Coming to terms with my own stupidity

Not for nothing is this blog called Misadventures in Adventure Racing.  I have shared it all, the ups and the downs.  Sadly now, is a down moment.

Those who read this blog regularly over the last 5 -6 months will have noticed that I have gone awfully quiet for about 3 weeks.  Sorry about that.  I have spent the time coming to terms with my own stupidity.

How did that stupidity manifest?

I broke one of the fundamental rules of any sport.  I ignored an injury.  I stuck my head in the sand and hoped that by pretending the problem wasn't there that it would go away.

Remember the incident with the haematoma?  The cabbage leaves, the arnica and the optimism?
Hmm.  Well the haematoma has turned out to be a side effect of a torn cartilage in my hip.  The amazing thing is that after some initial pain and swelling the groin strain that I thought it was quietened down and I did the whole of the Beast of Ballyhoura without any pain whatsoever.  It was only after a 5 week lay off that the pain started to really show itself in all its technicolor glory.

At first I was struggling through training with a view to doing a short race at the end of September.

However my hip had different ideas.  It was mainly all right during a sports activity, it was directly after I stopped and the day after that the pain became so intense I would want to cry.

I went back to running in  September and managed to stumble and fall twice in one week as a result of catching my left foot on a root - in broad daylight!  In retrospect I think it had something to do with my gait changing to compensate for not being able to lift my left foot as high as usual.  I soldiered on along the runs though feeling fit as a fiddle despite the blood pouring from my leg and did a fairly decent time for one who had lazed about all summer.  Oh but the next day my groin was burning!

Later that week I arranged a little 30 km cycle with my buddy, Kate and I was rather glad that she got a puncture 20 km in because I wasn't really feeling it that day:  there was a slight niggle in my groin. But, of course if I kept on ignoring it, it would go away....

It was the kayaking that finally convinced me that this wasn't going anywhere.  Kayaking uses your whole body and the peddling, running motion of the legs made my groin burn like someone had put an incendiary device in my knickers.  I couldn't get out of the kayak and my sister, with whom I was training for a K2 event had to haul me out.

I went to the GP.

I was referred to a specialist.  He heard my sorry tale and diagnosed me straight away.  'OH BUM!'
was the thought that crossed my shocked mind.  However, he said that I could go on training if I really wanted to.  I wanted to.  I kept at it.

He sent me for an MRI.

My appointment came for the MRI.  In the meantime, I had developed a stinking cold and so had stopped training.  I toddled of to the hospital for the MRI. In the cigarette shaped tube I tried really hard to lie poker straight and absolutely still.  My arm went to sleep and despite being desperate to move it, I did as I was told and lay completely immobile.  They bunged some earphones with some frankly appalling music playing through them, over my ears.

I couldn't help it...I dozed off....it was the best 30 minute nap I had had all week.  I woke myself up snoring 3 times!

I was given a DVD rom of my hip and I took it back to the specialist who told me I need a hip arthroscopy to trim the torn cartilage and that they may also have to reshape the ball in the socket of the hip joint.  Wear and tear is the culprit apparently.  What wear and tear?  It was only a little race.... The goal of the op, he said would be for me to resume adventure racing.

Now what?

I went home and pretended that I hadn't had the conversation with the specialist.  I tried to carry on training not very successfully.  I had a little chat with one of the coaches at the kayak club.  He pointed out that the race season starts in May, the sooner I get the op done, the sooner recovery can take place.

I spent another week in denial.  I stopped training.

I went back to the GP. Surely rest could sort this out, I pleaded.

No.The operation is the only solution.  I made the call, I booked the op.  So I am off on my hospital adventure on Monday and then it will be the road back to full fitness.

See you soon.... Training starts with that first post -op physio session.....here we go.....!

Climbing the Kayak Mountain

"I have one thing to say to you, 'K2'!" echoed my sister's voice on my messages, two Tuesdays ago.

I phoned back immediately.  We had idly tossed this idea about before; but as I had been wrapped up in the Beast of Ballyhoura race and both of us had children on school holidays, it had slipped off and swum away like a fish escaping a hook. Now however, I was casting around for a new challenge and my sister, Hannah, knows I cannot resist a challenge.  I am a very goal-focussed person.  She baited her hook with care...just the right mix of challenge, potential for fun, adventure and a goal to capture my attention.  I couldn't resist and was caught hook, line and sinker.

The thing with having an adventurous spirit is that it leads you along paths you never thought you would take.  If you had known me as a child, you would have thought that I would be the last person to be blessed with such a spirit. I was a timid and shy creature with a side-line in bolshie attitude,  but only to my parents.  However, this adventurous spirit must have been lying dormant in there because it has blossomed. I blame my parents, they never told me I couldn't do anything, so there are no handbrakes on my imagination.  Thank goodness!  Imbued with this blissful lack of knowledge, I keep turning my hands to new things which is why I eagerly took my sister's bait and consequently find that my latest new thing is that I have started climbing the kayak mountain that is K2. 

For the sake of clarity, I need to make it clear that no, I am not climbing the real K2 mountain in Pakistan....  I haven't taken complete leave of my senses... What I have done, is agree to partner my sister in a K2 racing kayak. (In other words, a 2 man kayak)  It is roughly the width of a washing line and is about the length of the Amazon River, it is difficult to manoeuvre in anything but a straight line and if you move your eyes slightly to the right or the left, it capsizes immediately!

So it was that I found myself down at the kayak club at 6.15 pm on Tuesday, 9 September 2014.  I was a bit flustered because we were 45 minutes late.  I don't know how.  It just happened.  I was joined by 2 of my sons, Will and Jeremy who decided to come along to watch the spectacle.  (Will was hoping for some great capsizing moments to laugh at.)

Most of the serious racer people were already out on the water, so they were spared the confused conversation about which boat we should take, and whether we could find and unravel the right size paddles, from the crazy mishmash of those which seemed to have knitted themselves together on the racks. Finally, we managed to locate 2 paddles and wrestled them off the rack.

Both of us have completed a K1 racing kayak course and have our 1* qualification so we are not complete novices.  We were regularly training in the K1 boats before the holidays but until now, neither of us had used a K2. I have had some two-paddler experience but in the plastic general purpose open top boats. This was completely different.

We made our boat selection and took it outside to the hillock on the bank for adjustments and fine tweaking.

The boat had low seats.  We made this decision so that our centre of gravity would be lower in the water which would make the boat a bit more stable.  Hannah and I have the same length legs but she is 2 inches taller than me.  We both have low-slung, fairly wide bums.  Bums, I think designed for squashy sofas, not narrow kayaks.  Apparently in a K2 the taller, heavier person sits in the back.  I got to sit in the front.  That is all well and good but, to make the boats slice through the water they get narrower down the front end.  I have had 4 children.  I don't do narrow. I am not huge but I was trying to squash my size 12 hips into a space made for a midget.  It was so narrow that it was like trying to squeeze my whole body into leg of a wetsuit...and regular readers will know how I feel about that particular tool of torture.  I was a little worried that if we capsized I would be wedged tight.  (Afterwards some of the guys from the club made me feel a bit better by saying that a lot of women have problems with the K2s because of this and suggested I try a higher seat...more on that later)

Having adjusted the rudder, the seats and wriggled back out of the opening, together we carried our K2 down to the water.  To say I was full of trepidation, is an understatement.

On the water, near the quay, sat my boys waiting to be entertained.  We gingerly lowered the unwieldy kayak into the water, giving urgent instructions to the boys to grab hold of it, so that it wouldn't float away.  Our usual launch place was blocked so we were getting in from the high bank.  That is all well and good if you have the legs of a giraffe, but I have the legs of a dachshund.... my feet wree scrabbling around in mid-air whilst I was lowering myself in.

I don't know how, but we managed to get into the kayak without mishap.  It was unbelievably wobbly.  Nothing can compare.  You remember when some well-meaning adult took your stabiliser wheels off your bike and then let go of you for the first time?  Well, it is more wobbly than that.   I literally couldn't turn my head for fear of tilting over.

We carefully pushed ourselves away from the bank and started to paddle.  After some discussion about which paddle would go in first we started to potter off.  Being at the front, I set pace and rhythm and steer.  Really, Hannah is just along for the ride (EEEK don't let her know I said that!!)  The key to doing it, we discovered is to be completely in sync. That doesn't mean we managed it, it just that we discovered that is the key! As we were passed by one of the chaps who taught us, I heard him yelling something about paddling in time.  Well, it couldn't be my fault...I was setting the pace.  Actually, we didn't do half badly although apparently I do have a tendency to go full blast and dig in my paddle more on the right than the left which can be a little disconcerting for the person who is trying to keep in time with me and can also make the craft list slightly to one side.  (Well it's worked for me up 'till now....)

Hannah kept saying things like, 'lets just go nice and steady'.  I would start out with good intentions and then suddenly lose all sense and go at it like a dog after a bone.

