All posts by Dee

Cock-A-Doodle-Doo

In the here & now, ,

image

So I wasn’t feeling quite so accomplished by the time dawn broke….walk the route on day one and survive, tick. Get a good night’s kip ready for day two, which if the rumours were to be believed was harder than the day before…epic fail.

It didn’t help that after dispensing antibiotics for my chest infection (the diagnosis of which involved me saying I think I’ve got a chest infection and the lady doctor who was accompanying our trek nodding wisely and saying ok I geev you peels) the group leader had decreed me and my roomie should have the tent nearest to the camp buildings. I suspect when I made it into camp at the end of day one they thought maybe I wouldn’t be able to stagger any further up the field.

And it was fine, you know being near to everything. Except maybe the chicken coop, which was right next door. And when I say next door, I mean had I been so inclined I could have reached under the tent and strangled that fucking cockerel, which set off cock-a-doodle-doing at about 3am. I’d like to say just after I’d fallen asleep, but I’m not entirely sure when that was. I must have fallen asleep, in fact judging by the number of times I woke up in the night I’d clearly been very effective at falling asleep. I don’t really remember the sleeping bits….just the waking up bits.

And every time I did wake up, my body sort of had this sort of Mexican wave of pain vibe going on. Turning over from one position to another with my body in shock from everything I’d thrown at it the day before would’ve been a challenge in itself if I’d been sleeping on a pocket sprung mattress with feather pillows. Sleeping on a ground mat in a two man tent with no pillow and nothing sqishy underneath me except for my own arse magnified every ache and pain several times over.

Still, by the time I crawled out of bed and stretched out my bones, my fellow campers were at various stages of stretching and limbering up after an equally uncomfortable night, and spirits were high. Whilst I’d stayed in camp in the early evening as we’d arrived the day before due to feeling as rough as toast, most of the group had gone on an optional walk out of camp to a waterfall before dinner, and had been caught on the hop when the heavens opened.

Dinner had been a very damp affair but with lots of laughing…the beer was cold and despite the rain we were still all very hot, and euphoric from getting through a really tough day. I wasn’t the only one who’d been a bit shocked at how hard it was, you know?

I’m sure my asshole voice was in very good company that night, I know for a fact that at that point, at least a couple of the others were wondering whether they’d get through the week.

So morning of day two saw the field littered with wet boots and damp clothes in the hope that whilst we breakfasted on more of what we’d affectionately nicknamed prison bread and green beans – yes, really – everything would start to dry out as the heat caught hold of the day.

We were excited. Yesterday we’d walked along jeep tracks, and flirted with the rainforest as we stood at the top of hills and look out across it all. Today…well, today we were going in ?

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So, Where Do I Start!

In the here & now, , ,

tent

It’s hard to believe that a whole week has passed since I fell through the front door to a rock star welcome from my four legged fur baby and a bear hug from my boy – the whole week passed in a haze of jet-lag, and a busy work schedule. And best not forget the eight or so hours that I’ve been engaged in various chat room too-ing and fro-ing with people in a different time zone to me, who promised to fix my website.

Whether it is fixed or not remains to be seen….they tell me it’s fixed and that you lot can post comments again but to be honest I’m sceptical. They made the same outlandish claims on Tuesday and again on Thursday whilst the website was busy locking me out amongst wicked rumours that I too was a ‘bot’. Thing is, I was so banjaxed by the jet lag that I fell asleep twice clutching my laptop whilst I was on hold for web support and missed my chat window when it was my turn for someone at the other end to try and help sort it out.

Anyway let’s see how we go on. I’ve finally managed to upload all my pictures from Cuba…if you haven’t already seen them on our Facebook page you can click here …there are rather a lot, but even the pictures don’t really tell you the whole story. It was quite simply the most awesome experience I’ve ever had.

God of Pain knows his onions, I mean hats off to him you know? There can’t have been too many times in his life that a fat middle-aged woman has landed on his doorstep in ill-fitting exercise pants and thrown down a challenge to get her fit enough to trek 90km up a mountain but fair play, he knew exactly what to do. I mean sure, I know I was the one who put the work in, but he designed the programme and I’ll tell you what, it was bob on.

There were people on the trek much faster than me and much fitter from a cardio perspective – unlike me they climbed the mountain without once feeling like they needed an iron lung. Me, I was slower, and was invariably last across the line for whichever section we were doing but at the end of every day when lots of folk were struggling with tired legs, mine were okay…they were primed. I wasn’t fast, but I was ready and I was strong.

What I couldn’t have prepared for was the heat. On the day we started trekking it was around 40 degrees, and the humidity was running at well over 90%…I shit you not, it was like breathing in soup rather than air. I’d allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security as we set off on a boat across Lake Hanabanila…there was a gentle breeze and I remember sitting there enjoying the ride thinking this is wonderful, it doesn’t feel as hot as I thought it might. It took 90 minutes to cross the lake and it was stunning.

