Karen Darke | Athlete | Speaker | Author

Blogging and tweeting seem a bit like stretching - I’m full of good intentions to do it, but somehow they get pushed down the priority queue and then weeks go by without them happening. It’s nearly 100 days to go until the start of the Paralympics (actually Monday 21st May marks that point) and a few weeks ago I was lucky to be part of a ‘100 days to go’ until the Olympics event at the law firm Freshfields - they’ve done all the legal work for the Games, what a job! Talk about a great buzz. London is going to feel amazing by the time the event comes around.

So with only 100(ish) days left, I’ve had my head down in training - and when not training, mainly eating, sleeping or collapsing in a heap on the sofa in my local Starbucks (which is opposite the gym - the manager thinks I live in the lift and just pop out every now and again for a hot drink). I did go bike-less for a whole 48 hours - which felt like forever not to ride - and got scared in a sea kayak instead. It’s been too long since I took to the waves so the whitecaps running between the Isle of Skye and the mainland were testing for my weeble factor. I secretly hoped Andy would offer to tow me back around the exposed bit of coast into the head wind on the way home, but when we’d finished he just said “I knew you wanted towing, but it was better you did it yourself - you had to find your super-powers”. He was right - I know I’ll have to find them more and more in the next 100 days.

I’ll be in the lab to be tested soon - pricked with needles, lactate levels in my blood measured, power outputs, oxygen efficiency (VO2) etc. My interesting fact of the week is that apparently race horses go through the same process. They are set to run on a giant treadmill in the lab and have the same fitness tests done on them as we humans. Amazing the lengths we’ll go to in pursuit of medals or simply to try and be the best that we can.

My inspiration of the week has come from Chris Jones. He has been putting my first ever handbike to amazing use. In April he did two major events; an off-road marathon across Dartmoor, where he cycled 27.5 miles to raise over four thousand pounds for the Royal British Legion, and he became the first person in the UK to enter a full downhill mountain bike race on a hand cranked bike! He’s enjoyed it so much that he’s spent the last 5 months starting up a company to design and build off-road hand-cranked bikes. LynxBikes plan to have very reasonably priced off-road handbikes ready later this year. Brilliant!

Meanwhile, there’s a block of racing coming up…Rome World Cup (25-27th May), Swiss European Handbike Circuit race (2-3rd June) and Segovia World Cup (15-17th June), then an open day to ride the Brands Hatch Paralympic race circuit on the 19th June. Kissing goodbye to the coffee shop sofa… 

First European race of the season. A few hundred handcyclists. A long straight, crepe-flat French road, punctuated only by roundabouts. I felt nervous. I, like every other woman on the start line, wanted a winter of training to show dividends, wanted to win. The start gun shot through the chilly air and we exploded from the start line. It was a fast start. A very fast start. The women’s race starts seem to get faster. Why can’t we ease into it like most other road races?

It was a fiery pace, but I made it onto the back of the lead bunch. Phew.
But the attack came sooner than I expected. Focused on the wheels in front of me, I suddenly realised the front of the bunch was slipping away - the Swiss girls, faster than ever, edging away into the lead. I cranked harder, propelling faster forwards in an attempt to close the gap, the others close on my tail.

I dreamt that a few nights before that I won the race. 

But in one race, a dream can manifest, or be overwritten by reality.

As they slipped away, I realised I wouldn’t win. I would have to fight hard for second place in my class. In the end I got third H2 woman, sandwiched between the two Italian women in the sprint finish.

Disappointed? Of course. Downhearted? Only a little. All I can do is learn and move on. I learnt a lot about tactics. I learnt that I’m not strong enough yet. I’ll need to train and try harder than ever, so that next time, my dream can manifest and I’ll be riding with the ‘Swift Swiss’. Respect to Ursuala Schwaller and Sandra Graf - the ate us up!
My team mate Rachel Morris had a mechanical so unfortunately we couldn’t help each other. Next time….

I have good intentions to write a blog at least every week, but then I suddenly realise that nearly a month has gone by. Training seems to suck time away. Three hours training a day always takes at least six - getting dressed and organised, washed and de-organised, fixing the bike, eating right, recovering etc. And bang, the day has disappeared again.

I’ve had a difficult run with the training lately, with three colds in six weeks - its seems to have been hard to shift them. Overtraining? Possibly a bit, but more likely the damp lingering winter in the UK that seems to have had bugs thriving. Each time I’ve caught a flight back from a training camp I seem to have been sniffling almost as soon as the plane touches down and then sapped of all my energy for the next ten days.

Its not good for the head to be laid up unable to train well and not meeting targets. At least not in the year you aim to compete in the Paralympics for the first time, and in your own country. A bit like being injured, you want with all your heart to be able to perform, but it just isn’t happening.
So after getting down about this, “That’s it, I’ve blown it. I must have chronic fatigue. I’ll never be able to ride fast again. My dream is slipping away….” kind of thoughts, I’ve gone back in my memory bank to the very early days of me being paralysed. When sleeping was bliss and waking was a nightmare. I used to force myself to get up in a morning, put on a brave face, force a positive mind and face the world.

My motto then was ‘Fake it ‘til you make it”. I pretended I was happy, putting on my brave face… until one day, I realised I wasn’t pretending anymore. Our mind is malleable. What we tell it, it will start to believe.

So the last weeks, I’ve been going through the motions of training, doing my sessions, failing to meet my targets but putting on a brave face (well, most of the time. I only cried at my coach once…). “Be patient” I’ve told myself. “It will come good. Just fake it ‘til you make it.”
And today, I made it. I hit my ‘gold session’ targets for the first time in a month.
Phew.

Karen Darke Video Blog 1st Feb 2012 from Karen Darke on Vimeo.

Untitled from Karen Darke on Vimeo.

Back from Lanzarote and disappointed to have missed the Berghaus Athlete Camp in Austria - a great chance to learn about the product plans for the next year, and for athletes and designers to share feedback and ideas. It’s been a busy weekend with my three nephews, mixed in with some painful stretching. Stretching after exercise. It’s so vital, yet so easy to skip, and I’ve been baaaaddd. My masseur suggested I stretch more last year, so I did, for a week or two, until the habit fizzled out. It’s only when I reach crisis point (which involves waking up with muscle pain and this morning not being able to get out of bed because my shoulder was so tight) that I’m reminded the hard way, how important it is to stretch. Andy massaged my shoulder enough that I could get up and dressed, and then I dedicated an hour to stretching.

Like any form of repeated exercise, handbiking takes its toll on the muscles and tendons. There is a ring of tightness, from the hands, through the inner forearms, the biceps, the shoulder fronts and into the pec muscles of the chest. I need to stretch those muscles out, and strengthen the antagonist muscles (the outer forearms, the triceps, the rotator cuff muscles of the shoulder and the rhomboids). It helped to get a great stretching lesson from a German fitness instructor in Lanzarote before returning home. It was a hard hour - harder than handbiking for four hours - as when you have the balance of a weeble like me, its hard to keep a good posture and stretch out well. Its not fun, in fact its quite painful, but I’m aiming to do this at least every 2 days through to London (and maybe forever!) and hoping I’ll reap the benefits. Hopefully it will help my shoulders survive all the training of 2012!

It’s not often you come across 80+ handcyclists in one place. Not sure the car drivers know what to make of it, like a bunch of aliens on the road, flags flapping in the wind (and they’re proper flapping as its seriously windy here in Lanzarote) The Berlin marathon is the only other place I’ve seen so many handbikes at the same time. Seems to be a German thing.

Have had a few good chaingang rides out with the German ‘Otto Bock’ team, strung out in a long line, drafting from the wind, trying my hardest not to get dropped. When you go out riding with a bunch of men with arms like Popeye, the easy rides aren’t so easy anymore…

Fantastic job by Team Sopur for organising all this though, including the Playa Blanca races at the weekend, http://www.vueltaplayablanca.com/ Only a few crashes on the dodgy bend, but luckily no serious injuries. Good turn out and race results for the Brits too. A great win by Chris Madden in the mens H2 race (it was disputed, but he did win!!), and a great ride from Brian Alldis in the mens H3 race too. I managed a win for the women too…

After a block of training, its good to find out if progress has been made. So, this week has been one of resting and testing, with the British Cycling physiologist in Manchester, and then with the Scottish Institute of Sport team in Inverness.

First was the lactate and VO2 test, a brutally painful experience, ramping up the power on the bike every 4 minutes until my arm muscles turn to jelly and my chest felt tight to rip. Meanwhile, blood is siphoned from the ear and tested for lactic acid, and the air breathed in and out is monitored to show oxygen uptake. Ouch. A few days of driving and back-ache later (how come it seems to hurt more when I stop training) I was back in Inverness for the ‘muscle-lab test’. In the gym, on the bench press, measuring my power with some gadgetry that I’m happy someone else is operating; it looks kind of delicate with wires tied to weights bar.

