhat of a routine.
(A bit of a side note. It was actually 9 days post-accident before I had a bowel motion. The agony of being constipated for that long can't be underestimated, nor can the relief of clearing out the system.)
Today is my biggest challenge so far. Today I am going to take my first steps and I am extremely nervous. How will my pelvis cope? What if I fall over? What will happen to my legs, there are no muscles left?
I have spent the last 10 days working bloody hard in the hospital gym building up my upper body strength so that I can attempt this and the physios are happy that I am ready, but I am not as confident as they are. My calf muscles have almost completely atrophied so I am really worried that I haven't got enough strength in my arms to compensate.
I haven't slept very much as I am worried sick about the possibility that I might fall over. The worst case scenario is I fall forward on to my external fixators and re-shatter my pelvis.
Adrian (my favourite nurse) and Mary-Lou (the registrar looking after me) have been great at reassuring me, but it really hasn't helped my nerves.
Its 10am and the physio has just arrived. "I am not sure that I want to do this", I say. She reassures me, "You will be fine. You have worked really hard to get this far. Lets go." I slowly lift myself off the side of the bed and on to my wheel chair and head to the gym.
Carleen's sister, Deb, is with me and she comes along for moral support. She heads to the far end of the parallel bars and I take up position at the near end. To be honest, she looks nervous too, but she manages a smile and I feel encouraged.
"Ok, this isn't going to be easy", says the physio, "but, we will take as long as we need and we will only go as far as you are comfortable with." "Its likely that you will feel very faint as the blood rushes to your legs, so we will be behind you to catch you if you need to sit down again," she reassures me as she introduces me to the orderly that is there to help. As much as this was supposed to reassure me, its just served to make me even more nervous and I start to sweat uncontrollably and I swear that my heart could be heard on the other side of the room as it pounded out of my chest.
"Now, take it easy, shuffle to the edge of your chair and put your hands on the bars." I freeze, I do not want to do this. I look at Deb and she smiles a nervous smile. "Take your time, when you are ready," says the physio. I shuffle forward and grab the bars.
"Ok, now lean forward and use your arms to push up. Try avoid putting too much weight on your legs and don't lean too far forward." My hands clench around the bars, my knuckles turn white and I push, but nothing happens. "I can't do it." "In your own time, Richard. There is no rush. Just when you want to."
I take several deep breaths and start again. My hands grip tighter than before and I push again. Still nothing! Then I give an almighty push and I lift off the chair. As my head reaches for the ceiling, I feel the blood rush from my brain in an instant and my legs feel like they are being filled with cement. I make one last push and I am upright. But as soon as I am vertical I hear a loud piercing white noise in my ears, I become very clammy and my vision blurs. I need to get back in my chair NOW!
As I come back to consciousness, I begin to weep uncontrollably and I look up to see Deb there still in support. She has tears in her eyes too and we share a silent moment that I will never forget - a moment of support that took nothing more than a smile, but which meant so much.
I have been out of my wheel chair for no more than 10 seconds (maybe only 5 seconds on my feet), but I am totally and utterly shattered. I am spent. "That's enough for today," says the physio and they wheel me back to bed. Deb and I share another teary glance and I weep again, partly in joy that I have started the journey to true recovery, partly in fear of what lies ahead.
********
[Thanks again, Deb. I know I said so before Challenge, but your support for Carleen in those early weeks and for me on that day makes me forever in your debt.]
I am still very overweight and I had a lot of people encouraging me ("oh you are doing sooo well, keep going" kinda thing). Little did they know that this wasn't actually that much of a big deal for me in terms of physical achievement. In fact, a few people where quite clearly surprised when I would pass them shortly after they had passed me on a hill.
The reality, though, was I was absolutely exhausted at the end of the race. Well actually, I was pretty shagged by the first drink station (4km) and it was about this time in the race that I started to think about other times that I have felt so exhausted, yet so completely happy to be so.
Briefly, I recalled how I felt on the run of Challenge Wanaka. Completely drained, cramping and literally screaming in agony. Ten hours into a 15 hour race and I was nearly completely out of energy, but I pushed through and got there. In fact at about the 10 hour mark I was somewhere around the Gunn Road hill and I had to turn around and walk up the hill backwards to avoid the chronic cramps that had plagued me for the preceding 90 minutes.
However, it was the recollection of 10 seconds of physical activity that lead to total exhaustion and collapse that stayed with me for several kilometres on the race the other weekend.
10 September 2001
It has been almost 3 weeks since the accident and nearly a fortnight since the surgery to remove the massive swelling that had afflicted me since the accident. By now I'm a bit of gun in my wheel chair and, mercifully, I have been able to get outside on the balcony and even managed a meal at a restaurant to celebrate our wedding anniversary. I can transfer myself to and from my wheel chair and even things like getting on and off the bed pan have become somewhat of a routine.
(A bit of a side note. It was actually 9 days post-accident before I had a bowel motion. The agony of being constipated for that long can't be underestimated, nor can the relief of clearing out the system.)