All went well until we got to a bridge and then we had our first serious wobble, in sight of two young lads who were fishing and who seemed to thoroughly enjoy the entertainment.  I really thought we were going in and there was lots of girly screaming (mainly from me), slapping of paddles on water and brace strokes before we pulled ourselves together.  There was no further mishaps and we got to the 1 mile mark feeling a little smug.  Then we had to turn the beast.  Racing kayaks are made to go in a straight line.  They do not like turning.  I have learnt how to turn the K1's but this thing...it was like a learner driver doing 65 point turn in a narrow road in a 10 tonne truck.  I think it took about 5 minutes.  We are really going to have to work on that.  Finally, having got the thing ready to go homeward we started to paddle away. 

It was going extremely well.  Fairly smooth strokes.  Lots of paddling from our core, I was even finding my legs doing the bicycling movement they are meant to.  (Hannah found she was too terrified to move her legs, she tried but they simply would obey the instruction)

As I said, it was going so well.  And then....we came back to that bridge and Hannah's phone rang.  On the bank the fishing boys watched with growing mirth.

First of all was she mad, bringing her phone for a ride in a boat that the width and stability of a toothpick???!!!

And secondly she wasn't really going to answer it was she???!!!

She answered the phone.

Without warning, she stopped paddling and started scrabbling down inside the cleavage of her buoyancy aid,  where she had stored it.  The boat started wobbling like a ballerina going on point for the first time.  I was madly doing bracing strokes and trying to stop us going over.

"You aren't answering that now?"  I squawked in disbelief. (Sniggering from the boys on the bank)
"I have to, it might be Mike" (Mike is her husband)
I was thinking, "so what?"
I said, "Your phone is going to get wrecked!" and protested, "We are going to fall in!"
"It's in a water-proof case"
"Oh that's all right then."  I said, a bit sarcastically.  I was more concerned about falling in than her phone!  There was a brief conversation behind me about their dinner and where she was.

Oh for goodness sake.  I was going to get wet for the sake of a bit of spag bol.  There was now open laughter coming from the lads on shore.  I looked at them in mute appeal but they only laughed all the more. 

The conversation ended and Hannah tucked her phone back in her bosom and we paddled back to shore.  She seemed completely unfazed by my concern.  However, we pulled up to the jetty triumphant and despite all indications to the contrary, much to Will and Jeremy's disappointment,  we hadn't capsized.

Then I tried to lever myself out of that tiny little cockpit.  Who designs a boat for an adult and makes the cockpit child-sized? I finally, with a lot of huffing and puffing, popped out of there like a cork out of a champagne bottle and hauled myself out on to blessed, beautiful dry land. 

You would think I had learnt my lesson but we went and did it again the following Tuesday.  This time on high seats which makes you feel like you are perch in the top branches of a tree and sitting on a  jelly as you paddle along and if your partner even flexes a bum cheek or winks an eye, you know about it!  Jeremy took it upon himself to scream, "One - Two!" repeatedly at us as we paddled along, to help get our rhythm correct.  It was such a tranquil little paddle.

 I also discovered, with the high seat, the rudder wires were jamming on my hips (I may have to give up muffins) so turning was even more problematic.  But, we were not to be defeated and vowed to continue on our quest to conquer K2 kayaking....

In that spirit, we have somehow managed to commit to do the club marathon and perhaps try a division 9 race in May next year.

So, guess what I am doing this afternoon.... it might be easier to go and climb the real K2 after all!

TO SPD or not to SPD, that is the Question....

I have made no bones about the fact I am an enthusiastic amateur when it comes to my sport, the preparation for it and buying the correct equipment for it. Which is why I have been able to share my thoughts on coat buying, wet-suit purchase and the like. It will come as no surprise then, to those who are in the know, in the cycling world, that I have absolutely no idea what SPD actually stands for. I think, I know what they are though.  So here is my definition of an SPD:

An SPD is a peculiar thing that goes on your bike instead of a 'proper' pedal.  They have little clips on them that attach to special shoes (known, I understand, as SPD shoes - how imaginative!)  These shoes have cleats that clip into the SPD pedals and apparently this means that not only can you push your pedal down, you can also pull it up there by giving you more power.  It all sounds very clever and a great idea so far.

However,  there are drawbacks.  (there must be otherwise this wouldn't be my blog)  I want to know if my fellow cyclists have ever taken a close look at themselves when they wear these shoes?  It gives them the most ungainly gait! A bit like a horse that is walk down on its hocks.  Not to mention the bizarre clip clop sound they all make as they trot along on them when on foot. 

You may ask is this just jealousy talking on my part because I am not an owner of these magic pedals and shoes and you may be right.  But wait... the other draw back is the dangers these accessories pose to the clumsy cyclist.  This is a category I sadly seem to...ahem.... fall into.  I am one of those people who has been known to simply topple sideways for no apparent reason.  . I knew I was clumsy on foot, give me some air and I will trip over it but I always thought I was a dab hand on the bike. I have managed to cycle trails, go around the Isle of Wight and achieve various other cycle feats (cycling to the pub and back along the canal) without anything going amiss and so I did not realise my clumsiness extended to the bike until my latest exploits in the Beast of Ballyhoura.  So, the risks that SPDs present to the unwary cyclist seem, to me, significant. 

When whizzing along the single track trails or pootling along in the dark after 18 hours in the saddle, the one thing I would be likely to forget would be that in order to remove my feet from the SPD cleat  I would have to twist and lift my shoe out of the catch. The other problem is that if I lean to far over to one side, how would I get my foot out in time to prevent toppling?

It is all very worrying.

Ross has never had SPDs, he favours toe clips.  Andy, our Ballyhoura team mate is a proponent whilst William comes out against and so do some other cyclists I know, who used them for the first time on a single track red trail....   I did also ask a chap in a bike shop who competes in down hill events and trails and he was firmly against them, he prefers the pedals with lots of 'teeth' that bite into the sole of your ordinary trainer and give you good grip.

However, there is no denying the extra power they can give you.  As a half way house Ross attached some cheap plastic toe clips to my pedals.  I was so very excited, I thought these would improve my pedal power and I would be able to keep up with everybody else.

My hopes were dashed.

I squashed  my poor tortured toes into the teeny opening of the clip and pushed off, free wheeling out of our driveway and turning left up the hill.  I gave a nice push down with my left foot and pulled up with the right and the whole plastic toe clip that had, seconds before, been squashing my toes to pancake proportions, lifted up and straightened out magically and I was left with my right foot waving about in mid-air.

We took them off.

I went back to riding with ordinary pedals and used the better, energy saving method for keeping up with my team...being towed!

The problem still remains.  I am going to have to replace my pedals which are wearing out, at some point and I was wondering if, as that great cyclist, Prince Hamlet of Denmark might have put it,

To SPD or not to SPD, that is the Question:
Whether tis nobler in the pedal to suffer the scraps and bruises of
outrageous topplings,
Or to take toe clips against them
and by opposing them prevent them:  to pedal, to struggle
No more; and by toe clips we say end
the heart-ache and thousand natural shocks
that falling behind my team mates is heir to.  Tis something
to waste my time wondering over:
teeth with pedals, toe clips or SPDs
I sleep on it, perchance to dream
Aye there's the rub.  For in that sleep what dreams may come of bikes
with SPDs, disk breaks and full sus that I may shuffle off to cycle trails
at speed, with respect of my team mates and not a thousand yards behind
without the calamity of a fall
For who would bear the whips and scorn of bracken and gorse
the twists of the trail without the ability
to rapidly put ones foot down?

(With apologies to the Bard)

Adventure Racing is like giving birth...

I had gone from "never again" to "next time we should..." in the space of about 14 hours.

I think it was my team mate, Andy who asked if I would do another race at the latter end of the Beast of Ballyhoura.  I was at a low ebb at the time and said unequivocally, "No, never again."

However, Adventure Racing, it seems, is like giving birth. You forget the pain and the misery, the indignity and the discomfort, by the time you get to the celebration meal.  What you have in the end is a feeling of euphoria and power and "I did that!  I really did that!" ringing through your brain in a clarion call of victory.  And this feeling last for weeks!

 One of the funniest sights I have seen is just over 100 people hobbling like old men crossing hot coals, their limbs and joints seizing up as they waddled and limped down to the local pub in the village where the Beast of Ballyhoura race had its HQ. Actually, that is pretty comparable to the hobbling nature of the post-partum woman!

I was part of that select band, people who had finished the race and was making my way, gingerly on seizing up legs,  along with my team mates, to the celebration meal.  Despite my tender feet and tired legs the post-race endorphins were kicking in and without realising, I was starting to think strategy for another race.

  No wait a minute, I wasn't doing another race, was I?...Or was I?

As I sat scoffing the post-race meal, I suddenly heard myself starting a sentence with, "Next time we should-"

There was a burst of laughter from my team mates and they said, "I thought you weren't ever doing this again."  Ah well maybe I was thinking about it.(Just like I was never ever having another baby after the first one....I went onto have 3 more)

I fact I had already thought about it a lot.  I had considered how we could work better in transition and how I would really like to get stronger, fitter and better at cycling.  I had thought about food and how much extra clothes should be stored in the box... And all the while, we were reliving every detail of the race.

