Tricia Dong

In the Archives of Unpublished Stuff - "Falling".

2012-01-15T23:19:00.000-08:00

2011/01/21

(Yes, the date is correct. It's been collecting digital dust for almost a year, but the info is still golden... to me at least :)

“FALLING!”

“Oh shit”. This is what I thought to myself when I heard Essey shout out from the face of the frozen waterfall. On belay, I braced, braked, and could only watch as he dropped and tumbled 25’ down the ice face and hit the slope with full force. Oh shit, indeed.

I am never one to turn down an alpine climbing adventure, especially in the company of trusted and experienced partners. With them, I’ve had the privilege to participate in backcountry hiking, mountaineering, and climbing, and to take part in skills practice for creating MAs (mechanical advantages with rope & pulleys), crevasse rescue, avalanche rescue, self-arrest (nooo, not with handcuffs… this is with a straight-shaft alpine axe to stop a fall on a steep snow-covered slope) and general area knowledge. I’ve learned a lot, and have gained much respect for the wilderness that makes British Columbia so beautiful. The people I go with are all Army personnel, and as the only civilian who has NOT had the same kind of training, I don’t take it lightly that I will be holding my own. 40-60lb+ packs are the norm, and weather conditions are not always ideal. Where we go, there is no phone reception, toilets, restaurants at the top or conveniently lit runs when darkness falls. Usually the only indication of other human presence will be flagging tape marking a designated route. Maybe.

People buy miniature "serenity falls/fountains/pools/gardens" replicas to add zen to their home. This is the real thing.

Some people ask why I go through the trouble and hardship of such grueling physical tasks, when “fun” things, like ice skating (??), are a safer and more favourable option. But to whom? The quickest and most honest response is “If you have to ask, you won’t understand”. Like when you go into a really expensive store, and there are no price tags… If you have to ask how much the item costs, well, you probably can’t afford it. But I’ll try.

In the middle of crossing a talus slope near the Coquihalla

There are just some people that eschew the status quo. Some in the form of fashion, maybe taste in music, others through political or religious beliefs. For myself, and most of my peers and colleagues, it will be in the form of career choice and/ or physical fitness. I’ve been called crazy too many times to actually ever take offence. Now I just smile and nod. I tend to seek out the challenging, calculated-risk taking, bold and physically demanding activities. Why? It’s who, it’s what I am. I’ve stopped tryin

g to psycho-analyze my motives for always straying off the beaten path. I stopped listening to those who try to beat me down, the haters, and perhaps those envious of my decision to live life, not merely exist. I’ve been criticized for my career choices (which have often put me in a financially unstable position in life); my choice in relationship partners (Another broken heart? I’d rather have loved and lost, than never have loved at all); I’ve been criticized for my mannerisms (too tomboyish); my body type (I’ve been called too small, too fat, and more). I’ve been hurt, insulted, offended, and… inspired. Inspired to do my thing, the way I have been, to be accountable to myself, and if I make a mistake, it’s my fault, no one else’s. So if I want to climb a frozen waterfall, and if you think it’s too dangerous, keep your opinions to yourself. Hey look! There’s an episode of Jersey Shore you may be missing!

I think I went on a bit of a rant there. But the reality of why we go to such extremes for an activity, take such risks, is the reward. If you have never seen – no, experienced – the majestically, breath-takingly beautiful 360º vista of a glacial lake with alpine meadows, snow-covered peaks and blue-ice glaciers surrounding you, you wouldn’t understand. Pictures and videos are one thing, but to have earned it after hours of hard work, you become grateful for so many things – your health, your friends who have accompanied you… Mother Nature, for doing such

great work. You discover your own spirituality when there are no remote controls or traffic lights. You tune into your senses, which have been dulled by overstimulation of big city life – you marvel at a small bright alpine wildflower amidst a neutral landscape, something that would have gone unnoticed on a city sidewalk. You smell strange things… like unpolluted air, not tainted by exhaust fumes, greasy fast food aromas, or expensive perfume. You hear the sound of silence… and it’s heavenly. To touch that glacier that has been there for hundreds of years, but may disappear before the en

d of this century is humbling… and to taste the clean, cold water from that same glacier is simply amazing. To me, those are some of the reasons why “I go”. Like the saying goes – everyone dies, but not everyone lives. THIS, to me, is what living is about. Can you say the same?

I'm standing on a glacier! Wedgemount Lake, Garibaldi Provincial Park, BC

Essey’s fall off that wall of ice, and the events that followed, were the culmination of calculated risk, preparation, skill, practice, judgment, and a bit of luck thrown in. We didn’t just wake up thinking hey, let’s go climb a waterfall. Essey gave me a heads up the week before that there could be some ice climbing in the following week, if the conditions were favourable. I tentatively cleared my schedule for that day, and waited for word on weather, location, and other climbers in our group. Two days before, we confirmed a climbing party of three (myself, Essey, and JP) and tentative location. We would travel to Lytton to assess climbing conditions, and travel further to the Rambles if necessary. The road to Lytton was detoured due to landslides, thus we decided to go directly to the Rambles via the Sea to Sky Hwy.

Rambles Left is a Grade 3 ice climb located along Duffy Lake Road, about 27 kms SW of Lillooet, BC. The drive took about 5 hours due to heavy snow from Whistler onwards. From the road where we parked the truck, we could see the waterfall ice, and we started our approach at approximately 1330.The snow was deep, and the terrain was fairly steep – at times we were on all fours scrambling up the slope. We got to the base of the waterfall probably around 1500h, and started setting up.

Essey started up the slope, and articulated his actions along the way. His regard for safety and details is exceptional, and I felt 100% confident in his abilities. As he climbed, we knew we would not reach the top of the waterfall, because we were short on time as it took us longer than expected to get to the fall’s base. But we didn’t mind, it was about the journey, and just getting on the ice would be fun. We could go to the top on another climb. Essey had two pieces already in and was approximately 12’ above the last screw, preparing to put in a third and start setting up an anchor for top-rope. He didn’t trust his tool placements, and when he went to replace them, they did not hold and he lost his balance and fell. And in that moment, time stood still.

Because the rope was dynamic life safety rope, it has a degree of stretch to it to absorb the weight of the body on a fall. You don’t want to be tied into a static (non-stretchy) rope as a fall could do more damage to the body than ground impact. But because Essey was so far above the last screw, there was a lot of rope that would allow him to free-fall before he would be “caught” by that screw. Too much rope. Even though there was minimal slack in the line from his initial fall, the stretch from that section of rope would make his fall even greater; so much that he didn’t impact until the 30º slope below him, near the first screw.

When he finally stopped tumbling, we shouted out to him and asked if he was ok. Initially he said yes, but when he tried to move, he screamed in pain. I have known Essey for years, and know he has endured an incredible amount of physical suffering in the past. He is definitely no wuss. So to see him in that much pain, and to not be able to rush over to assist, was terrible. It turned out he landed on his knee in a hyperflexed position, and the pain level was 10/10. The only thing I could do was lower him painstakingly down the slope until he got to our base location. We already knew he had some limited range of motion, but the extent of his injury was unknown at the time. As both Essey and I have Occupational First Aid Level 3 certs, plus he with Wilderness First Aid, we were confident we could deal with his injuries locally until we got back to the truck. And that’s when the real test began.

By the time we got Essey stabilized, darkness was falling. We would be descending the rest of the way by moonlight and headlamps. My initial thought was to scramble down while there was still light, jump into the truck and drive to Lillooet where there would be cell reception and I could call for help. Essey did not want to split the group, and felt that because he was mobile, we shouldn’t commit the resources of a SAR team when we would be able to do it ourselves. I was not completely convinced of this, but we stayed together.

The fastest way down for Essey would be to rappel, while keeping his leg straight. On the first pitch, we doubled the rope around a tree and body rappelled down. The idea was to simply pull the rope back to us once we were down, but it was stuck from the melted snow and friction and wouldn’t budge. So I had to scramble back up the slope, manually detach it and bring it down. I was thankful for having trained so many hours practicing the firefighter “hose pull from the tower” drill, because it was the exact same hand motions, except instead of leaning over a ledge pulling up a 40lb roll of hose, I was pulling my own 130lb bodyweight (+ 40lb pack) up the hill. But this wasn’t a drill, it was a real rescue, and there were 2 people waiting for me, so I clumsily hustled it back down with the grace of Godzilla on crampons so we could set up the next pitch.

For all subsequent pitches we rapped down on a single rope (instead of doubled back). We would anchor the rope to a tree, and I would wait for them to clear the pitch so I could unhook the anchor and meet them for the next. The fastest way for me to get down to them was to slide on my butt, instead of picking my way through on foot with crampons. This whole process proved to be effective, but not really efficient, as each pitch took about 45 minutes for the boys to clear. JP would walk ahead of Essey on the rope, clear the path, navigate, search for anchors, and help Essey up the few times he fell. Meanwhile, I waited at the anchor point, trying to stay warm while conserving energy as the temperature dropped, waiting for the signal that they had reached the end of the rope so we could do it all again. I was thankful it wasn’t raining or snowing.

It took us a total of six pitches to get to flat ground. While waiting, I had a lot of time to think about options. Like whether I should have made an executive decision, overridden Essey’s initial determination to stay together, and scramble down for help. About the fourth pitch down, I could see the road from my viewpoint. I could see our truck – so close, yet so far! I could also see passing vehicles. By now we were well past our “return” time, and I wondered if my emergency contact would be trying to contact me.