Today is my biggest challenge so far. Today I am going to take my first steps and I am extremely nervous. How will my pelvis cope? What if I fall over? What will happen to my legs, there are no muscles left?
I have spent the last 10 days working bloody hard in the hospital gym building up my upper body strength so that I can attempt this and the physios are happy that I am ready, but I am not as confident as they are. My calf muscles have almost completely atrophied so I am really worried that I haven't got enough strength in my arms to compensate.
I haven't slept very much as I am worried sick about the possibility that I might fall over. The worst case scenario is I fall forward on to my external fixators and re-shatter my pelvis.
Adrian (my favourite nurse) and Mary-Lou (the registrar looking after me) have been great at reassuring me, but it really hasn't helped my nerves.
Its 10am and the physio has just arrived. "I am not sure that I want to do this", I say. She reassures me, "You will be fine. You have worked really hard to get this far. Lets go." I slowly lift myself off the side of the bed and on to my wheel chair and head to the gym.
Carleen's sister, Deb, is with me and she comes along for moral support. She heads to the far end of the parallel bars and I take up position at the near end. To be honest, she looks nervous too, but she manages a smile and I feel encouraged.
"Ok, this isn't going to be easy", says the physio, "but, we will take as long as we need and we will only go as far as you are comfortable with." "Its likely that you will feel very faint as the blood rushes to your legs, so we will be behind you to catch you if you need to sit down again," she reassures me as she introduces me to the orderly that is there to help. As much as this was supposed to reassure me, its just served to make me even more nervous and I start to sweat uncontrollably and I swear that my heart could be heard on the other side of the room as it pounded out of my chest.
"Now, take it easy, shuffle to the edge of your chair and put your hands on the bars." I freeze, I do not want to do this. I look at Deb and she smiles a nervous smile. "Take your time, when you are ready," says the physio. I shuffle forward and grab the bars.
"Ok, now lean forward and use your arms to push up. Try avoid putting too much weight on your legs and don't lean too far forward." My hands clench around the bars, my knuckles turn white and I push, but nothing happens. "I can't do it." "In your own time, Richard. There is no rush. Just when you want to."
I take several deep breaths and start again. My hands grip tighter than before and I push again. Still nothing! Then I give an almighty push and I lift off the chair. As my head reaches for the ceiling, I feel the blood rush from my brain in an instant and my legs feel like they are being filled with cement. I make one last push and I am upright. But as soon as I am vertical I hear a loud piercing white noise in my ears, I become very clammy and my vision blurs. I need to get back in my chair NOW!
As I come back to consciousness, I begin to weep uncontrollably and I look up to see Deb there still in support. She has tears in her eyes too and we share a silent moment that I will never forget - a moment of support that took nothing more than a smile, but which meant so much.
I have been out of my wheel chair for no more than 10 seconds (maybe only 5 seconds on my feet), but I am totally and utterly shattered. I am spent. "That's enough for today," says the physio and they wheel me back to bed. Deb and I share another teary glance and I weep again, partly in joy that I have started the journey to true recovery, partly in fear of what lies ahead.
********
[Thanks again, Deb. I know I said so before Challenge, but your support for Carleen in those early weeks and for me on that day makes me forever in your debt.]
06 March 2014
Picking up where I left off
I think this is where I left my recovery story - I will read on
to see if there is more, but I think this is where I need to pick up the
story... More soon.
The following was first posted 6 December 2010
Unfortunately, I picked up a bit of an injury over the weekend that has interrupted training. I have strained a muscle in my right shin which is causing quite a bit of a haematoma (bruise) in my lower leg. It's quite painful when I run and, even though I managed an hour long run on it on Saturday, I had to miss yesterday's long run. This is the second time I have had this type of injury - the first being when I was training for the Southland marathon last year - but this time it seems to be less severe.
Thankfully today is a rest day and I don't have another run scheduled until Wednesday. I'm hoping it will be okay on the bike tomorrow evening and it should be fine in the harbour (at 7am tomorrow).
Plenty of rest, a compression stocking and regular icing seems to have accelerated the healing process and it is starting to loosen up already. When the gall bladder infection settled down in August 2001, though, the haematoma I had then was a little more serious and in need of a bit more attention than a bit of rest and some ice.
31 August 2001, Austin Hospital
My condition has stabilised now and I haven't had any gall bladder attacks or fevers for about 36 hours. The nurse was in about half an hour ago to tell me that they would be transporting me back to Bethesda Hospital later today, but that they first wanted to change my dressings.
Changing my dressing is still pretty painful (see A bit sore) but I have become used to dealing with it. The major problem at the moment is that the swelling around my abdomen has become so bad that the cross bars on my external fixators have begun to rub on the wounds where the fixators enter my body. As a result I have developed a couple of really nasty ulcers around the base of my fixators that are now also requiring some attention. When I am rolled on to my side these new wounds are enlarged ever so slightly as the weakened skin and flesh tears a little. So, by now the wound around the right fixator is about the size of my thumb and very ulcerated (just like a mouth ulcer).
