All hot and bothered

Firstly, sorry for the long delay since my last post. It's been a mad few weeks and its difficult to fit in all my work (including some evening meetings), sixteen or so hours of training plus core exercises, keeping my training records up to date, starting a food diary to try and get my nutrition sorted, a half marathon and a training camp (more about that later), talking to the senior pupils at East Taieri Primary School about my story... and somewhere in amongst all of that ... life. So the blog has had to go on hold for a little while.

Needless to say I am still working hard and (hopefully) making small gains in my base fitness. I am staying as close as possible to the program that Coach Geoff has me working on, but the weather has been all over the place and some sessions have had to be move indoors. Its been a month of big contrasts in the weather. I've trained in everything from driving rain, to heavy snow (last Saturday on our long ride), bitterly cold winds and gusts of up to 140km/hour (last Wednesday night when doing some speed work - I've never run so fast in my life). Contrast this with a balmy (well, high teens anyway), sunny day on Sunday 12th, when I ran the Dunedin Moro Half Marathon and my body doesn't know what it is up for.

The Moro Half turned out to be a bit of a disaster all round. The day started out with perfect conditions: overcast, about 12 degrees and not a breath of wind, so I was all psyched for a good race. I had already done 13 hours of training for the week and had a light pool session a couple of hours before the half marathon, but I was feeling good. I wasn't setting out to do a PB, but I just thought I'd settle into a rhythm and see how things panned out.

After my pool session I headed up the hill for a quick second breakfast and to pick up little bro' Chris. I figured he'd have some wholemeal toast that I could lather with jam and peanut butter, but no such luck, so I settled into a large bowl of rice bubbles, milk and a couple of tablespoons of sugar (Mistake No. 1). I figured, I'd had enough in my first breakfast and didn't go too hard in the pool and thought that there would be energy drink on-course (Mistake No. 2), so figured some high GI nutrition would be fine to get me through.

As I said, conditions couldn't have been better. It's a tough course as far as the local half marathons go and the large crowds mean that PB's are very difficult, so I was pretty relaxed, but when the gun went off, I thought 'what the hell, I'll give it a bit of nudge today' (Mistake No. 3). The first 1,500 metres was slow as all the foot traffic slows everyone up, but after that I settled into a nice comfortable rhythm at about my PB pace. In the last few halves, I'd been having trouble getting back into rhythm after a drinks station and my pace had slowed by 10 seconds or so after each one, but Geoff had given me something to try and it had worked a treat. In fact, after the first drinks station (5km), I even picked up my pace for about 1,500 metres (Mistake No. 4). By the 7km mark, though, my right hip started to tighten and I started to feel like I was running with a flatty. There was no power at all in my right leg and it was starting to drag a little.

I managed to cope with the pain in my hip through to the 12km mark, when I was distracted by a conversation with a fellow competitor and it seemed to disappear. I picked up the pace a little again (although, by now a PB was gone) and headed up the Roseneath Hill. By now the sun had been streaming down for the past 20 minutes and I sweating like I was in a sauna and, while I had managed to get plenty of water on board at the drinks stations so far, there was no energy drink. Then, half way up the hill, WHAMMO! My head went into a tail spin! My vision was a little blurred and just putting one foot in front of the other became and huge undertaking. I could no longer run in a straight line and I knew this wasn't a good sign. I had seen people pass out in this race before so I decided that I'd better not end up in the gutter and shipped off to the hospital where they would tell me to lay off the training. Time to walk.

I ended up walking a few times between over the last 6 km, but still managed a course PB (1:58:36, 90 seconds faster than last year). I was in a sorry state at the finish. My legs almost gave way on me and I had to lay on my back for a good 10 minutes and I needed food and drink and lots of it. It took me a full hour to come right, but at least I wasn't as bad as the guy that had passed out with 2km to go.

Lesson learned, though, get the nutrition right and drink more. I also learned what it was like to literally run on empty and some of the early warning signs for when this sort of thing kicks in. I reckon this is gonna come in handy during Challenge Wanaka next January when the temperature could peak well into the 30s.

