I spent the day at Stoke Mandeville stadium, at a hand cycling course, on my 1 day old bike, no less!

Just because I’ve got big arms and have had about 8 rides, I half expected to take the hand biking world by storm…mmmm how wrong was I?
It would seem that it’ll need a lot more dedication than that, vastly improved cardio fitness, and bigger lungs than I’ve currently got.
At least 6 of those there were significantly better than me, though in fairness most had been doing it for years.
Ok then, wake up call.

They were all tremendously positive about life – crazily so, I thought – but convinced me that people really do move on from the early psychological horrors of spinal cord injury.

Thanks to my parents for accompanying me, and for their endless enthusiasm (more than my own, it has to be said – yes, once again, my own worse critic ).

Think I’ll ache in the morning.

I’ve not really written anything about treatment / research / cures in this diary.

Partly it’s because I decided that living this life, obsessed by an unlikely hope of being cured wasn’t the way forward.

However…. I’ve now, I think, got the chance to go to Louiseville, Kentucky USA, for an assessment, with a view to maybe finding myself deemed suitable for a further trial.

The medical team there are arguably,  at the forefront of the research that will one day lead to a cure for paralysis, the Holy Grail you could say ( well, to some of us, anyway, as well as world peace etc ).

Id be there for a week, and would be subjected ( very willingly! ) to a battery of tests to assess my viability and suitability as a guinea pig, so to speak.

Ive no idea yet as to the costs involved, but the amazing actions of so many people who have boxed/cycled/swum/run/kayaked/danced/younameit

for me, has resulted in a pot of money that could be used for this purpose… It really properly getting me ‘back on track’… To walking again?

That outcome seems barely possible/ too great a leap to comprehend to me, as I sit here ( on the loo ) feeling absolutely nothing below my tummy button, with no function at all of 50% of me.

If I could regain a little/something/ some sensation/control/voluntary movement then every single percent would be celebrated.

As I shall be homeless as of October 3rd – we have to move out that date – then going to America in October would work too in that respect, giving me somewhere to stay!

I’ll need someone to come with me to help me, so that’s gotta be sorted out, and up to the date I go I’ve gotta be as healthy as possible too, and try not to suffer any more almost terminal accidents. .

At the moment, with my recent track record, that’s the biggest bloody challenge!

Jeez Russ. You’re certainly not a dull fellow. Never in my life have I come close to the drama you’ve experienced over the last year – or met anyone who can share it the way you do. I’m still catching my breath. You just keep coming back. I can’t quite believe all that happened – and I can’t tell you how glad I am that those hands got you out. And you look better in those pics than I’ll ever look…

Great that you’re going for the assessment. The drama goes on – and I think you’ve got lives to spare. I hope I see you soon.

Regards and admiration,

The weekend introduction to rowing didn’t exactly go as planned.

Pia kindly accompanied me to East London Uni for the 2 day taster.

We arrived on Saturday morning, did the morning lecture, did the adapted ergo row tests – at which I was ok – tho arms only is so very much harder than using your legs and core plus arms.

I was hoisted into a ‘tank’ boat and taught technique, in a safe, fixed environment. People helping were everywhere. It was noted that I fall to the left, and a fix thought of – a sweater wedged under my left skinny buttock.

Seemed to work ok.

So, into a boat – a single. It was shown and explained to me that it was impossible that this boat could tip over. It had outriggers sticking out 60 cm either side with very bouyant floats on the water attached.

No one had ever gone over in one of these boats.

Not once, not ever.

They were used all over the country, and in races the world over.

There was a safety boat in the vicinity just in case.

I was totally safe. Which was good, given that I was very firmly strapped to the seat and the back rest, potentially making releasing myself under water a little tricky.

I rowed along for 15 mins or so, taking directions from my lady coach on the bank. It was going ok, not easy without the ability to sit myself up straight as I tended to fall to one side and forward.

I did several turns, my experience as a canoeist helping me with oar logic.

All of a sudden I started to tip.

To my dodgy left side.

The outrigger just kept going down.

I was under the water, vertically pointing down, in the murky water of the dock, strapped firmly to a seat with lap and chest straps without the capacity to wriggle free, in a boat that upside down, with outriggers and a 6 foot man strapped to the seat, 50 metres from the shore, in deep water, was going to be virtually impossible to right.

I clawed at the straps for about 10 seconds, to no avail. At that point I realised that I was in all likelihood going to die.

Its amazing how much you think in about 20 seconds, when you’re faced with your last 20 seconds. I reasoned that as I’d wanted a way out/ wished myself dead so very many times over this last year, but not been able to commit the act myself, then this was the perfect way to go. It wasn’t suicide, it was an accident. It was the perfect solution.

I thought it would appear pretty awful to my friends, that ‘having achieved so much’ I end up drowning at a rowing camp.

Then I thought of my daughters, of Lily and Amber, and the sadness that id not been able to say goodbye properly.