The swelling is now also making it extremely difficult to roll me to redress my gravel rash wounds on my torso and it takes several people to undertake the whole operation: two or three to roll and hold me and one to dress the wounds.
The team have just come in and they roll me to the right to reveal the wounds on my left. They are dressing the wound as normal and finish without a hitch. I'm back on my back now and I'm pumping the morphine button (PCA) to make sure that I am ready for the wound on my right which is much bigger and sensitive than the one on my left.
"Okay, ready?" says the nurse. "As ready as I'm going to be," I reply. I'm being rolled slowly and carefully on to my side. "STOP!", I shout, "I can feel a tearing by my fixator!" They stop and check out my fixator wound and it turns out that there is a small tear in my wound. It's not really painful and it's not bleeding, but there is a small amount of clear fluid seeping from the wound. "I think we can carry on with the dressings now," says the nurse as she mops up the fluid.
The rest of the dressing process goes without a hitch and they turn their attention to the new/expanded wound around my fixator. It's 'oozing' (as they describe it) quite a lot of fluid so they pack it with gauze to soak it up.
An hour passes and they come back to check it. As they remove the bandages covering the gauze, the full extent of the oozing was revealed. It has soaked right through the gauze and is beginning to pool in the plastic undersheet lining the bed. A quick discussion and the charge nurse decides that the underblacket and plastic sheet will have to be replaced even though I am being relocated later today. So, here we go again, more rolling and more pain...
This is going to be quite complicated as they are going to actually lift me off the bed and the swelling hangs off my backside whenever that happens. It's bloody excruciating and, without the crane that Bethesda has, I am not sure how they are going to manage it.
Step one: they roll me one way and bunch up the blanket and plastic sheet as far as they can. Step two: they roll me the other way and bunch the rest up. Step three: lift and remove. Problem: It's impossible to lift me. "One last try," says the charge nurse, "it has to come out." "One, Two, Three, Lift!" They all lift and the charge nurse pulls as hard as he can. "Ahhhh! You ripped me!", I yell. All at once they replace the plastic sheet and return me to my back.
Now there is a real problem. The ooze is coming out really quickly. The gauze is becoming sodden as soon as they pack my wound. They keep repacking it and eventually it slows a little. Any time I move I can feel it running down the inside of my thigh, but there isn't much pain so I ignore it.
A couple of hours have passed and I am in the back of an ambulance being transferred back to Bethesda. The ooze is pretty disgusting by now and I am soaking wet. The ambulance arrives at Bethesda and I am wheeled back into the rehab ward. It feels great to be back. I've only spent a couple of days here, but it feels much more welcoming than the Austin, perhaps because I know it's going to be home for a while.
The ambulance drivers hand me over to the nursing staff and explain about the ooze. A nurse takes a look. "Oh, my God!", she says. I am sure that can't be a good thing. A few minutes later Mary-Lou, the registrar, appears and looks at the wound. There is an instant look of shock on her face as she realises what is happening. "Righ,t let's get this sorted", she exclaims. "I can't believe they sent you back like this. How long has this been like this?", she asks. I explain what had happened.
"You have a massive haematoma in your torso and now it has direct access to the outside. We are going to have to milk it. Are you okay with that?" Mary-Lou explains. Of course, I agree but I ask for a quick explanation of what they are going to do. In essence, she explained that it would be like squeezing a massive pimple.
The process begins and litre after litre or haemoserous fluid is milked from my body. It is caught in a funnel held against my hip and placed in a bucket. After about an hour of milking, 9.5 litres of fluid is collected in the bucket and the oozing has largely subsided. The swelling that has plagued me since my accident is now gone and bags of limp skin hangs from my side. What a relief.
Post script: This event turned out to be a turning point in my recovery. Now I was unburdened by the swelling that had caused so much pain. It was also the source of my infection as this massive abdominal haematoma caused by a closed internal de-gloving injury had been communicating through my wounds with the outside world.
That night I underwent surgery to clean the ulcerated wounds around my fixators, insert six suction drains that would continue to drain the haemoserous (the clear fluid that you get on wounds that helps the healing process) from my torso and to do a thorough cleaning of my gravel rash wounds.
The whole process gave me a new starting point. A new lease of life. A renewed determination to get through this. Tomorrow is a new beginning.
The following was first posted 6 December 2010
Unfortunately, I picked up a bit of an injury over the weekend that has interrupted training. I have strained a muscle in my right shin which is causing quite a bit of a haematoma (bruise) in my lower leg. It's quite painful when I run and, even though I managed an hour long run on it on Saturday, I had to miss yesterday's long run. This is the second time I have had this type of injury - the first being when I was training for the Southland marathon last year - but this time it seems to be less severe.
Thankfully today is a rest day and I don't have another run scheduled until Wednesday. I'm hoping it will be okay on the bike tomorrow evening and it should be fine in the harbour (at 7am tomorrow).