9/11

Today is the ninth anniversary of the 9/11 disaster in New York. Carleen and I have just watched a documentary of footage shot by the general public as the Twin Towers came down and memories of the day it all happened came flooding back.

11 September 2001 (Bethesda Rehabilitation Hospital)
"Wake up, wake up, you have to see this!" says a nurse as she shakes my shoulder.

"Wha... Wha... What?" I splutter as I slowly open my eyes to see the night nurse turning on the TV.

It's only bloody 6am, what the hell can be so important that they needed to wake me. Its the first bloody descent night's sleep I've had in ages and she decides to wake me!

"Holly shit! Is that real? What's happening? When did this happen?" I bombard the nurse with questions.

"It's live. It's happening now. A plane just crashed into the World Trade Centre!" She replies.

A moment later the footage switches to the second tower and we witness the plane slam into the side of the building.

A million thoughts are going through my head. Is this an accident? Is it happening anywhere else? Are we safe in Australia? Oh, my god, I hope Carleen is safe? Why?...

This is no accident and that this is no minor incident. What I can see is beyond belief and I don't want to believe that it's true. I can't handle the fact that not only is my own world in turmoil, but this could be the start of the end for the rest of the world. I begin to sob.

The panic that is gripping the entire western world is palpable and I am lying here helpless, unable to be with the ones that I love to comfort them. I hope Carleen isn't watching this. I hope she will be here soon. I need to hold her.

Oh no! Someone just jumped! I sob uncontrollably...

Oh my god! That building just collapsed. Will it ever end!

Oh my god! Make it stop! Make it stop!...

By the end of the day, I was completely exhausted and I had shed more tears than I thought it was possible for any individual to have. I thought the tears were over and that I had come to terms with my own plight. Now what was I to do. That evening the images that shocked the world were indelibly etched on my memory and forever more those images will transport me back to that hospital bed and to the raw emotion and heart ache of 9/11/2001.

Help Needed

I am struggling to loose weight and I am in desperate need of help with my nutrition. After reporting that I had reached the milestone of 102.5kg, I have now bounced back to around 104kg (although I can be as high as 106, depending on the time of the day).

My nutrition is haphazard at best and I really need professional advice. I am struggling to balance the need to maintain my energy levels (especially now that the volume of training has increased substantially) with the need to loose weight. Ideally, I need to loose around 1kg per week between now and race day without being so lacking in energy that I can't train.

Can you help or do you know someone who might be able to help? Of course, I am prepared to pay for on-going tailored meal plans, but if anyone knows anyone that would be willing to help me out of the goodness of their heart (or at least at a discounted rate), I'd be extremely grateful.

I needed a lot of help a couple of days after arriving at Bethesda in 2001, too. But the help I needed was of an entirely different nature.

28 August 2001 (7 days post accident)

This morning I am feeling heaps better, but I am still very frustrated by this huge swelling. Its bad enough being on my back 24/7, but I can't even move my pelvis off the bed at all and its bloody uncomfortable. I am able to tilt the top half of the bed a bit, but because the swelling is putting a lot of pressure on the wounds around my ex-fixes (external fixators), I can't manage more than about a 20 degree bend at the waist. At least I am able to sit up a little - one small step in the right direction.

The nurses are great here and I have really taken a shine to one or two of them, plus one of the registrars that is looking after me. Adrian, a very camp male nurse, and I get on like a house on fire and he has the most wicked sense of humour. Mary-Lou, the registrar, is also extremely caring and has really taken the time to explain things to Carleen and I and she has the most compassionate bed-side manner. The rest of the staff are wonderful too and this has made my first few days here a huge boost to my moral.

My room-mate, Harry, isn't much for conversation. He is 85 and was run down on a median strip as he waited to cross a pedestrian crossing. He has Alzheimers and is almost completely deaf. Sadly, it seems that he has no relatives to visit him and although he tells the nurses that his wife was just in the other day, they told me that he has never been married. Occasionally we talk about what's on the telly and how good the meals are in here, but we don't talk more ten times a day.