Then I saw a vehicle stop. And wait. It looked as if the driver was trying to determine what was up with the lone truck (ours) on the side of the road. The driver exited the vehicle and walked a bit towards us; I think he saw our headlamps flashing in the darkness and came to investigate. I faintly heard him ask if we were ok…. Then Essey shouted back “Yes, we’re good, thanks for stopping, just had a little fall but we’re good”. Then the guy got back into his vehicle and drove away. Ok, if I could go back to that moment in time, and if that guy could have heard me, I would have said something vastly different… at the very least, ask him to go on ahead and call our contacts and let them know we were still alive, or maybe alert the RCMP that a group of climbers were self-rescuing down The Rambles… I don’t know, anything except that we were ok. When I reached the boys I articulated my concerns, and Essey conceded that his ego and stubbornness got in the way of letting someone assist us the rest of the way down.

When we finally finished that last pitch, and saw that Essey and JP were in good spirits but as physically exhausted as I was cold, I said that I would run to the road for help. I did, and (here comes the good luck part) within a few minutes, a vehicle stopped and a fellow came to assist getting Essey back to the truck for the last few hundred meters. Turns out the guy was a local Heli-ski guide, knew the area well, AND was equipped to help us. We piled back into the truck and started the long ride home... everybody in one piece and thankful for a happy ending.

Since then, and more than a year later, we have paused to reflect on that day. Regarding my concerned about calling SAR, I asked a friend who is a SAR tech what we could have done differently. He said that as we were equipped and knowledgeable but had an accident, it was the type of call SAR is most useful for. There has been much debate about the misuse of the resources of a SAR team for thoughtless individuals skiing out-of-bounds, or hiking ill-prepared for terrain or weather. But in our case, at the very least, we could have notified them, like a “heads-up” there’s a party of three with one injured heading down; they MAY need help. He said unfortunately, often people that wait too long to be rescued end up having to be recovered. For those of you who don’t know the difference, “Rescue” implies going after people who are still alive. “Recovery” is fetching the dead body. Regardless, he said, in the end, we did the right thing – because everybody got ok alive and ok, and we have learned from the experience. Essey has fully recovered from his injury, and we still train for rope rescue when our schedules allow. He will still be my first pick for climbing partner, and I look forward to many more years of alpine adventures with him and JP!

** NOTE ** I tried to add photos from the Rambles trip, but after I switched to my new MacBookPro, there's been some weird stuff going on and I can't find some photos or albums for the life of me. Trying to get this resolved but it's taken me all night to format this post so I'm publishing it now and will add pics later. Ugh!

Five More Reps

2010-11-29T12:54:00.000-08:00

“Five more reps”.

Three small words, but with so much significance.

It was October 24, Day 2 of the IKSFA USA Elite Kettlebell Workshop in Los Angeles, CA, taught by the most highly decorated Russian coaches in the world. We had just endured four – or was it five? – hours of snatch technique, and learned some assistance exercises that I would employ for these last five reps I was determined to complete.

I came into this workshop feeling like the redheaded stepchild of the Kettlebell community – out of place, and prepared to be ridiculed. The ginger waiting to be kicked. This was a workshop for Kettlebells, yes, and I am a qualified practitioner as such. But my training has been focused on “Hardstyle”; as an RKC (Russian Kettlebell Challenge Instructor), I have earned respect amongst my peers as having completed one of the most grueling fitness certifications in the industry. I am proud of my achievement, and happy to call many of my esteemed colleagues my friends. But this workshop in LA was focused on Girevoy Sport – the Kettlebell Competition lifts of Long Cycle (Clean & Jerk) and Snatch, a traditional sport in Russia still in its relative infancy here in North America. I wanted to be well-rounded in Kettlebells, because there is too much infighting in the sport with ongoing debates as to which style is better, who started what, and general bickering that I decided I did not want to take sides but to decide for myself. It’s a lot like riding motorcycles – sport bikes vs. cruisers, and sometimes riders of the two don’t quite understand the other. I have ridden both, but I embrace the whole two-wheeled community. It’s about the ride, and really, it doesn’t matter who rides what, but there is a bond between the two groups that cannot be explained to “outsiders” that don’t ride. If you’re not into it, you just won’t “get“ it. Kettlebells are the same. Those who use them know what I am talking about.

This was supposed to be a “finishing” exercise for snatch technique the Russian coaches had us do. After hours of teaching and practicing, they had us wear cotton gloves to solidify what we’d learned. We were to use a lighter bell; boys were recommended to use a 16 or 12kg bell, and girls an 8kg. There weren’t enough 8s, so I grabbed a 12kg. I’d been practicing with a 16kg most of the workshop anyways, so I didn’t mind. We were supposed to snatch as long as we could before our grip gave way… and our grip was now severely compromised by wearing the cotton gloves. The coaches knew we were tired; we were less energetic than in Day 1, and I knew I wasn’t the only one trying to save my hands for Long Cycle, which was yet to come. So I didn’t think too much when I did a couple of tentative practice snatches with my left hand; I was being careful because I could feel the skin was sensitive and sore to the touch, and I could feel a very small blister forming in the middle of my palm but it hadn’t actually surfaced. So I was chalking religiously, and thankful for the glove that was supposed to help in these kinds of situations.

I had decided on a whim to go to this workshop. I really couldn’t afford to go, as I had been to two other Kettlebell workshop events the previous month – the Association of Tactical Strength & Conditioning Instructors (ATSCI) Kettlebell Specialist Certification in Kent, WA, and to be an Assistant Instructor at the RKC Philly in Exton, PA. But as I thought about how being involved in the kettlebell community – as an instructor and a student -– has literally changed my life, I knew I would be a fool to pass on the opportunity to learn from these legends of Girevoy Sport. So I decided to invest and register. I was on my way to LA.

Practicing on my own during this snatch exercise, I was comfortable. Sometimes I’d wait for a coach to watch and check my form but everyone was busy, so I just started. I was facing the mirror so I could see my technique; I wasn’t trying to beat a time nor was I even counting my reps. I was just trying to concentrate on good snatch technique within the confines of the cotton glove, and go until I could go no more. I don’t even know at what point I noticed Coach Rudnev at my side; I know I did have to tell some people to move from my line of fire because I could feel the fatigue setting in. I also had to turn 90º away from the mirror so the mats lined up forward-back, not side to side, as the possibility of me inadvertently losing my grip and launching the bell was very real. So I focused visually on the white folding chair ahead of me in the distance, hearing Dolby in my head telling me “Don’t look down!”, and dug in.

The coaching staff of the IKSFA is the proverbial real deal. Regardless of the number of trophies, titles and medals they have accumulated, the most striking thing I noticed about them was their humility. It’s a character trait I have observed over the years amongst top athletes, and it has remained a constant trait that all of my personal role models possess. The International Kettlebell Sport & Fitness Academy (IKSFA) is founded by one of the world-renowned athletes in Kettlebell Sport – Sergey Rachinskiy, Honored Master of Sport, Master of Sport World Class, Honored Coach of Russia, 9-time World Champion, 12-time Champion of Russia, and Guinness Book Record Holder. Coach Sergey Rudnev is an Honored Master of Sport, Master of Sport World Class, Honored Coach of Russia, 4-time World Champion, and 5-time Champion of Russia. Who cares if their command of the English language is not so great, and charades is part of the learning process? I did understand that “ooohh… horror show” meant that my technique was not very good, and that praise was not given freely…

The longer I snatched, slowly and steadily, the more I realized that everyone else was done with their glove sets. More people were shouting out words of encouragement, and I could see Nazo had me in her DSLR sights. I even heard her comment about me still keeping going with the 12! But I was in the zone. Actually, it was a whole world of hurt, because I had already done some practice on my left before Rudnev saw me, and so as I slogged away on my right under his watchful eye, Rudnev counted down the last few reps and then said, “SWITCH!” “Oh shit,” was all I could think – I had already done some on my left, and that tender spot in the middle of my palm was surely going to pretty much blow up. But this was one of those lifetime moments, the kind of guidance I’d been seeking, even if for a brief moment of time in this workshop. Rudnev told me to switch hands, so I did.

We all get into ruts. Sometimes potholes. For me, literally, earlier this year, it was accidentally stepping into the hole from a removable security bollard – those metal posts that are installed in pathways to deter vehicular intrusion. Small hole, little step, big hurt. I almost snapped my tibia, but thankfully, I only sustained a soft-tissue injury. I was still unable to run, barely able to dance, for the 2 months following. That was in March. April, I was T-boned in a motor vehicle accident that left me with lateral whiplash. Already unable to run, now I couldn’t do heavy pulls, an essential task in training for the strenuous firefighter physicals. So I figured some relaxation time with the family in Hawaii to celebrate my cousin’s wedding was just what the doctor ordered. I could still swim, and I love the open ocean. Being in the sea, calm, alive, swimming with life… ahh. Until I kicked a prickly sea urchin. Yes, seriously. I actually thought it was a rock, until I got out and saw the two dozen little purple spots on my left foot, each one bearing a piece of the sharp spine of that dreaded creature. It couldn’t get any worse after that! Summer was spend trying to balance healing with training, and neither was optimal. The whole point of me writing all this is to give some background of how I found myself in a training rut. Unable to train to the best of my abilities and limited by my capabilities, I found myself being in need of motivation, instead of always being the motivator. But in the world of training, Vancouver is a small town and good training partners are hard to find. So that’s why I’ve trained by myself for the most part. And at that workshop, I realized that GS was what I needed to become my own motivator.