I feel a bit nervous now waiting for the results. What if I haven’t improved? What if the months of training haven’t had any affect? I tell myself that’s impossible. At least I hope it is. But one of the SIS guys told me that it took Chris Hoy 10 years just to increase a weight he was working on in the gym by a really small increment. No wonder I’ve been stuck on the same bench press weight for a few months now. Any ideas on how to progress it welcome…

Back to cold Highland weather now, three layers of clothing for every ride, even three pairs of gloves today! Joy… (but the white powder mountains look stunning).

Been doing quite a lot of writing again lately, and remembered how much I love it. Its the perfect antidote to a hard day training, and forces me to sit still and rest physically even if not mentally. Andy has put my first book ‘If You Fall’ into e-book format, and I’m finally getting there with my second book ‘Dizzy Fingers’ which has been sat on my computer for four years now! Thanks Andy for encouraging me, and thanks to help from a patient friend, Rob, whose been sitting editing with me, and giving me the confidence that it might be worth publishing! I’ve also started work on a third that will be all about the journey to the Paralympics. I’m enjoying writing that one most just now, but maybe because its so current.

I’ll be giving a talk in Sheffield on Monday 23rd January, also called ‘If You Fall’, to help raise funds for a community defibrilator in Sheffield. Come along at 7.30pm to St John’s Ambulance HQ (St John House, 5 Broadfield Close, Sheffield, S8 OXN). Entry £10.

Meanwhile, there’s training to get on with. I didn’t manage my session today - just couldn’t make the powers I should have. Trying not to be too down-hearted about it. Probably just a bit tired, and it was also the first super-high heart rate session of the season, so I think its fairly typical not to make it. As Homer Simpson says, ‘If you haven’t failed, you haven’t tried hard enough”. Will try again tomorrow…

The snow fell thick and fast as we sped down the A9, south through the whitening Cairngorms. A few days of travelling around the country later - not least to see the Queen at a Buckingham Palace evening for adventurers and explorers (had a good chat with the dynamic Prince Edward!) - we’ve landed in the calm, breathless winter of Mallorca, a perfect bike training venue. The news says its 165mph winds back home on Cairngorm. Phew, it really was a great time to escape.

John Hampshire (my coach from www.fit-for-purpose.co.uk) is here with me, encouraging me to pedal faster through sweaty interval sessions. Its good to have company when out riding - I spend too many hours alone riding the handbike - and John cranking beside me on his Trice trike is keeping me ‘on it’ instead of drifting into daydreams. Its weird having someone riding at the same height as me to chat to!
The roads are quiet at the moment, no gangs of German cyclists like there are in March (and no overweight men in white lycra); just the pro teams. We’ve had a few waves from Bradley Wiggins now - Team Sky are staying just around the bay so their morning rides seem to coincide with us setting out.

Yesterday was a mountain ride. A great ride through fields of sheep with their bells jangling like mountain goats, up through the forests where locals gathered for Sunday BBQ’s in the picnic areas, and finally into the rocky outcrops up top. The Traumantana Mountains are really stunning. I was excited to find myself at the top 20 minutes faster than last year (over 2.5 hours), so all this training must be paying off.

Snow on the mountains this morning: my fingers numb as the cold penetrates the gloves, heavy breathing fogging my glasses as I work hard to climb the hills, big puffy pants to stop my legs freezing, that extra bit of energy it takes to stay warm leaving me more tired than ever after training. Ah, longing now for the easier days of summer.

Had a hard training week with my coach from Fit for Purpose - who has generously been donated a very fast and cool leg-pedalled trike to ride with me by ICE (Inspired Cycle Engineering). Since then, have wrapped up in a filming project these last few weeks, to help promote the work of the Back-Up Trust in the run up to the Paralympics, London 2012. Its involved photographers and film-making people nestled in heather at the side of the roads, as I’ve biked around the Highland countryside. Whizzing along at high speed, the cameraman hung out the boot of the car, and I cycled as close behind as I dared without splatting myself on the bumper - only a few near misses.

Back-Up is a charity that helps transform lives after spinal cord injury, and the charity we’re aiming to raise £1million for by skiing to the South Pole in 2013. Back-Up helped me re-discover what was possible with a spinal cord injury, soon after I broke my back, through one of the courses that they offer, learning to sit-ski. It involved 14 of us in wheelchairs weebling around Alpine slopes, spending more time in and on the snow than gliding over it, having a lot of fun despite the bruises. The experience, breathing in the cold mountain air and learning a new skill, was a glimmer of light in what was otherwise quite a dark time, and I’m keen to support the life-transforming work that the charity do (which goes far beyond ski courses!). If you’d like to help, there’s a Just Giving link on the South Pole page of my site, or at www.poleofpossibility.com

Thanks, and happy early winter!

Racing season over, its ‘downtime’ time. Instead of prescribing killer training targets and structured sessions, my programme this month simply says ‘Do what you feel like, you need a rest.’
Ahhh, luxury. Free choice however brings hesitation, especially when its horizontal rain outside; weirdly, there is something strangely liberating about being told what to do.
So, having free choice I’ve defaulted to what I enjoy most….cruisy bike rides in Scottish Highland scenery - its good to be home - but I’m having to work hard to moderate it so that it really does include some rest. Its hard to stop, or do less, when you’re in the rhythm of always doing; but sometimes we have to force ourselves to put the brakes on, or we’d grind ourselves into a hole (sure we all know that feeling in one way or another); and for a few weeks at least, its nice to be a ‘normal’ person i.e. not always pedalling, or thinking about when I should be pedalling next.
Talking of Scottish scenery, I saw the film ‘You’ve Been Trumped’ at the weekend. Brilliant. Its a self-funded film which brings to life the arguably media-neglected other side of the Aberdeen Donald Trump golf course story, which smells of capitalism and corruption. How was permission granted for a US millionnaire to destroy a unique dune landscape and site of special scientific interest. It’s a must see film (see www.youvebeentrumped.com/youvebeentrumped.com/THE_MOVIE.html) and one that stimulates thought about saving landscapes, protecting the natural planet, our own impact on that etc.
Leaving the cinema I was challenged to reduce my carbon footprint, and picked up a sheet of paper with options. I checked the box that said ‘I’ll only boil the amount of water in my kettle that I need’, but when it came to ‘I will get a train to a European holiday instead of a flight’, I paused for thought. It’s ironic as an avid cyclist, enthusiastic for all its health and environmental benefits, that since making the cycling team, I’ve flown more than ever to compete in races. Note to self: must do better at that. Have since been thinking of cycling from the UK to a winter training camp in Mallorca.

In Berlin for the marathon, testing my cousin Becci’s patience with the logistics of travelling with a handbike - its big, its long, a no-go in most taxis, and I was refused on a train when we got here for not having pre-booked assistance, and that was before they saw the bike! (Mind you, there were 20 bikes in the train carriage when I eventually did get on - hard to imagine that scene on a British train who usually strop over one.)
Marathon morning rose warm and sunny, a stark contrast to last years incessant rain. To win I would have to beat the reigning World Champion - Switzerland’s goddess-like Ursula Schwaller - which I’ve never managed yet (though only lost to her by 0.1 seconds in a race last month). I got lucky and was donated a perfect, front-line starting position and as we sat for half an hour awaiting the countdown, I worked on my head. “You can do it!” has become my pre-race mantra, and a bit of me believes that I can win - and I’m slightly bored of the seeming predictability of results that comes with handbike racing once the first race of the season has defined the pecking order. Could this be the race where I can do it at last?
3,2,1 and we shot off the start, fast leaving the famous Reichstag behind us. I get a bit nervous in race starts, over 200 handbikes, testosterone levels disturbed by a woman cranking past, wheels almost shaving. Ursula was just ahead of me, but she’s a fast starter, and I struggled to get on her wheel. Things settled down, and I worked in a bunch. Becci saw people racing taking pictures of famous landmarks along the route, but I saw nothing but the wheel in front, and a blur of crowd, concentrating hard not to crash at 40kph.
So, second it was, in 1 hr 17 and around 50 seconds, with Ursula 30 second faster (though she got dropped from a bunch when her brake cable snapped in the last 10km. I have to be pleased with 2nd in the Berlin Marathon - after all, Paula Radcliffe was 3rd - and I rode 10 minutes faster than last year…and I’ll keep holding out for that day when the result isn’t predictable.

Sitting in a Copenhagen cafe trying to make a Chai Latte last a long time so I don’t need a bank loan to stay in here for a few hours (ouch, its expensive). Feeling like there’s a space given all the work towards the World Champs is now over (2 bronzes, so all being well, London here we come!); all that focus and energy for 2 races, and next year for London it will be even more intense.

Since the races I’ve stayed with my friend Melissa in a ‘collective’ - a kind of commune thats part of an eco-village 30 minutes outside Copenhagen. I’ve been inspired by people living in a different way - collectively and more sustainably, with carbon-neutral homes, solar panels, an organic community garden, a communal building where people cook and eat together often, and a whole lot more. Being immersed in such a conscious place for a few days I learnt a fair bit too, especially about electro-magnetic fields (EMF’s), their ill-effects on our health and how to reduce them (don’t sleep with electrical cables under your bed, or a cordless phone beside it), along with ‘earthing’ - a technique much like earthing a plug, but your body instead, to help reduce pain, inflammation and the negative effects of too much physical activity.

