Part 8 -The New York City Marathon

So the next big step for me was to get the M&A transfer loose-ends tied up. Thank God I have a mother like I do. My Mom is just the most incredible and amazing individual on this earth –my everything. The vast majority of the ‘wrapping up’ was instrumented by Mom, and soon M&A was becoming more and more part of our lives. In the time I spent with Nick, I learned most of the skills I would need; I could get by in the kitchen, and the bar was no problem (keeping my skills sharp however would become difficult later on as the staff did more and more). Getting to know customers was a process, and that never ended.

During all this I had made the massive decision to leave [puppy class girl] in order to see how things with [Girlfriend] were (SHE had been hounding ME now, WTF?). It was a seriously big decision and breaking up with [puppy class girl] was really one of the hardest things I have done. Ironically, breaking up with her made me see a part of her that I was desperate for –the soft, sensitive part which she hides so well. There were tears (which I was sure I would NEVER see from her) and much hugging and confusion. The thing is that everything was going well, and it was the last thing that she expected. Of course, in my mind I had all kinds of rationalizations to justify the break-up, but the bottom line was that I was wondering too much about [Girlfriend] and I and wanted to see where we were. [puppy class girl] was very confused and really unhappy, and to tell the truth, so was I. Driving from her house tears came from my eyes, I was crying. This shocked me –I hardly ever get sad enough to cry. [Girlfriend] and I seemed to slip right back into where we were and for a while it seemed really good. As time went on however, I started realising that perhaps this was not the right thing and I felt as though we had lost our connection through all the crap that had happened. It was really difficult to sit down with her again to tell her that I wasn’t feeling our connection anymore. She was obviously extremely sad, and so was I, things were not nice at the moment. Things were really messed up and I wasn’t sure how they would fix themselves up, or if they would. The loss of two wonderful women did, however, leave space for M&A and training. 

So [Bio] and I were firmly focused on New York. It came to pass that I had been included in the Achilles South Africa Team to go to New York for the marathon in November (2008 now). The New York City marathon is always held on the first Sunday in November. I was seriously happy to be going and told anyone who would listen about it. I was also able to pay for the trip myself, which was really something new for me. Training for the run went well until I managed to injure my Achilles tendon. [Bio] said that it was just inflammation, and that there would not be any permanent damage if I kept running. So I kept running. Unfortunately the Achilles was painful in the extreme, and it prevented me running for two months leading up to the marathon. Although I could not run, [Bio] and I continued to do core and leg-strength work. [Bio] seemed positive that I would be ‘fine’. Whereas in the beginning I was looking to run a fairly good time, after the injury I changed my expectations to try to finish under 5 hours, which is really a slow time, but OK for a guy trying to make a comeback from paralysis.

During New York I hung out a lot with Braam and Pieter, the identical twin boys of Braam Mouton (Snr), the organizer of the trip and all round nice guy. The two boys were good fun and not always your typical 16 year-old boys. We chatted a lot and had a good few laughs doing the usual horsing around that boys can do. Good boys those, raised right and with a good sporting (and other) future ahead of them. Eventually I was able to tell them apart, but it was tricky.

New York (and the NYC Marathon itself) was an amazing experience. I met some really great people, and again was humbled by those less fortunate than me. The Achilles group consisted of some very unfortunate guys. There was Keki who was apparently a promising computer programmer before a car accident caused him severe brain damage. He was seriously weak on his left side and did not have proper and full use of his left arm or leg. He was able to walk only in a sporadic, uncoordinated fashion. Although this was the case, he had apparently made massive leaps and bounds in his recovery and rehabilitation. Umzamu was a young guy, I’d say 18 or so, who was completely blind. He was a tiny bloke who was led around by the others (mostly Keki), and warned of holes in his path or steps. Gerrit was a (he claimed) radio DJ from George with only one leg –I verified though that he did in fact only have one leg. He was an exceptionally miserable bastard. Despite the fact that he wasn’t paying a cent for the trip (Achilles SA took his word that he would pay them back, he did not), he complained endlessly about everything and often said that he would prefer not to be there. He was determined that having fun was not as important as doing a PB in the race (he would use a racing wheelchair). Gerrit would consistently disappear at crucial ‘paying points’, like towards the end of dinner or just before we were due to pay the fee for the Liberty Island trip. You know the type. The thing that really got to me was that he would ‘borrow’ money from Keki (a very soft, genial, unsuspecting bloke) and not return it, and Keki was not exactly rolling in it if you know what I mean. Gerrit, much to my delight, failed to do very well in the race and was very disappointed. I know its bad, but I was kind of happy that the guy didn’t do well –he didn’t deserve to.

I cannot remember the name of the other guy. He REALLY liked shiny things and on the last day when they left for the airport he almost ran off with my very shiny (and expensive) Tag watch. Little thief! Anyway, being with a group like this was really odd for me, obviously. To a casual observer I was completely normal, with no obvious handicaps, my limp while walking was pretty much imperceptible (running was still shit though).

Running the race under the Achilles banner is truly something special. The Achilles track club was founded in New York and has over the years had much publicity. Every Achilles runner runs with a ‘guide’. For guys like Keki and Umzamu, a guide was completely needed as they would need assistance to get through the (long) day. To be a guide for an Achilles athlete is a great honour in the US, so there is no shortage of offers. Ironically I (who least needed a guide), had three of them! We took a bus to the start of the race from Manhattan and lined up at the start waiting for our group (consisting of thousands) to be given the all clear to start. I was actually quite emotional about the whole thing and told the guides (Peter, Jeremy, some other guy) so. Not so long ago I was lying in a hospital bed unable to wipe my own ass or dress myself. Now I was going to run the New York Marathon. I would have shed a tear, but we got going before I could dwell on those feelings any longer. This was, after all, a race. And it was going to hurt. Having not run for so long because of my injury I was more than skeptical of my chances of running fast… I told the guides that if possible I would like to run under 5 hours, but that it wasn’t all important as just to be there was incredible. The race started with in a way that only such a massive (30 000 people) race can –slowly.

Part 7 - Something new, someONE new

I didn’t think that she thought I was serious about what I had said and wanted to really drive it home that I was serious, and fed up being the only one trying to find solutions to our problems (me, the most broken one). So, I went on Facebook and changed my relationship status to ‘single’. Sure, it was probably not the most mature thing I’ve done, but I was angry beyond any way I had ever felt before. The next morning there was big drama about the whole thing, I remember that much. Not my proudest moment, I regret doing that. I don’t generally have a problem with regret –I’m not one of those people that say: ‘I have no regrets’ –fuck, of course I do! Sure I learned from them, but I would rather have not had them at all in some cases. It is human nature to have regrets.    

