Cambodia Diaries - 14 August 2009

The Achilles Heal

Most kids grow up playing with an Action Man/G.I. Joe, but as a young pup I got to talk to a lot of real soldiers as we sat together for countless hours in waiting rooms on my regular visits to the limb fitting centre at Roehampton.  

It was sad to hear that following their return home to Blighty, many felt decidedly bitter at how life and more importantly, successive governments had reneged on promises of better times once the Nazis were defeated and how many felt, that despite paying a significant price for their heroism, they had been forgotten about and left to fend without proper help. I often recall my mum and others sat in waiting rooms wiping away a tear as old soldiers’ recanted tales of fallen friends or difficult struggles since being de-mobbed.

Fast forward about 20 years and a record in the mid-1980’s mainstreamed the notion we know today as PTSD. Paul Hardcastle’s 19 told a tale about those who had been plucked from the lumber yards of Alabama to fight in the Vietnamese jungles only to encounter similar experiences and be left to face psychological demons which many still struggle with today.

Over the years bizarrely I have met many ‘Nam vets, most notably on a visit to an open day for long-term inmates at a prison some 3 hours outside New Orleans in 2005.  I was informed by one of the prisoners that of those serving in excess of 25 years, 80% were in ‘Nam and 80% of those were behind bars within 3 years after coming home. How many of them would have been jailed but for their experiences in ‘Nam is a moot point.

We find ourselves in a similar situation with another generation of troops returning from Iraq and Afghanistan with the same problems to the same concerns about their post-combat assistance. In my humble opinion, with the knowledge acquired from previous armed conflicts, it is repugnant that service personnel return to inadequate rehabilitation and are left to deal with the same issues as their predecessors. A point also made to me by one of the Nam vets on that prison visit four years ago.

When I started to address the issue of how to get a place in this year’s New York marathon, I first looked for amputee charities with places on offer, whereupon Mr Google threw forth the suggestion of the Achilles Track Club (‘ATC’) of New York. (www.achillestrackclub.org)

Dick Traum founded the ATC shortly after becoming the first amputee to complete the NYC marathon in 1976. Since then the ATC has sought to encourage persons with disabilities to run and they now work with many returning veterans for whom the trauma of a homecoming without a limb(s) often looks bleak. After some research, they seemed a tremendously worthwhile outfit to run for in my final race and so a few days after completing the Berlin yomp, which is slightly ironic I suppose, I fired an email to Dick enquiring about running for ATC.  His reply a few days later was like manna from heaven: “We can guarantee you a place”.

The New York marathon, like London, is extremely difficult to get a place in. The public ballots are so oversubscribed that both race organizers could probably fill 5 marathons.  But like London, many thousands of places are reserved for charities and as this particular route had got me a place in my first marathon yomp in 2005, I reasoned it was likely to be the best way to get a place in my last yomp.

However, it’s not as easy as just arranging a place through a UK charity because there is a slight catch. The places for the NYC yomp are actually owned by a company who sell them to UK charities on condition that runners book flights and accommodation through that company. So notwithstanding the facts that I will be flying in from PP, staying with friends or whether you could do it cheaper, I would still have to shell out for a return flight over the pond and a hotel despite needing neither.  The best way to proceed I deduced, was to sack the Limey middleman and deal directly with an American charity.

There have been a few hitches along the way. Firstly, after my initial contact, my emails stopped arriving at ATC! I got a friend in the Big Apple to ring ATC only for Dick to respond that they were wondering what happened to the eager Englishman?  It was nonetheless a leap of faith when I booked my flights back in March without a guaranteed place despite my new contact, the wonderfully named Gerle Shagdar, assuring me all was good. Then my credit card played up for some unknown reason but finally, on 28 July, my precious place was confirmed.

I was hoping to raise money for CT, but it was going to prove too difficult to do so for two charities in different countries. As it is ATC’s place, it seemed only appropriate that I should raise money for them and the begging bowl will go round for one last time…but at least it’s in US pesos.

Thus far, with fingers crossed and without wishing to tempt fate, my training has been gone marvelously compared with previous years.  This being the last yomp, no stone is being left unturned and I have added a new element to my training regime, which may cause amusement, but which I thoroughly recommend for us stiffening older types. Unless you have tried it, do not knock yoga!

Since the turn of the year and in lieu of life after Central Park, I had started cycling with a group on Saturday mornings. One of whom, Isabelle, runs a yoga centre here in PP and as we sat on a ferry returning to the city with my hamstrings tightening up, I mentioned that I might be interested in having a bash at yoga in view of the hazards ahead of me over the next few months.

A few days later, I stood before the Canadian yogi in a pair of shorts and uttered: “And now you can see why I have hamstring problems!”  After which, she adopted a thoughtful pose walked around me a couple of times and said “Ok, let’s get started.”

Whilst not at full fitness, I was nonetheless in reasonable shape but decided to have a few private lessons first before making a buffoon of myself in one of the beginner groups. The lessons were bloody hard going and Isabelle pushed me right to the point where another millimeter and I would have snapped. I am not sure if the karma was ruined for my yogi as I let fly with a flurry of ‘bloody hells’ and the occasional bit of blasphemy. But she certainly knew her onions because when concluded, I was neither crippled nor riddled with pain for days.

My first class had twenty five practitioners and only four chaps present, all of us rigid in comparison to the flexi-females in the group.  I may have pretty much nailed the ‘downward dog’ and my ‘sun salutation’ is doing nicely, but the tree (where you stand on one leg, the other leg tucked in under your crotch with arms aloft) will never happen as long as my derriere points south. For increasing suppleness, it is wonderful and I am certainly feeling the benefits of having a good stretch every few days. The class was a bit airy as they throw in some meditation at the end, at which point I actually nodded off as opposed to concentrating on something called the inner flame.  

Previously I would have been knackered all weekend after running on a Saturday morning, now I find with all this yoga I am bouncy in comparison and it has allowed me to carry on cycling with a few of the chaps in a group we call the Weekend Warriors® of a Sunday morning. 

The group consists of Chelsea John, Craig, Nigel, Mark and I. A few others have expressed an interest in joining, but have been deterred by our early 7am starts. As I am alcohol free these days La Ponderosa and I set the early pace until the previous night has eased out the pours of the others after which we fly along in a blaze of sweat, sun screen and cussing the oddity that no matter which direction we’re heading, it’s always into a headwind.

I thought we had only four current routes but it is noticeable that when I am away, the work ethic slackens a bit and prompted Craig to quip that there is a fifth route in my absence: ‘lazing in bed’. 

Joking aside, currently I am at 7 miles (11 kms) for the running and there is no way I could have then got up the next day and cycled 37 miles (60 kms) as I did this last weekend and which I attribute to this yoga malarkey.  

Well I as much don’t want to tempt fate, but thankfully thus far, things have gone well. I would also like to wish Catherine, Sean, Dave and Nick (all of whom appeared not to have shown an inclination towards running until ‘ahem’ relatively recently) the best for the Great North Run next month.

It seems that just as I am on the verge of retiring from running, many are getting the bug…your poor sods!

Cheers

JHx