Sweat was pouring down my face. My gloved hands were trying desperately to find a comfort zone in and around the bell’s handle, and the glove itself was bunching up because it was too big. Tom would try to straighten it out in the lockout position, but it was a futile attempt as the glove would just bunch up again on the downswing. My forearms were screaming; the burning sensationof fatigue was radiating higher the longer I continued. But I felt strangely calm, even though I was struggling for form at the end. Here, it all came together – Rudnev’s voice, my colleagues shouting encouragement, people clapping, the groove of the snatch movements, and more importantly, my mental focus and clarity. I can’t remember feeling more invincible; even if the world crumbled around me, even if my body collapsed, I knew without a doubt I could and would finish strong. So when I heard those three words – “Five more reps” – I knew I would nail it. It was by no means easy, because by now the 12kg bell felt like it weighed 24kg and it wanted to rip my arm from the socket. “FIVE”. Breathe. “FOUR”. Cast it out, lean back. “THREE”. Don’t look down. “TWO”. Lift the heel and absorb with the torso. “ONE”. Park it. I was done. I raised and shook my arms not in victory, but to try to lessen the pain pulsating throughout my limbs. Rudnev came over to shake my hand, and I hugged him. He broke away and called for a translator; Misha came to tell me what he was saying. “You have it all,” said Rudnev. “Technique, athleticism… and the character to become a champion.” It was a truly humbling moment, one I will treasure, one I will never forget.

This post has gone on much longer than I had originally planned (since I started it at the end of Oct!). But I am still reveling in that moment, even as I write today. I realize I’ve missed writing, so I’m going to try to capture all the things I’ve been thinking about after that a-ha moment. Welcome to my blog!

Up in Smoke

2010-01-29T15:47:00.000-08:00

No need to be creative or witty for this next post. After endless months of preparation, countless hours of training, and unlimited optimism for a fairytale ending, yet another goal of mine has come crashing down in a cruel slap of reality. Once again, my best was just not good enough. I was unsuccessful in the Vancouver Fire Rescue Panel interview, and will not be moving forward in the selection process.

No chance to wow 'em with a fantastic medical, nor for my references to (hopefully) speak words of praise. And after doing everything humanly possible to ensure I would kick ass on the Combat Challenge, I won't be given the chance to redeem myself from past failures and prove myself physically capable of rising to the challenge. Heartbroken doesn't even come close. I felt in my SOUL I was meant to be with Vancouver. But my heart's been fickle to me this past year, so don't ask me what's next. There are no words of solace left, because I wrote the book on bouncing back from hard times and overcoming obstacles. I'm a living cliche. Fuck. $2, I know. Fuck it. $4. Shitballs. Make it $6, Puta madre, a la verga, mierda, hijo de puta, cabron, gillipollas, JODER. Put it on my tab.

No more writing for today. I'm empty.

But I'm not done.

It's not over.

I. will. not. quit.

Devastation on the North Shore

2009-12-31T11:41:00.000-08:00

2009/12/30

In writing this entry, I wasn’t too worried that too much time will have passed after the North Shore Fire physical, because that was one of those days that I will remember in explicit detail for the rest of my life. I keep reliving snippets of it, second-guessing that maybe I could have done things different/ better/ faster/ stronger, questioning if I had the right mind-set going in, wondering if I really gave it my all. And I keep getting the same answer – I don’t know. So much has happened since then, but I feel a sense of duty in recording the happenings of that day, and to never forget the feelings I had before, during, and after.

I was still spiritually bruised from my Surrey debacle, and still had that cloud of self-doubt hanging heavy over me. I was not exactly confident going in, as a number of my well-meaning FF friends reminded me that this test would be difficult at best. For the first time, the three North Shore departments (West Vancouver, North Van City, and District of North Van) were doing a joint application process, and an amalgamated 2-stage physical.

The first stage was to do the Fit-Tech Assessment at the JI in Maple Ridge. It’s a baseline standard test comprised of nine separate components:

1) Resting heart rate and blood pressure
2) Body composition
3) Hand grip
4) Flexibility
5) Push-ups (1 minute)
6) Sit-ups (1 minute)
7) Upright row (65 lb barbell)
8) Equipment shuttle run
9) 1.5 mile run

I did this test last year and scored an 87% overall, with the upright row and shuttle run bringing down what would have been a consistent score in the high 90’s. Basically, the hiring department wants to know you won’t DIE on the Skills and Abilities testing session. This time around, August 16th, I improved in each component so I felt pretty good about going into the North Shore S & A.

Well, they tested 92 guys and 3 girls over 2 days, Sept 12-13, and I got news down the grapevine that Day One was brutal. Quitting, puking, collapsing in the tower and going to the hospital… I knew this North Shore physical was going to be the toughest yet, even harder than Surrey’s, but holy crap, this was not a good confidence-booster! But the only thing I could do was give it my all.

September 13. My turn. The North Shore Skills and Abilities testing is a series of tasks that are typical to the position of Firefighter. Tasks for the first test include a tower climb and hose raise, coupling exercise, hose drag and discharge, ladder raise, ladder extension and victim drag. Confined space room search and 100’ aerial ladder climb are separate components done after the first test. Sounded simple enough. I’ve done those elements numerous times, except the 35’ ladder raise. 24’ yes, but the whole 35’ is another story. That MF is big and heavy, and even in training at Fire Academy and Abbotsford I never had to raise the whole thing, just to the required height of the building we were to ladder. And even as a trainer, nothing can really simulate that in the gym, even odd object training, so I couldn’t get good practice for it. But, no time like the present! HA!

The Tower Climb was special. Yes we were in full PPE minus SCBA, yes we had an apartment pack to carry up, but that was standard. No, for North Shore, we had to carry an EXTRA 40lb duffle bag. Awkward, yes. Easy, no. Needless to say, I could not run up those stairs, so I took a step at a time. My proctor was very encouraging and said I was going at a good pace. At the top, I dump everything in the designated area, then proceed to the hose raise. A 40lb roll of large diameter hose suspended by rope, and I just pulled it up with a reverse grip as I had practiced many times. I think I surprised them at how smoothly I did it. Then hustle back down the stairs, touching every step of the way to the…

… Hose Coupling station. Connect, disconnect at a standpipe, connect, disconnect 2.5” hose couplings, connect & disconnect a 2.5” hose to a nozzle. That was easy; again, I had practiced and so just tried to keep focus and regulate my breathing for the ass-kicking I was about to get, but not before the…

… Charged hose drag. Throw a charged (full of water) 1.5” hose over the shoulder, run and drag it towards a target about 75’ away, open the nozzle (set from a fog pattern to a straight stream) and squirt away. Dragging the last few feet, I think I was nearly horizontal leaning forward, the friction from the entire length of charged hose stretched out was incredible. But mission accomplished.

Next was the 24’ ladder raise. I’ve done this in virtually every physical test I’ve taken, so it was pretty easy – a ladder is lying on the ground, and I just have to walk it up against the building, rung by rung. Awkward because the helmet puts my head at an angle and limits my vision, but it’s a straightforward task.

Then the ass-kicking begins. The 35’ ladder extension. Basically, you have to pull the halyard (rope) of this 3-section ladder (anchored to the wall), in a downward motion, which raises up each section of the ladder one by one. The evil part about this is that the first section is the lightest, so it goes up fairly easy. Then it picks up the second section, and now it’s not fun anymore. In fact, it hurts. The grip weakens, you’re breathing hard, your body is screaming, and if you are 5’4” and 130lbs like me, you are really thinking another 10” in height and 75lbs would sure come in handy about now. But I didn’t magically grow, and the ladder wasn’t going to raise itself, so I just had to dig in and keep pulling. I had to lock the dogs off near the top, just to take a breather, lest the whole thing slide back down faster than you can say “gravity”. Once I hit the top, I lowered it back down, and was on to the final station – the victim drag.

By now I’m unbelievably fatigued, but there’s still a 175lb dude named Randy wearing full turnout gear I need to rescue. But apparently Randy is in a difficult-to-get-to, difficult-to-egress from spot, because instead of a straightforward, out-and-back course, I must drag him zigzag around cones, 50’ and 50’ back. Moving any cones would be a 5 sec penalty. I know I wasted a lot of time on the 35’ ladder, A LOT, so I knew I had to hustle like nobody’s business if I was going to pass. I had no idea at the time WHAT time standard I had to meet, but I knew I was pushing it. While the dummy is no stranger to me, and we have this love-hate relationship, he doesn’t complain about me manhandling him. So I got as best a grip I could, and dragged away. Uh oh. This was going to be a bitch. I was so slow, the serpentine pattern I had to follow was hard to do, and my grip was slipping. It usually does, because I can’t reach all the way around him like most guys can, so I always end up doing isometric bicep curls with him trying to stay upright. It’s so hard navigating around those damn cones! I have to change my grip a few times, until finally I toppled backwards and Randy landed on top of me. Not kinda off to the side, no, he was square on top of me. Body, arms, legs, everything. Thank goodness I have years of judo under my belt, because I did a classic escape move, pushed him away from me, and got myself back up. I even vaguely heard a guy cheer me on, calling my name. (Thanks Burnsie!) I’m pretty sure I was out of time by then, but I was not going to stop until the proctors made me. Actually, I don’t think they thought I was going to get up after he fell on me. But I am the embodiment of “indomitable spirit”, and I refused to quit. They didn’t stop me, I didn’t hear any whistler or alarms, so I dug deep and kept on going. One ugly backwards step at a time. Visualizing a round, red, angry face screaming at me. Finally, with about 20 feet to go (I think), they stopped me. Time was up.

I failed.

Again.

No Confined Space Course to navigate.

No Aerial Ladder to climb.

I was done.

And completely devastated.

That was the end of another unfinished journey.

I peeled off the layers and made my way to the cooling tent to be monitored. Well hey, at least I didn’t puke, pass out, or need to get transported by EHS. But I knew that there were only 3 girls that made it this far, and the 2 others had already failed. I knew the proctors, and my acquaintances, were really pulling for me to pass this. I felt like someone had yanked out my heart, not from the physical stress, but from the emotional upheaval of another failure. I stayed to watch the guy behind me, as long as I could. They had to break for lunch, so I went back to the truck in a zombie-like state. Only then did I start sobbing, wow, even Surrey didn’t hit me this hard. I just couldn’t let it go. I still can’t.