I have to say that I don’t remember large parts of those few weeks and that month or so. I think it was after a month or so that I felt that things in my life were coming together and that perhaps me and her would have a better shot at it now that I was a bit more ‘together’. Since January Mom and I had been thinking of ideas to ‘get me going’ –some kind of business or something. I had lost interest in the field I was in before, and did not see myself pursuing a career in that path. We had often eaten at the M&A restaurant down the road and knew the owners (Nick and Maria) well. They were looking to sell and move abroad. From the start I was against the idea, a restaurant was not the kind of business that a stroke ‘victim’ would want to (or should) get into. Mom, however was interested and suggested we at least look at it. The more we looked at it, the more it seemed that it might be a viable option. The restaurant was mildly profitable, and did most of its trade during breakfast and lunch. The staff were competent and knew their jobs. Closing time was relatively early as restaurants went -20:00. Problem was, I knew nothing about restaurants. Nick was adamant that I could learn (obviously I guess), and that it was not that difficult (ha!). He also said that I could spend as much time as I wanted working with him in the place to learn. They didn’t want a fortune for it as they seemed as though they wanted to get out ASAP. Maria in particular had had enough of the industry. I could understand it –they had a small child (Tario) and growing up in a restaurant was not what they wanted for him.

So, I duly started spending time in the restaurant with Nick. He was quite shrewd and he knew how to make things work with many different tricks of the trade.

I had in the meantime been visiting John and his brothers and sisters at Johan’s place to try to get to know the guy, and at six weeks I brought him home to stay with me. He was the cutest little guy ever, like a small little fury black bear. I took many photos of him, one cute one of him I had him in a dinner plate on the table –he was so small! I spent a crazy amount of time with him, basically all day every day. If I wasn’t at a therapy session of some kind I was with him, either sleeping or playing. He really carried me through some very dark times, he was always waiting for me when I arrived home and was always loving and comforting to me. What a legend. I took him to puppy class twice a week on Wednesdays and Saturdays, although we only really were supposed to go once a week. I house-trained him in the first week I had him at the house, a clever pup.

Learning the restaurant trade in one month was going to be a real challenge –I wasn’t so sure I would be OK. It was quite hectic spending so many hours at the shop, but I eventually got used to it. I got to a point where I thought things in my life were ever so slowly starting to come together. I thought at length about [girlfriend] and our issues. I really honestly thought that we might have a better chance now that I felt stronger and now that I had a business to get going with. I decided that I wanted to ask [girlfriend] if she wanted to give our relationship another try. I met up with her on a couple of occasions only to find that she was quite a different person, not really interested in trying with me again. I asked her if she could give me a ‘percentage chance’ of if we might get together again, and she said there was none. I was quite distraught and didn’t want to give up that easily. I wrote her a long letter putting all my feelings and love into it. In the letter I described how amazing our love for each other was, how much fun we always have together, and how I was feeling stronger about life in general. I also said in the letter that this was my final ‘throw of the dice’ and that after this I would consider us finally finished and would not try anything again. I met up with her (after much begging and pleading –‘too busy’) and convinced her to read the letter in my presence. The letter had no effect on her. Zero. I had put my heart and soul into that letter, I wrote it from a very deep place. There was no reaction. That was it –it was over.

Back to M&A. The number of different facets in the restaurant business is truly something scary. From making food and drinks, to managing your relationship with the franchise, to customer relations, and staff issues, there was all kinds of shit going on. I spent as much time as I could in the bar and the kitchen, the places that I thought, logically, could make or break a restaurant. Learning about the different suppliers was a challenge; they all supplied different things at different prices on different days. For a person with short-term memory problems this was tough! Nick helped with this in that he put together stock sheets for various suppliers for various days. After four years in the shop, Nick tended to remember it all in his head. I needed the sheets though, for sure. The shop was mostly organized, with suppliers knowing what was what and the staff doing what they had been doing for 4 years. After around two months, on 12^th May I formally took over the shop. I still had to find a manager, but the shop was mine. I owed a shit-load of cash, but was confident I could start paying it off soon (immediately). The first few months were difficult, but I learned a lot.

During this time I had met this girl, [puppy class girl], at puppy class. I always saw her and her sister there and did some snooping to find out who they (she) was. The class instructor said that they were the ‘Burger’ family. I searched Facebook and the web to try to find this ‘[puppy class girl] Burger’ but I found nothing. One week John was really ill and we couldn’t go to puppy class. To my delight, I got a voicemail from [puppy class girl] asking about John and if he was going to be OK. She had gotten my number from Di the puppy class trainer. I thought it was pretty funny how I was trying to find a way to ‘contact’ her and then John being sick causes her to contact me! I jumped at the chance and we texted back and forth a little. We arranged to have a coffee or ‘something’ at Doppio Zero in Fourways. She suggested that we go in one vehicle as we both live in the same estate –I was happy to play taxi.

I picked her up at her place and we had a nice meet-up at Doppio. After that we met up again when she invited me for dinner and a movie at her house. Her sister and her boyfriend were there and we had a nice dinner and movie. Nothing really happened that night between us –we were both playing it cool. I think it was a couple of nights later that I was at her house and upon leaving we finally got to that first kiss. From then on we never really spoke about ‘being a couple’ or ‘going out’ there was never anything as official or as formal as that, but we both seemed to know we were an item as such. This was in stark contrast to [girlfriend], to whom labels and titles were always very important (girlfriend/boyfriend/fiancé, etc.). These things have never really been that important to me, although I do see the value in them.

Part 6: Things Fall Apart

I felt like I wanted to do more. I spoke to Haley about it and she recommended I start working with a Biokineticest. She had two people in mind, this guy [Bio] who was away in the states for a while at the moment, and a lady who was around and available. I wanted to get going as soon as possible and so wanted to start with the lady immediately. Haley advised me that she thought that [Bio] and I would get on well and that I should hold out and wait until he came back and then start working with him. Although I had my reservations, I agreed. This was very significant.

I started working with [Bio], and immediately I realized that this was the right way, with the right person. At first I continued with physio as well as bio with [Bio]. RehabMatters was about 1km from [Bio]’s practice and I often used to ‘run’ from one session to the next. The sessions with [Bio] started out smallish with me on the bench and him manipulating my leg, making me push against him in various positions and angles. From the start we focused immensely on ‘core’ work – stomach and back strengthening essentially. Only later on would I come to understand just how valuable core work is. Eventually we moved on to using weights and all manner of contraptions and ideas that [Bio] would cook up. The sessions were always massively challenging – I usually basically crawled out of there, soaked with sweat –I loved it.