The staff are a quite concerned that my immobility is going to cause me to get bedsores that could be a serious threat to my recovery. In fact, Mary-Lou said that she has read of cases where people have people have died from their bedsores. The result is that they have ordered me a state of the art airbed that continuously pumps air through the mattress to keep it inflated and they can adjust the pressure to relieve pressure spots on my body as they arise - very cool, I can't wait!

Of more immediate concern for the nurses, however, is doing something about the response to the first question from the nurse this morning.

"When was the last time you had a bowel motion?"

"The morning of the accident", I responded.

"Ah", said the nurse, "that would be a problem. I can't believe no one has picked this up from your chart. Do you need to go?"

"Nope. Don't feel like it and don't think that I could even if I did. I can't move off the bed."

"We'll have to do something about that", she said. "And, you're going to have to learn to go on the bed".

What the! How the hell am I supposed to take a dump with Harry in the room and reception right across the hall from my room door. Let alone on a bed pan, lying flat on my back. I could feel my but cheeks (or what was left of them) attempt to clench, but there was just no muscle left - another problem I thought. Besides, how are they going to get a bedpan underneath me. - with a crane.

The nurse returned a while later with some senokot.

"Here this should loosen you up and give you the urge to go", she said as she handed them to me with a glass of water. "Make sure you drink plenty of water over the next few hours too, please"

At this point you might be wondering how someone goes for a week without getting out of bed to go to the toilet. Simple: a) the shock has sent my system into a tail spin and I am completely constipated, and; b) my peeing is on auto pilot as I have two catheters (one indwelling - you guessed it, in my 'you know what' to act as a splint for my torn urethra to heal - and one supra-pubic - that goes through an incision just above where my pubic hair used to finish directly into my bladder to drain it of urine). So, number ones are under control, but number twos are now somewhat of a problem!

I take the laxative, but now I am very concerned about how, when I do get the urge, I am going to get on the bed pan. Just rolling me from side to side to clean my wounds is still a major exercise and it is still incredibly painful as the swelling moves around my pelvis. It will be impossible for them to lift me just to get a bedpan underneath me, let alone find my bum hole amongst all that swelling. Oh well, I guess they have it all under control.

Its now the end of the day and I can feel some rumblings going on and I call the nurse.

"I think that I might need to go to the toilet soon."

"I'll get you the bedpan. I'll be back in a minute."

"No rush, I don't think its coming in any hurry."

She has just returned with a small green oval dish that looks more like something the dog (a Chihuahua, rather than a Saint Bernard) would drink out of than something that I expected to go to the toilet on.

"What am I supposed to do with that?", I say with a smile.

She smiles back, "I'll put it under you if you like." She pulls the curtains and lifts the bed clothes, only to discover just how difficult the task will be. She has a couple of goes, but there is just no way she can get it in position. "I think we need reinforcements. Can you hold on while I get some help?" "Sure, I'm not going anywhere and I'm not entirely sure that I am ready to use it anyway."

When she returns she is accompanied by an orderly and two other nurses and... A CRANE! "We are going to use this to lift you off the bed so that we can get you on the bed pan properly. We put the harness underneath your hips and legs and lift you with the crane. It saves all of our backs and should be best for you." 'Great', I think to myself, 'oh well, any sense of dignity I had left went out the window the moment they started cleaning the ooze off my indwelling catheter anyway, so what harm can being lifted on to the karzee by a crane be?'

"I think that is going to be quite painful." I suggest. But I know that this needs to happen. They begin passing the harness underneath me as carefully as they can, but they can't help but move the swelling so that it pulls on my wounds and I wince in pain. It takes them a full ten minutes to strap me up and hook me up to the crane. "It doesn't look very safe. Won't it fall over?, I ask. "Its lifted people much bigger than you."

They push the button and the crane slowly winds into action. The slack is taken up and they pause, then it slowly lifts me off the bed. The pain is excrutiating as the entire weight of the swelling moves to immediately below my pelivs, pulling down on my fractures and slightly tearing the skin around where my ex-fixes enter my my body.