I have since been told that there was about a 30% fail rate for this new testing standard, which is apparently pretty high. It makes me feel a little better knowing that I wasn’t the only one who got their ass handed to them that day. I also heard I made it farther than the other girls, and although I’ll admit being the first to try to erase gender lines, I did feel a bit proud. I do know that this failure did not deter me in any way, and I will learn from my weaknesses and do better next time.

And “next time” could be here soon. As 2009 draws to a close, and I think about all of the hardships I’ve overcome this past year, I can’t wait to get a kickstart on 2010. New direct, new vision, new goals, and a new determination for victory… On Jan 22, I have an interview with Vancouver Fire Rescue. I made it past the online application, the 4 hours of written exams, the resume screening, and now the Panel Interview. Wish me luck! More blogging, more frequently, to come… I promise!

Happy New Year to all!

Better Late Than Never - the Surrey Fire Rescue Test narrative

2009-10-02T14:48:00.000-07:00

I started this entry in July, sat on it, and completed it today. I thought might forget some things, but as I started to write again, the memories came flooding back in agonizing detail. For those of you who have supported me in my quest for fire, thank you, and I look forward to your input!

2009/07/19

The last three months have been one long rollercoaster ride, and I don’t mean the high-tech, smooth-riding, space-aged coasters with the 5 point-harnesses and cushioned seats, I’m talking about the rickety wooden, whiplash-inducing, brain-bruising antiques from yesteryear where only the stupid or the daring let go of the handrails as they scream into oblivion. Yes, that has been my life, and while I am always “too busy” for a number of things, I was actively avoiding the blogoshphere (is that a word?) because, well, I didn’t know what to say.

My blogging hiatus started off on a good note with even better reason – a brand-new relationship with a special someone that looked promising. The connection was instant; the family introductions came quickly, and all our free time was spent gazing into each other’s eyes and making the rest of the world gag at our newfound happiness. Not to go on, but the relationship was not meant to be and we parted amicably. What it was, however, was a blow to the ego, and caused me to doubt who I WAS, who I wanted to BE, and what I thought I WANTED. During this time, I was actively pursuing a coveted spot in the Surrey Fire Department and taking each agonizing step towards that elusive goal mine – that of becoming a career firefighter, once again.

So for a while, I was unfocused when I needed to be laser-like; my thoughts floating on clouds of self-doubt when I needed to be on solid ground, and I shrouded myself with a cloak of negativity when I needed to be positive. But with the support of a very patient network around me, I got back in the game and gave Surrey my best shot.

I made it past the initial resume screening and was invited to write the entrance exam; I passed that and was scheduled to participate in Stage One (of Two) of the fitness testing on my birthday, July 5. What a present to give myself! Since my mother died six years ago on July 2, every birthday since then has been tortuous. What was supposed to have been a fun family occasion turned into heartbreak as we planned her funeral and tried to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives. This time of the year has always been emotionally trying since then, but, as with all obstacles and challenges that have come my way, I dealt with it the best I could. So I harnessed all my nervous energy and showed Surrey that this old broad could keep up with kids 15 years her junior.

It was a pretty straightforward day; standard fitness testing which included height/ weight/ measurements, sit & reach, grip strength, pushups (no time limit), situps (2 min), and 1.5 mile run. I killed it! It was one of those tests they make you do to make sure you won’t die during the practical fitness test wearing all the gear, etc. I was pretty proud, and confident I would move on to the next stage the following week. I did, and waited one tortuous week for the fateful day.

I knew what the tasks were, and thought I had trained appropriately. I also knew Surrey’s Skills physical was notoriously difficult, but all I could do was give it my best shot. There were 3 skills at 3 different stations, 9 total tasks to complete. There was a time frame, but they were not disclosing what the limits were. That’s what throws me. For CPAT, I know I have 10:20 to hustle before the countdown alarm beeps that the test is over. The first time I did CPAT, I didn’t know how to pace, and timed out. The second and third times, I knew exactly and was successful. But for the Surrey test, I had no idea how to pace myself.

The first stage consisted of the aerial ladder climb, dummy drag, and confined space maze. Aerial is not a problem for me; I love the rush and the view at the top is oh-so-cool! Next I did the dummy drag; it was different than any that I’d done before because we had to go under barricades and in serpentine fashion, but it wasn’t so bad, probably because it was so close to the beginning. Next was the confined space with blackout mask. Basically they test for claustrophobia, and see where your confidence level is at. Again, not a problem for me.

Then the Tower Station. Oh, the Tower Station. This is where I knew I would be challenged. Not impossible, because I can DO the tasks, but in a timely manner was another story. First, we had to simulate an extension ladder raise by hoisting an LDH (large diameter hose) roll up the tower via pulley, lower, then repeat. Well, the first time was ok, not easy, but doable. The second time was harder. I got it up, but once the hose roll hit the pulley, it bounced and pulled the rope out of my hands! So I had to do it a third time, which, well, took everything I had to complete. It was not at all pretty. I fact, the proctor told me I was allowed to bypass one station, and I could move on if I chose. Well, there’s no way I was going to quit and move on. Maybe that was a dumb move on my part, but I couldn’t leave a task undone. So I finally completed my third set, then up the tower I went. We had to carry a hi-rise bundle of hose, about 40lbs, up the stairs, switch shoulders, down the stairs, and repeat. Then go up the stairs with nothing for the final 3rd. I’m ok with stairs and hose; I chose not to run up and down but tried to keep a steady pace, so I had some energy for the last drill. The part I was MOST worried about, because it’s difficult to train for. From the top of the tower, we had to raise a roll of LDH hose to the top of the railing, lower, then repeat. Most departments make their candidates do this once, but Surrey was twice. Great! Given that my grip was already shot from my 3 hose raises, I knew this was going to be a huge task for me. And it proved to be. I tried many different techniques; I was even allowed to step on the rope to take an active “rest”, but for the first time, a negative thought flashed through my mind – “Oh my. I may actually NOT be able to complete this task!” I was stunned that I actually considered this, but the mind does funny things under stress. Well, tick tick tick, it took everything I had, I could hear the guys down below cheering me on, so I summoned up all of my strength and got ‘er done. But it was uuuuugggglllyyy!!

And it was only 2/3 over. We still had another station of 3 drills to go. I actually thought it wouldn’t be so bad – drag 190lbs of hose on a sled out and back; ladder balance walk, and 100lb LDH hose carry. I know I can do all of THAT because I had trained for it… I thought.

I have this big tire at the Y, and I would load it with extra weight, fix a makeshift harness around it, throw on my 50lb weight vest, and drag it behind me. Not easy, but I trained. So the actual test was good, because the weight was lighter, and the harness was cushier. I didn’t sprint since I was almost already horizontal trying to leverage that sled properly, but completed the task. Next, I had to carry a hydrant kit across a 14’ roof ladder horizontally, raised about 6” off the ground. Done. Finally, the LDH carry. I have sandbags, KBs, sloshpipe and other awkward pieces of equipment I used in my training for this, but nothing prepared me for the sheer immensity and awkwardness of 2 x 50’ lengths of 4” LDH in an unsecured straight roll that is approximately 3’ in diameter, weighing in at 100lbs. This was the LAST station. And I would be done. 50’ out, 50’ back. On paper I thought it would be pretty straightforward, as 100lbs is and easy weight for me. But after the supreme ass-kicking I got at the Tower Station, I was running on empty with nothing left in my reserve line. But I gave it my best. The roll was lying inconspicuously on its side on the tailboard of a fire truck parked in the bay. Deep squat, try to find a comfy (-ish) hold around the roll, deadlift up, turnaround and walk. The secret to lifting heavy stuff is to have it close to the body. Well, being 5’4”, that roll covered up my face and vision, so I had to lower it so I could see where I was going. I made it all the way to the halfway point, but at the turnaround, my arms gave way and the roll slipped from my grasp. Great. Now I had a 100lb roll of unsecured hose on the ground that I had to pick up. Awkward, awkward, awkward. I kicked myself for dropping it, but my forearms were shot. I managed to get it back up off the ground, made it about 15 more feet, and down she went for a second time. I knew I wasn’t allowed to drag it, but I did know I still had some juice left in my legs. So I tipped it upright, shoved my hands through the folds, loaded my hips, and gave it an explosive swing forwards, Kettlebell hard-style. I did that the rest of the way, put it back on the tailboard, and hung my head in shame at my pathetic performance.

I knew in my heart it wasn’t good enough to pass, but I didn’t receive confirmation until a few days later. Thanks but no thanks, and there went one more opportunity for me to fulfill a dream two years in the making. I wasn't crushed, but disappointed that again, I let myself down.

So that is my Surrey Fire story. I’m working on the blog entry for my North Shore application, which will come shortly. I’ll leave more narration for that entry, but right now, it’s time for me to get back to training.

Until next time,

TD

Why do people look at me funny when I train in the gym....?

2009-04-15T23:28:00.000-07:00

I tend to go to the gym during the off-peak hours, when there aren't a lot of members around or classes in session. Although I rarely use the weight equipment, I sometimes use a few things like the squat rack, barbells, or cable station. But I do like an empty studio, either to practice hula or to lay out some nutbar circuit. I also use the hallway so I don't, uh, damage the studio floors with my KBs, tractor tire, sandbag slams, etc. Today was no exception - here's what I set up:

Tire station: Flips, pulls; drags
Medium Sandbag 65lbs): Shoulder cleans; Zercher Squats
Light Sandbag (37 lbs): Burpee snatches
Vertical Hose Pull (using squat rack): various rope handling techniques
6', 3" Sloshpipe: Ladder cleans & O/H walks; forward walking lunges; walking presses

Basically, I just did SOMETHING at each station. I didn't have a set routine, just a general idea of what I wanted to do as I moved through each station, but I kept the flow. I certainly did get a lot of strange looks, but as we say, f**k 'em! Yeah, I know my stuff is more fun than curls. My workout was short, intense, and functional, not to mention entertaining!

