Weightloss, A Photoshoot and A Bloody Ear

For those of you know me, you know I have struggled with my weight since my early 20’s when I was involved in an incident that left me on steroids for months.  I piled on the weight and never lost it.  My weight has since gone up and down like an escalator on a power surge.

Well, I am currently the heaviest I have ever been and while my friends and family tell me you’re not exactly fat, I know they are lying through their teeth.

Now not one to publicly embarrass myself I was recently approached to take part in a weight management program.  This would cost me nothing, but there was a catch.  I would have to have an article written about me in a Sunday Newspaper in January.  That’s not the worst news… There would be a BEFORE and after photo.  This terrified me. 

The thoughts of standing there, having my baps out, in a pair of knicker shorts, while the photographer made every possible attempt to make me look worse than in bits, was the most frightening thing to think about but my partner said “bub, this is exactly the motivation you need, you’ll do great”.  I said “Awe F@%k it, I’ll do it.

So I made an appointment with the lovely Karen Prendergast of Transform4Life and off I went, not knowing what to expect.  I met Karen and she made me feel totally at home.  When I arrived, the table was laid out with a heap of healthy eating options and I couldn’t help but notice the dreaded scales in the corner but I just ignored that.  I was soon totally at ease and after a two hour conversation about food, habits and triggers I went on my way with my eating plan and a 24 hour number to contact Karen if I needed to.  I was feeling positive and enthused. 

Then came the dreaded photo shoot.  I arrived early at Evan Doherty’s studio in Georges Street.  I was clearly a nervous wreck but had in my possession a little paper bag which contained the outfit that I wanted to wear for this shoot. 

When I met the guys I was totally at ease, they were handsome, fun and I would have loved to share a beer with them…but then I remembered, I was there to have someone photograph me, FAT.  I asked could I use the loo, I bypassed the changing room and tried to change in the toilet.  The room wasn’t small, but with the nerves I managed to drop my shoe into the toilet and then when I went to retrieve it, dropped the top of the vest that I was to wear, in on top of the toilet duck covered shoe.

After I left the bathroom, smelling of toilet water and dripping with sweat (from the nerves) I went out to the guys who had the lights and stuff in place.  As I tried to suck in my belly and keep my arms out, Evan kept making me laugh which put me totally at ease.  Now I was no Cindy Crawford but I relaxed enough for him to get a photo which I’m sure he felt got my fatness across.

After that it was off to the gym for my training plan.  Fear set in again as I hadn’t been anywhere near the gym since before the cycle for Console during the summer.  I went in, got changed and decided that I would use the facilities.  I went in with my music, earphones, towel and €2 for my bottle of water.  I entered and locked the door, dropped my phone, went to retrieve it, came back up, bashed my ear off the toilet roll holder and then dropped everything.

As I gathered my belongings and left the loo, I entered the dressing room to find an alcohol swab.  On doing so I ran into the personal training guy who looked at me as blood  poured down my neck (well it was more of a trickle but poured is more dramatic).  After a good five minutes of searching for a swab, one aged one, was handed to me and off I went, concussed, to complete my training.

With the first week nearly over and the impending first weigh in looming, I am feeling positive.  I haven’t been drinking, eating crap or buying shite.  I’ve been cooking in work and planning my meals.  I’ve been quite busy so the week has flown.  I have to be down pounds, this weeks lifestyle changes were huge, but manageable.  I know I have gone on a bit but this is my first post about this, I promise it will be shorter.  I hope you will follow my progress and if you see me with a donut in hand, a swift kick to the swollen ear should sort me out.

I shall update you following my weigh in, feel free to share if you dare. 

Cycling In Dublin - An Extreme Sport

 

As I pull out my lycra cycling bib and jersey, wedge myself into them secure in the knowledge that I look absolutely ridiculous, I convince myself that this is necessary equipment in order to complete a comfortable cycle.  Comfortable, maybe I should use another word.  Tolerable.  I turn and look at my (let’s pretend and say voluptuous) arse.  I grimace at the large padded area which makes said arse,  look less voluptuous and more grotesque.  I place my helmet on over my unbrushed hair, I don’t have to brush it when I know it’s going to be sweaty and disgusting under there in about 45 seconds.  After making sure I have a spare tube, tyres are at the right pressure and have I’m hydration bottle filled I’m ready to go after a mere twenty five minutes.