And then we got off the boat. The breeze disappeared as soon as my feet hit solid ground and we never felt another puff of air for the next five days. We started the trek as soon as we reached the end of the lake and within ten minutes I was hurting, but that was only the start. It didn’t help that I’d woken up that morning with a sore throat and a squeaky voice…not the ideal time to realise you might have a chest infection, right?

By the time we met up with the support truck, about 8km into the trek I was locked in conversation with the asshole voice, who was hell bent on convincing me that I’d bitten off far more than I could chew and trying to dream up reasons why I should spend the rest of the day on four wheels instead of two feet. I mean that was never going to happen, although I did find out later that our local guide was convinced I wouldn’t complete the first day. I don’t blame him, I’d probably have thought the same to be fair. I was right at the back, gasping for air and croaking my way up the hills, it can’t have looked promising.

I had to force myself to eat something at lunchtime, even though I’ve never felt less like eating in my life. I felt sick, and a bit shaky but I knew I needed the energy and once I’d forced a sandwich down my neck (I use the word sandwich loosely, given that the packed lunch had been provided by the Cuban equivalent of Fawlty Towers and the very sweet bread, chewy ham and plastic cheese combo was an interesting take on a sandwich as we know it) I felt a bit better.

We completed the first day in three sections, and the last two were a bit easier than the first. But I still found it really hard, and I was feeling like shit. Every breath hurt, my voice was coming and going and it felt like the flesh was melting off my body – I couldn’t decide whether that was because I was sick, or whether it was because I was old and fat and pushing the boundaries a bit in terms of what I was trying to do and the conditions I was trying to do it in. But I made it to camp, and even though I was hurting, I’d walked every step of the way.

As I laid in my tent that night, after a dinner of rice, beans and chicken accompanied by bricks disguised as bread rolls, on a mat which was about as thick as an after-eight mint, buried in my mosquito net with no pillow and throbbing toes, surrounded at every turn by the smell of deet, I don’t ever remember feeling quite so…accomplished.

I ached from head to toe. I was hot and sweaty with no prospect of a shower, there was a legion of ants marching around my sleeping mat and by this time it was pissing down with rain in biblical proportions but you know what, I’d done it. I’d completed day one. I could worry about day two tomorrow…

 

 

 

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I’m Home! And I Crossed The Line!

In the here & now, ,

home

Two things have repeatedly struck me today as I tried to go about my first day back on UK terra firma; God it’s cold, and WTF is this jet lag all about? I seem to have lost a day somewhere. We left Cuba at 10.30pm on Saturday evening, and arrived into Madrid just shy of ten hours later, at lunchtime. We spent three hours kicking about in the airport before another flight back to London, followed by another time change and a five hour drive home. Despite seeming to doze a lot in and amongst all the travelling I feel like I haven’t seen the inside of my eyelids for a month.

But, it was worth it. I have had the time of my life and I cannot wait to tell you about it. All of it. I’ve got a mountain of pictures that I know you’d like to see but I think I’m going to have to do this in stages because there’s just so much to share, and right now my brain is scrambled. I pretty much devoted today to my mum, who has talked my ears off, so my house still looks like a camping-bomb went off, and as I write this it’s way past bedtime already. I’m wiped out but my head’s still in Cuba time and is refusing to play ball where sleep is concerned, you know?

I want to tell you about the twenty three lovely people and one Asshole voice who kept me company on the trip. I need to tell you about the pocket-sized action man whose machete was almost as big as he was, who didn’t think I could do it until I did it.

I’m dying to tell you about the mud and the camping and the heat, and the bugs and the food, not to mention the blood sweat and tears…oh boy, the tears. I’ve had moments over the last week where emotions crashed into effort and started a fucking tidal wave.

Most of all I want to tell you how it felt when I crossed that finish line, having walked 89.8km through the rainforest. You know how I love to tip the contents of my head out and sort through it all under your watchful gaze, well buckle in folks there’s a lot to go at. Thing is, I need to catch a breath first before I can do it all justice. I gave up trying to sleep a little while ago and allowed myself to plug back in and say hello, but my alarm call is due in five hours…shoot me now. I’m back in work tomorrow so I’m forcing myself to put my virtual pen down and do the sensible thing. I’m hoping things will get back to normal a bit later in the week.

It’s great to be back. I’m going to need your support more than ever over the next couple of weeks, as I try to climb down from cloud nine and get my head back into the reality of losing weight…my diet has taken a back seat for the last couple of weeks and I see red flags everywhere – the Asshole voice is latching onto every opportunity to knock me off the road to Skinny Town, and that simply cannot happen, right? Not a chance.

Night all…I’ll be back 🙂

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Dad, This One’s For You

In the here & now

pooh

Can you even believe the day has finally arrived? I sat on the bed last night surrounded by everything I could possibly need for my adventure, and bawled my eyes out as I read all the lovely emails and messages of support through social media from friends and friends of friends wishing me well. I can’t even tell you how it feels to know that everybody is really in my corner, cheering me on and willing me to succeed.