Plenty of rest, a compression stocking and regular icing seems to have accelerated the healing process and it is starting to loosen up already. When the gall bladder infection settled down in August 2001, though, the haematoma I had then was a little more serious and in need of a bit more attention than a bit of rest and some ice.
31 August 2001, Austin Hospital
My condition has stabilised now and I haven't had any gall bladder attacks or fevers for about 36 hours. The nurse was in about half an hour ago to tell me that they would be transporting me back to Bethesda Hospital later today, but that they first wanted to change my dressings.
Changing my dressing is still pretty painful (see A bit sore) but I have become used to dealing with it. The major problem at the moment is that the swelling around my abdomen has become so bad that the cross bars on my external fixators have begun to rub on the wounds where the fixators enter my body. As a result I have developed a couple of really nasty ulcers around the base of my fixators that are now also requiring some attention. When I am rolled on to my side these new wounds are enlarged ever so slightly as the weakened skin and flesh tears a little. So, by now the wound around the right fixator is about the size of my thumb and very ulcerated (just like a mouth ulcer).
The swelling is now also making it extremely difficult to roll me to redress my gravel rash wounds on my torso and it takes several people to undertake the whole operation: two or three to roll and hold me and one to dress the wounds.
The team have just come in and they roll me to the right to reveal the wounds on my left. They are dressing the wound as normal and finish without a hitch. I'm back on my back now and I'm pumping the morphine button (PCA) to make sure that I am ready for the wound on my right which is much bigger and sensitive than the one on my left.
"Okay, ready?" says the nurse. "As ready as I'm going to be," I reply. I'm being rolled slowly and carefully on to my side. "STOP!", I shout, "I can feel a tearing by my fixator!" They stop and check out my fixator wound and it turns out that there is a small tear in my wound. It's not really painful and it's not bleeding, but there is a small amount of clear fluid seeping from the wound. "I think we can carry on with the dressings now," says the nurse as she mops up the fluid.
The rest of the dressing process goes without a hitch and they turn their attention to the new/expanded wound around my fixator. It's 'oozing' (as they describe it) quite a lot of fluid so they pack it with gauze to soak it up.
An hour passes and they come back to check it. As they remove the bandages covering the gauze, the full extent of the oozing was revealed. It has soaked right through the gauze and is beginning to pool in the plastic undersheet lining the bed. A quick discussion and the charge nurse decides that the underblacket and plastic sheet will have to be replaced even though I am being relocated later today. So, here we go again, more rolling and more pain...
This is going to be quite complicated as they are going to actually lift me off the bed and the swelling hangs off my backside whenever that happens. It's bloody excruciating and, without the crane that Bethesda has, I am not sure how they are going to manage it.
Step one: they roll me one way and bunch up the blanket and plastic sheet as far as they can. Step two: they roll me the other way and bunch the rest up. Step three: lift and remove. Problem: It's impossible to lift me. "One last try," says the charge nurse, "it has to come out." "One, Two, Three, Lift!" They all lift and the charge nurse pulls as hard as he can. "Ahhhh! You ripped me!", I yell. All at once they replace the plastic sheet and return me to my back.
Now there is a real problem. The ooze is coming out really quickly. The gauze is becoming sodden as soon as they pack my wound. They keep repacking it and eventually it slows a little. Any time I move I can feel it running down the inside of my thigh, but there isn't much pain so I ignore it.
A couple of hours have passed and I am in the back of an ambulance being transferred back to Bethesda. The ooze is pretty disgusting by now and I am soaking wet. The ambulance arrives at Bethesda and I am wheeled back into the rehab ward. It feels great to be back. I've only spent a couple of days here, but it feels much more welcoming than the Austin, perhaps because I know it's going to be home for a while.
The ambulance drivers hand me over to the nursing staff and explain about the ooze. A nurse takes a look. "Oh, my God!", she says. I am sure that can't be a good thing. A few minutes later Mary-Lou, the registrar, appears and looks at the wound. There is an instant look of shock on her face as she realises what is happening. "Righ,t let's get this sorted", she exclaims. "I can't believe they sent you back like this. How long has this been like this?", she asks. I explain what had happened.
"You have a massive haematoma in your torso and now it has direct access to the outside. We are going to have to milk it. Are you okay with that?" Mary-Lou explains. Of course, I agree but I ask for a quick explanation of what they are going to do. In essence, she explained that it would be like squeezing a massive pimple.
The process begins and litre after litre or haemoserous fluid is milked from my body. It is caught in a funnel held against my hip and placed in a bucket. After about an hour of milking, 9.5 litres of fluid is collected in the bucket and the oozing has largely subsided. The swelling that has plagued me since my accident is now gone and bags of limp skin hangs from my side. What a relief.
Post script: This event turned out to be a turning point in my recovery. Now I was unburdened by the swelling that had caused so much pain. It was also the source of my infection as this massive abdominal haematoma caused by a closed internal de-gloving injury had been communicating through my wounds with the outside world.