Training hard generates a lot of free radicals in the body, along with acidity, and elevated levels of stress hormones like cortisol. Certainly there have been days after hard training this last year when I’ve felt like my body is so stressed physically that I’ve wanted to cry, but haven’t had the energy to, and wanted to sleep, but haven’t been able to. So I got thinking, what else, apart from drinking water with fresh lemon in it and taking wheatgrass capsules (both great alkalisers for the body) can I do to help counter the effects of hard training. Obviously diet is a biggie - getting carbohydrate in within 20 minutes of training, and good quality protein in within a few hours, but now I’m thinking about other things too. I haven’t researched it properly yet, but there’s more info at www.earthing.com and also at www.qliving.com (press google translate to replace the Danish with English).

Anyways, being immersed in an eco-conscious, health-conscious community for a few days has reminded me that there’s so much we can do to help ourselves and our environment to stay healthy, and counter the stresses that we either put on ourselves or ‘accidentally’ get exposed to…whether its earthing, juicing, eating organic, growing vegetables, detoxifying etc etc. The only trouble is it all takes time - that commodity that no-one seems to have enough of - though I’ve noticed that when I slow down, there seems to be more time, like right now. For the first time in a while I feel like I’ve paused to breath, and to remember some stuff thats important. When I get home and training starts again, I hope to bring some of the stuff I’ve learnt here into developing more habits that counter the stresses of training and stop my body from falling apart…and hopefully, it’ll mean riding the bike even faster, and hopefully for a long time to come.

A few leaves have dropped off the trees this week, fluttered through my bike spokes and reminded me it’s that ‘change’ time of the year. My partner Andy, aka ‘The Troll Hunter’ has just left for Norway on unfinished business - his fourth attempt to climb the Troll Wall (follow his progress on twitter, @psychovertical) and what astounds me once again is that he actually seems to get excited about driving a few thousand km on his own, carrying rucksacks bigger and heavier than himself uphill, and then soloing an overhanging, wet rock face that’ll take him at least 5 days or maybe double that to climb. His passion for it fuels me up as I pack to leave in the morning for Denmark - the Paracycling World Champs at last - the big one that decides who gets a chance to go forward for the London 2012 Paralympics.

In our little world, the next few weeks will decide a fair bit about what comes next (hopefully I won’t have to climb off the bike to do a ‘proper’ job again just yet). But its got me thinking about change. All week I’ve been anticipating us parting ways, our separate adventures, the possible highs and risks, the end of something (summer, living in Sheffield instead of Inverness, being together) and feeling curious about what’s to come next. But change is the only certain thing in life, and so I’m coaching myself to embrace it: to look forward to the races next week instead of feeling fear or dread (‘in case it doesn’t work out’ - it will!) - my friend reminded me this morning “What’s meant for you won’t pass you by”); to look forward to the purple heather and smell of the Highlands again; to time to recover after the intense training of the last few months; time with friends…and so it goes on. There are so many things to look forward to, whatever the outcome of the next few weeks.

So I remind myself not to look back with a sense of loss at the good of what’s been and gone this summer, and to look forward to the good and the new of whats to come.
Good luck Andy - you’re my inspiration x

A few weekends ago, I raced across a finish line in Germany, wheel to wheel with the current World Champions female handcyclist. I’ve never been so happy about losing a race. I was 0.1 seconds closer to her than I’d ever dared to imagine.

In that race, I felt I could fly; strong, perfectly tuned, my mind so utterly in the zone that I didn’t notice the heat, the pain of the hill, the difficulty of the 180 switchback or the sharp corners. But, this week I’ve been feeling close to broken - every muscle and tendon in my shoulders screaming for reprieve, my usual natural approach to wellbeing abandoned for antibiotics and ibuprofen.

One minute, I think I can win Gold, the next I wonder why I’m bothering, how on earth I think I can do it, and whether all the sacrifices are worth it. But, I remind myself, its all a cycle (excuse the pun) of highs and lows; one minute we feel we can change the World, the next we feel good for nothing.

Now, I sit on a plane, on the way to another race in Belgium, and I’d reminded of that cycle of ups and downs, reading the inflight magazine and the wisdom of Howard Schultz, the CEO and main man of Starbucks (whose Chai Latter I’m slightly addicted to…)

“It is possible to rise, fall, and rise again, recapture lost dreams, dream bigger, and succeed in our ever-changing complex world.”

As my Paracycling team mates well know this week - total crashes in the last 3 days amounting to 6, and 3 of those involving a hospital - all of our journey’s get tough at times; but we can come back, chase dreams of all shapes and sizes, and succeed.
In the meantime though, cycle safe, and if you don’t, drive safe….remember those trucks and cars are bigger than we are…

Ah, its a hard life missing chunks of the British summer…out in Italy again, to race and train…except FlyBe (aka MayBe) sent my handbike on a romantic mini-break to Paris. It took a while to track it down and get it to Milan, and in those four long bike-less days, spectating the races, trying to squash my frustration, I discovered the joys of ‘taper blues’ - normally experienced when easing off on training in the run up to an important race, but this time brought on by enforced rest. 

The symptoms aren’t great - feeling more tired than when training hard, emotionally flat and a bit fed up, new aches and pains appearing (got my first ever proper migraine, but maybe that was the heat), feeling anxious about losing form. Check out http://www.active.com/triathlon/Articles/The_taper_blues.htm if you’d like to read more.
When hours of exercise a day becomes normal, its hard to stop. Even a day off feels like forever. What I have to remind myself constantly, is that rest is as important as training.

So I try to believe that four days without riding has probably done more good than harm, though it did mean missing out on some vital team points for the London 2012 slot allocation. On the up side, my Fit for Purpose coach has been stretching me lately - setting training targets that have been hard to reach - but this week I managed to reach the power targets for the first time…so maybe that rest wasn’t so bad after all, a short respite in the run up to the World Champs (only 5 weeks to go).

In the small town of Roskilde, not far outside Copenhagen, Denmark, hundreds of the World’s fastest paracyclists will race in early September, competing for places in the London 2012 Paralympics. The circuit, course and info is online at http://www.paracycling2011.dk British Cycling will have a team of around 12 to 15 cyclists at the event - each rider aiming to be on the podium, otherwise London 2012 becomes a lost dream. No pressure then…

Meanwhile, I’ll enjoy the journey. Flat country roads through vineyards that wander towards the foothills of the Alps, a pool outside my bedroom window, a coach, a masseur and a mechanic all to hand. Better than sitting in front of a desk I say!

What about POD? The staff at BBraun Medical created a new acronym today - ‘POD’.  “So what are your plans ‘Post-Olympics’?” they asked me. Well, as I haven’t even officially made the team for London 2012 yet, I haven’t given much thought beyond it. But they’re worried that I will get POD…that is ‘Post Olympic Depression’...it has a better ring than PPD (Post Paralympic Depression). I don’t think its an official term or syndrome, but a very possible athletes version of PND (post natal depression, a devastating and little talked about problem), but perhaps without the sleepless nights.

We all know the feeling - when we’ve worked towards something for a while, reached a pinnacle of some kind - of focus, performance, commitment to something or someone - whatever it may be, we often have a ‘low’ when its passed, and have to adapt to the change. But the BBraun team question got me thinking. How can we plan for the ‘low’? Can we do something in advance to help ourselves through it, or at least not be taken by surprise?

“We need to come up with an anti-POD strategy!” the team suggested, and I felt emotion well at their thoughtfulness and enthusiasm. And it got me thinking, into the past, about how I’ve managed after ‘pinnacles’ before. It seems I just invent another - something else to focus on and towards - another goal. Well for good or for bad, its a strategy that helps me through, though I’m sure those around me sometimes wish I’d just kick back, sit sill, and chill for a while.

There’s a motivation theory - McLelland’s - that suggests we have a preference for being motivated, by either achievement (do you have a ‘to-do tick list?!’, authority (do you like to be in charge and see your ideas come to fruition?) or affiliation (do teamwork and good relationships matter above all else to you?). I guess I can’t deny I’m inclined to the lists and the achievement, so inventing a new goal seems to be an effective anti-POD strategy for me. (Perspectives from psycho-therapists welcome!)

So, before I knew it, another ‘Fit 2 Wheel’ Challenge was being invented, bigger and further than this years -  September 2012 post-Paralympic bike ride to the BBraun head office in Germany, visiting spinal injuries centres along the way. There was even the suggestion of continuing on around the world…!  Ahhh, dreaming big is great, but as I remind myself every day at the moment, following a training programme tighter than tight, its the small steps each day that add up and really matter. So for now, its a rainy weekend, distant dreams are filed away, and its back to list writing and the turbo trainer.

June 28th…The first day of the ‘BBraun Fit 2 Wheel Challenge’, saw us cross the North Yorkshire Moors from Middlesbrough to north of York. Myself and Katie Carter of BBraun are on a 4 day bike ride, linking talks at the spinal units of northern England. It’s to promote the activities possible with a spinal cord injury, the benefits of cycling, and to generate funds for the life-saving work of the Yorkshire Air Ambulance. Staff, current and ex patients at the James Cooke Spinal Injuries Centre appreciated a talk about outdoor adventures, before Tyne Tees TV filmed us on our way.