I drag my bike from the house making sure to bash every door frame on the way out, I drag the chain against my leg and take a chuck out of my shin as I slide it out the hall door trying to avoid my car which is parked too close to the front of the house.  I look like a fecking idiot.  After I make it out the door I walk to the curb hoping none of the neighbours see me pretending to be a professional cyclist.  I jump on, wobble a bit as I try and get my cleats into the pedals before I slow down enough to fall off, again looking like a fecking idiot.  After I recover very quickly and scan the area for onlookers I start to cycle out of the estate where I automatically feel a whole lot more comfortable. 

The weather is lovely, conditions are great and I’m flying along enjoying the feeling of the blood pumping through I’m veins and convinced I’m burning so many calories that it will be ok if I hit the chipper and the off licence later on because I have done really well and am so deserving of it.  All is going well until a truck pulls past me at speed and nearly sucks me under its wheel.    My heart beats faster, not in a good way, in a way that I actually think I might die.  The chipper and the beer are a distant memory.  A few miles down the road I start to recover and don’t look like I’m recovering from a hard night on the tiles and I start to relax again.

Then it starts to rain.  I hate the rain. The rain turns a nice gentle cycle into an extreme sport. Not one shite seems to be given about me or my beloved bicycle.  While I attempt to cycle straight through a junction, a car speeds up behind me, again to close, overtakes me only to turn left, without indicating might I add, nearly taking me out of it.  As I slam on my breaks the light goes amber, I try to take my foot out of the cleat, with much terror it sticks, the bike slows, I miraculously get it out in time.  The palpitations start again, I get myself under control, trying to look cool.  I am aware that I don’t.

I come to a giant hill.  I prepare.  I am conscious now that as I cycle up the hill and the pedestrians are passing me out on the footpath that I actually hate cycling and don’t know why I do it.  I hear some snide remark about how I should be “scarlet for meself”.  If my face wasn’t burning from the pain it would be burning from embarrassment.  I make slow progress up the hill and the joy hits as I speed down passing the pedestrians wishing I could give them the one finger salute, but I’m not great with racing handles and one hand, so I refrain.   I’m knackered now so when I slow down I attempt to take a drink from my bottle.  I concentrate so hard now I almost knock myself out.  I have the bottle to my lips, one hand on the bar and feel a little wobbly.  I finish and manage to place it back in the holder without veering out in front of traffic, SUCCESS, I almost scream. 

I’m about twenty kilometres in now and am about to turn and head for home.  I have the return journey to make.  Traffic is busy and I am cycling along possibly the worst surface ever.  I am trying to avoid pot holes and drains to beat the band.  I really want the cycle to be over. I am cold and wet and drivers are ignoring my hand signals, driving too close to me and all I want to do is scream.  I observe a car pull up on my left, the driver stops, smiles at me and signals to allow me to continue on.  I have the right of way but the fact that she stops, sees me and acknowledges this, reassures me that I might just make it home alive. I cycle on. I pull into my estate.  At this stage I couldn’t give a shite who sees me or what I look like.  I pull my bike into the house making sure I bash the pedals off both the car that is too close to the house and the door frame.  I pull my weary body up the stairs to get into a boiling shower which burns my now throbbing arse.  As I step out I feel great.  I realise I don’t hate cycling after all.

Vote For Me

May 22^nd is just a few days away.  After Friday you guys won’t have to listen to me pleading with you to vote or listen to my reasons as to why you should vote Yes.  You won’t have to say ‘I’m sick of this referendum’ or for those of you not saying it I know you are thinking it. 

If you know me, you will know that I probably had the easiest coming out ever.  My mother practically dragged me out of that closet.  I remember getting ready for a Pride march and she was insistent on coming with me.  I begged her not to and told her she would make a show of me and that none of my friend’s mothers would embarrass their child like that.  What I wouldn’t do to have her here beside me now.  If she was alive she would be out screaming about equality for her child and wearing her YES badge with pride.  She would Vote For Me.

My dad was great, he never made me feel any different to my siblings.  My brother and sister never batted an eyelid.  I always felt ‘normal’.  It was never an issue, which is probably why I never had a problem telling anyone I was gay.  The only discrimination I really remember feeling was way, way back.  I was about 12/14 years old.  A kid I was hanging around with spray painted a six foot wall with a poem.  This poem was quite creative but extremely hurtful and made reference to me having balls (you know who you are) and not the kind you juggle.  That poem stood there for many years, reminding me that I was different to the others.