I had aspirations of a big comeback. I thought that I might be able to target that old friend of mine, the Ironman UK 70.3 in July 2008. [Bio] said that we would make the call in February. In all honesty, it was a bridge (way) too far at that stage, but I like aiming high. In the midst of the training with [Bio] and the OT, I unfortunately fell into a deep depression and was really not a happy person at all, constantly thinking of ways to end it all and just be done with it. I chatted to Haley about it and also with Jodi (my psychologist) and we agreed that I should see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist diagnosed me with severe depression and put me on an anti-depressant called Cipralex. I didn’t know much about depression, but learned quickly that it was not just something that you could ‘snap out of’ and also that the damage to my brain and consequent loss of my livelihood also caused me to be more at risk to it. Together with me not currently living much of a life, I was really in the depths and didn’t know what to do. The Cipralex seemed to do a little to better my mood, but the psychiatrist did say that we might have to try something different if there wasn’t a marked difference in my mood by January. It was really difficult to explain to people what was wrong with me, with the vast majority not understanding and simply believing that it was just a state of mind, not an actual chemical condition, as proved by science. [Girlfriend] in particular was skeptical and our relationship was deteriorating all the time. I think sometimes that [Girlfriend] thought that once I was out of rehab that life would get back on track quickly; we would get going with our lives. I think a lot of people may have thought that. I certainly do not blame anyone for having thought that.

That December I went to Mauritius with [Girlfriend] and her family. It was my first time there, and I found it a really great place. Weather was usually perfect, if a little windy. Staying with the family was great, they are amazing people. Unfortunately, they did not really understand my state of mind, continuing to believe (I think) that I was just a little ‘down’. [Girlfriend] and I didn’t get on well. One night we went for dinner together and it was really not enjoyable, with me trying to convince her of how things would come together at some point. She was skeptical, and I did not enjoy that evening. There were a few occasions where we were at dinner with groups of people and I felt extremely inadequate and ‘nothing’. I didn’t really have much to offer, just a weak, clumsy, limping, quiet nobody. I was in a bad state, and did not hide it well. I found it really hard to do things, I had very little motivation for anything really. Writing about it really messes me up a bit, I don’t enjoy remembering those times. One thing that did happen was that a friend of ours’ dog had given birth to puppies (the father was our very handsome and friendly Shuggy –a black lab). I immediately claimed one of the black pups when chatting on the phone to my mom from Mauritius. I decided that he would have a human name and named him John. We would meet when I got back. That was really exciting for me, despite my current state of mind.

Mauritius in many ways pointed out starkly to me my shortcomings. Mentally, personally, psychologically, I was wrecked. Physically I was too. I found it very difficult to do things that I would have thought nothing of before; we went out on a boat to swim with Dolphins –I was not strong enough to pull myself back onto it when we were done and had to be pulled up on to the boat dead-weight style. I tried to swim (as in proper swim) but it was shit. Everything I tried seemed shit.

Coming back from holiday I got back into the swing of things with [Bio]. While things with [Girlfriend] and I continued to deteriorate, physically I was making good progress. [Bio] told me that there might be a chance he would be able to get me an entry into the New York Marathon in November. I was skeptical. People often say things that they don’t mean or cannot really follow up on. In fairness, [Bio] didn’t really promise, but rather said there was a chance. As time went on [Girlfriend] and I continued to argue and generally not get along. She was frustrated that I could not really do anything (‘you can’t work or anything’ is what she once said). On one occasion she also said that I should ‘find a job’. I was really hurt by statements like that, I was still really just trying my best to piece myself together as best as I knew how. In hindsight though, I do not blame her at all for her actions, I understand them.

Upon consulting with the psychiatrist we decided that the Cipralex was not working well enough and that we should try something else –Venlor. It was a long process going on and off this medication; one always has to slowly wean yourself on and off the stuff (6 weeks and 6 weeks). The effects could usually only be seen after 8 weeks or so. Anyway, Venlor seemed to work better than Cipralex, and my state of mind improved.

[Girlfriend] and I decided to ‘take a break’ of a month to see if that might improve things in our relationship. All along the way I constantly tried to convince her to come with me to see Jodi for some ‘couples therapy’ to sort through our shit –she always refused, saying how could we need therapy now even before we were married? I tried in vain to change her mind. I still really loved her and wanted it to work with her to get through this. I think that [Girlfriend] was just impatient to get our lives going and could not understand the trauma that I had been through, and that this was a BIG ‘thing’. I felt more and more that she was struggling to believe in my ability to ‘do anything’ as she used to always believe. This was really devastating to me –she always had the most confidence in me of everyone. I always felt like I had to try to convince her that it would all be OK. After the one-month break, we started seeing each other again. It was not better, things were still just the same really. On the 20^th February we were at her place and she was having a look at my new cell-phone (she always loved snooping for some kind of ‘incriminating’ evidence –she was always suspicious) and noticed that I had the number and business name of a long ago ex-girlfriend (now good friend) in my phone. She immediately confronted me about it, and to be honest, I didn’t really know what to say –I didn’t think there was really an issue here. Anyway, she continued to play around with the phone until she managed to reset it or something so that I lost all the data on it, including my scheduled physio, OT, Bio, psychiatrist, and psychologist sessions for the next 6 months. It was that that finally tipped me over the edge (in combination with the ex-girlfriend thing too). I kind of lost it I think and stormed out shouting ‘its over!’. I was extremely upset and left immediately. She shouted after me ‘you’re going to regret this Peter!’. I shouted back ‘we’re both going to regret this!’. I drove home in an absolute state, seething with anger, over everything: her recently developed inability to believe in me, my inability to find solutions to these issues with the woman that I loved, my inability to be the person she wanted me to be at that point, and many other things.

I was just SO frustrated! My life until then (pre-illness) had been good –going according to plan (just as I liked it). I worked hard, I made sacrifices, I did things. What the fuck was going on? 

Part 5: A Special Person and a Special Day

While I was in the ‘spinal’ ward there was a young boy (one of many) who had been paralysed in a car accident, I think his name was Giopetso or something. He couldn’t have been older than 13 or 14. He certainly had a long, hard slog ahead of him. I also never noticed anyone visiting him, I always wondered if he had anyone.