About an hour after dinner we went on to have a donner kebab from the local takeaway because we were suddenly starving. This post-race hunger lasted about a week.) Then we headed across to the community centre for the prize giving.  I was still on a high but After 40 hours plus awake, it's no surprise that I nodded off.  I am still not sure who won...

Ross prodded me awake and we hobbled back up to our tent.  I could think of no good reason to take my clothes off and put on pajamas and so crept into my sleeping bag fully clothed and lay on my back with my arms folded.  I wok up in exactly that position 6 hours later and discovered that the post-race excitement was still very much in evidence.

It was Monday and it was my birthday.  What a way to spend the day.  We were driving home from the race, back to Surrey.  Can I just say that I highly recommend spending your birthday in a state of post-race euphoria, quaffing coke after coke (wow-never been quite so thirsty) and going through a blow by blow account of the race with your team mates. It was spectacularly brilliant. We kept repeating little phrases to each other that made us all hoot with laughter,  reliving triumphs and disasters.  I think it is this post race euphoric haze which induced in me the desire to do it all again and caused me to say more than once, "next time we should..."

Never again...don't be daft.  I can't wait to do it again and I know what we need to do next time to improve it all.....

The Etiquette of the Head Torch

Not many women want to get a head torch for Christmas but I was thrilled. This is just one more way that Adventure Racing has changed my life.  Not only was I thrilled to get a head torch I had actually requested one.  No diamonds for me... instead, a proper, powerful head torch with a separate battery pack that I could clip onto the waistband of my trousers.  I was moving up in the world, not one of the tiny excuses for a torch I had had before.  This thing was hundreds of lumens strong. Yippee!

Once you have used a head torch you cannot understand why anyone would want to use a handheld torch.  A head torch is brilliant because wherever you look you can see.

For miles!

Team mates call on you to light the way as you run about in the dark, or to act as a standard lamp while they consult the map. The personal advantage was that if I can see where I was going I might not fall over quite so often in the dark, when out training. But,  I discovered that there are drawbacks with this wonderful head torch of mine. 

First of all there are the aspersions some team mates cast on the head torch being a bit bright...."Look,"  Andy said to me when we were out on our overnight training session, "I don't even need to turn my torch on, yours is so bright."

Well, I thought that was the idea?

Then of course there is the drawback of how ridiculous I look.  I get myself all kitted up and do my hair all nicely before going out for a run and then I plonk the head torch on my head.  Immediately the weight clamps my hair to my head and squashes my eyebrows down so I look like a furious, idiotic Cyclops who is having a bad hair day.  And finally, there are the social gaffes that I have made whilst wearing my head torch.  These gaffes have lead me to come up with rules of etiquette for wearing a head torch.

Rule number 1:

Wearing a head torch is releasing but you will look ridiculous.  Therefore, only wear it in the dark, it is not a fashion accessory and this avoids people laughing and pointing at you.

Rule number 2:

It is not socially acceptable to blind people with the laser-like beam of a torch.  Do not look your training partners/team mates/ friends full in the face whilst wearing an illuminated head torch.  The resultant ear-splitting screech of pain and backwards jerk is terrifying to behold.  It may just cause you permanent hearing loss and them serious injury.  So, as a precaution, lift the right hand up and over the torch beam as you turn to exchange pleasantries with them.

Rule number 3:

It comes to all of us runners/riders/adventure racers at some point, the urgent need to wee whilst out exercising. Sometimes this happens in the dead of night when we are running about illuminating our route with a head torch.  What we need to remember is that unlike the Romans, who viewed the emptying of bladder and bowels as a communal event, we in the modern world do not.  There is no point going and finding a nice hiding place behind a bush if we are then going to shed a spotlight on the entire occasion with our head torches.  So the method is find a place, inspect for any nettles or nasties, squat and switch out the light.

Yes...switch it off!

Re-emerge from bushes with dignity intact, relight your torch and go on your merry way.

These three simple rules will make the wearing of a head torch a transformative and positive experience and not a scarring one.  Go on, light it up I know you want to.

Splash and Dash (Part 7)

When we arrived at the check point where we would transition from bike to kayak at about 6:30 in the morning, we were met by Ivan Parks, who told us that he would probably short course us.  This is not unheard of in adventure racing which is a sport where to finish at all is regarded as an achievement. Short coursing happens in all expedition length races.  This doesn't mean that you are disqualified or that you drop out or don't finish.  You still cross the finish line but it simply means that you are not expected to be able to complete the full course in the allotted time frame of the race.  What it does mean however, is that the teams that are short coursed are given time penalties in a handicapping system that prevents the travesty of a team that is short coursed beating a team that is doing the full course.  In terms of distance, for us, in the end, it knocked about 15km off the total full mandatory course.

Right that explanation over, I will get back to sharing my adventure with you!

We whizzed into the transition area, full of the knowledge that we were racing against the clock and we needed to be quick.  We had been fairly slow in our other transitions and we knew we needed to sort this out.  Although when we planned for the race, Andy was going to take on the role of chivvying everyone through transition, in a quiet conversation, Andy  and I had had during the race, he stated that felt unable to do that, he was finding it difficult to boss the Phillips family about.  So, at the transition I simply turned on Mummy Nag Mode.  And it worked!  Apparently, I don't find it hard to boss my family about!

I was chivvying those men and nagging Ross and Will like I was born to it which I guess I was.  I had noticed that at transition Ross likes to do everything for everyone  (which is very kind) but consequently holds everyone up because he hasn't got his own stuff done (which is very frustrating) .  Will unpacks his whole bag and repacks it and Andy stands around, ready to go getting frustrated and impatient. If I am cold, I get really slow and incapable but otherwise I can be fairly quick...

This time in transition, Andy and I attached kayak seats and he sorted PFDs while Ross and Will dismantled bikes.  I reconstituted 4 packets of dehydrated pasta and mince with hot water and presented this to my ungrateful team mates.  Well, I thought they were ungrateful until I tasted it.  It was the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten.  Heartburn in a bag.  There is a fantastic photo of Andy on the sleep monsters website looking like he is eating poison or poo!  His face is a picture of horror and disgust.  He was eating "with long teeth"!  Will perversely, or should that be typically, enjoyed it.  This caused a great deal of good natured bickering about the meal which also found mention on the Sleep Monsters website....we weren't really arguing as was reported, it was just a frank exchange of views on the food!

Several of the other teams who were in the transition at the same time as us appeared to be having quite a long rest.  Not us though.  We were ready to go very quickly and one of the marshals told me that we had had one of the fastest transitions at that area that he had seen.  I was rallying my troops well and properly then!  I seem to have found my niche in the team... Transition Nag!

We marched over to our kayaks, where Andy and I had stashed the backpacks on them already.  We were to port our kayaks about 150m across a road down to the river.  That was all well and good in theory but have you ever tried to lift a tank?!  I willingly went to my end of the kayak, Ross at the other end.

"OK go!"  I commanded.  Ross's end lifted clear of the ground, mine stayed firmly where it was.  Try as I might I couldn't lift the thing.  I could see Ross getting frustrated at the other end, not to mention the veins popping out on his neck where he was holding the dead weight of the kayak up.  I got it up finally using two hands and started to walk backwards feeling as though my arms were to rip out of their sockets. Suddenly one of the marshals had mercy on me and came along and took my end of the kayak and he and Ross walked it down to the water's edge. I am eternally grateful to that kind man!

We launched into the water from the shore with a mighty shove from behind by a marshal, a warning ringing in our ears, to be careful as they had already 'had a few swimmers'.  We listened to their instructions and made for the middle arch of the bridge where the water was flowing rapidly.  The current was strong and got stronger the further downstream we went.  It was turning into a beautiful morning, there was a light breeze, it was a bit chilly but the sun was starting to break through the clouds.

We had been told that there were several weirs to go down and that the biggest two, which happened to be the last two would be marshalled.   This would be the first time I had ever really paddled on moving water.  With the exception of a couple of short sea paddles and a tiny paddle on the Thames, the majority of my paddling has been done on flat water or dams.  I was rather looking forward to it.  The idea of going over a weir was a little daunting but having leapt off a waterfall, I felt I could face this.

I loved it, despite the nerves I was feeling at the beginning of the race.  Going over the little rapids and the weirs was fun!  This doesn't mean their weren't mishaps, it wouldn't be my story if there weren't...

We got through the first weir with no problem and I heard a whoop of joy escape my lips!  We paddled on towards the second weir.  This was a bit bigger and seemed to be faster flowing.  This was when we made a mistake.  Instead of paddling over it straight away we decided to approach cautiously to have a look and decide the best route to take.  Error!  We managed to get ourselves side-on to the weir.  That was when the current took us and swept us, desperately flaying our paddles, over the weir and tipped us unceremoniously out of our boat. River 1- Ross and Emma 0.