That night I underwent surgery to clean the ulcerated wounds around my fixators, insert six suction drains that would continue to drain the haemoserous (the clear fluid that you get on wounds that helps the healing process) from my torso and to do a thorough cleaning of my gravel rash wounds.
The whole process gave me a new starting point. A new lease of life. A renewed determination to get through this. Tomorrow is a new beginning.
05 March 2014
Is it too premature to say that I am back?
Well I hope not!
I am 5 weeks into a training program that will hopefully see me complete my third marathon. The Dunedin marathon is the target for this year and then I am aiming for my second iron distance race in 2015/16.
This week, for the first time in almost 3 years, I have felt great while running!
I am slow - painfully slow - but I have begun to feel an energy building in my muscles. That gentle pain that says that something good is happening. That tiny spark of strength springing forth. I have not felt this in such a long time and I had forgotten how great it feels.
Tonight is also the first time in two years that I have really felt like getting back to my story and continuing to tell it. To be honest, I have felt like a complete fraud for so long that I was embarrassed to continue, but I have re-read some of the comments from those of you that followed my blog and it has inspired me to get back to where I left off. It might take a few weeks to figure out where I left off with my accident story, but I will get there.
In the meantime - I AM BACK and I am loving it! So, sorry, you are going to hear about it.
I am 5 weeks into a training program that will hopefully see me complete my third marathon. The Dunedin marathon is the target for this year and then I am aiming for my second iron distance race in 2015/16.
This week, for the first time in almost 3 years, I have felt great while running!
I am slow - painfully slow - but I have begun to feel an energy building in my muscles. That gentle pain that says that something good is happening. That tiny spark of strength springing forth. I have not felt this in such a long time and I had forgotten how great it feels.
Tonight is also the first time in two years that I have really felt like getting back to my story and continuing to tell it. To be honest, I have felt like a complete fraud for so long that I was embarrassed to continue, but I have re-read some of the comments from those of you that followed my blog and it has inspired me to get back to where I left off. It might take a few weeks to figure out where I left off with my accident story, but I will get there.
In the meantime - I AM BACK and I am loving it! So, sorry, you are going to hear about it.
02 April 2012
Slowly but surely
It's been a good couple of weeks' training, although not quite what I had anticipated. I have managed to get in almost all of my planned swims and rides (albeit having to juggle a few days here and there around work and family committments). The weather has been pretty settled and rides have all been in good conditions, except for the ocassional windy patch.
Slowly but surely the fitness is coming back and slowly but surely the memories of how good it feels to train is refilling my empty tanks. I'm loving it again and my mojo is certianly on the rise. Almost 10 hours last week and the week before, including a long ride over 2 hours and a long swim of 2.4km. Ok, its just baby steps, but I don't want to injure myself, do I? The only issue that I am facing is that I cannot run.
Two days after my last post I saw an oesteopath as a referral after an earlier visit to his colleague in November last year. He immediately sent me for an x-ray and ultrasound, fearing a possible stress fracture in my foot. This is a problem that has dragged on for 12 months now and I really need a resolution. The oesteo has diagnosed a stress reaction in the bone and ordered at least a fortnight off running (that follows on from 10 days' reast already).
While the symptom is in my foot, the problem lies in the misalignment of my pelvis a problem that has been worked on by Coach Geoff (and others) over the years to varying degrees of success. Geoff has been doing an amazing job over the last few years and I will be back with him soon, but I have to try something else to try and correct it once and for all.
My hips are rotated to the left and my pelvis tilted forward so that my right leg rotates anti-clockwise and my left leg flicks to the right as I push off. I had noted the different ways that they function in previous postings and had commented on it to physios over the past 10 years but no one seems to have known what to do to correct it.
The new oesteo comes highly recommended and he has suggested a course of action that seems different to the approach of most others. In fact he is going to start in an area of my body that has never even been mentioned as a possible problem - my pelvic floor. Sounds uncomfortable and I bet it will be, but if it makes a difference I don't care. First visit this Wednesday.
Regardless, my early phase of training will continue surely but slowly.
Slowly but surely the fitness is coming back and slowly but surely the memories of how good it feels to train is refilling my empty tanks. I'm loving it again and my mojo is certianly on the rise. Almost 10 hours last week and the week before, including a long ride over 2 hours and a long swim of 2.4km. Ok, its just baby steps, but I don't want to injure myself, do I? The only issue that I am facing is that I cannot run.
Two days after my last post I saw an oesteopath as a referral after an earlier visit to his colleague in November last year. He immediately sent me for an x-ray and ultrasound, fearing a possible stress fracture in my foot. This is a problem that has dragged on for 12 months now and I really need a resolution. The oesteo has diagnosed a stress reaction in the bone and ordered at least a fortnight off running (that follows on from 10 days' reast already).