NOTE: Name replaced.. for protection etc etc ;-)

I had amazing support from my family and loved ones during my time in Riverfield. My Mom visited basically every day, despite the dangerous road that had to be negotiated to get there. My sister Georgy put in big effort finding out what I would like for her to bring in terms of food etc etc and made it happen –very cool. My Dad (whom I don’t really see/speak to that often) also came around often even though he lived far away. [Girlfriend], my girlfriend at the time was also tremendous. Always visiting me, bringing me things and being her lovely self with positivity and encouragement. From around halfway through my London stay I started to realize that she was going to be my life partner, and that I loved her very dearly. I had planned to propose perhaps in early January of 2008, once I had a half-decent position at the ISS and was earning a bit of money. There was never any doubt in my mind that she was the one. [Girlfriend] was someone who made me feel that much more like something special, like someone of consequence. She always made me feel like I could do ANYTHING. We had the most fun together, always laughing and being silly. She was an extremely caring and loving individual, and I always felt her love for me through my period in rehab.

In early September I decided that I wanted to propose to [Girlfriend], and my Mom and I conspired to put together a plan to make it all come together. Two or so years before I had given my good friend Kevin a small amount of money to invest in the stock market (he’s a futures trader), thanks to Kev’s talent and ability that money had grown exponentially and I wanted to use some of that money to get the ring. My Mom had a large, very beautiful diamond which she wanted to pass on to me to use in an engagement ring  -this would be the diamond that I would use. My Mom basically did everything. She looked at different designs, brought me pictures, and together we discussed what would be the best. The ring turned out to be a spectacular success, very beautiful. It was white gold, with the diamond set in the middle with two tiny diamonds on either side of it. It was truly something to behold. [Girlfriend]’s birthday was coming up and we saw an ideal opportunity to put our plan into action without letting on what we were doing. I did, of course, first have to ask permission from her parents. Because of my predicament it was a bit leftfield. I texted her parents and asked if they might come to Riverfield on a certain day (they often visited me anyway –the best people). Outside the brain injury ward we sat chatting, as often before when they had brought me delicious food and other bits and bobs (they were great!). In my text I had said that I wanted to ask them something, so I think they might have had an idea of what was coming. Mom was there too, as it was important for both families to be there. I said to them that [Girlfriend] made me feel like I could do anything and that I loved her very much. I said that because she believed so much in me, it made me believe so much in myself. She was my everything and I wanted to spend the rest of my life having fun with her. The folks were happy (thankfully) to grant permission and complete support (which, considering I was basically a broken man, was quite something). I was chuffed, and hugs and kisses were exchanged all-round.

We arranged that the two families would go to Kloofsicht (in The Cradle) for [Girlfriend]’s birthday lunch, during which I would propose. We had reserved a table on the veranda overlooking the lake and mountains. I had managed to get a ‘weekend pass’ out of Riverfield. Both families were there, [Girlfriend]’s brother, his girlfriend Gillian, and Margie and Ross. On our side it was Mom, Rick, Kayleigh, Ian (a friend of Mom’s), and me of course. My Mom was so amazing through all this (unsurprisingly); she arranged that down at the lake a small gazebo be set up with a table and chairs, together with an ice-bucket with champagne and flowers. The plan was that I take [Girlfriend] on a ‘walk’ (limp) ‘just to have a look’ and then take her to the gazebo and propose. She would be completely surprised. It went off without a hitch. Everyone that was there knew that I was going to ask her, it was quite something. So, during lunch we took a walk and I lead her to the gazebo. At first she noticed that the table and stuff had been set up and thought that it was for somebody else. I managed to eventually get her sat down though. To tell the truth, I think I kind of stumbled over my words, but I told her how much I loved her and that she was very special to me. When I finally asked her I had the ring in my hand and was sitting in front of her (I was not strong enough to be confident of kneeling without falling over yet), rather than say yes, she broke down into what was a happy mixture of laughter and tears, which I took as a ‘yes’ and quickly slipped the ring onto her finger –no chances taken there.        

It was truly a joyous moment. Everyone was ecstatic and there were more tears and laughter when we returned to the table, hand in hand. There were photos taken what seemed like every second, and thus the day was recorded forever digitally. More importantly, both the families were there to witness the happy day.

At this stage I didn’t really know how we were going to ‘do this’ but I knew I wanted to do it with [Girlfriend]. I knew we had a long road ahead of us, but I was so very happy.

As the weeks wore on in rehab, I was desperate to go home. Eventually my medical aid thought that was enough, and they pulled the plug. I was happy to go home, extremely so. Unfortunately, being released from rehab did not mean that I was recovered. Sure, I could walk (limping a bit), and I could dress myself, but amazingly (agonizingly) my ankle still refused to produce that long-awaited dorsi-flexion. Although I was out of Riverfield, my rehab would continue on a daily basis. I would go for physiotherapy and OT at a place called RehabMatters in Rivonia. I could still not drive though, so I had to be taken and collected there everyday. It was quite a jacked up place, with expensive machines and plenty of Physiotherapists. RehabMatters had a different idea of rehab to Riverfield. Instead of seeing the same therapist every time, a patient would see a different one (usually every time). This was strange to me as I had become accustomed to the idea of having one therapist only and therefore having the opportunity to build a relationship with that person which would ultimately be conducive to making progress. Nevertheless, so it was. In the end I suppose it was fine. I worked with various physios, some better than others. I preferred when the sessions were harder and more demanding, and as such preferred the physios who were tougher. Carmen was one of the physios that I most enjoyed working with as she had an interest in triathlons and endurance sport, and we chatted about that often. Because of that interest, she was also aware of what I wanted to work towards physically, and what might be the best way forward.

We often made use of the treadmill that was there. It was a seriously high-tech, expensive piece of equipment. It could measure gait and stride length differences and foot placement, among a slew of other things. Although dosi-flexion was still not there, I was able to put together what looked like a running motion. It looked like you might imagine someone running with a knee or leg injury, very ‘bumpy’ and not really a smooth running motion at all. But I was running, it was sweet! Some of the physios surmised that I must have at least a tiny amount of dorsi-flexion in order to be able to run without dragging my left foot badly. That might have been the case, but for some reason I could not produce that motion in isolation.

I also continued seeing OTs at RehabMatters. I started working with Haley Norval, a delightful lady who always seems to be smiling and happy. Normally I don’t like those types, but Haley won me over with her sincerity, softness, and kindness. My short-term memory had been cooked a bit by the strokes and it was up to Haley to try to resurrect it (my brain had to be rewired –once brain cells die they do not grow back/regenerate). We did all kinds of puzzles and memory games in order to stimulate my mind and get it going again. Working with Haley was always a fun thing, and I generally looked forward to seeing her.