We were thrashing about trying to right the kayak and climb in when Will and Andy sailed over it with no problem, raucously laughing at us... Hah!  Their time was coming....

We righted ourselves and carried on downstream enjoying the trip.  In no time at all we came along side Andy and Will.  Will was groaning and complaining of cramping abs (abdominal muscles).  I suggested, that he lie back and stretch them out which he did looking a bit like a sun tanning lizard while Andy had to paddle both of them for a bit.  Both kayaks negotiated several more weirs, without mishap.  The weirs seemed to be increasing in size and ferocity as we went down the river.  It was quite a challenge to avoid all the obstacles and hazards under the surface and both boats were occasionally perched on top of unseen rocks or sand/stone banks. 

However, we were getting better at reading the river and choosing which route to take. We got to one low shoot under a tree.  There wasn't really an alternative route, so we had to get the boat at just the right angle and to lie back, flat against the boat as we slid rapidly under the tree.  Ross used his paddle as a stern rudder as we brushed, without incident under the tree.  It was a tricky thing to negotiate and so we got ourselves out of the fast flowing water and dug our paddles into the water, to stop us floating down-stream as we shouted instructions to Andy and Will.

It's a pity they didn't listen....

There was a high pitched girly shriek from their craft as the tree grabbed hold of Will's earring (we had told him to removed all jewellery before the race) and ripped it from his ear. Fortunately, his earlobe wasn't shredded by it.  They hit the shoot all wrong and were flung from their kayak into the cold water.  Although it must be noted that Andy now claims that this was a strategic dunking so that he could swallow gallons of river water to deal with the indigestion-inducing rehydrated breakfast that was slowly burning a hole in his gut! 

With insincere calls of, "Are you all right?"(well, they did laugh at us!!)  we watched them struggle to climb back in their boat and we all carried on. All this good natured ragging is good for team morale.

Several more weirs down and we came to one that almost had the better of us. Looking at the flow of water we realised the best route would take us under a bridge that was so low even I would have to lie flat and so narrow that we would have to hold our paddles parallel with the side of the kayak.  The problem came when as I lay back and tried to swing my paddle horizontal and parallel with the kayak the speed of the water took us by surprise and I managed to get my paddle wedged across the roof and sides of the opening.  With panicky shrieks and almost lying so flat my head was in Ross's lap, I tried to pull the paddle out.  Our boat was being swept away but my arms were wedged with the paddle and were being wrenched from their sockets.  Ross, by sheer force of will and brute strength, managed to force the kayak back against the flow of water and I released my paddle only to discover that not only had it been wedged in the opening but also had got tangled up with Ross's. We wrestled them free and shot through the gap without any further ado.

20km is a long way to paddle when you have to concentrate!  The river widened out and I started to wonder if we would ever get to the marshalled weir.  I was also wondering what it could be like when we had already had to get through a number of challenging obstacles without marshals.  Just how bad could it be?

No, really....how bad?

The water suddenly got a lot calmer and there appeared, on the left bank, wearing a warm coat and a beanie, a lady marshal.  We paddled over to her to get instructions.  I still couldn't see the obstacle that we were meant to go over. 

Ross and I elected to go first.  Tentatively we  paddled over to it.  The force of the water pushed us onto the top.

Oh......My...GULP!!

We were perched on the top of a HUGE weir.  It was about a 4m drop.

I cannot begin to describe the feeling of inevitable doom that I felt creeping over me.  As per instructions we leant forward. It was over in a matter of moments but I felt we went through the whole thing in slow motion.  I can recall small details.  The craft went into a nosedive down the weir. The entire boat was on the almost vertical slope and was not yet near the bottom.  I don't know why but the kayak started to lean to the right.  To compensate I leant over to the left but it was no good. As our prow hit the water and disappeared beneath the surface we were catapulted off it and unceremoniously dunked into the depths at the bottom of the weir.  I surfaced spluttering and gasping. Kicking out, I expected to reach the bottom but below me was only water.  I clutched onto our unturned kayak.

That was then I realised that at the foot of the weir in the washing machine mess of churning water, my drink bottle was swirling around.


"My water bottle," I shrieked at Ross.

Just then the front of Will and Andy's kayak appeared at the top of the weir.  It hung there for a minute, as if someone had pressed the pause button on the remote and then hurtled down the slope towards us.  It looked like they were going to make it.  Ross called out to William, "Grab your mum's water bottle won't you?"

In a moment of rare filial compliance and obedience Will reached out for the bottle.  I bet he and Andy wished he hadn't....

It was enough for them to upend and overturn their kayak.  Within seconds all four members of Team Beacon AR were bobbing about at the foot of a weir in a cold Irish river.  Lovely!

That was when I pointed out to Ross that I couldn't reach the bottom.  Apparently neither could Andy.  Long shanks Ross and Will both could.  They were trying to manoeuvre boats and we were treading water, trying to keep our heads above the surface. On top of this, I had whacked my knees so hard on the kayak when I fell out of it I seem to have lost feeling in my lower legs.  I still have the bruises 2 1/2 weeks later.

Eventually the four of us managed to get back into our boats and carried on downriver to the final (we hoped) obstacle of the kayak section. By this point I was a little chilly....

Oh what fresh horror is this?  Another HUGE weir.  This one was about 3 metres high.  The marshal here was pottering about in the water on a little white water kayak.  (Lucky thing!)

His instructions were slightly different from those  for the previous (disastrous) weir.  He told us to paddle hard, lean forward and then lean back.  I have to say that by this point I was expecting a dunking but praying hard to avoid one.  We stuck slightly on the top of the wall, rocked and rushed down the slope.  The water came up to meet us in a swirling flurry.  I sat there expecting the  inevitable....the water rushed over my legs as the nose of our boat dug into the water at the foot of the weir and then popped back up with us still on top.  We had managed to stay upright and afloat! We paddled a little way forward and waited for Will and Andy to come over which they did without any mishap.

The marshal told us to paddle a bit further down and exit at a slipway, river left.  I was freezing cold but elated and paddled downstream with renewed vigour.

When we got to the slipway we saw we would have to port the kayaks about 200m across a field to a car park where we would transition to foot.  No problem.  It was when I got off the kayak that the uncontrollable shivering started.  Ross, Andy and Will handed me their paddles and started to get the boats clear of the water.  I couldn't talk by now my teeth were chattering so hard.  Ross told me to go ahead and I started my wobbly way across the field on legs that were shaking with cold.  I got to the car park well ahead of the 3 guys who were trying to do a 4 person job with only 3 people.

I think I must have looked in a bit of a state.  I was vibrating like a chihuahua I was so cold.  One of the lady marshal asked me if I was ok and said she could pull me out of the race immediately if I needed her to.  I indicated through chattering teeth that I didn't want to stop.  (I was quite afraid to talk, in case the uncontrollable shivering made me bite off my tongue...)

The kind marshal who had helped carry the kayak down to the river's edge at the start of this section materialised besides me with a hot cup of coffee in a thermos lid.  He wrapped my hands around the cup. It was lovely and warm but try as I might I couldn't stop shaking and most of the coffee slopped out all over my hands. This was ridiculous! Eventually I managed to gulp down what left in the mug which helped a little bit.

The lady marshal asked if I had spare clothes because I was soaked to the skin.  I managed to lock my jaw enough to get out the words that my dry clothes were in my bag on the kayak. (Fortunately they were inside ziplock plastic bags and the whole rucksack was inside a waterproof drybag that kept it dry during its swim in the river!) The rest of the team appeared and somehow between the marshal and my team, my clothes were located.  I was incapable of helping myself.

The marshals managed to find two towels and she got me round the back of a van in the car park.  She held up the towel for modesty but by this time I cared not and would have flashed my goose bumps to all and sundry if it meant I could get out of the wet gear and into some dry clothes.  I couldn't get my bra off and she had to help me.  My hands were shaking too much to function properly.  Eventually I rubbed dry and then she had to help me dress.  Meanwhile, the other marshal had laid my coat out to dry in the weak sun and breeze.  It truly is a fantastic coat because it dried in no time.  By the time we had got me dressed, he reappeared with my coat and I gratefully put in on and pulled a buff onto my head.  Now it came time to get my shoes on.  I couldn't do it on my own and the marshal helped me lace them up.  I cannot thank them enough.

I think Ross gave me some food, I think it was the meal replacement but I was feeling a bit grim and I can't really remember.  What I do remember is that Andy was also freezing cold, by this time he was going through his bad patch and was white as a sheet. I think I told him he looked terrible which probably wasn't the most encouraging thing I could have said but by this time the thin veneer of civilisation and all my filters were well and truly gone.  Mine weren't the only ones gone because I had to stop Will from having a wee in full public view on the side of a busy road!