"Stop! Put me down!" They lower me to the bed. "I can't do it."

"We have to try", one nurse says, "you will get very sick if you don't go."

"I know, but please get the pan under me as quick as you can."

We try again and this time they lift me completely off the bed and I feel the fractures in my pelvis move. "Quick!" I say through clenched teeth and the pan is slid under me. The crane returns me to the bed and by now I am covered in beads of sweat from the ordeal.

"Are you ok?", inquires a nurse. I nod in reply, but its a lie. I am in a lot of pain and the worst thing is I know I am going to have to go the whole ordeal again to get off the bloody thing - and I'll probably have to repeat it every day for the next untold weeks.

"We'll leave you alone now", says the nurse as pulls the curtain behind her. A lot of good that did. Harry is talking with one of the other nurses and I can hear every word of the conversation the nurses at reception are having. They may as well have been sitting on the edge of the bed for all the difference the curtain made. And, by the way, did no one tell them that it is physically impossible to shit while lying flat on your back!

I've persisted for half an hour, but to be honest I can't even manage to engage the right muscles and the pills really haven't made that much of a difference. I call the nurse and they all pile back into the room to get the crane into action to lift me off.

An incomplete mission, but I did appreciate all of the help. Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow.

Weeks 22-24 - Build-Rest-Build

Sorry that I haven't had much of a chance to put many posts up for the last few weeks. I have been (and continue to be) really busy at work and with the increasing training load too, it is becoming quite difficult to fit it all in. Anyway you know that I had an enforced rest week the week before last and it seems that this is paying off as last night I was able to email Geoff to say that for the first time in three or four months I felt 'strong fatigued' (knackered but feeling some how stronger).

The last three weeks have been a case of build (duration and intensity), rest (recouperation and regeneration) and then building from where I left off the week before. Unfortunately something cropped up in the first of the build weeks which meant that I missed a 50 minute run and my rest week was more of a rest than I had hoped, but with the travel and conference, I fitted in what I could. Last week, however, was definitely my biggest week yet, although a could of sessions were done indoors because of the weather and training late afternoon when the light was fading. The last three weeks, then, have looked like this:

Week 22 (16-22 August) - The week nine years ago when my accident occurred.
Swim: 4 session totalling 8.8km in 4 hours 29 minutes
Bike: 4 sessions totalling 168.8km in 6:53 - including a 91km (3:45) ride on Saturday
Run: 3 sessions totalling 28.4km in 2:50
Total: 11 sessions totalling 206km in 14:11

Week 23 (23-29 August) - rest and out of town.
Swim: 2 session totalling 4.8km in 2 hours 32 minutes
Bike: 1 session totalling 44.1km in 1:29 - as a brick session
Run: 2 sessions totalling 11.5km in 1:04
Total: 5 sessions totalling 60.4km in 5:06

Week 24 (30 August - 5 September) - on 5 September 1992 Carleen and I were married (I don't know how she has tolerated me for the last 18 years!?)

Swim: 4 session totalling 9.825 km in 4 hours 54 minutes
Bike: 4 sessions totalling 239.9km in 8:44 - including a 101km (4:10) ride in a howling Southerly on Saturday and 2 indoor session
Run: 4 sessions totalling 37.1km in 3:37 - including 1 indoor session
Total: 12 sessions totalling 239.9km in 17:15

The next six weekends are jam packed and it looks something like this:

Sunday 12 Sept - Moro Half Marathon (Dunedin)
Sunday 19 Sept - Race 4 Winter Duathlon Series (North Taieri)
23-27 Sept - Challenge Wanaka Training Camp (Wanaka)
Sunday 3 Oct - I TURN 40!
Sunday 10 Oct - Hill Free Half Marathon (Outram)
Sunday 17 Oct - Trails Half Marathon (Hawea) - I'm an unlikely starter for this one as Carleen is away.
Sunday 24 Oct - Cromwell Half Marathon (Cromwell)
Then its only five weeks to the South Island Half Ironman (Ashburton)

Are you a mamil too?