While the symptom is in my foot, the problem lies in the misalignment of my pelvis a problem that has been worked on by Coach Geoff (and others) over the years to varying degrees of success. Geoff has been doing an amazing job over the last few years and I will be back with him soon, but I have to try something else to try and correct it once and for all.
My hips are rotated to the left and my pelvis tilted forward so that my right leg rotates anti-clockwise and my left leg flicks to the right as I push off. I had noted the different ways that they function in previous postings and had commented on it to physios over the past 10 years but no one seems to have known what to do to correct it.
The new oesteo comes highly recommended and he has suggested a course of action that seems different to the approach of most others. In fact he is going to start in an area of my body that has never even been mentioned as a possible problem - my pelvic floor. Sounds uncomfortable and I bet it will be, but if it makes a difference I don't care. First visit this Wednesday.
Regardless, my early phase of training will continue surely but slowly.
13 March 2012
I'm back and it feels good
After a long lay-off with injury and life and several false starts, today I started training for Challenge Wanaka 2013. I signed up for the race last week and, after a week and a bit of rest and recovery following a 5km, half marathon and the 34.5km of running for the Rail Trail Duathlon in the space of 4 weeks (plus a nasty cold), I did my first day of proper triathlon training in months.
Every other time I have started to swim/bike/run train over the last 12 months, it just hasn't felt right, but today it just feels right. My swim this morning was rubbish, but I didn't once feel like I didn't want to be there and tonight I had a magnificent run along St Clair Beach at dusk. Just perfect!
 |
| St Clair Beach looking west at sunset. A beautiful place to run! |
Every other time I have started to swim/bike/run train over the last 12 months, it just hasn't felt right, but today it just feels right. My swim this morning was rubbish, but I didn't once feel like I didn't want to be there and tonight I had a magnificent run along St Clair Beach at dusk. Just perfect!
21 July 2011
Where to start?... at the end, of course.
4am, 16 January 2011, Oak Ridge Hotel Room.
Shit, shit, shit. I need another piss!
Okay, nice and easy, now. We don't want a repeat of the 2am episode. You see at 2am I had been woken by a bladder fit to burst and I miraculously swung my legs off the side of the bed, walked almost effortlessly to the toilet and proceeded to pee. Very proud, but utterly amazed, at how sprightly my passage to the toilet had been. I proceeded to unleash the torrent of toxins that my kidneys had spent the last few hours processing in an effort to replenish my system after the grueling punishment it had received in the preceding 24 hours. As the flood became a trickle, I sighed a huge sigh of relief and relaxed. Then, in an instant I was on all fours, one hand in the bowl, the other beside the toilet and my face centimetres from the u-bend giving it a full-blown inspection. Hmmm, this can't be good, but I guess I have just finished my first iron-distance race in the worst conditions in ironman history, I thought to myself as I pondered how I had just managed to go from vertical to horizontal in no time flat. Taking a deep breath, I slowly got back to my feet, hugging the wall all the way back to bed. Note to self: next time try not to pass out.
So, as you can guess, I'm not too keen on this second trip to the toilet. In fact, I think I'll lie here for a few minutes in the hope that I'll just pop back off to sleep and the pressure in my bladder will some how dissipate. In fact, its at moments like these that I'd be thankful to have the old catheter bag back (I have some funny stories about those that I'll have to include here some day) - oh, what a convenience that would be.
Okay, I have to stop thinking about my bladder. Just concentrate on sleep... sleepy, you feel sleepy... Oh, sod it, I'll have to get it, the pressure is too great. Slowly does it, slowly does it.
Legs out! I said, "Legs out!" Bollocks, I think they need a little bit of a helping hand. Hands under right leg aaaand... Lift! aaaand left leg aaaand... Lift! Deep breath now... aaaand sit UP! Now that wasn't so bad and the head's feeling fine too. On to our feet and off we go. Nice and slowly. Now that wasn't so hard was it.
Now, time for some intense concentration, as I said, we don't want a repeat of the last episode, do we! Release slowly, just a dribble now. Great, all systems still fully operational. Phew, that's a relie... Oh shit, here we go again! Maybe if I just turn around really quickly and head straight back to the bed I'll be okay. No that's not working. THUD!
"It's okay, Geoff! I'm okay. I just passed out, but I am fine!" My temple had smashed against the porcelain hand basin with an almighty crack en route to the steely cold tiles of the bathroom floor, but somehow I lay their perfectly lucid and relatively unscathed.
"What the hell just happened?" Geoff said as he sped to my aid at lightening speed. I don't know how he didn't pass out himself, as he barely had time to wake up before he bolted to me in the bathroom and he had just finished the Lake Wanaka Half yesterday too. "Shit, mate! What the hell were you doing?" he queried. "I passed out having a piss. It happened at 2am as well." I said and proceeded to tell him about my two fainting episodes. "You stupid bastard!", he said, "why didn't you get me up to help you?" "I didn't want to disturb you and I thought I'd be okay this time." "Why didn't you sit down the second time then?!" Dah, why didn't I think of that? But I guess these things don't come to you that easily when you have spent more than 15 hours of the previous 24 hours moving non-stop under your own steam and then an hour and half in a medical tent unable to get far beyond horizontal.