Questions? Comments? Hit me up!

trish

Training Tidbits

2009-04-10T22:56:00.000-07:00

Wow, time flies when you ignore your blog. My apologies for another lengthy delay in scribing! I've just been pondering different options I have for training as I hurry up and wait for fire dept recruitment and application processes to move along. As such, it has been difficult to plan my sports and training - so many choices! Yes, we're entering volleyball pre-season, and I wanted to be able to hold my own before embarrassing myself on court #4 at Kits Beach! I was also looking at returning to the mats and getting back into judo... not to mention kayaking, climbing, and hiking. Too much pondering, not enough action. Ever happened to you? Sometime you just gotta say f**k it, and do something. So here's what I did over the last 3 days:

Wed April 8: Kits Beach Blast

With minimal equipment, I mosied on down to Kits Beach for a quick session on a cool, overcast day. I grabbed a my 10lb sledgehammer & fire gloves, a 16kg kettlebell, and my TRX Force Trainer. I set up a simple 3-station circuit, and came up with a flexible program.

10 L / 10 R: Sledgehammer swings (Overhead OR horizontal forcible entry style OR
10 L / 10 R: Kettlebell Snatches OR Thrusters OR Diagonal Cleans
10 L / 10 R: TRX 1-arm pushups; 1-arm side rows; contra-lateral & ipsilateral pistols

I ended up doing mostly overhead sledgehammer swings since there was a homeless person sleeping beside my "usual" log for horizontal sledgehammer swings and Kaiser smashes. Then I cycled through various exercises for about 5 rounds. Here's the setup:

Thursday April 9: Quick & Dirty Double KB sequence

I decided to go to the gym because I wanted to warm up with an hour of hula practice before digging in to a Q&D (quick & dirty) KB workout. So after I danced, I brought out 2 x 12kg KBs and took over the floor outside the studio:

10 closed-stance double front squats
Bear crawl 15 - 20 paces
10 Renegade Rows
Bear Crawl 15 - 20 paces
- opposite direction -
Double Burpee Cleans
Walking alternating presses
10 Alternating cleans
Walking alternating presses

I only had time to do that sequence twice, but it was still a fun time!

Friday April 10: Cambie Bridge Stairs (10 sets)

This one is too simple: Run from my condo in Yaletown, around the False Creek Seawall to the south side of the Cambie Street Bridge stairs, and do 10 sets non-stop. Continue over the Cambie Bridge to the north side, then run home. Even better when done with a friend for motivation... thanks Boo:-)!

I'm off to Vancouver Island this weekend, for some R&R with family and friends. Standard in my truck fitness toolbox:

One each of 8-12-16 kg kettlebells
10lb sledgehammer & fire gloves
TRX Force Training Kit
Lebert Buddy System
Various resistance Ripcords tubing
Beach Volleyball
2 x footballs (mini & reg size)
Basketball
Baseball & Glove
Skipping Rope

I'm sure there's other stuff I've forgotten about that are at the bottom of the box, and I have no idea what kind of workouts I'll be getting in, but I have no excuses! Have a Happy Easter!

Kauai Getaway

2009-03-12T11:04:00.001-07:00

I seem to have lost my focus for my blog, but I’m trying to get back on track. A week of forced rest in Hawaii has helped, albeit not at all in the ways that I was anticipating!

What I was hoping for in Kauai was some kind of emotional release from the demons that have followed me for the better part of a decade. From the deaths of friends, my mother, my marriage, my careers, my sense of self… I put DEALING WITH IT aside in favour of keeping busy, taking on multiple projects, pushing myself physically, mentally, and emotionally to higher limits, yet never reaching the finish line. Like there ever IS a finish line. At any rate, I hoped to find some solitude and time to reflect while on vacation, but, well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be this time around.

My trip to Kauai was shared with friends and family. My aunt, uncle, cousin, brother, and I in one resort, and 2 VPD buddies staying at another resort close by. It was fun sharing new sights and sounds with these familiar faces, and a great chance to know each other in circumstances other than “the usual”, but I really needed to put myself in solitary confinement. Things didn’t start out great, not because of the company, but for the food poisoning I got the first day. I spent the next 36 hours alternately barfing my guts in the toilet, hobbling from furniture to wall trying not to fall over, or crashed in bed, oblivious to the world. Or at least the tropical paradise beckoning outside my door.

An endangered Hawaiian Monk Seal, lounging around on Po'ipu Beach.
This was pretty much ME the first two and a half days in Kauai...
minus the beach, ocean, and sun.

I had never been so sick in my life. I’ve never slept so much, or eaten so little. But for the greatest ab exercises, look no further than the humble heaving puke. I was so dehydrated I actually had eyelids. And I’m not even trying to be funny! I was so weak, I couldn’t sit up long enough to have an MSN conversation without laying my head down on the table. Everything ached, and when I finally had enough strength to stand up on my own, I knew I couldn’t do the stuff I had planned. I brought my TRX Force Kit and had hoped to film some cool vids on the beach; had my portable iPod speakers ready to rock the hula, and couldn’t wait to body surf in the open ocean. I LOVE ocean swimming. But the few times I got to the beach, I knew I could have very easily overestimated my strength in the water and the last thing I wanted was to have to be rescued. How embarrassing would THAT be?

So I appreciated the little things, met some great people, schmoozed at the firehouse and fire/rescue lifeguard stations (got a couple of shirts ;-)! and relaxed as much as I could. I didn’t feel the same connection to Kauai as I do Maui; I am drawn to Maui like I belong there. But Kauai has it’s own energy, and one day I’ll go back under healthier circumstances to really appreciate its beauty.

Wailua Falls

So here I am, back in Van, rested and more relaxed to live life at a normal pace. Although I didn’t have the epiphany I was looking for, what I did get was the realization that my search for a personal “moment of clarity”, like happiness, is a journey, not a destination (to quote that eye-rolling cliché, sorry but true). Those emotional a-ha moments are spread throughout my life, but I guess along the way I’ve kept myself too busy to notice them – or I’ve blatantly eschewed them. Not anymore. I’ll leave those big Hollywood-style moments where they belong – in the movies.

A pocket of sun in between bouts of pouring rain, gusty wind, flying sand, fluffy clouds...
all within 10 minutes!

Why Do I Do This To Myself? Reflections...

2009-02-06T12:31:00.000-08:00

2009/02/06

Well, it's been a month since THAT day, and all I can say is that I have been overwhelmed with support and good wishes for my next adventure, wherever it may be. I am constantly amazed at how much faith others have in ME... and feel so blessed to have those people in my life. As someone who is often the "giver" of encouragement and positive affirmations for clients, colleagues, or friends, I'm admittedly unaccustomed to being the "receiver" of the same.

Although I try to maintain a healthy diet of optimism in life, I sometimes wonder what is my purpose on this planet. I have accomplished some pretty amazing things, have had incredible experiences on career and personal levels, and truly do look forward to the next adventure life has in store for me, but the reality is sometimes I just wonder "why"? Is it that really, I’m only meant to take the journey, never reach the destination (or it just be a stopover), and keep inspiring others to set, reach, attain, and repeat when it comes to the game of goal-setting?

Why am I blessed to be given so many opportunities in life, only to find I've not used them properly? People are amazed that I have in a matter of 10 years been a police officer, a journalist, PR & communications consultant, fitness trainer, owner of an all-natural bodycare line, career firefighter... my resume is pretty jam-packed, and I know the people who tell me I should become a paramedic are actually serious! But in the broader sense beyond my CV, why is it that I choose these incredibly lofty goals, throw my heart into achieving them, then… Really, it wasn’t enough to set a goal of becoming a firefighter. I guess I should have specified I’d like to be one for more than three months!

I’ve wracked my brain psychoanalyzing myself. Why am I drawn to physically demanding, mentally challenging, and emotionally draining professions? I’m not trying to prove anything, to anyone. It just so happens the things I like to do are typically found in male-dominated professions. Before deciding on a career in firefighting, my other consideration was to join the Army, Direct Entry Officer. Yes, seriously. The boys at the Regiment still wonder why I’m not in fatigues. Still, the fact remains that I’m much more at home with a bunch of loud and brash Army brats, cops, or bucketheads than I am pretending to be interested in matching curtains, silverware, or matching shoes and handbags whilst passing idle gossip around the office water cooler. I so could not live in the land of Dilbert or Office Space. “Anyone theen my red thtapler??” I even prefer Men's Health to Women's Health magazine... and not just for the pictures! But seriously, Women's Health has 5lb dumbbells and yoga mats... while Men's Health has kettlebells, tractor tires, and Marine Corps challenges. Which do you think is more my style?

I will continue to reach for my goal in becoming a career firefighter, and will not stop until all doors are closed. Then, and not for the purposes of manual or hydraulic ventilation, I will start to open other doors. Maybe some windows, too. I'm not a quitter, but I'd be hard pressed to find a more difficult profession to break into. But at the same time, I need to be realistic. Sure, I certainly don't fit any mold of what you think a firefighter should look like, but I am the sum of many talented parts. I just hope to get a chance to prove it.

TD

The fire's out for now... but the embers are still hot

2009-01-08T17:30:00.000-08:00

Honoured readers,

I want to thank you for the support you've shown for me this past year as I faced obstacle over obstacle, challenge after challenge, and met them all with courage, thanks to the faith you've all had in me. My dream was achieved last Fall when I was hired by Abbotsford Fire Rescue Service, in what at the time seemed such an distant goal... as a career firefighter!