A huge thanks to BBraun for supporting this, not least because we have a van - the ‘snack wagon’ - and a team to meet us along the way, which is great for our energy and motivation. I’m used to roughing it on bike journeys like this, camping at roadsides, eating porridge and being eaten by midges. This time BBraun are supporting us with the luxury of hotels (the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept in!). The only glitch of the day was the reconnaisance team recommending a wheelchair accessible bike path that would follow a flat route beside a river…which turned out to be a bouldery mountain bike trail, uphill and down dale. The pic below proves it - only slightly traumatic to bump my new carbonbike racing machine along!

Well, its not all bad - a belly full of delicious food this evening, and a flat route tomorrow, morning for some fundraising at Monks Cross Asda in York, then onward to a scenic spot near the M1!!

By the way, loving the new Berghaus lightweight gear. Its aimed at Trail running, but perfect for cycling too. Thanks to Berghaus too for donating rucksacks to raffle, to help our fundraising efforts.

Been on the road for the last 3 weeks, racing in Italy, Switzerland and another World Cup event in Spain, with the British Paracycling Team (see here). The lowlight of the trip was being on the wrong road - accidentally cycling onto a Swiss motorway. I lost the bike path whilst out on a training ride near Zurich, and somehow landed myself on the slip road of a motorway. Now the turning circle on a handbike is biiiggg, so it was impossible to turn round. Wondering what to do, I spied that the next exit was only a few hundred metres away, and decided to risk a blast along the wide hard shoulder. The plan was scuppered by a bridge and short tunnel just before the exit, where the hard shoulder disappeared; I ended up cowering against the crash barrier like a scared rabbit whilst the jugonauts roared by. ‘What to do? ‘ I wondered, quivering with fear. There were blood, sweat and tears but luckily the police showed up; they helped me bum-shuffle under the crash barrier whilst they lifted my bike over the top (I tore a chunk out of my foot in the process), opened a magical iron gate onto a quiet side road, and escorted me back to the safety of a bike path, with a kind but suitable ticking off. Cycling home, all I could think was ‘I was that numpty on a bike, on a motorway, but at least I’m alive…’

The highlight of the trip? Winning a large sausage, wine and two golds in Italy (my first ever), and silvers in all the other races. Results currently put me third in the World in my class, but the true test will be the World Champs in Denmark, early September. I have to make the podium (top 3) there to be selected for London 2012.

So, here’s to more hard training, and in search of a new set of go-faster wheels (apparently they’ll make me 5% faster…here’s hoping).
Meanwhile, as Andy’s dad said, “Good to hear you’re living the dream, but I know it doesn’t come without sacrifices”. He couldn’t have hit it more on the head. Missing Scotland, home, family, friends, kayaking - not necessarily in that order.

Not long over jet lag from the first big race of the season – a World Cup in Sydney. It was sunny in the UK, rainy there, but rain so warm you could bike in shorts, to the sound of surf and exotic birdsong. Ahhh, its hard this job, but someone has to do it.

I was pleased to get two silvers, and disappointed too – mainly because I felt I’d let a stranger down – a drunk one, who staggered up to me and with deep sincerity and a heartfelt stare into my eyes, told me to ‘Beat the Yankee’ – for him, and for his father. Whoever he was, I promise him I’ll try harder next time.

But, as someone twittered to me (yes, I even found time to do that tweeting thing with all the time in hotels between races), gold is bling, and silver is much more classy. I tend to agree. Where would we be if we didn’t have anything to work towards?

So now I’m spurred on again, to train harder, try harder, rest harder, eat better…
and as a famous rugby coach once said, “Better never stops” .

Phew, maybe I’ll be glad when the Olympics if over and its time for a rest.

The races in Sydney were the start of a point-collecting frenzy – podium places in races means more points, and more points means more places in next years Paralympics – and so begins a summer season, travelling from race to race, June seeing us racing in Italy, Switzerland, Spain, the Czech Republic and the UK. I like to be ‘green’ and ride my bike, but the racing season is doing nothing for my carbon footprint….

I’ve had lots of bike training in Mallorca this winter (fab for it, up to 20,000 cyclists at any one time on the island, more bikes than cars). Last week I met the current World Champion there – a Swiss woman, Ursula Schwaller www.ursulaschwaller.ch – and had a great few days training with her (well, trying to hang on the back!). Learnt lots and loved her approach and attitude to the handbiking.

But, the best story of the last few months happened at home.

Picture a train station, Inverness as it happens, heaving in summer but no tourists arrive in the Highland capital on a February Saturday. I’m waiting for a friend, sat in my handbike, the kind of contraption that tends to attract all sorts of stares and comments. A drunk bloke staggers towards me and I’m thinking “Oh no, here we go”, expecting to be bombarded with personal questions, or maybe to get a pat on the head.

He stops and swaggers before me, then slurs “They were going to put my dog down you know”. I think ‘Double oh no!’, and wish my friend would hurry up. Between swallows and head sways, he tells me that his dog had lame legs, that the vet suggested she be put down, that he’d fought back and said no. “I got her a wheelchair for her back legs” he said, “and now she runs around all over the place with it”.

I’m taken back a little. This guys got things sussed. Often people don’t make the connection between the handbike, that my legs don’t work, that I use a wheelchair – they think I’m some kind of geeky poser, an ‘enthusiast’ on a wacky bike. I kind of like that the handbike removes any disabled aspects of disability. Its fast, its sleek, and you have to be fit to ride it.
“So what’s your mission?” he asks me.
“Why, do you I look like a woman with a mission?”
He stands back for a moment, and theatrically puts his hands on his hips. “Yeah, you do actually”.
I’m warming to him.
“Aw, well, I am training….hoping to get to the Paralympics next year”.
There’s none of the usual oohs or aahs or guff of any sort. He just leans forward, looks me intensely in the eye, grabs my hand with this drink-sticky palm, shakes it and says “Beat the Yankee”.

I laugh, and tell him that she beat me last year. It had been the World Championships and a sore moment, the American female a newcomer too, but one I’d felt certain I could beat; until her shadow crept up behind me, eased past me with a strength I couldn’t match, and left me weakened with disappointment, feeling deluded by my ambition to be a Paralympic athlete.

He leans closer, still shaking my hand, still with an intense look, and says again, “Beat the Yankee. For me. For my father. Beat the Yankee.”
Then he staggers off towards the station bar.

I sit in the bike, pondering the encounter, bemused, amused, thoughtful. The loss to the American had been a stab to my confidence, a puncture to my ambition. How odd that this random bloke should appear and slur this message to me.

A few minutes pass by, and I see the same swagger coming toward me again.

He arrives at my side, his hands full, and into my lap places a bar of Galaxy chocolate, a can of Red Bull – can’t stand the stuff, but the intention it sent was loud and clear – and a mini stuffed Loch Ness Monster. Calories, a kick of energy and a mascot to cheer. He looks me in the eyes again, fumbles to shake my hand once more, and says “Just beat the Yankee”.

He stumbles back into the bar, and I am left wondering at the world, at the messages it brings us, how inspiration comes in the most unexpected moments, in the most intriguing ways.

Recently returned from three weeks bike training in Mallorca, the last week with the British Paracycling Team. I’d been scheming it since all the snow of last winter, a ‘Great Escape’ to a place where the sun shows itself, and the temperature can be counted on being plus instead of minus.

Thanks to Fit for Purpose, there was lots of hard work (fun too honest!), and daily emails about power, heart rate and efforts to keep me on track. Miles of sweat and switchbacks up into the mountains, and a fair share of freewheeling back down to the sea, practicing cornering, trying not to launch over a cliff or collide with an oncoming car. Mallorca is a cycling Mecca, and its Traumantana Mountains an inspiring place to pedal, even if it takes four hours to go up and only thirty minutes to come down.

Back in the hotel (www.reedshotel.com quite swanky, including spa complete with German nudity) I kept hearing the term ‘adaptation week’ being banded around by other riders. Now being new to this game, I wondered what technical term this was. Did it mean a week with special sorts of efforts on the bike? Some secret training formula that I hadn’t yet discovered? Or maybe it meant lots of physio and massage…after three weeks of battering my muscles that sounded good.

Not wanting to appear stupid, I built up to asking at the end of the week, “What happens in an adaptation week then?”
The answer was surprisingly simple, and I’ve been adapting ever since. Its all about loafing, lying in bed, on a sofa, eating well, resting up, getting ‘horizontal time’ as its called in the trade, all in the name of ‘adaptation’.  My body is tired, really tired, shoulders aching, my resting heart rate high, and barely rising when I do any exercise. The training stress of some hard weeks on the bike is showing, and now its time to rest up. But very soon, it’ll be back to hard biking, faster and stronger than a month ago….hopefully!

Handbike Scotland Aviemore Promo. from Handbike Scotland on Vimeo.

A great weekend training near Aviemore, Scotland…and a great short video by Gordon Gillespie, Handbike Scotland.