Bar that incident I have never felt discriminated against.  That was until this year.  I have been with my partner for nine years.  In those nine years we have been committed to each other.  She has been my family since the day we moved in together. To hear people speak publically about whether I should or should not be able to marry the woman I love is causing me great pain.  I say pain because that is exactly what it is.  I feel hurt and angry and most of all discriminated against.  I should be able to marry my partner.  My partner and I are not going to redefine your marriage.  We have had the joy of being pregnant and suffered the loss of losing children.  We are not going to run out and find a surrogate to have a child for us.  Surrogacy law doesn’t even exist in Ireland.  If I want to adopt a child tomorrow I can.  Being married to my partner doesn’t change that. 

Families with same sex parents exist already.  Civil Marriage for same sex people won’t change this either.  Gay people are going to continue to have children.  The Child and Family Relationship Bill which was brought into effect last month already protects these families so Voting No won’t stop these families being created and that’s what they are, they are Families.

I have cried over this referendum and am so afraid that this will not pass.  I spend my days trawling through articles both for and against a Yes vote and continue to feel fearful.  As I drive to the local shop I see these awful posters that the No campaign are putting up and wish I could just look away.  I feel, for the first time in my life, like a second class citizen.  I know this doesn't mean as much to some people as it does to me and I know I am filling your news feed with Yes articles but it is because this means so much to me.  This is my life. This is my partners life.  This could be your child's life, your sisters or brothers life.  But for me, it is my life and its now. 

That is why I am asking you, all my family, all my friends and anyone who knows me, to Vote For Me.  Please Vote For Me.  The divorce referendum won by only 9000 votes.  That equates to 1 vote per polling station.  One Vote.  So don’t think your vote won’t make a difference, it may make all the difference in the world.  Well it will in my world.  Please Vote, Vote For Me.

Being Aware of Your Own Stupitidy

This week has not been kind to me.. I haven’t done anything recently that has been deserving of a blog but after the goings on of this week I decided to share.  Monday started off grand…I had a creak in my neck from falling asleep sitting up but that was usual and doesn’t really deserve a comment. 

But then Tuesday came and the shit hit the fan.  I woke up and my car was like a small igloo. So after spending several minutes waiting for the engine to heat up and defrost the window I decided to pour some hot water over it… Now that was fine because I used luke warm water just tepid enough not to smash the window, I’m smart that way. 

After getting rid of the ice on the front and moving around the back I realised that the front was iced back up.  So with a frown I ran inside again and filled up the water and ran back out and decided if I turned on the window wipers and through the water on it there wouldn’t be enough water on the screen to ice back up so I ran around turned on the wipers and swung the jug of water in the direction of the front window…what a dipso…as the water flew through the air I watched in slow motion as the wipers flew in my direction.  The water hit the window at speed and then the wiper flung all the water straight onto my face and clothes.  I was not happy and my makeup was now falling off my face.  The window was half defrosted.

 

As I made my way down the M50 in horrendous traffic, driving at about 25k an hour, I couldn’t understand why my car was freezing when the thermostat was reading ‘STOP YOUR F’ING CAR’ but I gave the two fingers to the thermostat and made it to my place of work resembling that little snowman from Frozen.

I decided that as I was totally not qualified to check under the bonnet of my car that this would be a wonderful idea and popped the hood.  Steam was pouring out of the radiator.  Now my mother (God Rest Her Soul) always used to say “let a little air on it and it will be fine” I shouldn’t have taken her words of wisdom quite so literally when it comes to car engines.  I think she meant scabs and sores. But sure there I was unscrewing the radiator cap when next thing I know I am covered head to toe in water and my radiator resembles the Niagara Falls as water was spewing up like and upside down waterfall.  I stood in shock as my boss looked on in shock and several little faces peered out to see what the bang was.  I think it was at this moment that I realised I was an ‘absolute tool’.

After the shock of the explosion passed I noticed that my hand was a weird colour.  It didn’t feel any different but the skin was kind of wrinkled and it was blistering like a full pack of Nurofen Plus.  After much deliberation it was decided I would attend a clinic to have it dressed.  Turns out that it was a good idea as the burn was quite bad.  I was sent on my way with much sympathy from the nurse and told to return two days later to have it re-dressed.