We started the walking section.  I know we were meant to do a long hike, 25 km over a huge ridge but it wasn't going to happen.  We walked a total of 10km.  I was on tow behind Ross and Andy was on tow behind Will.  After a couple of hours we realised there was no way we would make it over the whole ridge. We knew we were being short-coursed, it was just a matter of when. When had come!  Ross phoned in to the race director.  We back tracked to the last checkpoint and waited for our transport to the transition area.  While we waited, I ingested my last meal replacement drink of the race and gratefully closed my eyes for two minutes.  Will and Andy had a short doze accompanied once again by deep sonorous snores. Our transport arrived in about 10 minutes.

Our transport....

The back of a white van.....

We sat huddled together in the dark interior of the back end of the van without a hand hold to be seen and tried hard not to end up on each others' laps as we slid all over the place. It was quite a ride.  As we were being driven along, I was undergoing a change in the dark of the van, I was becoming Transition Nag.  I was telling the men that I could help put on the front wheels on the bikes, that we didn't need a lot of food for this final stage and generally handing out jobs and being as bossy and giving strict instructions to stop duplication of roles and to prevent faffing.

You know what they say about giving someone a little bit of power...

When we got to the transition we discovered we had to demolish the 3 of the bike boxes and throw all our spare kit into one box.  I found myself giving loud, slightly impatient instructions to fellow team members and chivvying them to "HURRY UP!!!"

We jumped on our bikes with just under two hours remaining in the race.  We needed to hurry to make a final dash for the finish line. We were sent home on the most direct short course route, all roads.  Even so, we were cutting it fine. Coming out of the transition we rode down an incredible down-hill that had me standing up in the pedals whooping with delight.  Then we started the gradual, but relentless uphill back towards Blackwater Castle and the finish line.  From that point,  I was on tow the whole way which was a pretty hair raising experience particularly going around roundabouts in traffic.  We were flying.  Ross was like a machine powering his way up hills, screaming at me to "pedal, pedal...really push through it."  He is so strong, having towed me on foot and on bike for nigh on a hundred kilometres.

We were right up against the clock, on a new and unplanned route. The sun was beating down on us (finally) and we were desperate to finish with as few time penalties as possible.

Our bikes were beginning to show wear and tear.  I had lost my lowest gear and so was having to power up hills in a harder gear than was strictly comfortable.  William's front forks on his bike were wobbly and his hydraulic brakes seemed to be leaking so he kept having to adjust them.  We ignored all this as the realisation slowly dawned on us that we were going to finish this race and we were going to cross that finish line.  It didn't matter if we came stone last, we were going to succeed.

The final leg of the cycle is uphill.  Steep uphill on tired legs.  Steep uphill on tired legs with gears that have stopped working...

Ross and I steamed up those hills.  He just kept screaming at me to pedal harder and faster, and tough! if my gears had died!  Andy said he looked back and heard Ross yelling at us to pedal and realised that Ross and consequently me on tow behind him were actually accelerating up the final hill into the village.

As we turned off the main road into the castle's driveway (another uphill) our tow rope finally gave up the ghost and snapped.  That was ok.  I wanted to power my way across that line unassisted.  As we came to the line, the castle owner, Patrick, started playing "Oh when the saints come marching in" on his trumpet.  As he piped us in, the four of us came alongside each other and in a show of solidarity and in an expression of the team spirit that had permeated our race, crossed the finish line together.

Our ethos was team, our goal had been to finish as a team, our strategy twas to go for mandatory check points. And that is what we did. When everything came out in the wash we had 260 points subtracted in penalties which translated to about 2 hours time penalties.  We set out to finish, we achieved our goal but a greater surprise came when the final results were announced and we were placed 18th out of 28.  What a surprise.  What a bonus!


We had done it.
204 km
40 hours
A lifetime of memories.
Beacon AR and the Beast of Ballyhoura.
It was hard, it was worth it.
Will I do it again?
Watch this space.  The adventure continues....

Things that go bump in the night..... (part 6)

Feeling invigorated by the dunking in the river during the canyoneering, I was eager to get back on my bike and get a few miles under our belt.  However, Ross pointed out that we needed to get some speed on, so I swallowed my pride and accepted a tow.  He rode passed me and handed me the end of the retractable dog lead that we use for towing.  It is a bit like grabbing hold of a floppy baton in a relay race but I caught it.  This didn't mean I would be sitting back and doing nothing.  I still had to pedal flat out but Ross was giving me about a 20% boost to my speed and power.    It had worked earlier in the day and I knew that for the benefit of the team, I needed to be on tow.

After a little while, Ross said that he was going to put on speed and I needed to prepare myself for the coming jerk on the tow rope which was held in the first 3 fingers of my right hand.  The promised increase didn't seem to materialise and I was overwhelmed with the need for a sip of water.  So, I took my left hand off the handle bars and wrestled the bottle out of the holder on my crossbar.  I had just lifted the bottle to my parched lips,

                                                     ....YANK....

Ross put on the burst of, by now, unexpected speed.

 "AAARGH!!!  ROSS!!"  I screamed as I was pinged across the road like a slingshot.  The water bottle flew out of my hand. The webbing handle of the tow rope was painfully ripped from my grasp. Completely out of control, I hurtled towards a hedge on the opposite side of the road. The verge and hedge came up rapidly to meet me as I flew off my saddle and landed face first.  My right hand was cut and grazed and the third finger on my right hand started to swell and throb (It still hurts two weeks later!) I was bruised and battered but the thing that was most painful was my top lip. 

"Ross, what is wrong with my lip?"  I lisped at him, licking it tentatively.
"I can't see anything"
"Are you sure, it's really sore.  Is it bleeding? It feels like it's grazed."
"There is nothing wrong with it... No wait, you have nettle rash."

Just my luck, I managed to land face-first in a nettle patch.

Feeling slightly shaky, I climbed back on my bike and politely refused the offer of a tow whilst I tried to regain my sense of equilibrium and dignity.  Andy was incredulous when I told him I had been trying to have a drink while being towed.  He reckons towing is one of the most terrifying things you can do and requires total concentration.  I am borderline A.D.D so total concentration is not in my make up.  I had managed to drink before, I have no idea why it went wrong this time. 

After a little while I accepted the tow again but told Ross I wouldn't be on tow after dark, I was quite shaken up by the experience.

 The surfaces we had ridden on varied  from single track, to gravel paths and tar strip roads. We pootled along for many miles until we came to a detour due to a road closure as a result of a bridge being down.   We then came to yet another road detour due to another bridge closure.  It was going to be a 14km detour.  We didn't fancy that.  As we were contemplating our options, a lady drove passed us in her car and asked where we were going.  When we told her, she said that she had seen some people crossing the bridge on the scaffolding.

Now, we are all law-abiding people but the thought of doing extra mileage must have flipped a switch in all of us because before you could say "Adventure Race" the four of us were pedaling down the closed road to investigate the non-bridge. 

The road had big 6 foot, free-standing, metal fence barriers all the way across it.  This did not deter us and we managed to get all four bikes around that barrier in no time flat.  We wheeled our bikes down towards the non-bridge quick as you like (me feeling terrified that the police would turn up and tell us off at any moment.) 

She wasn't kidding when she said the bridge was down.  The bridge was non-existent.  The road ended in a precipice and a scaffold was erected across the whole river.  We had to lower our bikes down on to the scaffold and then wheel them across a narrow walkway and pass them up to each other on the other side.  The scaffolding was pretty high up above the river below.  We popped out on the other side of the river worked around some more barriers to be greeted by two friendly chaps sitting in a car.

"Hello lads," they greeted us (I think by this time I must have qualified as a lad!)
 "Err hello," we said a little sheepishly.
"Anymore coming across?" they asked conversationally.
"Um, not sure really.  There could be.  This is a race, you see."  Bearing in mind at the time we thought we were stone last, we were hedging our bets on whether anyone was behind us.

They then revealed that they had seen some other racers doing the same thing, bid us good night and drove off just as another local resident popped out of his house to find out what we were doing in the middle of nowhere in the gloom of evening on our bikes....  we went through our explanation again and they wished us, "Good luck lads,"  (Could they not see my long plaited hair??!!) and we went on our way.

After that the road and the night became a blur of pumping pedals and the circle of light from my head torch as we rode mile after mile to get to the mandatory checkpoints we needed.  I remember getting to a checkpoint on a gate somewhere on a gravel road.  It was dark and the air around us was full of rain.  I dibbed into the CP marker and heard Ross utter the words I was desperate for, "Right Will and Emma you can lie down for 5 minutes." 

Andy consults map
 while Will and I close our eyes briefly

I lay down on the gravel road using my backpack as a pillow and blissfully shut my eyes.  Just as I was about to drop off, "Time to go."  I had a cereal bar thrust into my hand and I stuffed it down.  We hopped back on our bikes and carried on.

I have no idea what the time was. Although we were racing the clock, time had lost all meaning.  We were in this weird bubble.  There was nowhere else we could be, we couldn't concern ourselves with the stuff that normally fills our lives and were intensely involved in what we were doing.  Our phones were sealed so there were no distraction and our everyday lives seemed a thousand miles away.  