What a fantastic journey! I learned so much about myself, and even more about the at-times foreign aspects of a career where I had no trades background or practical fire experience, save for burning food in the kitchen and setting off many a smoke alarm... sigh... But inexperience aside, I met an amazing group of people. My classmates, my Training Officers, my fellow firefighters.... even the great administrative staff for the city of Abbotsford.

During my 9 weeks of training, I studied like a madman, marched/drilled, cleaned, did PE, HUNDREDS of punishment pushups, rolled infinite amounts of hose, learned about building construction, tools, fire streams, hose lays and deploys, trucks and equipment, SCBA and PPE (our Darth-Vader-like breathing apparatus and oven-mitt-like turnout gear)... set up hoselines and ladders; advanced hoseline UP ladders; humped hose every which way; navigated confined spaces; caught hydrants; I got to run up and down, up and down, up and down, repeat-repeat-repeat the 6-storey stairs tower, and even carried big guys to safety :-)... I ascended up and rappelled down the Fire Tower; built tons of mechanical advantages for technical high angle rope rescue; learned about wildland firefighting; got to cut up cars with the Jaws of Life; dike, dam, and divert at Hazardous Materials training and wear a giant Level A marshmallow suit... I learned HEMP-LOC-AVPU-DABC-PQRST and more in First Responder training (did you know there are no band-aids on a fire truck?)... I can tear apart and put back together a chain saw, vent saw, K-12 rotary saw and Sawzall.... not mention make a lot of big holes in otherwise solid objects with the above-mentioned power tools, but also perform forcible entry with a good old-fashioned axe and Halligan.

And of course, I got to put out fires. There is nothing that compares to the thrill of being in the same heat-infused room alongside a raging inferno, and having the presence of mind NOT to run out screaming, but to KNOW you are in control and will put it out safely. Wow. "Hot" doesn't even begin to describe the feeling of being completely enveloped with smoke and flames all around you, while wearing the heavy gear designed to keep us safe.

Then they put us on the floor. Hoooo-wheeee!!! Out of the classroom, into a Hall, onto the trucks!! I was assigned to Engine 1, Hall 1, C-platoon. The main hall. I didn't care where I went, really. I didn't care if all I did was make coffee and do dishes. I would do it proudly as part of my duties as the newest probie in the AFRS. My crew was awesome, what can I say. They made me feel at home right away. They even played jokes on me. BTW, FYI, we don't have night-vision goggles at the AFRS. In case anyone asks. But they helped me train, they took me under their wing, and pretended to like the artisan coffee I brought in. Although we didn't get any big calls, boy, what a rush, that first time going Code 3 (lights and siren), jumping into the gear, wondering what we were going to get when we got there. More often than not, it was a false alarm, burned toast, or an old MVA rollover that had already been looked after by crews earlier on in the day. Or, Rescue 1, Engine 6 or Engine 2 stole it from us. Hmphff!! During our down time, we trained, whether it be FR scenarios, hose stuff, or going over the tools and truck piece by piece. Despite the hour long commute, I eagerly looked forward to going to work every shift.

At the 3-month probationary evaluations last Saturday, my journey with the AFRS drew to a close. I performed all of the required duties successfully, with confidence and ease, but part of my turnout gear was not on properly and so some tasks were deemed unsuccessful. According to AFRS Operating Guidelines, less that 100% during these evaluations means automatic dismissal, regardless of how seemingly insignificant the mistake. I was let go on Tuesday Jan 6... no second chance.

The meeting with HR went well, and the gal told me how they agonized over the meeting, but the OG's are black and white. She did ask, if I was interested, if I would put forth my name and apply as Fire Inspector when the position is posted after the city-wide hiring freeze, well, thawed out. She said this, with the blessing of the Deputy Chief of Training, is an acknowledgment that I am still a strong candidate for my good attitude, character, personality, work ethic, and integrity... but the as the technical aspects of the probationary period were not met, I am unable to continue my journey as an AFRS firefighter. I told her I would consider the position, but will continue to pursue firefighting with other departments as positions open and recruitment begins. When a door closes, another opens, and I hope that with all that I've learned with the AFRS, the next door will be the one I was meant to walk through all along.

As I say to many of my fitness training clients when their policing dreams take an unexpected turn, things happen for a reason. Perhaps it doesn't make sense at that moment, but I often turn to the Serenity Prayer in times such as this. "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference." I kept this in mind as I thanked the Chief, HR, and the Union for giving me the opportunity to develop my strengths and discover my weaknesses as a firefighter, and that I would take this experience and learn from it. To hold my head high with courage and grace is all I can ask of myself, hoping I tried my best, knowing I could have done better, while trying to have no regrets. But it's hard... and the hardest part for me I think is the tangible disappointment. In myself, for others that have supported me, for those that trained me and worked alongside me. All I can think to say is I'm sorry.

This post was almost as hard to write as the one about my mom. But I know however much it hurt to write, that post helped some people, and I'm hoping this one will too. Share your thoughts, either here or e-mail me at fire@code5fitness.com, wish me luck on my next endeavour, or just come to a kettlebell class this weekend and sweat it out the old-fashioned way. You know I will ;-).

Success is never final. Failure is never fatal. It is courage that counts.

Trish

aka: Donger
aka: T to the D
aka: Doug
aka: Kenney

Where did the time go? Three more days!

2008-12-16T19:25:00.000-08:00

Wow. I just realized my last post was almost two weeks ago... so much for even attempting daily blogging! At least I have a good excuse. Everytime I considered even a short (yeah right) update, I chose sleep instead. What with the 0730 - 1700 hrs, Mon - Fri, of firefighter recruit training, that leaves precious little time to eat, sleep, study, do homework, recover physically, do laundry, pay bills, read/respond to email, teach my Code 5 classes on the weekends, or socialize...

Looking back at the last few weeks, my class had done A LOT of stuff. We did another long day of live fire in the burn building; we became Technical High Angle Rope Rescue, as well as Hazardous Materials - Operations certified; we drilled, did PE, practiced Job Performance Requirements (JPRs), put together a Fire Prevention Presentation, and today – WHOO HOO! – started Vehicle Extrication - Jaws of Life, baby!

Some training highlights:

Live Fire Day - Justice Institute of BC, Fire & Safety Division, Maple Ridge, BC

This should have been labelled "Lowlights". I was not happy with my performance at all during the live fire evolutions. Not only that, but my friend lent me a fire-proof helmet cam to take into the burn building – and I melted it into a pile of plastic and rubber goo. Oops! I told him to return it, and say it came out of the box that way...

Basically, I overthink things to the point that's commonly described as "Paralysis by Analysis"... I can't describe it any other way. I know the task, I have the skills and the tools to complete it, I just think too much to the point where I make dumb mistakes. Well, I learned a lot, and I beat myself up the point where I HAVE to let it go... but as any Type-A will attest, for us, it's a hard thing to do. Anyways, that was the day I came the closest I've ever come to passing out.

It was one evolution in particular, taking a charged hoseline up a 35' ladder into the 3rd storey window, and from there, finding and attacking the fire. Well, let me tell you something, if you recall a previous post, I casually mentioned that humping charged hose was a hard thing to do... now try dragging it up a ladder! Apparently, there is no easy way, or a miracle trick that makes the hose magically float up the ladder. It's a lot of gruntwork and sweat. Of course, for me to be able to see what I'm doing, I have to go on air, or else the mask fogs up. So after what seems to be an eternity, I get the damn hose up the friggin' ladder, I'm already pooped, and we haven't even started looking for the fire! My cohorts join me, and away we go. I can't even remember what we did once inside. We must have found the hot stuff and squirted some cool stuff on it. While getting the fire under control, my low air alarm starts going off – bells ringing, pack vibrating, me sweating and trying to control my breathing. We're deep in the building, we have to find our way back to the ladder, and climb down. That's a lot to do on low air!

We try our best to hurry back. By the time we get to the egress room with the window and ladder, my SCBA pack has stopped singing and dancing. That's bad. It means you are so low on air, you have maybe a few minutes left if you're lucky. I am SOOO exhausted at this point, you have no idea! I barely have the strength to jump up to the sill and climb on to the top of the ladder, but I do it. What alternative is there? There is none, because there are guys behind me waiting to get out, also low on air. I descend the ladder, one step at a time, each breath getting harder to take. Halfway down, I can feel each breath starting to suck the mask back onto my face. Not good. Two steps from the ground, I completely run out of air. I come off the regulator, and gasp for fresh air. Wow, was I ever happy to breathe that! An instructor came over to monitor me, and walked me through basic tasks such as, well, taking off my mask. And my helmet. And opening my turnout coat to cool down. My vision starts to blur, and I have to bend over to support myself... whoooo, gaaaaaassspppp, breaaathhhheeeee....... At least I don't fall over! I make it back to the staging area, and wait for my heart rate and body temperature to return to normal. Wow. And wouldn't you know it, I forgot to turn on the helmet cam...!

Technical High Angle Rope Rescue (THARR) – Operations

I won't lie to you. This is fun shit. We get to climb ropes up the side of a building, rappel down, create raising and lowering systems, tie cool knots, and rescue hapless victims from precarious situations. I would pay to do this, it's so much fun! This stuff does require thinking, because we needed to construct mechanical advantages (MAs) and make them work.... well, when you are dangling 3 storeys above the ground, you want to be sure you (or the guys that built the system) know what they're doing! This is definitely when you want to have your team skills honed, because teamwork and communcation is crucial to a successful rescue. I can't wait to take the Confined Space course next year!