So I assumed that the car was grand and was only overheating because it was so frozen that morning and left for home.  After travelling about two miles I looked and saw the thermostat was at ‘STOP YOUR F’ING CAR’ again and decided it was probably best to heed its warning this time and pulled over on the motorway.  I popped the hood again and for about half a second thought about opening the cap of scaldy steam again but then glanced with self-pity at my bandaged paw and thought otherwise.

I decided it was best to ring every mechanic I had a number for.  When one eventually answered he told me to drive a bit and stop and let the car cool, then drive and stop and so on otherwise I could blow a gasket.  I did so and it took me over two hours to get to the mechanics.  I got there and realised that I actually pay for road side assistance but obviously am too stupid to avail of this service.  I walked through my door, cold and sore and tired and was greeted by my two dogs.  One loving, gently waggy tailed angel and the other ….. the spawn of the devil.  My pup had decided I would love to return home to a fluff filled kitchen.  I looked around and wondered what kind of a cushion could have been destroyed this time when the shock of it struck me… The little fecker had eaten the couch.  My heart sunk.  I started to clean up the mess totally disheartened.

I won’t bore you with the next day only say that the bandage fell off as did the skin that was attached to it and I was bandaged up again and told to return to see how the new blisters were doing the next day. 

Then came Thursday.. With a new found love of life I came into work chipper and in flying form.  I went back to the clinic who said my wound was healing nicely and then it happened.  I was out in the yard in work, minding my own business when a hole appeared out of nowhere.  I of course didn’t see said hole and twisted my ankle falling to my knees and smashing my face off of something that did not resemble a soft fluffy pillow.  Looking around to see if anyone had seen my totally embarrassing fall I was in the clear… I chuckled with was a narrow escape.  As I walked towards the rear of the building I could feel something warm pouring down my chin, as I looked down I saw a stream of blood.  I was totally confused and walked back in to try and wash the wound..  It was off to the hospital then where I was told… It would need a stitch..

 

The staff at James Connolly Memorial Hospital in Blanchardstown are the most patient, friendly, gentle hospital staff.  As I sat awaiting my three stiches I heard a huge amount of abuse thrown at staff and they just retaliated with smiles and sympathy.   All in all I just want to give them a shout out.  They are total heroes.   The nurses who listen to every sick patient and their family members.  The doctors who stitch you back together and the floor staff and carers who do more than the average Joe pays attention to.  As I watched the guy from Derrycourt mop up and down the floor, changing the mop head every five minutes I realised that while people must walk by him paying him no nevermind he is part of a very important crew, his job was to mop, and mop and mop and he got very few 'hello's' or 'how you doing's' or 'thank you's'.  I gave a big thanks and goodbye to everyone I passed, but I'm sure with my swollen lip they couldn't understand me.  Hats off to all at James Connolly Memorial, you are the bomb.

To finish my first blog of 2015 and first in a very long time I would like to say, if you made it this far…thanks for reading and have a safe 2015!

Hopefully no Heterosexuals were hurt in the creating of this blog!

Earlier this week I got up to find the area around my sink covered in water.  Now initially I blamed my partner on being a sloppy dish washer upper and her inability to press the 'ON' button on the dishwasher so I cleaned up the mess while muttering my annoyances to myself and forgot about it until 24 hours later when I received a panic stricken phone call from her stating that water was pouring out of the boiler and into the microwave which led to it shorting out the electricity.  I immediately left work and jumped into my car to go get a plumber.

 

As I sat in my car, stuck in traffic, watching the rain pummel the crap out of my windscreen I thought to myself, if like this UKIP David Silvester guy believes, the gays are to blame for the awful weather we are having,  who can I blame for rush hour traffic? On pondering this question while I sat there watching the couple in the car next to me tear strips out of each other, I tried to imagine what their argument was about and it hit me.

 

The heterosexuals.  I can blame the heterosexuals.  Now I know this sounds bizarre but give me a second.

 

We all love to blame someone or something when things go wrong, just like Professor Dick Swaab a professor of neurobiology at Amsterdam University.  According to an article in the Telegraph last week he suggests that pregnant women who drink and take drugs can lower a childs IQ and taking synthetic hormones and smoking can increase the chances of girls being lesbians or bisexual. Now I know my mother didn't smoke during her pregnancy so that leaves all those synthetic hormones she must have taken.