The road started to get steeper and steeper. For a while I managed and then I started to fall behind,  Ross put a hand on my back and gave me a shove.  I pedalled on, struggling with every turn of the crank.  It soon became obvious to everyone that we would have to get off and walk.  We walked for hours.

The rain fell for hour after hour as we trekked up into the hills, sometimes pushing, sometimes riding.  I can't honestly remember much of this part of the race because I was almost incoherent with tiredness.  Coping with sleep deprivation has always been something I struggled with, even as a young mum.... it has been known to bring on migraines in the past.  It was the one thing, aside from the modesty dilemmas that had most concerned me in the run up to the race.

I announced to my bemused teammates that I was feeling 'tearful and shouty.'  Andy did ask afterwards, "What was different from normal?"  (Cheeky toe-rag!!) The phrase tearful and shouty caused great hilarity every time it was  mentioned after the race. But, at the time I was completely, intensely serious and I was trying to warn them that I was literally at the end of my tether.

I cannot remember how long we pushed our bikes up those hills with the rain lashing us and just our head torches and the wind for company. We fell silent as we slogged it out, our banter of earlier fading as we all dealt with the need to overcome our natural instinct to sleep. On and on we went.  Our progress was being hampered by my inability to ride because I was so spent.  Ross had long ago taken my bike and was pushing it along with his own. I was stumbling along in a state of total exhaustion. I was in an agony of misery.  My head was flopping on my shoulders, my arms uselessly swinging in front of me and my mouth was hanging open...I looked, as Ross's Scottish family would put it, glaikit .

"I need to stop. I need to stop."  I moaned.  I didn't want to quit the race.  Even at the extremes of exhaustion, the thought never crossed my mind.  All I wanted to do was stop and lie down for a few minutes to recharge my batteries. I told Ross so, "Well you can't.  You will get through it." he handed me an energy gel. "Are you drinking?" he asked. 

Drinking?  drinking?  Is that all he could think about....I was beyond tired.  I could have quite cheerfully inflicted a serious injury to him if I had the energy.  Bless him, all the while he continued to push our bikes up the unrelenting hills.  I can't remember any down hills for hours.  Although, I am sure my perceptions are warped by how I was feeling. 

Will came alongside me.  He put his arm around me and started to gently push me up the hills,  "I need to stop."  I said.  The tears were trickling down my face and I was snivelling as I rested my head in the crook of his shoulder.  Parent - child role reversal.

Ross promised we might be able to have a rest at the next check point but in the end,  I think he must have taken a closer look at me and then I heard a muttered conversation with Andy about getting me out of the rain and the cold for a bit.  I stood like an anaesthetised cow, dull and stupid, unable to contribute while the 3 of them sorted out bikes, food, got my little back rest/carry mat thing out of my bag and put the emergency shelter 'up'.

Ah yes,  the emergency shelter or more aptly named bivvy bag...This is the recipe for the emergency shelter:

Imagine something bright orange and slightly larger than the plastic bag you get at a supermarket checkout.  Take four adults who are wearing soggy trainers and damp clothes and  who have been, by turns, wet and sweaty for 24 hours. Insert into aforementioned bright orange bag. Add to this the high energy food that is having unfortunately consequences on their lower digestion and get them to all sit very close to each other underneath this teeny tiny bag.  Now mix in with this, the complication that when you have been active for that length of time and you try to fold yourself into a small ball that cramps and discomfort will ensue.  Add to this heady mix their attempts to stay warm (drafts kept creeping underneath), eat something and do this in the confines of something only slightly larger than a shoe box.  Can you just imagine?

Will decided to try to lie down.  the whole bag went with him and we all disabused him of that notion rapidly.  I found that I had my nose pressed in Ross's armpit.  This was unfortunate, because by Ross's own admission, he smelt like a polecat.  My trainers stank like dog wee (I am going to have words with the dogs!) And, although I have known Andy for quite a while, I have never until this race felt the need to expel gas before him.  The atmosphere in the tent was so thick that you could have chewed it, if you were brave enough.  The four of us tried not to breathe....for 20 minutes.  And sleep?  Forget about it!

The idea was that we were meant to stay in the shelter for the full 20 minutes but I think Andy lasted about 15.  He had been making short gasping grunts and groans for a full 5 minutes before he decided to bail, "I have got to get out, I am cramping and so uncomfortable,"  he said as he scrabbled to find a way out under the edge of the bag which I had firmly tucked under my bum.  The unspoken plea was "let me out! oh save me!let me out!"  Poor man, we let him go.

I was beginning to think that despite how tired I was anything was preferable to having my nose that close to Ross' s stinking shirt for a moment longer.  (Maybe this was actually his strategy?)  When he called time to go I too scrambled free from the shelter with alacrity.

The slog continued.  We finally made it to the next check point and dibbed in.  At this checkpoint there was meant to be a task but, due to weather conditions (mist and rain), the task had been closed.  It was shooting at beer bottles with a gun.  Hmmm good job they didn't give me the gun at that point due to the mental state from lack of sleep.  Even though I was back on my feet I was still feeling tearful and shouty and less than charitable towards my teammates.

Will, by this point, had asked Andy to take on the navigation as Will felt he needed a break.  Andy discovered that from the top of this mountain/ big hill there didn't seem to be many options on how to get down except over a really stony, steep, bumpy downhill.  Now I like a technically challenging downhill under normal circumstances but in the dark, after a day with no sleep, it was more than a little hair-raising!  I was extremely grateful when we made it to a tar road.  It seems Ross had been right about getting through the terrible bit, because by this time, although I was still tired, I wasn't feeling out of it or in a state of mental derangement anymore.  I was glad to be riding by bike.

And ride we did, for mile after mile after mile.

Where is the CP...shortly after this we got our cup of tea.
Andy, me, Will

We came to a village where a CP should have been.  We searched high and low.  We bumped into another team who were searching high and low.  None of us could find this CP.  The other team disappeared and we were getting on our bikes when suddenly a chap appeared before us.  He was the landlord of the local pub. 

"What are you doing?" he asked.  Wouldn't you when 4 sweaty smelly people start poking around in your village at 2:45 in the morning?  We explained what we were up to and he surprised us with such a fantastic gesture.

"Will you have a cup of tea?"  We fell on his generosity like a starving man on a hog roast.  He led us into his (now shut for the night) pub without a thought for the mess we would trail in.  His wife brought out tea and biscuits and even offered us a flask to take with us.  The kindness, friendliness and generosity of the Irish people throughout our race was really special.  Downing the tea, we declined the offer of the flask, thanked our hosts and  got on our way.

We never did find that check point though!

I was still quite tired but it wasn't  in the bone-weary sense of the word anymore.  It was more of the sleepy kind.  I kept wanting to nod off on the bike.  So, in an act of supreme self-sacrifice on my part, to assist my team, I decided to take a caffeine tablet.  (I am extremely sensitive to caffeine and as advised by the doctors I am completely caffeine free in order to avoid the unpleasant consequences of contact with it- migraines, palpitations and asthma attacks)  After a bit of discussion with Ross about whether I should, I popped the tablet.  Thank goodness it was short lasting!  I felt like my eyelids had ceased to work - they were fixed open but I still felt sleepy.  Peculiar!  But, at least I could ride my bike....or not because my heart rate shot up.  Oops! That was a failed experiment.

As soon as it wore off we were all back on bikes and pedalling away.  Then the sleep monsters attacked.

"What," you may well ask, "are sleep monsters?"

 We had been awake for more than a day,  even though we had the hour and a half rest before the race started, we really hadn't had any sleep to speak of since 6.30 am on Friday morning before the race.  It was now the early hours of Sunday morning and by this point we had been racing for well over 24 hours.  Sleep deprivation does funny things to people.  I started first. The tar on the road was variegated with light and dark patches.  All of a sudden and with no warning the light patches seemed to morph before my eyes into boulders and what looked like bridges.  They literally leapt out of the tar and I had to ride around them.  It was bizarre.  Then William stopped for a wee on the side of the road and I did a double take as standing where William had once been was Father Christmas...waving his arms around!  I blinked. I looked again and William had returned.  It sounds quite psychedelic I know!  But, it is all true and all down to sleep deprivation.

I then informed Ross and Andy that there was a little girl on the road.  I could see her clearly.  They both believed me (!) and started looking for her.   "No there isn't." they said.  I already knew that because she had changed into a seal and disappeared into the hedge.

I found it affected my speech and that I couldn't think of the right words.  I, in all seriousness announced to Will and Andy that I had sparkles in my shoes that were hurting my feet.  Yep!  Prickles, not sparkles.