I continued to get stronger and stronger, albeit in small, baby steps. The physio sessions were getting easier and easier, the sessions with Haley continued to be entertaining and valuable. In physio we often focused on trying to get THAT ankle going, it just wasn’t playing the game. What also was very tricky was trying to co-ordinate my two legs into doing odd movements like skipping or jumping – this was very frustrating (to this day those kinds of movements are difficult for me –I am, now, very clumsy). One day I made an astounding jump in progress in the most unexpected place: in front of the TV. I was watching TV, probably waiting to go to therapy or something and as I always did when just sitting around, I was trying to get some dorsi-flexion going in THAT ankle. To my utter amazement, the foot spontaneously moved strongly in the way that I was dreaming of! It wasn’t massively controlled, but there was the unmistakable (strong!) dorsi-flexion that had eluded me for so long. Amazing, just like that.

Part 4: Electric!

The two major problems with my left leg were my ankle and my hamstring. Both were completely non-responsive to my massive effort to move or tense them. As one might expect, trying to walk safely without fear of falling is linked intricately to the functioning of your ankle and hamstring. So that’s what we worked on. Many of the exercises focused on trying to ‘trick’ the muscle into remembering. The brain was there, the muscle was there, both were working, but they weren’t communicating; the messages were getting blocked along the way. We weren’t looking to hamstring curl 50kg, we were simply looking for the tiniest contraction (twitch) of the muscle. Once that one tiny contraction was achieved, it was just a question of doing it over and over again, eventually strengthening it to (perhaps) what it once was. Phillip was doing a lot of research and reading into electrical stimulation of muscles in rehabilitation, and he asked if we could try it (some people ‘don’t like current’). I was happy to.

The way we would use it was to attach the electrodes to the muscle with Phillip at the controls. We would count down and then try to time the electrical stimulation of the muscle with the stimulation coming from my brain, so that it seemed as though the messages from my brain were getting through to the muscle. Eventually we managed to get a contraction (very much a twitch) out of the hamstring without the use of the electrodes -that was the message getting through to the muscle. After that the hamstring got stronger relatively quickly. Soon Phillip was pushing down on my foot while I tried with all my might to do a hamstring curl, a massive departure from trying to initiate the tiniest of contractions.

The ankle was an entirely different matter, not co-operating at all. The problem with having a non-functioning ankle is that when you walk your toes drag because there is no dorsi-flexion. As a result, you have to walk in such a way that you bring your leg and foot ‘around’ instead of ‘through’ in doing a walking motion. If you’re wondering what dorsi-flexion is, it is when, if you are standing or sitting with both feet flat on the floor, you try to lift your foot off the ground as far as you can without your heels leaving the floor. That motion is very important for walking/running.

My ankle was not playing the game at all. This was highly significant to me because I still dearly wanted to run and participate in sport again. Without a (working) ankle this would probably be impossible. Phillip put together an ingenious little device that might give me a chance. Using the electrical stimulation device, he modified it so that a pressure sensor was placed underneath my foot in my shoe. Every time I lifted the foot to take a step the sensor would activate electrodes that were on my ankle in strategic positions. The ankle would then move in a ‘dorsi-active’ manner, and I would not drag my toes. So with this contraption attached to me I could achieve dorsi-flexion while walking. Not exactly the most convenient thing to have a battery powered electrode attached to your foot semi-permanently. Nevertheless, the device did have the effect of simulating a walking motion, and thereby perhaps reminding my ankle how it used to feel. One day I discovered that I could move my big toe. When I told Phillip this he almost jumped through the roof. He was happy to the point of laughter, whereas I thought that it was not such a big deal. He did however say that this meant that my ankle would ‘come back’. Of course, this was good news for me.

Phillip and I would practice stair climbing as well, albeit only one at a time. We started with the small stairs outside the ward reception, then graduated to using higher boxes in the therapy room.

Phil was (is) a really good guy and always seemed to be thinking about my case as he always had new ideas and thoughts about what we could try.

Klare Hein was my OT (Occupational Therapist). She was also pretty cool, a pretty woman about my age. The first thing she taught me to do was to get dressed. She told me that you always first dress/undress the affected side (the weak side), that way you are using you strong side in the best way. Hey, don’t laugh, getting dressed with one arm and one leg is a difficult task. The next port of call was to try to remember how to tie shoe laces, after the first day I could manage, even though my left hand was still quite spastic. We did a lot of physical stuff like throwing and catching a ball with my left arm. We also did mental tasks like puzzles and games that might incorporate my left side in some way as well as my mind. OTs generally try to make sure that you can do ‘normal’ everyday things like brush your teeth, dress yourself, etc. Klare did that no problem, she wasn’t particularly entertaining, but she did the job. Whereas Phillip’s passion and love for his job really shone through, I don’t think Klare had the same fire burning inside her. Not to say she was a bad therapist, though.

My speech therapist Danielle was brain crushingly irritating, although she was just trying to do her job. My speech had come back really fast after the strokes, I did not think that there was anything wrong with my speech, yet I needed this therapy. The most entertaining thing about my time with her was the fact that she had eloped and fell pregnant in the last few months. She wasn’t showing yet so it must have been quite recent. I always hoped she forgot about me. She always sat on chairs in the way that kids do; like when they sit on their own foot. One day she fell off onto the floor, it was pretty funny, sadly most of the others who witnessed it were either too brain-damaged or on too much medication to laugh. Shame, not a bad person, but that’s how it goes.

As I mentioned before, I was initially in the section of the centre for those with neck injuries. In a way I fitted in well because my injury seemed like it could easily be similar. Eventually they moved me to the ‘brain-injury' section. Now this was something to behold. Packed to the rim with loonies of every description. While I was here I started to realise that I was actually very lucky in that I was not more severely disabled than I was. I shared a room with the joy of joys, an Indian guy by the name of Shaun Johnson. Now, I hate to stereotype people, but hell, ‘Shaun Johnson’ is hardly a name you’d find on an Indian ballot paper. He was a seriously miserable bastard. Didn’t really complain much to the staff, but was always muttering something about ‘have you EVER had such a shit day in your life??’. He did have quite a story though. He was in a car accident and apparently had been declared dead on the scene. He wasn’t though, and lay in a coma for 3 months before waking up. He had spent the last 6 months or so at Riverfield.

There was a lady who came in who seemed seriously cooked, and she was, you could tell be the massive scar arcing across her shaven head. I couldn’t help but laugh sometimes. She would constantly ramble on not making any sense at all. At first I thought that she was perhaps just chatting away to herself in her home language, but after I asked one of the others he told me that she was just muttering nonsense in an array of sometimes indistinguishable languages. During exercises she would do completely random things like crack her knuckles and try to co-opt others into joining her (with the nurses scrambling to prevent this). Of course I felt sorry for her, but funny is funny.