A friend sent me this link to an article about mamils (Middle Age Men in Lycra). For some reason he thought it sounded like the article had been written about me... http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-10965608

On the road again

Please excuse the Willy Nelson lyrics, but it works for my swimming experience last Thursday. I was out of town again and finding it hard to fit in much training. I managed a run and a couple of swims between last Sunday and the Friday just past (partly because I was a bit crook on Monday and Tuesday, but mostly because I travelled much of Wednesday and spent all day in a conference on Thursday and Friday).

Thursday morning's swim was an interesting one. You see, I was in the small town of Blenheim and I got a very clear indication that I was firmly in rural New Zealand when I visited the local 25 metre pool. Part way through my session the Seniors aquaerobics class took over half the pool and the stereo started pumping out both kinds of music - yep, you guessed it country AND western. I should have guessed something was up when two of the old dears hopped into the pool with cowboy hats on and the poolside instructor turned up wearing cowboy boots, denim shorts and checked shirt. Needless to say, I kept my head down and bum up so I couldn't hear John Denver and Co singing and twanging away and rest intervals were a little quicker than the norm so I could get away from the pool as soon as possible.

Friday's exercise class wasn't quite as off-putting, but the 1980s hits from what sounded like the 'musac-remix' tape (you know, that awful trash they play in elevators, malls and cheap hotel lobbies) weren't exactly to my taste in music either. The pool also got a bit overcrowded with teenage girls more intent on gossiping than swimming clogging up the only available lane. Despite this, I managed to plough through and get two 2.4km sessions done and I was especially pleased with my long swim session where I took almost 2 minutes off my 500metre time.

Five days after my accident in 2001, I was also on the road again as they moved me from the Austin & Repatriation Hospital to the rehabilitation hospital (Bethesda) at the Epworth in Richmond.

26 August 2001 (five days after the accident)

Last night the nurses told me that I'd be heading to Bethesda today. I have to say that I am quite excited at the prospect of moving to a new hospital as it means that they think that I am on the improve. However, I am not at all keen at the prospect of being moved from one bed to another and then into an ambulance. To be honest, I am petrified!

The swelling on my upper legs and torso has continued unabated since I have been in the ward and any movement is extremely unpleasant and can be quite painful. I am concerned that the sheer mass of the swelling is going to cause some major pain for me and some significant issues for those trying to move me. I have also been confined to this bed for the last four days, only being rolled from one side to the next for dressing changes and the occasional sponge bath (and no, unlike the movies, they are not at all erotic). Moving off the bed is a huge unknown for me and the pain that just rolling me from side to side causes, means that the anticipation of a larger (albeit still small) move is sending me into a mild panic.

A nurse comes into tell me that they will be moving me later in the morning and that they will leave my dressing changes for Bethesda to do. What a relief, I can't bear the thought of having the matron doing my dressings again (see A bit sore). Carleen is here so that will take my mind off the move for now, but it is always there in the back of my mind and my nervousness continues to bubble away below the surface.

A couple of hours pass and by now I am extremely apprehensive, so that when the nurse comes in and says "Okay, its time to pack up and get ready to go now", I am completely beside myself. "Okay", I say putting on a brave face that wasn't convincing anyone. "You'll be fine", one of the nurses reassures.

A team of staff come into the room (a couple of nurses and orderlies plus the two ambulance drivers), ready to transfer me to the ambulance gurney. "Don't worry mate, we've done this a thousand times before," says the larger of the two ambos. His size should be enough to reassure me, but I can't help but have images of being dropped between the bed and gurney flash through my head as they prepared the slider (a plastic board used to slide patients between beds).

They work to manoeuvre the blankets and slider into position and they are all strategically located around the bed ready for the signal to move me. "Cross your arms across your chest, mate," directs the ambo. 'Does he mean that I should be saying a prayer?', I smile to myself. I cross my arms, take a deep breath and close my eyes. Then on the command of the ambo the whole team, in unison, begin lifting me. "Stop!", I exclaim. Something doesn't feel right. "I think something is caught." They look underneath and move some of the blankets and try again. This time I move effortlessly (but not without pain) to the gurney.