My journey had begun with me strewn on the pavement having just been mown down by a truck and here I was, almost 10 years, in the same position - compromised, vulnerable and in a far from healthy state - and you know what? I couldn't wipe the smile off my face!
I had done it. I had come way further than full circle and done something no one would have believed possible. I had become an ironman!
Next time: 4am the day before and the start of one of the proudest days of my life.
Shit, shit, shit. I need another piss!
Okay, nice and easy, now. We don't want a repeat of the 2am episode. You see at 2am I had been woken by a bladder fit to burst and I miraculously swung my legs off the side of the bed, walked almost effortlessly to the toilet and proceeded to pee. Very proud, but utterly amazed, at how sprightly my passage to the toilet had been. I proceeded to unleash the torrent of toxins that my kidneys had spent the last few hours processing in an effort to replenish my system after the grueling punishment it had received in the preceding 24 hours. As the flood became a trickle, I sighed a huge sigh of relief and relaxed. Then, in an instant I was on all fours, one hand in the bowl, the other beside the toilet and my face centimetres from the u-bend giving it a full-blown inspection. Hmmm, this can't be good, but I guess I have just finished my first iron-distance race in the worst conditions in ironman history, I thought to myself as I pondered how I had just managed to go from vertical to horizontal in no time flat. Taking a deep breath, I slowly got back to my feet, hugging the wall all the way back to bed. Note to self: next time try not to pass out.
So, as you can guess, I'm not too keen on this second trip to the toilet. In fact, I think I'll lie here for a few minutes in the hope that I'll just pop back off to sleep and the pressure in my bladder will some how dissipate. In fact, its at moments like these that I'd be thankful to have the old catheter bag back (I have some funny stories about those that I'll have to include here some day) - oh, what a convenience that would be.
Okay, I have to stop thinking about my bladder. Just concentrate on sleep... sleepy, you feel sleepy... Oh, sod it, I'll have to get it, the pressure is too great. Slowly does it, slowly does it.
Legs out! I said, "Legs out!" Bollocks, I think they need a little bit of a helping hand. Hands under right leg aaaand... Lift! aaaand left leg aaaand... Lift! Deep breath now... aaaand sit UP! Now that wasn't so bad and the head's feeling fine too. On to our feet and off we go. Nice and slowly. Now that wasn't so hard was it.
Now, time for some intense concentration, as I said, we don't want a repeat of the last episode, do we! Release slowly, just a dribble now. Great, all systems still fully operational. Phew, that's a relie... Oh shit, here we go again! Maybe if I just turn around really quickly and head straight back to the bed I'll be okay. No that's not working. THUD!
"It's okay, Geoff! I'm okay. I just passed out, but I am fine!" My temple had smashed against the porcelain hand basin with an almighty crack en route to the steely cold tiles of the bathroom floor, but somehow I lay their perfectly lucid and relatively unscathed.
"What the hell just happened?" Geoff said as he sped to my aid at lightening speed. I don't know how he didn't pass out himself, as he barely had time to wake up before he bolted to me in the bathroom and he had just finished the Lake Wanaka Half yesterday too. "Shit, mate! What the hell were you doing?" he queried. "I passed out having a piss. It happened at 2am as well." I said and proceeded to tell him about my two fainting episodes. "You stupid bastard!", he said, "why didn't you get me up to help you?" "I didn't want to disturb you and I thought I'd be okay this time." "Why didn't you sit down the second time then?!" Dah, why didn't I think of that? But I guess these things don't come to you that easily when you have spent more than 15 hours of the previous 24 hours moving non-stop under your own steam and then an hour and half in a medical tent unable to get far beyond horizontal.
My journey had begun with me strewn on the pavement having just been mown down by a truck and here I was, almost 10 years, in the same position - compromised, vulnerable and in a far from healthy state - and you know what? I couldn't wipe the smile off my face!
I had done it. I had come way further than full circle and done something no one would have believed possible. I had become an ironman!
Next time: 4am the day before and the start of one of the proudest days of my life.
03 July 2011
My Tale of Challenge Wanaka 2011
You may have wondered where my race report has disappeared to. To be honest I don't know why I have been reluctant to write it, but I think that it is coming soon. Strangely, even though I religiously record all of my event stats, I haven't even put my race details in my results spreadsheet.
Perhaps it is because deep down I feel like I did not give the race my all. A time of more than 15 hours was gut wrenching and not being able to run the marathon almost broke me on race day; not the cramp itself, just the fact that I couldn't run. I had trained so hard and yet I was not able to complete the race as I had scripted it in my head.
I know that's a load of bollocks and I should be proud of my achievement and, trust me I am, but that hasn't stopped me being more than a little disappointed. The fact that training has been far from ideal this year is also playing on my mind and has made me reluctant to write about my race experience for fear that it will discourage me even further.
