Saturday, 17 January 2015

Arctic Rugby Boot Camp Weekend

                                          Merthyr Mawr Madness - what a weekend!

In my last post, 'stop the ride, I want to get off', I was dreading the forthcoming fitness 'wake up call' weekend in Wales so much that it was causing me restless nights. As it turns out, my fear of impending doom, hardship and physical and mental exhaustion was completely underestimated and only the tip of the iceberg! I was almost on my knees by the end of the first morning, annihilated, in real danger of passing out before summating the top of Europe's highest sand hill (the Big Dipper) a gruelling fourth time. Wondering what on earth I had let myself in for, I was in no doubt of how much work I still had to do to get this flabby 40 year old body prepared for the onerous and demanding conditions of the North Pole. I was going to have to get tough and no matter how much I knew it would hurt, the sand dunes of Merthyr Mawr looked to be the perfect place to do it.

The weekend started well enough. An invitation on Friday afternoon to join Wooden Spoon Rugby Ambassador, Alex Cuthbert on a guided tour of the newly built, and almost completed, Noah's Ark Children's Hospital, just outside Cardiff Royal Infirmary, where Wooden Spoon are funding Sensory Rooms for the children.

 
 I had the pleasure of giving an interview to Heart FM while our filmographers took the opportunity to capture on camera our thoughts and trepidation on the weekend ahead. 


Friday night was simple and there may have been beer involved.

Saturday morning started early with a live interview on @BBCSussex while the stormy winds and driving rain drenched the Welsh countryside outside. I avoided the full English, opting in favour of some porridge followed by a couple of poached eggs. This had nothing to do with them being excellent slow release energy foods but if I was going to be throwing up in an hour or so during training I wanted soft food coming back up. It's all in the preparation 😉 .

Arctic Challangers then met in the ruins of Ogmore castle, just south of Bridgend, where we pitched the tents we'd be staying in that night and using on our expedition.


Taking our brief from Jock Wishart and his team, Tim Stimpson rekindled old rugby days with a warm up and then fired up deeply suppressed memories of ice baths by leading us into the freezing river to purge our calves 'good morning and welcome' I thought.
 
 You didn't want to put a foot wrong off  the already submerged stepping stones!




A twenty minute yomp with kit later and we stood at the foot of the Big Dipper, nervous laughter echoing through the group suggesting that I wasn't the only one to opt for eggs and porridge that morning. Harnessed together in groups of interchangeable fours we would make four runs to the summit of this sand hill Goliath, round the flag and then open the legs and charge back down. It is hard to put into context but if you imagine being told to run up the fire escape of a twenty storey building, while all the time the steps are falling away under your feet, then you may get the idea.

Runs 1-3 were hard enough, with most groups making it 50-60% of the way up before resorting to dogged trudging higher and higher, but 25 metres from the top of my final run everything started to go starry in front of my eyes. Drawing close to Vmax with every breath I took, my face a snarled contortion of determination I wondered if I was going to pass out. Still the legs lumbered on, 10 metres now. Tim was gasping too and Fergus, the youngest of our three, was empathetic in showing signs of feeling the pain for his elderly teammates. If I could just get my hand on that marker then I could cope with the run down. 5m, getting dizzy now, this was going to be close as I lurched a little from side to side.
I don't remember the last few metres as I am pretty sure my eyes were shut (or clouded over) but I do recall the sand flattening out and a small tug to my left as the team turned to round the flag. Summit reached it was just a case of a few moments of walking recovery before leaning back and letting fly back down. Surprisingly this was an enjoyable experience. Still having to gasp in air but the steep gradient does all the work for you and we descended with the enthusiasm of children bounding down a hill towards an approaching ice cream van, even sprinting the last few metres over the line.

Not just a little relieved I wrapped up warm and felt the satisfaction of achieving something I'd doubted at times was possible. It was a great feeling, job done, smiles all round.


We lunched and rehydrated before setting off on a navigation exercise, joining up with Tim and Paddy. The three of us set out on foot for 12km of hiking and GPS training. The pub beckoned at the end, a good fire roaring on arrival and there may have been some more beer involved.
 
Sunday saw the arrival of the film crews, Ollie Philips, a grumpy farmer and several hangovers. We would be pulling our pulks across the sand dune network, locating six waypoints while negotiating streams, obstacles and, for those brave enough, a double river crossing in near full flood.

The weekend left me exhausted but exhilarated at the same time. A greater understanding of the equipment and technology had buoyed my confidence and I had a real understanding of the task ahead, what I was already capable of and the merit and skills of my teammates.


In my perpetration I would need to become gym bunny, hill walker, psychologist and endurance athlete all rolled into one, and I left Ogmore relishing the thought. Roll on 15th April.

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