 

So anyway, blame..... Here is my reasoning.

 

Firstly, I'm sitting in traffic.  Chances are given the gay to straight ratio there are more 'straights' in their cars than there are 'gays'.  So surely the Heteros are to blame on the traffic.  If all the Heteros  took to cycling or walking to and from work there would be no such thing as a traffic jam.

 

Secondly, my boiler was installed by a Hetero, so surely its the fault of the whole heterosexual community and not the fault of the heat exchanger.

 

Thirdly, my microwave is screwed so I have to buy another one, a perfectly decent microwave ruined by a short because of the dodgy boiler part, definitely the fault of the heterosexual electrician who wired the house.

 

If by any chance any heterosexual people are reading this I am going to make a public apology now rather than wait.  I am sorry for making out that the heterosexual community are to blame for traffic, or a worn out heat exchanger, or my microwave shorting out because of the water. I am being totally ignorant. I would just like to point out how ridiculous this blog  actually is. It's nearly as ridiculous as the gays being the cause of the bad weather.  Or if by smoking and taking synthetic hormones while pregnant can be the cause of a gay child.  How in this day and age can these comments be entertained.  You can bet your bottom dollar that mine wont.

 

So before we all go around blaming each other lets just sit down and think about it for a moment.

 

Hopefully no heterosexuals were harmed in the creating of this blog.

 

 

 

 

 

The Jollerie New Year - I can't believe it's been a year since I didn't become a better person.

What exactly is a New Years Resolution, it’s a to do list for the first week of January.  So, As we are already ten days into 2014 and I sit here tits deep in boredom, it struck me that as the new year reals in so does my never ending  aging.  I feel like I’m getting so old I’m going to need the bible to reminisce.  So I want to feel younger…how does one do that? Can one change the habits of a lifetime? I’m not sure.  They are not called habits of a year, or the habits of 2000-2014, a lifetime is a lifetime. 

I feel very hard done by having a new years birthday, how dare my parents be so inconsiderate.  While every other Tom Dick and Mary are out there celebrating the fact that they are giving up the usual things, deciding they are going to go to the gym at least 3 times a week and hugging strangers they barely know whilst signing old Lang Sigh , I’m planning my birthday and there is no way I am not drinking, smoking or being a generally debaucherous human until at least mid January.

Instead of giving up the drink or the smokes or even in some cases the food, you (well I) drink, smoke and eat your way into the new year trying to distract yourself from the impending birthday and before you know it, it’s the end of January and too late to give up said drink, smokes and food until next year. 

So I’m making a change, I’ve decided to have my new year like the Chinese, later on in January.  Now the Chinese are celebrating their new year on Friday 31^st January, that’s a little late for my liking, I could end up putting on another stone and becoming a fully fledged alcoholic before then.  Thankfully I’ve given up the smokes, well I have the odd one now and then but I’m not buying them regularly and I’m quite proud of that.

So I’m creating the Jollerie New Year.  This year on Monday the 13^th January 2014 I’m starting my own new year.  Now I know 13 is usually an unlucky number but sure I’m pretty unlucky anyway and I’ve failed at every other attempt I’ve made to change my bad habits so I’m going to overlook the unlucky number and take it as a good omen and start afresh.

·         I’m not going to do weight watchers – I’m sick and tired of paying to be told I didn’t stick to my diet plan.

·         I’m not going to promise to go to the gym – I’m a bit of a rebel and hate “having to do things” so its best to just go with the flow and do it when I want to.

·         I’m not going to not drink – I’ll just drink in moderation

·         I’m not going to not eat – I shall eat when I want but try be healthy

·         I’m not going to not smoke – I will smoke if the mood takes me but be sensible

I have four weddings this year so if I cant find a dress I only have myself to blame.  One of which I am a bridesmaid for with two scrawnbags (yes you know who you are and you are scrawnbags),  so on this note I shall promise myself day by day to do something, if I feel like going to the gym I will, if I feel like having a drink I will, I recon its all about moderation.  So I will cross my fingers, legs and fallopian tubes and pray to all that is holy that this year will be the year I change those habits of a lifetime!  Roll on 2014 Year of The Jollerie

Hell and Back, my own personal journey!