But recently, I have had a few fleeting moments of reflection of all of the amazing and wonderful things that happened to me last year in training and the enormity of the target that I set myself and achieved on 15 January.
I have just re-read Dean Karnazes' brilliant first book Ultramarathon Man and his descriptions of his ultradistance running experiences brought all my experiences flooding back in technicolour. His third book, so eloquently entitled Run, and which I read in record time, also stirred many emotional memories of race day. But perhaps it was today's run up Dunedin's Pineapple Track and Flagstaff that has rekindled my enthusiasm to tell my tale.
Today's was a 90-minute easy, recovery run and last year this would have resulted in me selecting the flattest route possible, preferably out of the wind and somewhere that I didn't have to think about things too much. But today I decided the Pineapple Track was a must do. The track rises more than 520 metres to the summit of Flagstaff and opens to a panorama across the city to the ocean, breathtaking views inland to the Rock and Pillar Range and over to the Taieri Plains as they stretch out beneath. The track to the summit is 4km long and it took me 38 minutes to get to the top, but I felt exhilarated when I reached the top, not tired at all. It has been more than 20 years since I have been to the top of Flagstaff and never before have I considered running it, and hell would have frozen over before I'd have selected it as my long easy run.
Today, I realised that Challenge Wanaka has changed me. Easy has a new definition. No longer is easy the path of least resistance. Easy is now about how I approach a challenge (a state of mind and attitude towards the challenge), not the challenge itself.
I think I had expected a huge change to wash over me as I crossed the finish line in some baptism of enlightenment. When that didn't happen I just assumed that I had not achieved what I had set out to do and that is what I have continued to believe for the past six months. It's not that I didn't feel different following my race, I did. I felt some how more... I don't know... just more, actually. It was, and continues to be, a weird feeling. But today, I realise that the huge change that has happened is actually very small: so small I didn't even notice it's there, yet so huge that it has changed the course of my life forever. In a way it is the opposite of my accident, which was so instantly and tangibly life-changing (in both good and bad ways), when the reality was the changes I made as a result of my accident were so very small. The accident imposed change upon me, Challenge has empowered me to make a change.
The tale of something so life-changingshould must not remain untold...
Watch this space...
Perhaps it is because deep down I feel like I did not give the race my all. A time of more than 15 hours was gut wrenching and not being able to run the marathon almost broke me on race day; not the cramp itself, just the fact that I couldn't run. I had trained so hard and yet I was not able to complete the race as I had scripted it in my head.
I know that's a load of bollocks and I should be proud of my achievement and, trust me I am, but that hasn't stopped me being more than a little disappointed. The fact that training has been far from ideal this year is also playing on my mind and has made me reluctant to write about my race experience for fear that it will discourage me even further.
But recently, I have had a few fleeting moments of reflection of all of the amazing and wonderful things that happened to me last year in training and the enormity of the target that I set myself and achieved on 15 January.
I have just re-read Dean Karnazes' brilliant first book Ultramarathon Man and his descriptions of his ultradistance running experiences brought all my experiences flooding back in technicolour. His third book, so eloquently entitled Run, and which I read in record time, also stirred many emotional memories of race day. But perhaps it was today's run up Dunedin's Pineapple Track and Flagstaff that has rekindled my enthusiasm to tell my tale.
Today's was a 90-minute easy, recovery run and last year this would have resulted in me selecting the flattest route possible, preferably out of the wind and somewhere that I didn't have to think about things too much. But today I decided the Pineapple Track was a must do. The track rises more than 520 metres to the summit of Flagstaff and opens to a panorama across the city to the ocean, breathtaking views inland to the Rock and Pillar Range and over to the Taieri Plains as they stretch out beneath. The track to the summit is 4km long and it took me 38 minutes to get to the top, but I felt exhilarated when I reached the top, not tired at all. It has been more than 20 years since I have been to the top of Flagstaff and never before have I considered running it, and hell would have frozen over before I'd have selected it as my long easy run.
Today, I realised that Challenge Wanaka has changed me. Easy has a new definition. No longer is easy the path of least resistance. Easy is now about how I approach a challenge (a state of mind and attitude towards the challenge), not the challenge itself.
I think I had expected a huge change to wash over me as I crossed the finish line in some baptism of enlightenment. When that didn't happen I just assumed that I had not achieved what I had set out to do and that is what I have continued to believe for the past six months. It's not that I didn't feel different following my race, I did. I felt some how more... I don't know... just more, actually. It was, and continues to be, a weird feeling. But today, I realise that the huge change that has happened is actually very small: so small I didn't even notice it's there, yet so huge that it has changed the course of my life forever. In a way it is the opposite of my accident, which was so instantly and tangibly life-changing (in both good and bad ways), when the reality was the changes I made as a result of my accident were so very small. The accident imposed change upon me, Challenge has empowered me to make a change.
The tale of something so life-changing
Watch this space...
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