I then heard muffled sounds, and felt hands on my shoulder straps, straining to pull me up. The panic in the hands was evident to me. It wasn’t working, the very outriggers that were supposed to keep me upright were preventing my being rescued After maybe 15 seconds, as I was just about to take that lungful of water, my face felt air and I had one little breath before going under again.

I was pulled up again, and I could hear panicked voices. More half breaths.

Then my boat was being righted and I could see the safety boat and the docklands.

I was released and dragged into the safety boat. The two guys were ashen pale. I imagine my face didn’t look too good either. My shirt was all torn from the effort.

Sheer desperation had given these guys the strength to get me out.

I’m not sure what I felt.

Within 10 mins the emergency services had arrived – paramedics, an ambulance etc.

All sorts of tests were conducted and the stretcher readied for my trip to hospital.

Instead I opted for that very British thing – a cup of tea. And a warm shower. The medics hung around for an hour, I think fully expecting me to go into shock….. As indeed did I  ( knowing a little of this sort of thing ).

I think I’ve gotten so used to the mental dark side that this latest event actually affected me far less than it ought to have done.

Which meant that once dry I got back into the gym and did the strength and conditioning tests !

And yes, I do think the coaches were a little surprised that I didn’t just go home, and were probably even more surprised to see me back at dockside for another go the next day.

It was quite different the next day – about 10 people sat in the safety boat, it was about  ten feet from me all of the time, and I had a different boat with a coach sat in it  with me… Think they may have overdone it a bit, to be honest.

But hey, I stayed dry.

Hill rep’s on the Trike.

A lady came up to me today. She started to cry as soon as she spoke.
She said that she had to talk to me before they left. She explained that for years she’d watched me canoeing the lake, coming back from bike rides and runs too.
She said that she’d been in shock a year ago when told about my accident.
She said that she just couldn’t believe it that I was on an arm bike and was swimming the lake, after being carried in by 4 people.
She said that after seeing me doing it, her husband swam it, having consistently avoided that lake for 23 years.
She told me that I was an inspiration to so many people who watched me doing these things, but maybe couldn’t actually say anything to me, and that she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to say something.

It’s hard for me to think that I’m in any way heroic, but she spoke with such touching conviction.

She was called Beverley, and also said that she’d witnessed the joy in my face as I watched my girls in my kayaks, Lily actually managing to paddle my very, very unstable K1 boat for the first time – no small feat.

She could see my happiness in the realisation that something of me has been passed on to my girls, and that, if you like, my legacy, is still there.

And that I’m alive to see it.

To all the Back on Track crew

Hi, it’s Terry from the Hogarth here.

Some of you will know me, some of you won’t but what is very clear to me is that we all have one thing in common! We all very much care about and love the crazy Welshman and his beautiful family.

It’s almost a year ago since the birth of Russ’s Back on Track charity and also our very first fund raising event – The 24 Hour Spinathon. For those that took part (drinking or cycling) you will all agree, I’m sure, what a bloody good laugh – workout – piss up it was?! Believe it or not, we raised just shy of 20K which was an incredible achievement. Since the Spinathon I have been quietly training for Ironman Wales which to be honest, has been a serious ball ache as my lovely wife informed me that “we were pregnant” only a week or two after me signing up for the event which wasn’t ideal. Not to worry – Russ is worth ruining my body for, sacrificing my marriage for and leaving my now three kids with no daddy for the best part of a year J

This Ironman journey and commitment has been an incredible journey – physically, mentally and emotionally. I’ve met and conquered many personal demons along the way (the surgeons knife being a rather large one). I spent some quality time with Russ at his Portugal pad which to be fair, changed my life in ways I am incredibly grateful for. I always wanted to shower him since the very first day I met him. Joking aside guy’s, my reason for this challenge is since that fateful day back in June 2013 is that I couldn’t not help – Russ and his family have the challenge of their lives ahead of them, forever. I wanted to attempt the challenge of my life albeit for 140.6 miles of swimming, cycling and running.

It goes without saying that I am raising money for Russ’s charity so for those who would like to support me or more importantly Russ then please feel free to click on this link

https://mydonate.bt.com/fundraisers/terryrodham1

and get stuck in.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Sincere thanks to the Back on Track crew.

Tel

It’s that time of the year again.

With the benefit of hindsight , the first 17 years and 10 months were plain sailing for my wife, compared to the last year and 2 months.

Apparantly ( in common with lots of sporty people ) I was occasionally selfish with my time.

For that I’m sorry, Dani. Except I’m hardly making amends now am I ? These days, I’m a whole lot of hard work for you. You see, you never appreciated how easy it was for you, me being away skiing/ cycling/ canoeing etc.

Let that be a lesson to any couples reading this… Draw whatever conclusions you will..

Happy anniversary Dani.

I, and our girls, love you very much, and owe you a whole lot more.

Xxxx