 

Some time back in August while visiting a pal in the most stunning little thatched cottage in the county of Limerick I got roped into entering into what I was told was a 10K run with an obstacle course for ‘Special Olympics Ireland’.  I was also told it would be great craic and that four of us would do it as a team. The event was called “Hell & Back”.  It may have been the sun blinding me or the drink but I said yes.  For about ten minutes I was excited.  Then I Googled it and saw the most dire advertisement for ‘Irelands Toughest Challenge’ consisting of numerous punishing challenges through a variety of natural terrain.

 

After the memory of weekend started to drift away I started to feel a little terrified of the upcoming event.  Not being the fittest in our little group I realised I had a long way to go to be as fit as all those guys and girls being turfed over walls and diving head first into bogs on the video.  Our group of women grew over another night out and all of a sudden we had nine competing in Hell and Back, two teams of four and an individual.  Girl Power was the topic over the pints.  We were nine women, spanning the ages from 30 to 50 and all moderately eager, that was until the dreaded video came out again on the iphone.

 

Our aim was to train as a group twice a week in the phoenix park and do our own little bit on another night.  We had eight weeks to do this and get our shape in order.  I had my doubts as I am not the most slender or agile of the gang but I said I would give it a lash.  The first evening we trained we went to military hill in the Phoenix park.  Now for those of you who have never seen military hill, it’s a steep hill with an abandoned barracks at the top of it.  If you run up the hill and around the barracks, down the other side, up into the wood and back to the start it’s about a kilometre.  After the first two of them I knew I would struggle.  In between these we did some squats, crawling and other horrific exercises I can't remember the names of.

 

As the days went by everyone in our group was getting fitter and having more fun.  I had come down with a weird skin disorder which involved me taking lots and lots of steroids and other stuff to try and get rid of it, so what better way to counteract the weight gain than to compete in Hell & Back.  As October came and went everyone supported each other as a team, we had our own private Facebook page and the banter on it was electric.  We all had our nicknames, mostly based on our names or personalities.  We had a Skippy, a Lucifer (you can only imagine why she got that name) we had a Ms Motivator and my personal favourite, a Brendan Behan. 

 

As some of the group were fitter than others there had to be rules.  If we started as a team we had to end as a team.  The fitter ones were supposed to stay and support the others and we would all sing “Cum By Ya My Lord” together.  The week before the event, Lucifer informed us that we were not allowed to eat red meat that week as it took to long to digest, we all told her to go (do something bold) to herself but not one of us broke it.  We were also told not to intake alcohol, again she was told to go do something bold to herself, I'm not going to lie, I might have had a tipple.  Arrangements were made to collect t-shirts, numbers and packs.  Rumour had it the course was now 12k with 20 obstacles.  Lucifer was contacted and words were exchanged.  Then our pack came and the route was now 13k with 25 obstacles, another conversation was had.  Finally I collected the packs….the course was 14k and 29 obstacles.  I was devastated, and conned, but I got over it.

 

The morning of the event I put on my long running socks, so the silt couldn’t get into my runners when I hit the water and mud.  On went my long running leggings made of wicking material.  Wicking material I found out was material that expelled the water from the skin, apparently really important for all hell and backers.  The boulder proof bra went on, letting the boobs know that they would see no movement for the next 10 hours or so.  My long sleeved Underarmour, also wicking and my Special Olympics T-shirt.  I decided on a hat to keep the heat in and runners of course as choice of footwear.  I had a breakie of porridge, multiple steroids and water.

 

 

We, Skippy and I went and met Lucifer and Brendan Behan at a car park half way and from the minute we met them we could sense they were seeping excitement.  As the car journey commenced we all started to have doubts, well except Lucifer who was going to wreck it, Brendan Behan was complaining of a chest infection, I was complaining about my itchy scratchy syndrome and Skippy was going on about her Achilles.. We stopped again for the rest of the girls, ran around looking for a toilet and eventually all nine of us were arriving at the designated car park for the event all armed with a banana, for energy.

 

My nerves were at me as people of all shapes and sizes and levels of fitness zoomed around in excitement all wearing their designated t-shirts for their designated charities.  We were all in the fifth wave that were due to take off and the excitement was building.  Our supporter, the lovely Marie, was doing pre race interviews with the team and taking photos trying to psych us up.  All of a sudden it was 12:15 and we were to make our way to the warm up zone.