I’ve had a lot of emails from you guys too, I know several of you have tried to post in the thoughts thread and the website won’t allow it…seemingly my security settings have had a hissy fit, and they now think everyone who tries to post is a bot. No, I don’t know what a bot is either. It’s so annoying, you lot chipping in is such a big part of my journey and I’m frustrated that it won’t let you talk to me. Please bear with us, I’m trying to get it resolved but it’s not likely to be fixed until I get back.

It’s been a flaming rollercoaster of a week, watching hurricane Matthew wield his power across the caribbean, and checking email for updates every ten minutes in case he swung a punch at Cuba as he worked his way north. My heart goes out to the people of Haiti who’ve borne the brunt of it, but where our trek is concerned we’re good to proceed as planned. I have tickets, passport and visa all lined up, my packing list is complete and everything’s ready to throw in my bag.

Fuck, I’m really doing this!

I’d love to tell you that I’ve been rigid with my food plan this week in a final push to get as much weight off before my trek as possible, but that would be a big fat lie. The truth is I’ve been struggling big time. The Asshole voice has pulled every trick in the book out of his backside, most of them along the lines of forget the diet, you’ve got too much to think about and besides you’re going to burn it all off this week with all the walking…Sunday was a day full of dodgy choices, closely followed by Monday, Tuesday and oh look, Wednesday too.

That said, I suppose one advantage of being up to my ears in the jungle will be a lack of opportunity to eat naughty things, right? I’m hanging my hat on this next week as a way to get right back in the sweet spot because I feel like I’m losing my grip a little bit. This’ll be kind of like a proper boot-camp experience, you know? It’s coming at the right time.

I know I’ve had a bit of a wobble but the food plan will still be there when I come home…this week is quite rightly about the challenge. God of Pain publicly declared me match-fit last night as he added his voice of support – I’m ready, and the fact that he thinks I am too has boosted my confidence no end. I’m really ready and I’m really excited. And do you know what else? I’ve raised almost two thousand pounds for my chosen charity…how awesome is that? I think it will be quite an emotional thing when I actually take that first step.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to make any blog posts whilst I’m away, because I can’t take any technology other than my phone, but keep your eyes peeled on our Facebook page, I’ll post pictures as and when I come across the odd scrap of wi-fi. We arrive in Cuba on Friday and we start trekking on Sunday, for five straight days…wish me luck!

My dad was such a lovely man, and I’m going to feel him beside me in spirit with every step I take, especially when things get tough. Have you read his story? If not you can find it here, and for everyone who’s supported me with a donation so far I thank you to the moon and back again.

Dad, this one’s for you. I’m going to make you so very proud 🙂

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Dear Matthew…

In the here & now, ,

matthew

Ok so this is the sort of luck I have, right? I’ve been planning this trek for the last nine months – let’s recap. The hurt machine, then the walking, then the Kingdom of pain. The focus, the planning, the raising of money, which is the biggest thing of all…and some jumped up fucking wind with big swirly ideas thinks it can smash into Cuba and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard for…well I don’t bloody think so. Hurricane Matthew you can just fuck right off.

Sorry…as Meredith Grey would say, I’m feeling all dark and twisty as I sit, glued to the weather channel watching this big round white swirly thing chart a course towards the same place I’m headed in a few days time. I can’t begin to imagine how the people who live in hurricane alley feel every time one of these monsters rears its head, their nerves must be shredded. It’s bad enough sitting here with my morning coffee after a restless night dreaming about losing my new Tilley hat to the wrath of Matthew, or getting carried away on the wind like a fat Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.

I hate the fact that I’ve got no control over what’s happening. So much so that I vaporised a whole bag of dinky deckers last night as I watched the latest weather reports from the safety of my armchair. People are being evacuated…best eat chocolate then. I mean for God’s sake what was that going to do to save the situation, apart from making me heavier and therefore less likely to blow away.

I feel like a mardy child, reacting because things aren’t going my way. I want to stamp my foot and thump the table and demand that the wind dies down. I have this horrible feeling that the whole trip is going to get canned just as we’re geared up to leave…when I come to think about it, it was a silly season to organise the trek in in the first place, given that it’s not unusual for hurricanes to come out to play in October.

I’m going to be like a cat on a hot tin roof for the next few days until we’re more certain about how and where Matthew is going to make landfall. Right now the folk who know about this stuff think it’ll smash into the eastern side of Cuba on Tuesday. We’re headed for the central bit of the island on Friday. I’m hoping that means that the bit we’re trekking in will be sort of out of scope for the worst of it. I don’t mind wind and rain, in fact that’s preferable to high heat any day in my book but I suspect the health and safety bods will be risk-assessing us to the moon and back, you know? I have this big fat knot of worry that they’ll make us postpone it.

Watch this space, and please keep everything you can possibly cross crossed…

 

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