I’ve somehow along the way come to believe that most things in life happen for a reason. Even the things that at first seem bad – like becoming paralysed - seem to steer us onto a new track, often a better one. When we set our mind to it, we can steer ourselves in any direction we want. As the trainer at my new gym, Peak Physique Inverness (check out their facebook page) recently quoted…

“Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
 Watch your words, for they become actions.
 Watch your actions, for they become habits.
 Watch your habits, for they become character.
 Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”

Two years ago after watching the Beijing Olympics I’ve been noticing my thoughts, words, actions etc. quite a bit. I started off thinking I’d like to do that, but I’m no way good enough, but it’s amazing if we focus our thoughts where they can lead us. One bike ride led to another…

A few weeks ago I got accepted into the British Cycling ‘Academy’ so its now full training with the 2012 Paralympics in mind. I’m rarely happier than when out on the bike, so surely this has to be a good thing. People say you have to be single-minded and totally focused (perhaps selfish?) to be a serious athlete. I hope not, and I figure that if we’re happy in our work (and riding a bike is my work now) then we’re happier in the rest of life too, and that’s good for everyone around us, because we smile more and grump less.

So as the company slogan for ‘Life is Good’ goes…
“Do what you love, love what you do”
It sounds hedonistic, but perhaps being happier spreads more good in the world than we can even imagine (or maybe I’m just a hedonist).

The Berlin Marathon: fast, flat, wet, and the biggest field of handbikers I’ve ever seen. 175 to be precise, from racing recumbents to handbikes clipped onto wheelchairs, with teenagers to pensioners at the helm.

It was the kind of wet that sprays water up your nostrils and dirt into your eyes, and dripped cold into your bones, my hands on the cranks numb even before the start. The route takes a tour of Berlin, but I saw nothing but the draft bar of the bike in front. Occasionally I pushed out front, faster, sensing the pace of the group to be too slow but then wishing I hadn’t as the icy air slowed me and soon I’d retreat back into the shelter of the chain gang again, hurtling through the wet streets, concentrating not to crash.

I didn’t see any other women, didn’t know how many were there. I crossed the finish line beyond the Brandenburg Gate and saw the blond ponytail of Ursula Schwaller (Swiss), the World Champion. So I hadn’t won, but I was second, 1 min 47 seconds behind her. I should have, could have, gone faster, but then I’m sure so could she. It was the wettest Berlin Marathon in history (its only apparently the second to have rain) and left athletes blue-lipped, shivering and retreating for hotels, but despite all that, it was for sure the greatest race I’ve experienced on a handbike yet, and testimony to the growing popularity of the sport.

I’m cradled into my shiny new handbike. I wait, anxious – its taken a lot to get here.

“Thirty seconds to go” the race commisaire announces.
Poised on the start ramp, the Quebec sun too hot for tight lycra, let alone the dark jackets the officials are wearing. Just their appearance makes things feel serious, but it is the World Championships.

I watch the second hand tick, and sense the fun of cycling being crushed by the race, even though it hasn’t begun. It’s the pressure I’ve put on myself, my own need to do well, so that all the hours out training, all the hours away from other commitments, are made worthwhile.

The final countdown comes, beeping, 3, 2, 1, and then I pull the pedals with all the strength I can muster. The pain isn’t instant, but its straight into a climb and I feel the burn in my arms, wonder if I can last for 11.4km. The other women are behind me, starting at one minute intervals, chasing me down. I pedal my heart out, daring the sharp left bend at close to 30mph, barely letting up any power on the cranks.

Down hill, faster, ‘Can I go faster?’ I imagine a thermometer-like gauge that shows my effort. 90%. ‘Harder, you can go harder’ I tell myself, and I power on even more, daring the speed, surprised at how fast the speedo tells me I’m going, scared by the hum of air through the spokes by my ear, the throb of hard rubber over pitted tarmac.

It’s only the second time trial of my life, a race I always thought I’d hate. A sheer all out effort, for 10, 20, maybe 30 minutes, and its over almost before it’s begun. It’s too short to feel the pain, too short to think about anything other than pushing hard, nothing to measure yourself again except yourself, and that internal gauge.

When you’ve given it everything, it’s hard to believe anyone can go faster than you – but they do. I came in 4th, 15 seconds off the bronze, and beat myself up about the clumsy seconds lost along the way, and whether I could have pushed just that little bit harder. But that’s the name of the game. 

Why do I do this stuff?  Why does anyone want to put themselves against a clock, to measure themselves against other fellow human beings who are all great in their own different ways? Who cares who goes fastest anyway?!

The point is that it makes us, and it keeps us sane. There’s nothing like the sense of freedom that comes with a handbike – the wind through your hair, the roll of your wheels, the open road ahead, the horizon expanding with towns left behind. And racing just fuels you to push yourself like you never thought you could, until you feel superabled instead of disabled - and that’s a good feeling.

THANK YOU to Albion Mobility, Alloa, Scotland for helping me into my shiny new bike! Handbikes for sale through www.albionmobility.co.uk

When you lose something for a while, it makes you appreciate it all the more. After the weeks laid up in bed back in April (with a small pressure sore) the freedom of being back on the bike has spurred me on for hours ‘in the saddle’ (well, the handbike seat if more like a comfy recliner than the knifeblade of most bike saddles).

Miles of pedaling quiet Highland lanes got traded for flatter Spanish ones back in June, for a World Cup Paracycling event, my first in a long time international race. Fast and intimidating, I was lucky to get third (which doesn’t sound so impressive when you know there were only 7 in the race), and an invite from British Cycling to the World Paracycling Championships in Quebec, mid-August.

So suddenly training has got more painful, with Gordon Gillespie (Handbike Scotland, www.handbikescotland.co.uk ) offering to pace me at least once a week…still trying to catch him on the hills, but all good stuff for the races ahead.

The pacing, combined with the new bike currently winging its way to me from Albion Mobility (www.albionmobility.co.uk ) near Stirling, should hopefully improve my speed and maybe, if training and luck work their magic, get me a decent place at the finish line. Albion Mobility are the first Scottish retailer for handbikes (at last we don’t have to travel hundreds of miles to southern England!) and I owe them a huge thank you for their help getting me set up in time for the Worlds.

In between all this, I had my eyes opened in the bright lights and smoggy skies of Shanghai, reminding me how lucky we are in the ‘West’ when it comes to wheels.

I met two young men who’d been tied to a bed in an orphanage for 20 years, just because they have disabilities, and another young man who’d been sold for sex since his birth, to age 17, because he has Spinabifida and was unwanted.  It seems that disability is misunderstood, or at worst, and unwanted embarrassment in Chinese society.

The Home Sweet Home charity (www.homesweethome.org.cn ) rescues people with disabilities from orphanages and the streets, gives them a home, and a job. Any profits from the products they sell is re-invested to support the work of the charity. A fantastic social enterprise. Realising how lucky I am when it comes to wheels has me thinking about how to help places like Home Sweet Home where people with disabilities aren’t so fortunate. Email me if you have any ideas?....

The clocks are forward at last, lighter nights, new energy after the long cold winter months of the far north. And ‘Spring Forward, Fall Back’ seems a great metaphor for life too – at least from my position right now. I’m stranded in bed in a flat in Sheffield, due to a scuff on my backside that would be inconsequential for anyone who could walk, but a potential disaster for anyone sat in a wheelchair (the nightmare of pressure sores).

I’d just had a spring forward after winning the first bike race of the season for the British Para-cycling Series (thanks to John at www.fit-for-purpose.co.uk for his coaching over the winter) and two weeks bike training in Mallorca – oh so good to ride on roads where there are more cyclists than cars, more sunshine than cloud, and more cafes than a hungry woman could wish for.

But with every bit of progress we make in life, there is often a setback, and as I’m reminding myself now, its how we deal with the setbacks rather than the leaps forward that makes the difference between being happy or miserable, succeeding and failing…

So here’s what I’m telling myself…you’ll be stronger for resting; Lance Armstrong won races after cancer, so a tiny sore on your bum is nothing; read some books; learn some stuff; enjoy the peace and quite of being cooped up in four walls; don’t go on your turbo trainer ‘cos you’ll only scuff it up again – patience is a virtue; write blogs that you never find time for otherwise!

So far, so good. And as the quote below reminded me, I’ll do what I can to find the good bits about being stuck in bed, rather than get pulled into the potential gloominess of it! (yeah, probably most teenagers dream)

“You may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing that we call ‘failure’ is not the falling down, but the staying down” (Mary Pickford)

All a bit melodramatic for a scuff, but then it’s the scuffs in life that have the potential to drag us down, when really we just need to scuff them off.

Minus thirty. Eyelashes tipped with mini balls of ice. Fingers numb. The cold gnawing at my cheeks so they feel that skin has been stripped from them. I wish I could feel my legs and wonder if my toes are blue; and we’re planning to head for Antarctica? It seems a mad plan when even a Norwegian winter feels so harsh.

