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.