The ambos commence strapping me onto the gurney starting with my feet and working their way up. I feel like I am in some kind of magic act. Are they going to bring out a saw and cut me in half? I don't think that would be wise, I am sure that swelling is hiding something nasty and we wouldn't want to get that all over the floor.

They are at my waist now, trying to figure out how they are going to strap that part of me in. I am way too big and there is this whopping great scaffolding sticking out of my pelvis - four titanium pylons drilled directly into my pelvic bones connected on the outside by a criss-cross of beams that held it all in alignment. If you lift my glamorous hospital-issue night gown, my (hairless) pelvis looks like a huge marshmallow that is about to have a bridge built across it. There is no way that you can put a seat belt and buckle across their. With a bit of pushing and shoving and an extension strap they manage to shove as much of the bulge as they can underneath the strap and they clamp it shut. A most unpleasant exercise, but at least I haven't been dropped on the floor and I shouldn't roll on to the floor of the ambulance.

Being on the move again, is weird. I had thought that it would be weeks, if not months, before I was going to see the outside world but, for a fleeting moment at least, as we exited the hospital and I was wheeled into the rear of the ambulance, I could breathe fresh air and hear the sound of the city around me. 

In the back of the ambulance, I find it disconcerting being so high up as I feel like the gurney could topple over at any second. I heard the wheels clip into place and the safety brackets clamp me in place, but it still doesn't feel right. As we move off ever so slowly I am also now fully aware of how uncomfortable this short journey is going to be. The forward momentum of the ambulance mans that all of the fluid that has built up inside me surges towards my feet. Oh my God! What a seriously weird and very painful sensation, especially as the fluid moves through my pelvis and across the still mobile fractures. It's nowhere on the scale of the pain of getting my dressings changed, but painful nonetheless.

With every corner, every minute tilt of the ambulance left or right or forward or back and every acceleration and every deceleration the fluid surges left, right, forwards, backwards. "Can't you drive any smoother than that!", I call out to the driver. He just laughs. But I'm not joking. "No really, please, please it hurts a lot!", I plead. It doesn't seem to make any difference though and I continue sloshing for the whole 15 km journey.

At Bethesda (which is just a couple of blocks from our house) they unload me onto the forecourt and I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin for the first time in almost a week. It somehow feels very reassuring. For some reason this place seems to make me feel much more secure too. Perhaps its just the fact that Carleen will be close by and that I am one small step closer to home.

Inside things are very different to the Austin too. Everything is new and there seems to be more staff around. I am informed that meals are ordered from a proper menu and I can have anything that I want any time of the day. While I know that my stay will be far from fun, this place is not going to be too bad at all.

The week that was (week 21)

21 weeks down, 21 weeks to go! Fittingly then, I did my first 15+ hour and 200km+ week last week. In fact, it was a huge week all round as I also had a number of higher intesity workouts too.  Geoff had estaimated that I would be doing 13.5-14.5 hours but for some reason it ended up being more than 16 hours. 

Three Runs: 34.4km, 3hours 24 minutes
Four Rides: 196.5km, 8:05
Four Swims: 8.8km, 4:46
11 sessions: 339.7km, 16:15

Phew!

A bit sore

My calf muscles have been a bit sore this week after a jump in intensity for the week. I hobbled around a bit for a few days and had nasty cramps in both calves and feet while swimming for the first part of the week. 

In fact I don't think I can put all of the soreness down to just the lift in intensity. I am pretty sure that poor hydration has a lot to do with it as well. I came to this realisation yesterday, when I tried to give blood and the nurse said that she couldn't find any veins (fortunately she only stuck me with the needle once before giving up). I asked her if it could have anything to do with my training, she gave me an 'absolutely, yes' response. "You are dehydrated. When you are dehydrated your veins tend to go deep." That will explain the soreness and definitely the cramp. No cramp this morning after hitting the water bottle hard yesterday and the legs were much fresher.