Hazardous Materials (HazMat) – Operations

I was never really interested in HazMat. Seemed tedious... much less glamourous than THARR or live fire, and, well, dangerous chemicals just didn't do it for me! But it's part of the job, and we are all to be trained to Operations level. And the reality is, it was mostly pretty cool! The only problem is that at 5'4" and 130lbs, I am too small to fit any gear that would be on the trucks, and they don't even have my size for much of the equipment. But, we made it work, thanks to copious amounts of duct tape and ingenuity. I also picked up another nickname. Did you know that when I wear a Level A HazMat suit and speak through a throat microphone, I look and sound like Kenny from South Park? Kenny! Great. Well, it could have been worse! And, as an added bonus, we got to keep our Level B suits... so if anyone needs a Ghostbusters costume for next Halloween, give me a shout!

Vehicle Extrication
Well, we have a whole day of scenarios to go through tomorrow, so I won't bore you with details. But cutting through metal and operating the Jaws of Life is, let's just say AWESOME! I won't let bad drivers get to me and road rage is now a distant memory, because this just kind of cures it all. We still have another day to go... so I guess I'll have to put it in the next post.

I am tired, as usual. I'm starting to fall asleep while writing this, so I know it's time to pack it in. It's supposed to snow tomorrow, so I have to wake up even earlier than my usual 5am, just in case the roads suck. Welcome to BC!

Cheers

TD (Kenny)

Battle of the Badges?

2008-12-03T19:18:00.000-08:00

Q: What do cops & firefighters both have in common?
A: They both want to be firefighters!

Okay, okay, relax, it's a bit off humour... LOL!! I'm gonna catch it from all of my cop friends now! Last post I touched on some cop 'n' firefighter commonalities; now we'll look at some differences.

BTW, I have so much more to add about the adventures of firefighter training, but I should catch up on what was left unfinished...

The more I become engrossed into the world of firefighting, the more observations I can make. Keep in mind, I have yet to serve 5 minutes on the floor as a badge-wielding, Union-backed, IAFF sticker-bearing firefighter that actually has a story to tell – but even as a lowly recruit, there are notable differences.

Primarily, the nature of our contacts with the public come to mind. Let's face it, anytime you see a cop car coming at you Code 3 (lights & siren) behind you while driving, I'm guessing the first things you do will involve looking at the speedometer, hitting the brakes, asking yourself if you've done anything wrong, and putting your cell phone/Crackberry/iPod/breakfast/lunch/dinner down and paying attention to the road, after you've checked to make sure your seatbelt is on. Sound familiar? Then as the cop passes right by you, you breathe a sigh of relief as you wait for your heart rate to subside. Uh huh. Or, let's say you get a knock at the door in the middle of the night, or whenever, and there are two uniformed cops standing there. Whatever the reason, you know it's not going to be good. Usually, public contacts with law enforcement are not happy ones, and that's ther reality of the job. Cops have to deal with both scumbags and law-abiding citizens, and their duties are thankless. A job well done is often taken for granted, and when you do get the scumbags off the street, there is always someone trying to criticize the who/what/where/why. So easy to jump to conclusions, but if you weren't there, you have no right to criticize. End of story. But when cops do make mistakes, you can bet it's all over national television. Well what about the happy human-nature stories? Once in a while yes, but disproportionately. "If it bleeds, it leads", to quote a popular journalism saying. It's not right, but it's not going to change anytime soon.

Firefighters, however, have it pretty good. Courageous, and brave, when the community calls the Fire Dept into action, they are SOOO happy to see us arrive! We save their lives, their property, their homes.... and we have a special charitable calendar to to boot! We get station visits from families and community groups, people honk and wave as we drive down the street, and we really feel the public's appreciation for what we do. AND... even though we work a 4/4 shift schedule much like police do, we actually get to rest on our night shifts, sometimes. We get to ride that big red truck!! Does it get any better?

People often joke that I've traded my gun for a pillow. Actually, it's usually the cops the say that to me. That I switched to the "other" side, to be a "buckethead". They've even asked why I'd want to be a firefighter... because I'm too smart!! Ouch! There are so many misconceptions it's hard to keep it short for a blog like this. But let's try.

What I find amusing is that it's usually the cops that try to belittle firefighters, whether it be to criticize how we burst into houses just to bust shit up and break it down, like bulls in a china shop. Or, we spend our spare time shining that pretty red truck. Or that we get too sleep on night shift. Or that we all have second jobs, usually in the trades. The list hoes on. But funny, I really haven't heard any "digs" from the firefighters about cops. Except for maybe to question to fitness level of some members after they've spent a few years on the road.

Fitness. Now we're talking. I have a lot of opinions on this, and I speak from experience, not as an armchair quarterback. I've walked the talk, and am not shy to say it like it is. Too many times I have seen police pre-recruits work their asses off to pass the POPAT or PARE, then let themselves slide once they're in, past Police Academy or Depot, and then fitness becomes a chore, last on the priority list. 99% of the job is routine, and you spend a lot of time sitting on your butt in a patrol car. But it's that 1%, that one call where the shit hits the fan and you have to fix it... you NEED to be on your A-game, you are going full-on, balls-to-the-walls, with an all-out adrenaline dump. Now is when you will feel that skipped workout! Firefighters, by the nature of the job and countless hours of continued training, MUST and DO maintain a high level of fitness, otherwise they become a risk to themselves and their mates. Our CPAT fitness test is 10:20 compared to a 4:15 POPAT, and much more difficult. But the real test in on the fireground, when you not only need to have the strength to set up ladders & fans, hump hose, climb/walk/crawl in, out, up, down, around, wearing 50lbs of gear, hauling heavy tools, and also have the cojones to enter a building on fire, search for things when visibility is zero, get the job done, and make it out safely... all on air, which means if you run out... bad things happen. Our first week of Fire Academy, our Training Officers told us that now we are in the field of emergency services, we GIVE UP THE RIGHT to be unfit and unhealthy. I love it!

Probably the best way to describe to differences between firefighting and policing is to first understand that we are different people that fit under the broad spectre of emergency services. Then, to put it bluntly, cops are enforcers, and firefighters are saviours. And I'm speaking my own humble opinion here, in very general terms, so if you have a comment or story to share, please do! Love to hear fr om you!

TD

The Beehive

2008-11-29T21:17:00.000-08:00

Keeping up this blog is harder than I thought it would be. I'm always too busy, too tired, or there's too many other things I need to attend to. I should be polishing my boots now, but I decided to wash all the cloths and rags so I'm also doing laundry... so I'll do it in a bit, while watching the hockey game. So now it's Blog Time!

There are some things that are givens that come with a career in Emergency Services. Some of the stereotypes hold true, some are past traditions, some are negative/positive, some are mystical, some are downright legendary... Police or Fire, when you work under stressful conditions with a bunch of Type-As banging heads, some interesting stuff comes out. Having had the unique experience of being a cop, then switching to fire, has unveiled some interesting observations. The hard part is trying to figure out where to start!

Let's start with the things we have in common. Cops and Firefighters are public servants, to serve the community, make it a better place, to protect and serve. Blah blah blah. Whatever slogan you choose, it's all the same. We are city employees, overworked and grossly underpaid for the amount of skills required to do our jobs effectively. But for both of these professions, you don't get into it for the money. You do it because you possess an innate call to duty. I can't explain it, and if you really need to ask, you won't understand. We who wear the uniform as protectors willingly enter situations when the shit hits the fan, everything is going sideways, and there is a risk of death or bodily harm. But we have tools of the trade, and we learn to use them – whether it be a gun, baton, firehose, or set of irons... We walk in when everyone is running out, and we do it not because we have to, but because we want to.

Now because of the nature of the job, the personalities of the people who choose to do it, and the darkness that often surrounds the calls we go to as cops or firefighters, civilians sometimes don't understand how we deal with things. That creates stress, and it's no coincidence that the divorce rate in the Police and Fire Services are amongst the highest of all professions. I guess that's why during our first week, our Training Officers asked how many of us were married – half put up their hands. "Good luck", they laughed, and proceeded to give us the name and number of the best divorce lawyer in town. Yikes!

Camaraderie. Brotherhood. Fraternity. Join the police or fire service, and you have a ready-made family. That's what I was looking for when I first became a cop. I figured we all wore the same uniform, had the same goals to serve and protect the community and make the world a better place. Riiiiiigggghhhttt! But the duties of a police officer require clear independent thinking, and the ability to adapt to a changing situation which is often stressful. So it's quite feasible to work alone much of the time, or if you are an RCMP officer in a one-Mountie town, you are alone ALL of the time. So police officers, unless you have a long-term partnership, are quite self-sufficient. Firefighters are opposite. We train together, eat together, sleep together (NO, not in the same bed!) and fight fires – together. This is exactly what they are instilling into us during Recruit Training. When the situation gets dicey, we don't start freelancing. We fall back on our meticulous training... hours of drills, repeating the same Job Performance Requirements (JPRs) over and over, until it becomes second nature. Of course, I have yet to put my training to task in the real world, and I have yet to even meet the crew I have been assigned... but I know that THEY WILL BE THERE FOR ME.

A major drawback to belonging to such a closed-off world in Police and Fire is the Beehive. Buzz, buzz, buzz... lots of activity, looks like a gigantic clusterfuck, and if you disturb it, look out! One of my TOs gleefully admits to enjoying the aftermath – he just gives the beehive a whack, takes a step back, and watches the shitshow that results! Yes, that's another little something cops and firefighters have in common. They love to gossip. It's ridiculous, actually. On the outside, macho-man-superhero-defender-of-justice. On the inside, it's high school locker talk of "he-said-she-said". Police are bad, but firefighters are worse. They don't even try to hide it. Telephone, telegraph, tellafirefighter. It's a time-honoured tradition that will not go away, so my choice is to try to fly under the radar, or just duck and cover. Kinda hard when you are the 4th female on the floor, and a visible minority to boot. Great.