At minus thirty, the sit-ski has no glide over the snow, as if there’s a layer of superglue between it and the white stuff. Pulling on my ski poles with all my strength, I barely move, and suddenly the prospect of a mountain sk-tour seems like a sentence for torture.

My friend Kristina straps on a harness, normally for towing sleds, and hooks me in. She’s hardy, born on skis and used to the Norwegian winter. The ‘stick’ of the cold snow is broken, and we start moving. My arms work like pistons in rhythm with her legs, and the intermittent tug from the tow-line keeps my momentum going. Slowly but surely we follow a skidoo trail, up, up and up into the mountains. 

Way up high, its warmer; some kind of temperature inversion. There is pristine snow, peaks and valleys blanketed in ice, the sky blue, a sparkling landscape. I’m glad for friends mad enough to help me be there.

Without friends none of the stuff I do would be possible. So thanks to all of you, and for being a little bit crazy to trek high and far with me. That’s the stuff that brings life to life.

Over the last few weeks I’ve donned my very best BBC voice, presenting a new series for BBC Scotland called ‘Into the Unknown”; interviewing explorers such as John Blashford-Snell, John Ridgeway, Pen Haddow and Benedict Allen.  It was a real privilege to hear their stories, and perspectives on adventure and exploration.

You can listen to the programmes by going to BBC radio Scotland ‘Into the Unknown’ page.

Happy New Year! Its snowing like I’ve never seen it snow in Inverness before. Scotland has the best ski conditions in Europe, as demonstrated by skiing along the canal towpath this afternoon. Had to remove the Air Greenland tag from the back of my sit-ski, which is really sad because it means I haven’t sat in it since then…that’s three and a half years since the most incredible journey of my life, skiing across the Greenland icecap. Big skies, open space, pure wilderness, the kind of place that empties you, so you can stop doing and start being.

At the end, I was hooked, reluctant to return to ‘normal’ life, and was sure I’d be hard parted from the ice for long. So what happened? Work, family, commitments, daily chores, miles of biking…the kind of stuff that although important, can easily squeeze out a few vital blocks. The blocks that hold all the mortar together; the adventures that give us the space to breathe amongst all the busy-ness of the business of life, and remember that we’re a little being in a big universe.

Our ski tracks across the pristine surface of the Greenland icecap are marks I’ll never forget. Simple marks that made life feel remarkable. It is, but sometimes we get too busy to remember.

To all I know and all I don’t, Happy Adventuring in 2010, and may you find yourself feeling the remarkable-ness.

Fit for Purpose

I spend dark winter hours like a hamster, pedaling my handbike on a turbo-trainer, occasionally strapping on a heart rate monitor to try and keep a pace. I watch something on iplayer – great that ‘Spooks’ is back - to distract myself from the boring labour of pedaling a bike when there’s no view whizzing by, no wind or rain to distract me from the pain of burning muscles.

It’s all in pursuit of this slightly mad idea of making the handcycling development squad with a view to 2012. Apparently UK Sport is eager for aspiring Paralympians, but my eagerness is falling on deaf ears at British Cycling. Maybe they just think I’m too old or no good. But strangely, just when I’m wondering how to train smarter and get stronger, I get a call from John and Christine at ‘Fit for Purpose’ , offering me some sports performance testing, nutritional advice, and coaching. Perfect timing if I’m to sustain the hamster wheel any longer.

A torturous 40 minutes on the turbo, with minute intervals to prick my fingers and squeeze blood out for testing, I now at last know more about the text book training measurements I’ve so often read about, but never known how to get. Lactate threshold, maximum heart rate, body fat percentage (yikes), peak flow measurements etc. I’ve struggled to get into these more ‘serious’, perhaps slightly geeky aspects of training, but as I’m serious about getting faster on the bike, and training smarter, then it couldn’t have been more perfectly timed.

John and Christine have years of experience but have only recently put it together to establish ‘Fit for Purpose’, Aberdeen-based and offering a personalized service for anyone who wishes to get fitter, better. I’m hooked now and have just bought some electronic scales to help me keep a food diary for the week…probably so they can tell me to eat more protein, and less chocolate biscuits. Hmmm.

Watch this space to see how it develops, as ‘Fit for Purpose’ help me get fit for 2012, whether that’s handcycling at the Paralympics, or skiing to the South Pole. They’ve offered Andy a diet analysis too, but he’s not up for it…it would be goodbye to bacon butties and mountains of chilli, chips and cheese.

Just home from glitz and glamour of the Cosmopolitan ‘Ultimate Women of the Year’ Awards for ‘Fun Fearless Females’. What’s one of them, I wonder? Certainly there was no fear of showing legs or cleavage, and amongst the glittering celebrities, it was with some bemusement that I was privileged to receive the ‘Fearless Woman of the Year’ award. Absolutely not true – Andy has seen me quivering beneath a climb, shaking with distress at the sight of surf whilst out sea kayaking, and jumping at the scurry of a fat spider.

I’m not sure whether being viewed as fearless is an honour or a representation of my tendency to launch foolishly into potentially dangerous situations. It is certainly a humbling experience, to be gathered with a group of women doing incredible things, inventing equipment to help the world’s waterless population, humanitarian work in far and dangerous places, giving opportunities to teenagers who might otherwise go astray, fighting cancer, etc. – a room full of people doing really good and hard work, which make climbing mountains and crossing icecaps look like sheer, indulgent, adventurous idiocy (but that still won’t stop be from doing it).

Ruth Jones (‘Nessa’ in Gavin & Stacey) seemed unsure what to make of her Ultimate ‘Funny Woman’ award (quote ‘is that funny ha ha or funny strange’?). I was typically envious of the Ultimate ‘International Angel’ award…having that spiritual slant to life, I like the idea of being an angel.

The thing that connected everyone in the room is that we all do things we love doing, and have travelled the roads that those passions have led us along. We probably all think we’re just doing what we do, and feel lucky we are able to.

As I stood on the stage, I could see beside me the friends, family and strangers that over the years have helped me do more than I’d once dared to dream, and it is to all of them that I owe my experiences. If you’re reading this, you know who you are, and thank you!

Meanwhile, the Pole of Possibility plan is getting underway…watch this space for news of ‘Operation Snowball’ – our master plan for involving young people, helping them towards their aspirations, and raising £1 million at the same time. 

An inbetween, cycling, writing, cycling, writing….plans for the new book, ‘Dizzy Fingers’ are getting closer (but not in time for Christmas)!

Last week was a mad one for travelling and sport.

The 15th August was the London World Triathlon Championships, where bizarrely given my minimal experience of triathlon, I was asked to go and compete for Britain…apparently my one half-iron-man effort in Scotland two summers ago qualified me for an entry! It was a bit of a showcase event for Paratriathlon as a sport – that means a range of disabilities such as wheelchair users, amputees and those visually impaired - and the largest race ever held in Europe with 42 competitors from 7 countries. It was centred in Hyde Park, and involved a 300m swim in the Serpentine Lake (I tried not to swallow but failed badly), a 10km cycle (using a hand-bike) and a 3.3km run (for ‘wheelies’ that means pushing a racing wheelchair).

The event was watched by Olympic representatives looking to include Paratriahlon into 2016. Despite swallowing a lot of murky water, it was great fun & I somehow managed to win a Gold medal for the wheelchair women’s section (though there were only 2 of us!), but most fun of all was watching Andy’s kids Ella (10) and Ewen (7) getting interviewed for TV about what it was like to be there. More info at www.britishtriathlon.org

Then it was off to Hungary for the World Orienteering Championships. I was one of six in the British ‘Trail Orienteering’ team, that is an adaption of orienteering for anyone who can’t run through the forest: it’s not a race, more of a mental challenge reading maps and problem solving, sort of like suduko in the forest. With thirty five degrees, and two of the courses around a zoo, it was an interesting week.

I was 8th in the Paralympic class, and our team were 8th overall: it’s hard to beat the Scandinavians where orienteering is more popular than football in the UK! For more info see www.woc2009.hu; www.trailo.org and www.orienteering.org and follow links to Trail O. The British team are always on the look out for new recruits, and you don’t have to have a disability to take part.

Next on the whirlwind week of sport was a day in Preston with British Cycling. They’re looking for a hand-cycle development squad to work with over the next year, in the build up to 2012. The day involved physiological testing i.e. torture on a handcycle with a power meter attached, some explosive power tests, a time trial on the track and some racing around a bike circuit.

I was the weakest and the slowest (consoled by the fact I was the only female there as Rachel Morris, Beijing gold medalist is busy training for the forthcoming World Champs in Italy). Anyway we’ll find out in mid-September whether we’ve made the squad…

Any kind of adventure would have seemed great after a week in bed with swine flu - good to have some antibodies now though in case of a more vicious winter version. We chose the Caledonian Canal. There were three in a boat (Andy and his kids, Ella, 10 and Ewen, 7) and me in a sea kayak. It was four days of wind and rain, singing, cajoling, midge-biting, wet-tent antics, fearing for the safety of Andy, the kids and my wheelchair as they bobbed merrily on the rolling swell of Loch Ness. No monsters. Two-thirds of the route from Fort William to Inverness is along lochs, the waves quite bouncy at times, and only one-third on canals, where you hope the lock-keepers will let you through in the kayaks. We only got lucky once. I thought the Caledonian Canal would be a dull paddle compared to the mountains and lochs of the west coast, but its a fantastic journey, with free camping and good facilities offered by British Waterways - who market the canals as ‘your outdoor gym’. There’s a map and info about it on the Scottish Canoe Association website.