The soreness this week pails into insignificance in comparison to the pain that I experienced a few days after my accident in 2001.

24 August 2001 (three days after the accident)
The sun is shining this morning and my room seems a little more cheery than usual. There is a new nurse doing the rounds. She seems quite young and she's a little bit matronly, with chest puffed out and an air of self-importance. She's nice enough though and was quite chirpy when she opened the curtains to reveal the sunny day outside.

"I am going to be changing your dressings today," she informs me. "We'll do it before your visitors get in." "Okay", I reply. She tells me to stock up on morphine, so I merrily push away on the button on my PCA. I know that no matter how many times I push the button it stops at an hourly maximum dose as soon as its reached, but I am keen to make sure I reach that dose as I am acutely aware of how painful the whole dressing change process is.

About 30 minutes have passed since the new nurse left to get all of the gear and she's returned with a small army of orderlies and nurses who are here to turn me over. It's a bit of a major mission as by now I have swollen to almost the entire width of the bed. My torso and thighs are bulging to the point of bursting and when they turn me all the fluid moves with me. The movement of the fluid puts pressure on my broken bones and my external fixators (the scaffolding holding my pelvis together) need to be kept stable so its a slow and extremely painful process just to get me in position to remove the dressings that cover about 20% of my body.

On my right side the dressings are in two sections: the outside of my entire right thigh and then from the back of my hip to my ribs. On the left there is just one dressing about the size of an A4 sheet of paper around my hip and lower back. All the dressings cover the area of gravel rash, where layers of skin and, on my right side, about a 1cm depth of flesh at its deepest were removed by the pavement as I was spat out the back of the truck.

The nurses and orderlies are in position: two on the right of the bed and one on the left to roll me and the new nurse ready to remove, clean and replace the dressings. They grab my bulging left hip and begin to turn me on to my right side. I scream in pain as the fluid surges across to the right of my body and the weight presses on my still freshly broken pelvis. "STOP! STOP! Can you go slowly, PLEEEASE!" "Sorry, sorry, we'll be more careful", a male orderly comforts. They gently begin rolling again and, even though it is still pure excruciation, I am able to bear the pain this time.

The new nurse begins to peel back the dressing and, as she does, the build up of  'ooze' from the wound begins to run through the opening, down my back and on to the plastic sheet placed underneath me to catch it. The air rushes in, just like it did in ICU (see Back in land of living) and the pain is instant. I wince and grit my teeth, but don't make a sound. The nurse removes the dressing and begins to clean around the edges of the wound. I can't help but hold my breath and clench my fist as the pain intensifies. Then I start to zone out a little and, I know that people are talking to me, but I have no need to hear what they are saying; I am trying to block out all sensation. This nurse is certainly making sure that everything is clean - that matronly character is really coming through in her thoroughness and it's excruciating.

'Just 5 more minutes', I keep repeating over and over in my head and eventually I am turned on to my back. "Half time, change sides", I manage to squeeze out with a forced smile. "Pump up your morphine before we start on the other side", one of the nurses suggests. I pump my thumb on the blue button frantically as if my life depended on it. They give me a few moments for the drugs to kick in.

They roll me gently and slowly on to my left side. I am facing away from the window now and steering at the side of my bedside cabinet. Matron  peels back the dressings and I wince again. I clench every sinew of my body as I brace myself for the abrasive wipe of the gauze as it is rasped across my wound. The pain is impossible to describe - try to imagine a graze on you face being cleaned with coarse sand paper ... with a high speed orbital sander!!!! It's too much. I scream again at the top of my lungs - there is no way I can hold back. "Sorry, I have to do this", the matron implores. "No, no, please no," I sob like someone begging for their life. "I'm sorry, I have to." I feel the grip of the orderlies and nurse tighten to brace me for what is about to come. This is pure torture. This can't be right. With every wipe of the gauze the pain magnifies ten fold, until I can take no more and then, for a moment, everything goes black. The only noise is white noise ringing loudly in my ears and am no longer conscious of what is going on around me. Then, another wipe or two and the dressing is replaced.