I wasn't alone in my mad meanderings.  At one point when Ross was pushing my bike (the reason for this is unclear)  Andy told me he thought he could see a gypsy caravan just ahead...it was Ross pushing two bikes.  Andy was also 'seeing' little creatures scurrying around.  Meanwhile William was seeing bigger ones that might attack him and which he thought he would have to slay with his sword (water bottle attached to his bike)  Ross said he was finding his head torch light mesmerising and he would just stare at it....It all may sound unbelievable but it is all true, we really did experience this weird things. The mind plays surreal tricks on itself when you are that tired.  

The tiredness by this point was our biggest problem.  We were physically fine.  I had come through my wobble but was very sleepy.  I can remember standing next to my bike on the verge because the guys were consulting the map.  Next thing I knew I was collapsed, fast asleep, in a heap on the ground, the bike had fallen on me and I heard Will saying, "Mum's down!"  I pushed the bike off me,  stood up and got back on it to continue riding.

We were going along ok but we all kept falling asleep on our bikes.  This is a seriously risky thing to do.  I nodded off fairly regularly and instructions from Ross, "CONCENTRATE!"  weren't helping. The more I concentrated the more I dozed off. I kept jerking awake as I veered to the side.  The worse moment came when I woke up to find myself careening out of control, sideswiping a hedge.  Ross saw this and said it gave him a serious fright.  He is not the only one!  After this fright, the adrenalin from the shock shorted my doziness out and I was more able to function. 

I wasn't the only one who had a near miss.  Shortly after little episode, I was cycling along next to Andy and he suddenly swerved into the driveway of a house we were passing.  "Where you going?" I asked and he came to.  He did the same thing with a hedge and actually crashed. Talk about things that go bump in the night!

 It was just after this that Ross called a halt and said, "Time for a 5 minute nap."

Such sweet words.  We found a house with a nice dry(-ish) bit of pavement and a wall to lean against and gratefully dumped our bikes and packs as we sank to the ground to have that snooze.  Just as we were getting comfy....

"Aroo, aroo, woof, aroo, woof, woof, woof."

We all groaned.  We tried to keep completely quiet but to no avail and in the end had to get back on the bikes Dog 1- Beacon AR 0.  We cycled for another couple of kilometres before we found another suitable wall and pavement, without a dog. 

Fast asleep for all of 8 minutes

Will and Andy snoozing

We sank down into the arms of sleep.  I wasn't going to waste a minute of this 5 minutes.  Nor, apparently was Andy, who snored sonorously from the minute his bike helmet came to rest on the ground until the minute Ross said, "That's it, get up.  You've had 8 minutes.  I have been kind but it is time to go."

And it was time to go.  I leapt up (for someone who is normally very slow at getting going after sleep I was managing to get moving quite quickly)  We were back on our bikes and as dawn broke we were making our way down to the transition point for the second kayak section of the race. 

By the time we got to the transition zone we had covered 137.47km,  105.7 of those on our bicycles  and the race was about 27 hours old.  As the grey strands of dawn spread we were able to leave the monsters of the night behind and head towards our second day on the Beast of Ballyhoura.  Bring it on!

Are you kidding me....you want me to jump off THAT?!! (Part 5)

Andy located our wetsuit bag and handed out the wetsuits.  The race organiser had thoughtfully erected a tent for us to change into our wetsuits.  Modesty dilemma number 3.  Do I go into this open-sided tent with all the blokes and take off my clothes and then perform the gymnastic routine required to get into the wetsuit?  Or should I go into the little toilet block and change. Go figure.... I went into the loos. 

The challenges presented by adventure racing require you to face your fears, inhibitions and foibles.  I was being challenged in the prude department.  The thing I have realised is that in racing, your body is a machine and no one is looking at you.... So I had a brain-wave.  Why get yet another bra wet that I would then have to carry for hours in my backpack....I was going to bravely take it off and put on my wetsuit. This was almost akin to skinny dipping for me. Wow!  I was making great strides.  Meanwhile Ross, Will and Andy were being embarrassed by less prudish women who were stripping off all over the place. Ivan was right....the adventure racing crowd are an uninhibited lot!

Once we had donned our wetsuits, the 4 of us gathered together, ready to face the next challenge.  William like me, was wearing a brand new wet suit.  Unfortunately, to accommodate his broad shoulders he bought a wet suit that is about two sizes too big and looked like Andy Pandy.  Andy, meanwhile had the perfect size, winter weight wetsuit. (For which he must have been really grateful as the water turned out to be a bit chilly!)  Ross's wetsuit...well...it was too small and he looked like he was in a full body cast.  He kept thrusting his head forward, out of the neck line in an attempt to catch some breath.  The neck was so tight it looked like a vicar's dog collar gone wrong! 

We all started to waddle, squelch and squeak our way up the 2 1/2 km walk to the start of the canyoneering section of our race.  Ross had to mince, due to the tightness of his suit.  I never seen him walk like that before....I never want to again!! (It is not good for a wife to see this!!)

Even though we had watched the video of the river with its grade 5 rapids, down which we were canyoneering for just over 2 km, I had no idea of what to expect.  We arrived at the head of the first obstacle.  It was a 12 foot waterfall.  We had to launch ourselves off this, one at a time, into the roiling white water below. 

I was overcome by terror.

Andy decided to go first.  He approach the lip of the waterfall.  The instructor/marshal instructed him on how to tuck up his legs and where to aim for when he jumped.  He squatted.  He paused.  He paused a bit more.  It seemed as if a dose of common sense overcame him....I thought, he wasn't going to go...He thought he wasn't going to either. He squatted a bit more and then launched himself into space.  He only realised he had jumped when he found himself in the air.  Seconds later, he hit the water, disappeared from view and bobbed right back up.  Next up was Ross, he leapt without hesitation and reappeared in no time, his glasses firmly held on his face by his sports strap.  They didn't even look like they had moved a millimetre.

Now it was my turn.

Ten minutes later it was still my turn.

The instructor told me where to aim. I approached the edge.  I hate edges. I am frightened of falling over them.  I am not fond of the idea of going under that water either.... I squatted down and tried to straightened my legs to launch myself over.  No Go.  I tried again.

I mentioned something along the lines of being terrified. The marshal was so sweet.  I jokily said, "I think I would rather go over it in a kayak"  The air was blue with her reply...in summation she told me I was mad, she would rather jump it!  Will said I had to go.  I tried again....nope.

Another team turned up...I had to let them go through.  Meanwhile Ross and Andy are waiting in the freezing cold water.

I looked again. She re-explained the technique.  It's just like a bomb I said, as she told me I would have to tuck my legs into a ball.

The marshal said I had to go or our team would be disqualified. (She told Will that she wouldn't have done that) I told her I really wanted to do it for my team.   Will wanted me to go before him because he was worried I wouldn't go.  Eventually, I made Will go first.  He went over like a dream.  The marshal pointed out that I was wearing a PFD which would pop me back up to the surface.

Now I had 3 men at the bottom of the waterfall gesturing for me to jump, shouting encouragement. 

Finally, from somewhere deep within me I found a level of courage and determination that I didn't know that I had....I closed my eyes, I pinched my nose shut and leapt. I couldn't quite believe I had managed to do it.  The rest of the team were surprised I had done it too... they were convinced I wasn't going to.

The water rushed about my head, as I plunged below the swirling surface.  I felt my bike helmet, worn for safety, pull up under my chin and felt it slip slightly to the right.  I was under the water no more than a few seconds and the buoyancy aid bobbed me up towards the daylight and air.  Ross grabbed me as I surfaced (he said I made a face like a budgie - very complimentary).  With shouts of congratulations we were off, bobbing along the river like flotsam as the current propelled us along to the rapids.  We had to clamber over rock after rock, through rapids and tricky currents.  Our shoes (required kit) soon filled with gravel and we had to ignore it.

We came to another waterfall, about 10 foot high, with very little hesitation but with lots of trepidation, I jumped off and we waded further down stream.

It was shortly after this that Ross slipped on a large flat rock, went down like a ton of bricks and with audible crack.  I am so grateful that he was wearing a helmet because he stopped his fall with his head and elbow and bum.  I was right next to him and told him to lie still and then ask him if he was ok.  He gingerly clambered back on to his feet.  He was absolutely fine.  Thank God! 

I was feeling on top of the world. Having faced another fear, I was loving floating down the river and bobbing about over the rocks. 

Meanwhile, Will who had been thoroughly excited about doing the canyoneering, having done it before, was struggling.  He had a raw broken blister on one foot which was causing pain, he was suffering with cold and hunger and was in a bad place in his head, he said subsequently that he was tired from doing bike nav (navigation) for so long.  This was lowest point for him, most of us would experience them at some point.  We just had to go slowly, instead of dashing along through the water, we had to hug the sides and even tried to get out of the water so that he could avoid the cold water.

We reached the third leap of faith...only to discover that the marshals had had to make a decision to close the obstacle because the river levels had risen too much and made the waterfall jump to dangerous.  In fact, we were one of the last teams to complete the canyoneering section because they closed it to other teams due to the raised water levels. 

I am so glad we got to do it ... it was incredible and was an amazing adventure.  I feel like I really overcame something when I jumped off that first waterfall....