Another lady there, Mrs White I felt really sorry for. She was very old and in bad shape. Her ankles and calves had swollen to the point that they didn’t look like they belonged to a human being anymore, and she was only ‘with us’ about half of the time. She would also do and say the most random things. During exercises one day she started begging and pleading profusely to be given….. ‘just one (gesturing with her finger) teaspoon, pleeeaaaaase’. Once given the spoon she was confused as to why she was given this thing. I felt really bad for her, she was on her way out. Her husband who also looked quite old used to visit her often, they would just sit quietly on one side of the room talking. My heart broke everyday for them.

The person I felt most sorry for was this young (20-25) guy from Mozambique. His name was Manguelle and he had been electrocuted while at work. He was severely, severely brain damaged. He could not really walk around without crashing into things or falling over, he was mostly tied with a sheet into his wheelchair. He always wore a nappy. He did not appear to have proper control over any of his limbs or his body, although they did seem functional at least. It was impossible to communicate with him and he barely understood instructions or greetings. At mealtimes he would have to be fed, and eventually his mouth held shut so that he did not spit out food. If left to his own devices he would simply make a massive mess through attempting to get the food into his mouth. For him I was so, so sorry. No-one came to visit him, no one ever asked about him, he was completely alone in a world which his damaged mind could no longer understand or make sense of.

Part 3: Riverfield

Sadly, Monday morning did not bring with it any moving toes, or any movement at all. This second stroke was much more severe and my left side was much worse than after the first stroke. That morning I had a (very uncomfortable) camera stuck down my throat so that a picture might be taken of the back of my heart. The picture revealed that I had a congenital malformation of the heart in that the foramen ovale did not close completely at birth. The doctors surmised that this was the reason that I ‘stroked’ (twice). Apparently, many people live with the same ‘defect’ their whole lives with no issues at all, but a small percentage experience problems. Surgery was immediately scheduled for the closure of the hole.

Luckily, these days, to do heart surgery one does not always have to open the chest cavity. My surgery was done almost remotely, via a special scope; through an artery in my groin area. Amazing really, that they could close the hole like that. I spent a lot of time in ICU that week, and a lot of time throwing up on nurses who were trying to feed me. I had a lot of family and friends visit me in ICU, the nurses seemed oblivious to the fact that there were visiting hours, which was nice of them. I guess it didn’t surprise me that I was surrounded by much older people in the ward, all recovering (trying to) from various serious ailments such as heart and/or brain surgery. One man across from me was in a lot of trouble. I’m not sure what all his problems were, but I knew that he had serious trouble urinating. Once while attempting to go in one of those bottles he took so long that he fell asleep while trying. He woke with a start only when he had spilt the contents of the bottle on himself. I felt so, so sorry for him and wondered if he had done bad things in his life to deserve to be where he was.

So now that my (ex) hole in the heart would not cause any more problems, the next task was to get going with some rehab. My mom did her research and found that the best place for me would be Riverfield Lodge near Fourways. I would have to go to a proper rehab centre as I required constant care from doctors and nurses and rehabilitation sessions numerous times a day from various specialists. I was given a private room, which was nice. There are not really wards as in a normal hospital – usually there would be a maximum of three in one room. The food was terrible, there’s no other way of putting it. The staff were not too bad, although the nurses at times did not seem to understand the severity of the paralyses in my left side.

A typical day would start with the nurses busting into my room at 5AM like the Gestapo on the Night of the Long Knives. Thankfully, they did not attempt to kill me, but rather proceeded to switch the lights on, rip my clothes off, stab me in the stomach (the only place this injection could be taken – apparently) with a ‘man-size’ orange syringe (a blood thinner and also the most painful injection I’ve ever had by a long stretch), then scrub me down to within an inch of my life, ask permission to wash my ‘private parts’, wash my private parts, dry me vigorously, and finally they would dress me. This whole process took less that 1 hour so by quarter to six in the morning I was lying in bed bathed, clothed, medicated, and ready for the day. It was astoundingly odd to me that this all HAD to happen before six in the morning, every morning. Eight o’clock was Exercises time for the whole wing (I was put in the ‘spinal injuries’ wing at first). Exercises was very basic stuff, VERY basic. Basic as in lift your foot off the ground and put it down 10 times, or roll your head from side to side. Or raise your arms and put them down 10 times. Everyone did what they could do, according to what their injury or disability allowed them to do.

After exercises it was time for breakfast. Usually there was at least pap (porridge made from maize meal) or some cereal, plus toast, coffee, tea, juice, and usually some other hot dish like mince or a strange ham type thing. It was pretty horrid. Depending on the schedule I would either have speech therapy, physiotherapy, or occupational therapy at various times during the day. In addition, a doctor would sometimes see me. Although I was to see a psychologist everyday, I saw her twice in total (once when I arrived and once when I left). Blood was also drawn daily by the Vampire. She called herself that, and I wasn’t arguing. The fact that the Vampire drew blood from about a 100 people per day did not seem to do anything for her needle-inserting skills and a visit from her usually left me looking like an addict that couldn’t find a vein. Anyone who knows me or has seen me knows that I am a very ‘veiny’ person –there is no shortage of veins to choose from. So there.

I was given an old wheelchair to get around in. I would put the left leg up on the plates, remove the right-hand plate and use my right leg to propel me along. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but better than lying in bed all day.

Phillip Avraam was my physio, and a really good guy with a massive passion for his work. Other patients there told me how when they arrived they could not walk or do much of anything, and how Phillip had helped them to progress to where they didn’t think was possible. So I was hopeful about working with Phillip. We started out very easy, just trying to stand. We then progressed to trying to walk with a staff (a long walking stick).

Eventually I was onto crutches, still not very steady at all though. In between all this we did special exercises to strengthen and ‘reconnect’ my brain to my left side. Eventually I could tense certain muscles in my legs, but others remained motionless no matter what. The best way to describe the feeling of not being able to move your arm or leg despite your brain telling them to is the idea of trying to make a phone call from a phone once its wire has been cut; it’s a feeling of impossibility. Nevertheless, we persisted on and on, not giving up. Eventually I was able to walk around relatively well with just one crutch, albeit not rock-solidly. We did a lot of work on my core to get things stable and assist the weakened left side. Eventually I was walking (limping) by myself, but I was far from steady and would always go slow, nervous of falling over. Being able to move around by myself was great though – at least I could go to the bathroom by myself without needing to ask for help. Once before I was that mobile I had asked for a bottle to pee in and had forgotten about it and spilled it on myself –sound familiar?