As I am rolled on to my back again, I am now more aware of my surroundings. An older nurse comforts me as the matron cleans up the used dressings and leaves the room. I lean over the remaining nurse and beg her not to let the matron do my dressings again. She reassures me that she will pass on the message.

The matron never changed any more of my dressings!

The week that was (Week 20)

Last week started out with some awesome training - swimming felt great, increased speed on my run and some amazing rides - but things conspired against me on a couple of occasions and I missed a brick (bike to run transition) session on Thursday and then, when I tried to make up for it on Saturday, I couldn't do the run because of the weather. It was a crappy weekend all round, with heavy rain and strong cold SW winds starting as I was half way through my ride. By the time I was back to the car, the streets were awash with torrents of water, my legs were so cold they felt like they were on fire and I was drenched to the core. I had to strip down to my shorts and shoes and put the floor mat on the driver's seat before a cold drive home with chattering teeth and very erect nipples. Sunday morning was worse, so I decided to delay my long ride until later in the day even though Geoff headed out early (and completely froze in the process). In the end, I didn't go at all as I couldn't face another fridged drenching.

My daugther (Emma) also had a birthday party on Sunday and I needed to look after my son (James). In fact, I didn't really need to look after James, I really wanted to. I feel like I have been neglecting the home front a bit lately and the opportunity to take James swimming was both a great way to spend some quality time with James and to give Carleen a few hours off to do what she wanted.

Overall, I guess it was a below par training effort this week and (quite rightly) Geoff let me know that I can't afford to have too many of these. I totally agree with him and to be honest on Sunday evening I was wondering if I could justify the time I need to spend training at the expense of family time. While I am not entirely convinced that I am not being totally selfish and I shouldn't just stop this foolish behaviour right now, I know that in the end there will be rewards for the whole family. I am already much healthier and less grumpy and I know that once I have completed the Challenge I will be more than ready to make up for lost family time and much more able to do so because of my increased health and better state of mind.

Week 20 Totals
One run: 9.5km, 58 min. (plus 20 minute aquajog recovery from duathlon)

Three rides: 99.7km, 4:08 hours.
Four Swims: 8.4km, 4:13 hours
Nine sessions (including aquajog): 117.6km, 9:39 hours.

Milestones achieved!

So far this week training has been fantastic! Swimming has felt much better than it has to date, rides have been fantastic and I seem to be gaining a bit of top end speed in my running. Today, hasn't been so flash as I awoke with a headache and then felt flat all day, plus it was a wet morning and that stopped me getting out for a brick (bike to run transition) session. Awesome feedback from Coach Geoff, a fellow competitor and a complete stranger have also boosted my performance and filled me with a huge sense of pride.

It also helps that the milestones I foreshadowed a few weeks ago all came to fruition this week. The most significant of these for me is the fact that I am no longer an obseity statistic. Today, I weigh 102.5kg and have a BMI of 29.9, making me officially in the overweight range and not obese. I hadn't weighed myself for about 10 days as I had become frustrated that my weight loss had been painfully slow, but I have lost around 1.5kg in 10 days. I have now lost in excess of 32.5kg (almots 25% of my body weight) since I peaked at over 135kg about 2 years ago. The next target is under 100kg, then under 90kg and then 85.5kg and the 'normal' BMI range

The other milestones all relate to the total distances covered in my training so far:

• 500km running (504.9km so far at an average of more than 26km per week)
• 2,000km cycling (2,025.8km so far at an average of more than 106km per week)
• 75km swimming (later this week I will reach 75km total, that's around 157 lengths of a 25 metre pool per week)
• Total distance 2,500km (now more than 2,600km)
• By the end of this week I will have also completed over 150 hours of training.

Next targets (all about 8-10 weeks away):

• 750km running
• 3,000km bike
• 100km swimming
• 4,000km and 250 hours of training

Bring it on!