 

My heart was pounding with nerves.  I was all over the shop.  A run through with the team was had about the rules was done once more and once we saw all the big men putting gaffa tape on their feet to keep their shoes on we had to do it too.  So once we were all gaffa taped up we were ready to start.  As we made our way to the start line we saw a big wall about 8 feet tall.  I threw Lucifer a look and said “ Marvellous, an obstacle before the start line, what kind of shite is this” I got a few laughs from the big bear like men behind me.  After I got one of the team over, Lucifer got another then helped me over.  All I can say is God love the lads behind me.  I was so awkward.  Poor Lucifer had my feet all over her and I didn’t so much as scale the wall as was thrown over it.  Never the less I was at the start line and started to feel the adrenalin pulse through my veins.   

 

As the fog horn went and the surge of adrenalin filled fitness freaks flew forward I found myself running quickly towards the first hurdle…or pond as it’s known.  Only waist deep it would appear easy enough but when there are 200 people surrounding you and splashing around it soon becomes a little wet.  I observed some over enthusiastic hell raiser jump in, fall head first into the water and proceed to dance all over some poor girl dragging her into the water too.  If it had been me I would have killed him but she shook it off and made her way to the next obstacle as I giggled at their misfortune. 

 

My team mates and I survived our first obstacle, only 28 to go.  On to the second, the hurdles of hell.  These consisted of a muddy, wet, slop infested track of hell.  By the time we got through the multiple hurdles I was covered head to toe in mud.  It was in my hair, my eyes and I'm pretty sure it had gotten into my bomb proof bra as my nips were itchy. From there we had a run uphill toward the climb.  The mini Sugarloaf…in my opinion there was nothing mini about it.  It was a very narrow climb filled with brambles and stingers galore, thank god for the full length leggings and long armed top.  At the top there were screams and cries for the first timers who thought they were at the top…I being one of them.  I saw the top, let out a little sigh as I reached the top, then to my horror I saw the peak of another mountain..and yes we had to keep climbing.  Eventually at the top about the 5.4k mark we started the devils decent. The water station was just in view and couldn’t have come soon enough.  I was parched..my throat was dry, so I took my water bottle and carried it down a tough, rocky, slippy little run to the bottom.  

 

Then came the crappiest, horriblest part of the event.  It wasn't on the map, but as far as I'm concerned it was awful.  It was a QUEUE…yes a 35 minute QUEUE…whatever bright spark designed the course made it so about 400 people stood, not moving, freezing and stiff waiting to get to a log carry.  So you QUEUED… got your log, ran up the hill again with the log and then passed it to some poor unfortunate who was probably waiting longer than yourself at that point.

 

After that you had another little run, then you had to carry a bag of sand up and down a hill then climb a hill under a net where if, like the poor girl in front of me, had a pony tail that got entangled in the net had to hold up the line to get assistance from the poor fool behind you who is still in shock from the second mountain to be of any great help.  After I helped her and realised that my team where gone and I was all alone the girl with the pony tail adopted me into her group with some reassuring words like… “Ah you lost your group did ya, don't mind them F%@kers you can hang with us” not going to lie, I was only delighted. 

 

So I ran with them for a while until one of their teammates lost her leggings and there was a pause as they discussed what they were going to do.  Her leggings had quite literally ripped off her, she was left with leggings that resembled Elvis Priestly legs, all flared at the end.  It was quite funny. 

 

Next came Satan’s Pit…I was running along alone when all of sudden I saw two of my team mates, Skippy and Lucifer.  I was only delighted, they were shouting and waving I thought to myself ‘oh my god, I'm, here I’ve done it…I’ve done hell and back.  Lucifer shouted the next couple of things are horrible but once over that your home free….  So I threw myself into them..quite literally, because there was another queue.  I climbed under a barbed wire cage like thing filled with what appeared to be taken from the floor of a dirty stable..it was gross, then I slid into a pit only to climb up and be faced with a ten foot wall made of logs.  People were wedged, I was expecting to hear You’ll Never Walk Alone being chanted from the other side.  After another wait and a bit of a mill it was my turn, all I could see was the finish.  Two big burley men grabbed my feet and quite literally threw me over the wall.  As I reached the top and overshot it by about a foot I found myself hanging upside down facing two guys who tried to grab me.  They caught me by the shoulders and after a bit of backflip and a cheer from Skippy I knew just over the wall of tyres I’d climb to freedom.