Part 2: A PB and a TIA

I run with a GPS running watch so it is possible to see your real-time speed. I started off at the right pace and continued the run, always checking that I was running below the required time. It didn’t help that there are a few hills on the route, but I just kept pounding away at it. Eventually I neared the last kilometer or so and I found that I was slowing down – I wouldn’t make it. I refused to let it be, I got really angry. I started screaming and swearing at myself at the top of my voice, I was NOT going to let this one go easily. I screamed and screamed until I passed the 5km mark. I had beaten my previous time by about 30 seconds and had broken through a crucial threshold. I immediately (as I often did) lay down on my back on a patch of grass to rest and catch my breath and wait for mom to arrive. I was seriously tired, although my heart-rate was not very high, in fact, if anything it was a little low throughout the run (that hindsight thing again..). A pedestrian walked by and asked if I was OK, I said yes, fine, don’t worry. As he walked by and I started focusing on the task of recovery a strange feeling came over me. I felt as though I was high on some kind of drug and my left arm was moving strangely in front of my face, my hand opening and closing by itself. It didn’t feel like I was in my own body, I felt as if I had been given morphine (I’ve had it before). The only way to really describe it is to say I was really ‘spaced out’. I continued to lie there until a hoot from behind frightened me.

My mom had pulled up and parked on the side of the road to come and fetch me. As she got out and started chatting I tried to get up, but I couldn’t. She thought I was joking and said to stop messing around. I said that I was not joking and that I could not get up. I tried to roll onto my front so that I could try to crawl, but I failed at that also. My mom is a strong woman, but not so strong as to heave 75kg of disabled son into a car by herself. Eventually an old (ish) man stopped and offered to help. I tried my best to move and raise myself up and into the car, but in the end the man had to basically pick me up and put me in the back of the car by himself. Unless you have had experience of moving someone who is unaware of their limbs and also unable to move them, it is difficult to describe how tricky it really is to accomplish something as simple as getting into a car. Hands and legs get stuck and dragged all over the place, and may easily be injured as a result. This was just the first of many occasions where I would have to communicate with those moving me that they needed to take care of each limb and not take for granted that I could move them in the way that was required.

So, off home we went – a 5 minute drive. My mom, brother, and Netti (our domestic worker) somehow managed to get me inside and onto the couch. A limp (heavy) human being is quite difficult to move around! At this stage I wasn’t too concerned, I was sure that I just needed a drink and some air and I would be fine. But as the minutes wore on I realized that the left side of my body – right down to my face- was paralysed. Now, OK, you say, that’s only the left side – you’ve still got the right side to move around or hoist and lift yourself. Unfortunately having the entire one side of your body taken away does not only mean that your one arm and on leg do not work; it also means that all the tiny stabilizer muscles in your back and torso also do not work on the left side, leaving the right side with way too much work to do. The resulting imbalance is quite astounding. I was completely helpless, not able to sit up by myself or take my running shirt or shoes off. 

We agreed that we should probably go to the hospital, so 20 minutes later I was waiting in casualty (in a wheelchair) for a doctor to see me. The less said about the doctor that saw me the better –he was a useless person. After around four hours of waiting I eventually got taken to a ward. In the meantime a terrible headache had been developing. I felt seriously bad and now was a little concerned that things were not going too well with me. I was in bed, really extremely tired, with a headache that felt like it was going to explode my head, and the left side of my body completely limp (but I had most sensation strangely enough). I told the nurses that I had a terrible headache and asked for something to ease the pain –they refused. It was at this point that I texted my loved ones that I would love them forever. It might sound overly dramatic now, but I thought that this might be the last time I close my eyes. I thought that there was a real possibility that this was ultimately the way that I would leave this world for the next. It’s an amazingly strange feeling; I wasn’t panicky or afraid, I seemed resigned to the fact that this was it -I was calm. Either way, I just wanted to close my eyes and drift away simply to get away from the headache that was overwhelmingly painful and disorientating.

The morning brought with it some hope. I woke up to discover that I could move the toes on my left foot and that the left side of my body seemed to have more movement than when I arrived in casualty. I was even able to limp around through putting most of my weight on my right leg and using the left as a stabilizer of sorts, but I was very unsteady and weak. I was though pretty happy to be alive. The nurses didn’t really see or care to see the significance of my moving toe and my ‘recovery’ from the previous evening. The day was spent waiting for specialist doctors (the REALLY clever ones who have to study extra) to come and see me. Eventually I was released to go home, with a view to doing further tests on the Monday (this was now Friday). Information at this point was still sketchy with doctors and their knowledge hard to come by. Anyway, somewhere along the line we found out that I had had a stroke, tests on Monday would yield more information. I was sent home with a little electronic box with small cables stuck with patches onto my chest and instructed to leave them on for the weekend so that some information might be gleaned from the readings on Monday. At this point I still hoped to go to Australia for the race – we had booked everything already.

On Sunday morning I had a bath with the help of Nicole, my long-time girlfriend. While limping from the bathroom to my bedroom I collapsed and was unable to move or speak. The family moved me into my room onto my bed. They were all speaking and asking what was wrong etc. and although I understood them, I found that I could not respond; I felt very similarly to the way I did after my 5km TT. Eventually my speech returned (although slurry) and we obviously reasoned that I should go back to Sunninghill Hospital. That night was another blur of headaches and hospital smell.

Part 1: London, Ironman, and a record

Part 1: London, Ironman, and a record

Life seemed good. I had just returned from London and managed to step into an internship position at the prestigious Institute For Security Studies (ISS). Sure, it didn’t pay much, but there was travel to various interesting places, and of course the (good) opportunity for ‘something more’ after my internship. Most importantly though, it was an opportunity to learn from some of the best researchers and academics on the continent.

Getting the position at the ISS was really a small dream come true for me, I was sure that this was probably the path to bigger things. Although I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to do in the field, I was confident that it would jump out at me at some point.