On the hand-bike front, the National Disability Cycling Championships, a colossal sixteen hours drive to sunny Kent, saw a big field of handcyclists turn up (well, big for the UK at around 20, but apparently they get hundreds in mainland Europe races). Rachel Morris, gold medallist from Beijing, and in the same category as myself (though she is a double amputee), made an appearance after months in hospital, and some intimidating competition for everyone. After a promising start, I couldn’t stay on her wheel, and she pulled away, cranking up an increasing lead to win the race. She’s either a natural or has been pumping iron in the hospital gym, or both. Well done Rachel. Next race in Warwick town centre, 6th September, then the final round of the UK paracycling series in London on the 26th.

The last month seems to have gone with a skwoosh! (check out www.skwoosh.com if you never want to get a sore or numb bum again – brilliant products that I’ve used loads this month for kayaking and biking - thanks Skwwosh!). Spent a week in Italy for the ‘Bibione sea kayaking event’, which started with a fantastic carnival atmosphere at the Venice ‘Vogalonga’ – a tour (or race if you feel like it) around the canals and islands of Venice for any non-motorised boats. There were giant gondolas with teams of gondoliers, rowing boats, dragon boats with drums beating, and amongst all that some small fry kayaks and canoes. Sadly it was the wettest / windiest weather ever known to summer in Venice (and a heat wave in the UK), and only 600 of the 2000 boats entered actually started…and 50 of those capsized (luckily we weren’t one of them). If you like water and boats of any description, it’s a great event, and happens every year.

Bibione Kayak week is in its second year (see www.bibionekayak.com), based on a fantastic campsite an hour or so east of Venice, on a small peninsula between the Adriatic Sea and a lagoon. So whether you like surf and sand, or grass and calm blue waters with a network of channels to explore, it’s a great event for water lovers, ice-cream and food lovers alike. There were plenty of kayaks to choose from – mainly by Sweden’s Point 65 and Italy’s CS Canoes, and the foldable Klepper boats from Germany too. There are some great designs out there for anyone in a wheelchair to paddle, with more stability – for example the Point 65 Double Shot (2 person kayak), CS Canoe single kayaks have a great range with good stability, and Klepper have a new ‘XXL’ design that even fits a wheelchair in it, and still handles really well.

Early June also saw the first bike race of the British Para-Cycling series. A pretty good turn out (about 20 riders I think, including about 12 handcyclists), and a great tarmac loop specially designed for cycle racing, at Salt Ayre in Lancaster. I averaged 16mph, so not bad for a ‘weeble’ and came in second. It was interesting to see how disability bike racing works. We all got a ‘handicap’ allowance, and were set off at intervals depending on this (calculated in relation to each persons disability and level of function). It meant a couple of us were like rabbits being chased by the greyhounds – an intimidating bunch of guys with bulging muscles and a fair number of tattoos, trying not to be lapped too many times. All good fun.

Roll on more summer.

This week is the last date of the ‘If You Fall…’ tour I’ve been doing – ending in Caernarfon. Touring some of Britain’s arts centres and theatres has been a great way to see family and friends around the country (a special hello to Luisa and Joel who I sadly haven’t managed to see), but I’ve definitely had enough of the UK’s trains, planes, motorways and dodgy hotels. It’s been very rewarding hearing from people who’ve got something from listening to my tales, though it’s pretty strange talking about yourself for a few hours at a time. By the way, on the topic of latest adventures, the BBC Scotland programme about Andy Kirkpatrick and I sea kayaking in Patagonia is on air the evening of Sunday 24th May…at least that’s when its scheduled for just now. Not sure if it will be on BBC i-player or make English TV yet.

Back to the tour, the things I’ve enjoyed about it have been re-connecting with old friends, meeting some lovely and inspiring people, getting nice emails from people, and seeing some hidden corners (and cafes) of Britain.

Not so good things? Dull hotel rooms, lumpy mattresses (there’s nothing like your own bed hey), listening to a Sat Nav for hours each day, and the pre-show nerves. Oh and there was being ill and losing my voice in Poole and London, then having to cancel Kinlochewe. Serious stamina is needed by those bands that go on year long tours.

So after trying to squeeze in some training on the back alleys behind theatres, its back home now, and training as much as my little arms will let me, for the first hand-bike race of the summer series – June 7th in Lancaster. Better get off to the gym…

Tired out after my first time at touring theatres, we decided to head west for a day out. It was only two months since we sea kayaked through Patagonian seas, but two months off the water felt like a lifetime. The weeble that I am (with no muscles that work below the chest) felt very wobbly as I nosed my way out of the jetty in Laide - a west coast Scottish village, its sands gleaming in the rare sun. Within the first kilometre, my back support had slipped down and I watched Andy, the not-so-long-ago novice kayaker, skilfully powering his way into the distance.

We reached a rocky point, and I was surprised how fast we were covering ground. But rounding the corner, a series of headlands fingered into the horizon, telling me I’m got it all wrong. I’d been forcing the coastline to fit the map. We’d only done 5 km, so there was still a long long way to go.

“Andy, I think we should turn round”
“What for? Let’s carry on”
I should have insisted, persuaded him otherwise, pointed out we’d be there at sunset, if we were lucky. But it was windy, and I was too tired to debate. So we paddled on.

Tendonitis from the Patagonian paddling adventure kicked back in, and my wrist creaked with each stroke into the wind.
At the next headland,
“Andy, can you put me on tow?” I needed to ease my wrist.
At the next headland.
“We’ve only done 10km? Still 25 to go?”
On we went, eager for the kilometres, straight-lining from point to point, no time to explore and enjoy. The sun sank low. We paddled faster, chasing the headlands before dusk ate them up.
Lured by the day’s bright sun, it had been easy to forget it was still March, the air still raw with winter, the water icy cold, that darkness came fast.

In Loch Ewe, we paddled exhausted in darkness, towards shore-side silhouettes, eager for a place to land…too tired to appreciate the stillness of evening, too numbed from straight-lining the day. It had been a long day out.

The best parts of being out adventuring are exploring, noticing, enjoying good friends, and having good times. Quality not quantity…sometimes its good to turn around. 

Here’s a little promo for my tour which starts next week.

Karen Darke - El Cap Memories from andrew on Vimeo.

Patagoina pics can be seen at my Flickr site…Back from the wilds of Patagonia to the much colder wilds of Scotland. Minus twenty this week…haven’t seen anyone paddling. Looking back, we can’t quite believe we managed to get to the San Rafael glacier in Patagonia (see previous posts), given injuries and our short ‘window of opportunity’. The effort and intensity involved shows in our lack of good pics! There are a few though - see http://www.flickr.com/karendarke and here are a few to give you the idea.

It squeezed us dry of every last drop of energy, and then demanded more. Patagonia, that distant magical place with towering spires for mountains and roller coaster seas, where someone told me “there’s nothing much doing with the tides from what I remember”, ate us up. It lived up to its name as ‘The Eater of Men’ (and women to be pc), and supplied a string of tough stuff, none of it helped by Andy hurting his back a few hours before starting. He crawled into the kayak high on drugs but still in pain, with a posture worse than Quasimodo.  We would be two cripples in the wilderness, neither able to walk. It seemed a crazy plan to ‘set forth’, a hard juggle of our good sense with our commitment to make a film.

Andy being a big wall climber is well used to pain and thrives on things being as hard and grim as possible, so he was determined to try for at least one day in a kayak. I’ve a history of ex-boyfriends with bad backs, paranoid about my part in that, and though desperate for him not to make it worse, was no force to his stubbornness (which the Triple Echo film crew were thankful for).  So in an already keen wind, we began – how hard could 5 days get? – our journey through tide-tortured waters. Fourty km a day, not much for some, but a lot for two wobblies who hadn’t sat in a kayak for five months, took us through tidal races, island narrows, white water rapids, and winds that built from nought to ‘too scary’ in no time at all. Any comfort we’d taken in our adventure being safe, given the proximity of the film crew on their boat, the ‘Natuiluca’, disappeared on day one, when they lost us, our white double kayak just a speck amongst the expanses of breaking waves. We felt vulnerable, all too aware that under ‘non-filming’ circumstances we would never come to such a remote man-eating place without other kayakers, believing some safety in numbers.

We were initially disappointed at our original month of paddling being shrunk to only 5 days by the filming schedule, and reticent about how realistic or challenging the journey would be…but we were quickly counting the days of effort that still lay ahead. Each night, I dragged myself through barnacles and crabs towards bivvy spots that might keep us safe from the unpredictable tide, and Andy crawled around, chopping small logs to roll the kayak up the beach. In sympathy, and seeing Andy doubled in pain, the camera crew occasionally carried a bag up the beach to help our slow process of making camp.