Back at the base, I stripped off my wetsuit without a second thought, chatting to other women in the change rooms.  Wow!  What a change.  I dashed out of the change rooms and helped William dress his foot while Andy stashed the wetsuits and Ross mixed up some more meal replacement (yeugggchhhh! but necessary)  I must say, although, I am not a fan of drinking my dinner this meal replacement works.  I use it along with a fruit and nut bar, some dried sausage, cheese (or 'cheeses' as they became known much Will's good natured annoyance) to make a meal.

Once I had refilled our water bottles and made up some more energy drinks we were back on our bikes ready to face a night of cycling.

Paddles and Pedals....part 4.

Will and Andy had teamed up on one kayak and I was with Ross on the other one.  Once again, we were ready to continue our adventure.

As soon as we launched the kayaks, I realised my mistake...I should have worn shorts and not put on my fleece.  I was soaked within seconds.  The sit on top kayak is a very sturdy little vessel.  We had the added benefit of the seats we had bought but basically it is like a giant surfboard with a bit for your bum, a place to put your feet, somewhere to lash your backpack and holes to drain it.  It isn't what you would call a watertight vessel.  There was quite a swell on the lough.  This was a challenge in itself.  The other challenge was driving a tank (the sit-on-top) after steering a Ferrari (sleek little racing kayak)

After about 5 minutes we got into the swing off things. Despite the difference in vessel the training had paid off as we were able to implement the paddling techniques we had been practising.   I have to confess, I was a bit tired at this point and  I did try kayaking with my eyes closed but that didn't work terribly well, so I gave that up and got on with the job in hand.  Above us the skies were grey and pregnant with yet to be released rain,  below us the water was choppy and dark, we set our faces to the wind and paddled....and paddled....and paddled.

and paddled


and paddled

hmmmm.......


2 hours 59 minutes and 50 seconds of paddling apparently.

12. 95 km.

My back-as we made our way across the lough
(Photo:  Ross)

It's a long time of doing the same thing.  Especially if after 1 1/2 you start to desperately need a wee.  Here came modesty dilemma number 2.  How was I going to wee off the side of a kayak in a deep lough and without my team mates noticing?  The situation was becoming acute.  To make matters worse, I turned to my right to see Will managing to do just that over the side of the boat.  Great.  Ross said I would have to wait because I would tip us over if I tried hanging over the side....

I tried to wait.  No I was beginning to feel sick I was so urgently in need of relieving myself.  I had a sudden brain wave.  I lay down in my kayak seat which was a feat of great balance and wriggled out of my leggings.  (Someone asked me why I didn't just wee through them because I was soaked already but really eeeuuuwww!  Anyway,  you know those little drainage holes I mentioned....let's just say that I now know what they are really for....)

The men on this team have no idea of the lengths I have gone to and the sacrifices I have made for them!

After a great deal more paddling we made it to the first transition point and were reunited with our race box for the first time since the start of the race.  The original plan was for Andy to chivvy us all on, for me to get everyone's food and for Ross, Andy and Will to put the bikes together.  but, we were thrown a curve ball in the race briefing.  We had to pick up new maps, transfer the checkpoints on to the correct place on the map, plan our route and laminate our maps with sticky-back plastic.  What should have been a short transition of approximately 45 minutes transformed into a two hour epic of its own.

We knew that there was hot food and tea available at this transition and naturally, because I am the girl (ahem!!) I was put on getting the breakfast.I was a bit cold so actually I was more than happy to make my way into a building    It was the best breakfast I have ever eaten.  A cooked Irish breakfast, in a bap.....sausage, bacon, black pudding, white pudding and egg.  Oh yum.  I mean that with all my heart....really OH YUM!! I felt heaps better after that and joy of joys, there was a proper toilet too!  Luxury.

Ross and Will sorting the route.
 Photo by Andy,
 I was having my illicit doze

A lot of the teams seemed to all congregate inside and eat there food before all getting on with their team jobs.  I tried to suggest this but Ross and Andy were having none of it and demanded food like a pair of starving nestlings whilst rebuilding the bikes. It started to rain shortly after this. They told me that I should sort out the food for the next stage and get everybody's food bag out of the box but I had a rebellious moment and said that I needed to eat my breakfast first so that I would warm up and then be more effective.  I think Ross must have seen a steely glint in my eye because he suddenly agreed, I think the shivering like a juddering tractor engine might have swayed him too!  Anyway, the two of them had the bikes built in no time and we all went to help William with the maps.  He had transferred a lot of the check points by this time and was planning the route.  He and Ross consulted on that while Andy and I covered the maps in the sticky back plastic to make them water proof.  We got quite adept at this and had them done in no time.  In fact, I even had chance for tiny little shut eye (about 5mins) which was caught on film for posterity by the Adventure Racing Website, Sleep Monsters.....

I looked so peaceful!  I don't even remember dropping off...

Will in the foreground, me behind

Finally, the maps were organised and it was time to get onto our bikes.  Once again we were on our way.

Nobody mentioned we would be with the bikes for 18 hours with a brief two and a half hour respite while we tried to commit hari kari down a river!  (more on that later!)






Andy and Will checking the map.
Will taking the opportunity
to swallow down a gel

By 11 am we were off and the first part of the ride went well. I was keeping up with the guys and it was great to be on the bike.  The views were lovely as we went parallel to the lough for a while and then Ivan (the race organiser's) curve ball....The Hike-a-Bike.

If three words were as ill-suited to go together in the English language as hike-a-bike, I cannot think of them.  Basically, this is when you push your bike up a hill (for what seems like decades) because the path is too steep to cycle up.   Add to this the Irish idea of a stile (more like a very tall ladder you should climb with aforementioned bike) and their passionate attachment to the electric fence (Ivan had forewarned us about that little detail) The track was extremely narrow, bordered on one side by the electric fence and on the other side by a mixture of gorse, brambles, ferns and heather.  It was quite hard work.  Ross took my bike and I started to push his.  The reason for this was that his bike weighs significantly less than mine.  I thought I was going to be able to push it up all by myself.  I was determined.  But, I was under a misapprehension.  Eventually Andy and Ross leap-frogged the bikes up the hill.  Taking it in turns to get our three bikes up there.  I would pick up whichever bike they had laid down and try and push it until it was grabbed from me and then I would walk up to where they had left the third bike and the process would start again.  It was back breaking work shoving and hauling those bikes up that hill.   Eventually, we reached the top of the first hill.  The path widened out a bit, enough that I could push a bike while Andy towed it.  This worked quite well for us. The view at the top was completely worth the slog!

 Andy was carrying the checkpoint descriptions and William was navigating.  The next checkpoint we were looking for was one on or near a broken cross monument.  Sounded simple enough.  There were two of these on the very top of the hill.  The one to our left was fairly new and away to our right I spotted the broken monument.  It was beginning to drizzle a bit by now.  Just sort of blowing through rain and damp.  We made our way (thankfully back on our bikes and not pushing them) over to the broken monument.  Up behind us came team number 1, Adventurers Assemble.  We all looked around the monument. Where was the check point?  Oh. My. Goodness.  You have just got to be kidding.  The electronic dock for our tags which is how we register we have been to the checkpoint (CP) was at the top of the monument.  About 7m up. And every team member had to 'dib'  ("Have you dibbed?" became the most uttered phrase of the race)

"Go on," said Team 1, "You go first."

The CP was literally at the topmost point of ruin

Will was up the thing like a mountain goat. I took more persuading.  A lot more persuading.  It took Ross, Andy and Will levering, shoving and cajoling me to get me up there.  I got up and then I had to work my way around the thing to find a way to the top.  I was clinging to it like a limpet whilst Will tried to get me to move around.  I was utterly terrified.  I am not scared of height...it's more edges and this thing had lots of edges.  It was greasy with rain and just nerve-wracking.  Finally Will was able to grab my wrist and dibbed in for me.  Then I had to get down.  Gulp!

The Heavens opened.  It was like the clouds unzipped themselves and a deluge began and from then on it rained for literally hours  (I have come to think that perhaps Noah retired to Ireland)  William then spent the next hour and a half, telling us in increasingly grumpy tones how much he hated rain and that it annoyed him....over and over and over and over again.....would have tried the patience of a saint.  We all let him witter on, he obviously needed to vent.

Back on terra firma we had the most incredible down hill cycle... It was utterly awesome.  I stood up out of the saddle and I don't think I peddled for about 2 kilometres.  Then it was more of the same as we worked our way around the check points and had various dramas including me slipping sideways off my bike twice and landing in a heap of helpless giggles and a puddle!

The other obstacle we had to cross was a route detour because the land owner would let race competitiors through his land.  This involved shoving and pushing bikes over tussocks, through clay wallows  a lot of which I managed to fall in or sit in and ultimately through a stream where the only person who didn't get soaked up to the knees was Ross and none of us can work out how.

Finally at about 4.30 we pulled into the next challenge and I had to confront another fear....