I had studied Politics as an undergraduate at the University of Johannesburg (UJ, formerly RAU), and had continued by pursuing a Masters in Intelligence and International Security at the Department of War Studies at Kings College London.  Living in London (even for a short period) really showed me that I preferred to be close to my family and loved ones and therefore in South Africa. This to me was deeply ironic as the primary reason for pursuing my Masters abroad was that it might be a stepping-stone to a career abroad. Although I had travelled extensively before ‘settling’ in London for my MA, it was different ‘being a resident’ as such. During my first 6 months or so of my MA I was focused (more than I should have been) on training for the Ironman South Africa Triathlon (IMSA). Triathlon was really something new to me at that stage and it occupied the vast majority of my thoughts and my energy (call it an obsession). Being a student (even a Masters one), enabled me to spend inordinate amounts of time training. Training would sometimes occupy me three times a day. Running, swimming, cycling, and strength work in the gym was what my life was about. I was loving that part of it, I felt like a Professional athlete! Although I felt that way, I was sadly not performing like a professional athlete, I was a rookie, and I was performing like one. Although day-to-day life in London wasn’t a dream, it was interesting beyond belief (I’ve always been fascinated by London for some reason, the history of it I suppose). Because I was a foreign student I managed to get allocated residence in Central London, right on the Thames about 5 minutes walk from the London Eye, and a further 5 minutes across the bridge to Big Ben and Green Park. This was great because all my classes were within walking distance, and I had excellent access to the London Underground and out-lying parts of London via Waterloo Station.

For running I usually made my way across Westminster Bridge towards Buckingham Palace and through to Hyde Park. The biggest ‘lap’ I could find was around 12km, so for the really long runs I would do a few of these. It was mostly easy to run in the parks with many other like-minded people and some tourists and recreational cyclists.

For swimming I eventually found a 33 metre pool near Russell Square which was quite a nice venue, although it was almost always very busy. I found my swim coach there, a good Polish guy studying architecture. He got me swimming moderately well and taught me a little about stroke and technique. He really killed me in some sessions, but we made good progress.

For cycling I hooked up with some local South Africans who were into triathlons etc. Normally I would jump on a train at Waterloo and get off at Barnes or Hampton Wick so that I could meet the group in Richmond Park. The norm was to then go to Boxhill via Hungry Hill or Staple Lane. Nice riding, quiet roads, although potholes were sometimes a problem. Although it was often fantastic weather-wise, during the winter it was often freezing and in the minus’s. After one particularly cold attempt at a ride, we decided that sub-zero temperatures called for a cancelation of the ride and a session on the indoor trainer.

I was lucky in that my residence had a gym in its basement. It wasn’t the best or most highly kitted out, but it had enough to get by. It was there that I did my strength work, and the odd run if I didn’t feel like getting wet in the rain (mostly I would just put on a rain-jacket and go).   

I had class about three days a week, although we were expected to occupy our time out of class with reading and studying… predictably this never really happened for me… My focus was on training for Ironman, at that point the most important thing in the world, EVER.

Ironman came and went in April 2007, and while I would not label it a failure, I think that I could have performed better if I had more experience. The experience was incredible to me though –the second I crossed the finish line I knew I wanted to do it again. I did a small write-up of the race.

I had managed to get an entry into the London Marathon through raising money for Visually Impaired Children Taking Action (VICTA), the marathon being a month after Ironman. The London Marathon would be my first marathon, although Ironman has a marathon as its final leg. I started off faster than I should have and really died the last 10 km, but it was absolutely fantastic. Because of my error I probably ran around 25 minutes short of my potential at the time. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I could not walk properly for about 8 days afterwards. I was in an extreme amount of pain, even more than after Ironman. But what an event, thousands of people THE ENTIRE WAY, screaming. Hindsight and knowledge teaches one so many (sometimes simple ‘duh’ things). I never had a DROP of liquid until I blew up at the 30km mark during my first ever marathon. If that isn’t a ‘duh’ moment I don’t know what is! I realise now that the reason I couldn’t walk properly for more than a week was because I had damaged myself so during the marathon by not drinking etc etc. NO marathon has hurt my body that much afterwards (and I’ve now done more than 10, including numerous ultras). Wow, that was silly. But you learn.

After the London Marathon my next goal was Ironman UK 70.3. This is a half Ironman distance event, but one of the toughest in the world because of the severity of the bike (close to categorized climbs), and the tough off-road run with long stretches of up (not too bad) and down hill (harder). I had done this race in 2006 in an effort to fast track myself to triathlon greatness, breaking myself badly and taking a very long time to finish. This time I was in far better shape. I had a good race and took almost an hour and a half off my previous time. Good training that paid off. At the time I remember thinking that I peaked for this race well. I wished that I had done the same two months before at Ironman. It was kind of weird going down to the race by myself, nobody there to cheer me on or meet me at the finish. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it thoroughly.  

In the midst of this training and non-studying I had managed to actually put in a lot of work for my final exams, about 6 hours a day for two weeks. I hoped that would be enough. I was advised (hustled) by classmates that that was WAY too much, and that they had done barely half that. I had also entered Ironman Western Australia, which takes place in Perth in December anually. So that was the next goal that I was working towards. I was convinced that I could go much better at this Ironman as I was a much stronger athlete than before. In addition, I would be able to do much of my training in South Africa, close to my family and friends.

I arrived back in South Africa in late July 2007 and entered the Knysna Marathon. I did not train well enough for this race and I struggled very badly. Despite running a negative split (the holy grail of running) I really, really hurt myself badly and vowed never to do this race again. I will never do it again, it was too much for me.

So this brings me to the start again. Working at the ISS, training for Ironman Western Australia. Things were going well, life was good.

Then, on the 15^th August 2007 my life changed forever. I remember the day clearly – it was kind of cool, but not cold. I had determined that morning that I was going to finally break my 5km time-trial ‘hoodoo’. For a while my 5km TT time had been stagnant –I had not been able to improve. It was really getting to me -I was pissed off about it. Why could I not run the time I wanted to run? Why was I so damned slow? I got back from work, got changed and announced to my mom that I was now going to break my 5km ‘record’. I asked if she could come and fetch me at the spot where the run ends as I did not want to make my way back afterwards on foot. I had decided that I WAS going to break this thing. No matter what it took. So, I walked down the driveway and after a brief warm-up, started off.

The Beginning

So I decided to give the blogging thing a go. Everyone seems to be doing it, after all. I suppose the big thing is what to blog about. Some of you reading this may know that in 2007 I had some health issues, those being a series (2) of 'Transient Ischemic Attacks' (strokes) in the space of a couple of days. The left-hand side of my body was completely paralysed and I was unable to walk or use my left arm. I was in a spot of trouble! I have since then been perpetually on the 'comeback' trail -at the time I was in very good physical shape, having just completed my first Ironman and in training for my second.

Since I've got my life back on track I have been meaning to write about the whole thing, with it never really happening. So I'm going to give it a go. I'll do a post a month until I 'get through' the whole saga.

The writing will not always be eloquent or grammatically perfect, but I hope you will enjoy anyway! First post to follow shortly.