Why? Because there was a shrinking glacier to reach, carving into the sea in the Laguna San Rafael. Because neither of us can say no to adventure. Because now we’ve survived being swallowed up in the ‘Gulf of Elephants’ and its 20km open water maelstrom, and been swept by ten knot tides to a icebergs bluer than any colour swatch blue could be, life feels sweeter for a little while.  It took a lot, but it was all worth it, and the Pisco Sour in our Santiago airport hotel right now tastes better than ever.

The verdict on Andy’s back….strained ligaments in his sacro-iliac joint, 6 to 12 weeks to recover. It might even drag Andy away from his Apple gadgetry, to the gym. And if anyone reading this fancies a paddling adventure in Patagonia, we’ve a great contact there with kayaks and kit and keen to help anyone get out there.

Thanks to Triple Echo and their fantastic film crew, the Nautiluca and their fantastic boat crew, and Patagonian Logistics, there will be a documentary about this, on BBC Scotland in March (I think thats when it is…). Happy paddling! (pictures to follow soon…)
P.S. Our Palm gear was superb – kept us dry, and was durable to those barnacles, and the best cut buoyancy aids we’ve ever worn.

It’s 55 degrees hotter here in Australia than at home in Scotland. Going outside is like stepping into an oven, and going training on the bike means being wrung dry of every last drop of fluid. Even at 8am this morning, I was cycling through the sprinklers in the park to cool down. Had the good fortune last week of meeting an Aussie handbiking champion – he holds so many world records I lost track, both for biking and weight lifting. He looked like a condom stuffed full of walnuts, and left me for crumbs as he sprinted off up the hills. Him in his lycra, bare chest and tattoos, me in my pink crocs, baggy shirt and beach wear! It made me think I’ve a long way to go before I’m anywhere near racing speed, but he told me his secrets, and I’ve since adopted a training programme more like his. Less is more, and quality not quantity, which is a relief given the hours of time training has been taking up…more time to sit in the shade, play with nephews and eat ice cream! And at the end of the week, Patagonia beckons…what a great start to 2009. Happy New Year, and hope you have a good one.

Since attempting to cycle up Ben Nevis in August, (I was raising funds for a community health / water project in Tanzania), the “One Off” mountain bike has been based at Glenmore Lodge National Outdoor Centre, awaiting anyone with a disability who fancies an off-road adventure. If you’re interested, check out www.spanglefish.com/wheelhigh We’ve also got a second bike, part-funded by Walking on Wheels and a Sport Scotland lottery grant due to arrive in February. This will be a “Greenspeed” off-road bike Check out www.greenspeed.com.au

Since then, and after being on ‘bed rest’ (see my “handcranking” blog) I’ve been training, with the aim of doing a racing season next year and seeing how I get on. The new bike is great, and has knocked nearly an hour off a 30 mile circuit I do! So now I’m all for that saying “a poor workman blames his tools”. Errol Marklein, a German guru and champion himself at handcycling, kindly phoned me up to give me some help and advice. He was just leaving for a month of training in Gran Canaria - probably the best advice he could have given me, to escape from the sub-zero icy fingers of the north. So for now, its two hours a day on the bike, usually with at least four pairs of trousers, and my eyes are smarting from all the salt that gets flicked into them from the roads. That amongst fighting colds and injuries, I’m not feeling like an aspiring Paralympina, but I’m heading down under to visit my brother and nephews in January, on the way to Patagonia, so a month of healing sunshine should hopefully be lined up.

Plans to sea kayak to the San Rafael glacier in Patagonia are finally coming together, though right now the film crew have flights booked and we don’t. The production company Triple Echo will be working with Andy Kirkpatrick and I to make a documentary for BBC. We’re not quite sure what to expect, and filming time is squeezed to only 8 days. We’re hoping it will still feel real and exciting despite a two-strong film crew chugging around in a wee boat, but from what we hear of the fearsome Patagonia winds and jungle-bashing landings, there’ll be plenty to distract us from the cameras, hopefully whales, birdlife, carving glaciers, icebergs and plenty more.

The Stockholm Archipelago is a mass of small islands like freckles in the Baltic Sea, tide-less and timeless. We imagined calm water, paddling up to beach-side ice-cream stalls and colourful wooden waterfronts, miles of sunshine…a holiday not an expedition. A country that can produce Abba, Ikea, saunas and attractive blonde people, and offer a perfect kayaking destination seemed an ideal opportunity for low-octane adventure, just what I needed to recover from a scary kayaking experience at Cape Wrath earlier in the summer. We left Stockholm in the “worst summer storm for 20 years” and so we fought the winds and waves of the Baltic for a few weeks. It was lots of fun, but a trip that put me on my tummy for a month.

When you’re paraplegic, you have to be really careful about pressure sores. I can’t feel anything below armpit level, so just like you might have a gel saddle on your bike, I have something similar wherever I sit. If you don’t, your backside can get so bad that I know people who’ve spent over a year lying on their stomach, with maggots in their backsides to eat the dead tissue. Anyhow, I was lucky, saw a bruise and a lump, and kept off my bum for a month with a giant wing-mirror contraption to ‘inspect’. 

Being grounded was hard work, and at the same time, the new hand-bike, partly sponsored by Berghaus, arrived. I resisted bar a 20 minute trial ride, but now up and about again, I’ve got an extra month of energy to burn, and have been hand-biking the streets of Scotland ever since. Inspired by the Beijing Olympics and the new go-faster bike, I’ve started a ‘serious’ training programme, which this week even involved a 3 hour ride starting at 6am (when I discovered it’s still very dark), with plans to do some racing next season, just to see if maybe I’ve got what it takes to make the 2012 UK team. Who says 36 is too old? It would be good to look back in ten years time and not think “I wish I’d tried that” so this winter (and the next 4 years?) is all about trying.

The miles of hand-cranking will get interrupted in January though for a few weeks kayaking in Patagonia – the plan to paddle into the fast-receding Laguna San Rafael region. In true Bear Grylls style, it won’t ever be as treacherous as it might look as we’ll have a BBC film crew chugging along in a safety boat. Andy K will no doubt be sweating and panting hard, faking a near-death experience for the cameras.

The last time I got to the top of a Scottish hill, since being paralysed, was on a hen weekend – in the back of one of these all-terrain quad bike type machines. It ploughed through water and heather, with me in the back bouncing around on a double mattress. We drank blue cocktails on the top, in thick cloud, and it was all very effortless.

So hand-biking to the top of Ben Nevis seemed the next obvious step when I discovered the “One Off”, a hand-bike mountain bike, which goes places I’ve never been able to go before (or not for a long time). Buoyed by the opportunities it seemed to offer, I picked the top of Britain’s highest mountain as the obvious place to take it, and decided to use the challenge to raise money for a rainwater collection system in a Tanzanian village I have some connections with.

I planned it for June, but due to injury and long-lasting snow, I decided to delay until late July. So finally began the long-climb, along with Andy and his kids, Ella and Ewen, and their granddad, Pete Kirkpatrick. A motley crew. Within the first hour, and at the first serious obstacles – boulders in the middle of the path, we picked up Ricardo, a helpful Spaniard, who got fired up about my climb up the mountain and ended up spending the day with us. As a psychiatrist he seemed a good guy to have around.

The first few hours were a mixture of hard pedalling and challenging route finding, often on grass and turf to avoid the rocky obstacles. But the path was more challenging for the bike than I had ever expected – steep rocky steps, like something I imagine in Macchu Picchu, and I couldn’t pedal without extra help to get the wheels over giant drainage ditches, and boulders.

If you’ve ever seen “Beyond Boundaries” – the BBC TV series about teams of disabled people going on adventure journeys. The wheelchair users in the programme are often being dragged and pulled around by the other participants, like they’re “luggage”. I like to be able to push myself, and not feel like a sack of potatoes getting heaved along, so, part-way up the mountain, when the balance tipped from pedalling to being pushed and pulled, I realised that it wasn’t what I’d wanted. Andy, his dad, and his kids, hadn’t signed up to drag me up Ben Nevis, and I didn’t want to get up it that way. If the path and the bike weren’t compatible, then I would have to forget the summit – for now at least.

Through hard work, grit and grind, we made it to the “Halfway Lochan’.. We spent a great night there in the rain and clag, camped by the loch. The next day, a retreat by the way we came would have been even more epic than the ascent, and we found a route out, where I could pedal largely unaided, through heather, mud and turf, to fantastic views of the valley, and the North Face of Ben Nevis. The cloud swirled, the sun lit up the rocks, and it was magical.

So, I didn’t get the joy of the summit, but I got the joy of a great team, the spirit of the mountains, and a sense of accomplishment. And raised £1500. So, for anyone else considering Ben Nevis, the path isn’t wheelchair accessible unless you have a team of Marines, or similar, and feeling like a sack of ‘tatties’!

The ONE-OFF handbike mountain bike has been funded by a SportScotland lottery grant, and will be available for anyone who cares to try it, to hire from Glenmore Lodge Outdoor Centre near Aviemore, Scotland. Full details are at www.spanglefish.com/wheelhigh