 

As I ran to the girls, arms out stretched and hugs galore I said…….where was the second water station, I thought it was at the 9k mark?…It is, said Lucifer, its just over there…she pointed to the water station and my heart sank..  I still had 5k to go.  The girls nearly keeled over laughing at my idiotic suggestion that I had thought I was finished.  So head hung low and totally deflated I turned and walked to the water station, took my water and continued on down the mucky pathway.

 

At the bottom of what seemed like a very long hill Skippy and I arrived at the black hole or some crappy name like that. It consisted of a large black piece of wavin pipe that you couldn’t see to the end of.  It didn’t help that there were speakers playing scream noises and wails coming from all around us.  Skippy suffers with claustrophobia and was a little terrified at the thought of going into it, but with a gentle kick to the spine and some words of encouragement she went head first into the tunnel with me quickly behind.  I kept shouting “you’re doing great” and “you’re nearly there”.  Now I didn’t know how far away we were but what I do know is at the end of it you get an awful fright when you fall head first into a combination of muck and river water.

 

After that we ran through knee deep mud a dodgy swamp and ended up in a bog that smelled like crap.  We waded through the bog for a while until I hear Skippy saying…Joy I’m stuck, I’m really stuck.  I climb back and start yanking at her leg.. the panic was setting in..I’d been running in the cold for what seemed like hours and I was only short of falling on my knees going WHY GOD, WHY!!!  But instead I started screaming at all the guys passing….I NEED A MAN…PLEASE..I NEED A MAN…. Words which I don’t think have ever come out of my mouth…needless to say I got two men.  They were like brown muddy angles.  They dug with their bare hands for a couple of minutes until we saw her familiar yellow runner.  There were screams of joy until the lads were stuck and I had to start scream, WE NEED ANOTHER MAN….OH LORD WE NEED ANOTHER MAN.

 

After that ordeal we had to climb another wall, do another bit of running, then it hit me, the noise.  It’s a sound that anyone who has been within a mile of it will know…the sound of water…. It was loud and gushing and there was also a lot of screaming.  When I saw it I thought, crap, that’s way higher than I thought.  Skippy jumped in not a bother on her…I followed, my leg went in and got stuck in a branch and I was wedged again…Balls, wedged in the freezing.  I eventually got my leg out and my knee was all cut.  The words about Weils disease started coming back to me.  After we waded slowly around the river hanging onto the ropes for dear life we climbed out and were so cold we couldn’t even talk..there were weird glances and nods like “Well Done” and “Holy F@?k That Was Cold” and then more nodding.  Then we saw Marie, the trusty supporter, there on hand to tell us we were doing great and take a couple of really unattractive photos of us.  Once I saw her I knew we weren’t too far off.

 

Off running again we went, passing another mucky patch, in through another stream, into another bog and then under nets to be greeted with yet another wall.  There was a lot of blasphemy at this point.  Over the wall we went and someone shouted this is it, we are nearly there so we decided to wait for our team so we could cross the finish together.  After about 20 minutes of jumping up and down and running around shouting words of encouragement and tips at others to keep our spirits up and our feet warm we saw our team mates turn the corner.  We waved, shouted and hugged, it was all very emotional.  We ran down the final stretch as a team, entered the two ice baths as a team, got electrocuted at the electric tunnel as a team, stood and cried at the wall as a team and crossed the finish as a team.  The joy when we reached the finish was unbelievable. It was great when a stranger offered us a shot of Jagermeister on the bus back to the car, we all slugged down the shot with mucky smiles on our faces. We hugged and congratulated each other and the fact that we had to stand around in the cold for about an hour soaking wet and freezing cold was forgotten when we had a drink as a team later on, well not forgotten but we can laugh about it now. 

 

I’ve already decided I will do it again, am I mad? Maybe.  Will I regret it? Maybe, but what I do know is, if I do it, I will know what’s coming up and will be prepared.  For anyone thinking of doing Hell and Back, it is achievable, no matter what your level of fitness and you will feel amazing when you cross that line.  Even though its not a race, you certainly feel like a winner after completing ‘Irelands Toughest Physical Challenge'.