Next post we'll look at some of the major differences between Police and Fire. Friendly rivals? Foes? Colleagues or competitors, hmmm. But I'm starting to fade so that's my cue to sign off...

TD

Past the Hump!

2008-11-23T22:49:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow my class starts Week 6. Where the heck did the time go? If all goes well, we will be ready to hit the trucks in our assigned halls in 4 weeks. Holy crap!

When I think back about where we started, what we've been through, and where we are going, it boggles the mind. Well maybe just me, but I wake up everyday still thankful for this opportunity to share a piece of the best job in the world.

Last week was First Responder training, and this week we continue with testing and practical scenarios. We also have a five-chapter module test, so while not a physically exhausting two weeks, we still have to work hard on skills and theory. We also have to be self-motivated to practice out Job Performance Requirements (JPRs) on which we will be evaluated the week after next. So that means a lot of staying behind after our scheduled class, and going through timed drills, over and over. But really, apart from being on a beach in Maui at the moment, is there anything else I'd rather be doing? And the answer is still "no".

I forgot to mention that last week (I think it was last week!) we got our custom-fitted turnout gear! Brand-spanking new black bunker gear, emblazoned with ABBOTSFORD in a semicircle across the back of the shoulders, our last names on the bottom, and a whole lotta yellow reflective tape. Yes, I will admit, I felt pretty cool putting on the stuff fresh out of the bags! And it fit! And they spelled my name right! Whoo hoo! What a difference, ahhhhh! The hand-me-downs I was borrowing in the interim were still too big – turnout coat skimming my knees, pants that no matter how tight the suspenders, still had me waddling around with my crotch mid-thigh. Yes, I can hear you laughing, but it made simple things, like going up stairs and squatting, difficult. I dar you to try it! Go put on your ski or snowboard pants, yank 'em down to your thighs, and walk around! Fun, huh? All that was left to complete the ensemble was proper turnout boots, as the ones I were using were (big surprise) too big. Actually, they were so big I've sustained some minor tissue damage on the top of my left foot from the constant banging and sliding around. I actually feared I had a stress fracture, but got it checked out and all's well. However, the FR weeks have let me recover, and well whaddaya know! My smaller-sized boots came in! They feel pretty good, even if the guys make fun of how tiny they are ;-). Thank goodness I'm not a guy right now!

You may have noticed an absence of photos on this blog, and that's because I'm respecting the AFR's wishes not to post anything with the uniform at the moment. Maybe later, but I'm not going to rock the boat yet, although the DC did want us to start documenting our time here to look back upon when we graduate (next year!). We'll see.

Well, it's past my bedtime as I am up at 5am. Good night!

t

Good Days, Great Days... or Fan-fricken-TASTIC Days!! Which do you prefer?

2008-11-15T21:50:00.000-08:00

Cancer survivor, inspirational cyclist and seven-time Tour De France winner Lance Armstrong is often quoted with the following: "I take nothing for granted. I now have only good days or great days."

I like that, because it's the key to a positive outlook on life. When I look at the tough training I've been enduring the last few weeks, I know it's good because in the lowest moments when I'm just gassed and I think I've got nothing left to give, I find the strength to go on and I realize – there is nothing else that I'd rather be doing! So this past week was action-packed and information-filled, with lots of room for a big learning curve and mistakes to boot. But man, when it dawns on you that they are PAYING you to do this crazy fun stuff, whether as a recruit in training, obedient probie, or veteran career firefighter, it just doesn't get any better... it's a GREAT, not just good, DAY!!

Put a bunch of those great days together and you get a Fan-fricken-TASTIC week! A lot of variety; we did more building construction tours, marched in the Remembrance Day parade, trained for vehicle and dumpster fires, spent 12 hours at the burn building with live fire, climbed aerial ladders, did ground ladder evolutions, victim rescues... does it get any better? Well yeah, but for now, I'm enjoying every minute... bruised shoulders and all. Some things I have noticed during the more physical side of training:

Being vertically challenged, and depending on my position during the drill, ground ladder carries with other people means either I get slammed with a whole lotta ladder, or I am in a full overhead press (if I am even lucky enough to reach the rungs & beams). Now we invert the ladder, meaning we flip it over while we are carrying it. Now we practice carrying it through a narrow passageway... yup, that's me hanging off the middle! Now try all of that while running. Makes for some fun times!

It's all about hose handling. Our T.O.s have driven this into us from the beginning, but as we progress during our training evolutions, no matter what new fire suppression technique we are learning that day, what beats me down every time is humpin' charged hoseline. No amount of strength & cardio training can prepare you for this particularly eveil-yet-necessary task. I'm consoled by the fact that every other person, in my recruit class and any firefighter that knows this, shares my pain because what it boils down to is it's hard physical work. Nothing fancy or special, no magic technique to make it easier, just a ridiculous amount of grunting and sweating to get the job done. Truth be told, I'll take the unbearable heat of the burning building over the punched-in-the-gut feeling of complete exhaustion from humping hose anytime.

Using proper body mechanics, a small gal like me (5'4", 130lbs) can "rescue" the biggest guy in class (6'5", 265lbs - no gear) and carry him down a ladder. And when the safety line snaps off accidentally? No prob... I got ya. That was a nice feeling.

The CPAT fitness test, while challenging to a point, is really the bare-bones minimum to what the physical demands of firefighting really are. Hindsight being 20/20, I would have done a lot more HEAVY kettlebell workouts, then build endurance from there. Exercises of choice, if given only 2 choices, would be clean & jerks and snatches. I would use no less than a 16kg bell, optimally working towards a 20kg, then top off with a few reps of 24kg. This is pretty heavy weight to be swinging around for a female my size, but once I am able to get back to a regular training routine, that is my goal. And it's a goal not to impress anyone, not even myself, but it's a necessary goal to be able to do this job effectively. I'm going to hit the gym tomorrow, and give it a shot. It should be interesting, because I haven't done a KB workout in over a month, but at the same time I have been pushing HARD since training began. I'll report back in my next post.

Well, it's past my bedtime AGAIN, so love to hear from ya! BTW, my website is down for the next few days, and has been since Friday, so if any emails sent around then (or even a day or two before) haven't been answered, I apologize but will get back to you as soon as the site is back up. Please email me at triciadong@gmail.com or message me on FaceBook until then!

TD

CISM blogging: public therapy for private demons.

2008-11-09T22:25:00.000-08:00

NOTE: There are some graphic descriptions in this post that may disturb some readers.

I've been thinking about this all weekend, knowing that there are people out there waiting to read my blog. I don't know why it surprises me, that people actually read my blog; I guess the Internet is a mighty powerful tool! Well, my last post spoke about the importance of Critical Incident Stress Management (CISM), and all week I've been reflecting about events in my life and career that would fall under this category.

A couple of things came up, and before I spilled my guts, opened my heart, and exposed my vulnerabilities to the world, I wanted to talk things over with a confidante that has helped my put many of life's questions into perspective. If you are one of my good friends reading this, you will know that I did not call you, and you also know that one of my biggest weaknesses is simply not dealing with extremely stressful or devastating events in my life... my M.O. is to keep a full and hectic schedule, take on incredibly large or complex projects, and generally keep so busy so I don't have to deal with the tough stuff. Sound familiar? Not only that, but I am of the personality to not want to burden anyone with my problems; I am usually the stable rock, the shoulder to cry on, the one you can call at 3am, no questions asked. Well, my confidante, who is a military Padre and an expert in CISM debriefing and defusing, as well as dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), lent an open ear and gave me some great advice. So let's start.

When I think of the stressful incidents I have dealt with over the years, there is no particular common theme. During my years as a police officer, I can vividly recall numerous horrific motor vehicle accidents (MVAs), Sudden Deaths, and being the bearer of bad news on next-of-kin notifications. Those really sucked, because you know you are about to walk into someone's home and change their lives forever... and not for the good. It's a heavy burden. A few times, during big incidents, we had a CISM team come in for a debriefing or defusing, and even though not a lot was said, it was nice to have that resource available.

One incident stands out, an MVA on New Year's Day, involving a stolen vehicle running a red light and smashing into a minivan with an innocent family inside. My partner and I were first on scene, and there were bodies everywhere. So much happened all at once, I don't even remember the details, but what has always stayed with me was the fact that I attended the most seriously wounded, a woman with a large head wound who was lying on the ground with foamy blood coming out of her mouth. Her daughter lay on the ground a few feet away. The mother was floating in and out of consciousness, and I felt absolutely powerless. I wanted so badly to help and to fix her, but at that time, I had no formal training in first aid of any kind. Instinctively I told her to keep still, and I took off my jacket to lay over top of her and keep her warm in the freezing cold. I kept on telling her to hold on, the ambulance was on its way, and that her daughter was right over there and needed her mother to stay awake. I remember their names to this day. The rest is a blur, all I know is that I went to the hospital after my shift to check up on her, something that was not really encouraged by the department but I had to see if she was ok. She was surrounded by family, alive, but in critical condition. At least she survived the night. The next day, there was a picture of me attending to that woman at the crash scene, on Page 3 of The Province. I had no idea the media were there that night. To this day, however, I still wonder what happened to her, and it haunts me that I couldn't do more.

Another event that affected me, but not to the degree that I thought it would, was when I was attacked on Skytrain last year. During that incident I sustained some bumps, bruises, and a broken foot. Instead of recounting the whole event, click HERE for an article I wrote for the Georgia Straight. The short-term effects from that incident were not debilitating, but for a few weeks after, I admit I was skittish taking public transit, and was constantly looking for my attackers in the sea of faces waiting to board the trains. But time has healed those wounds, and it's nothing but a memory now.

But the biggest one of all, the most devastating event that will never go away, was the untimely death of my mother. It was July 2, 2003, three days before my birthday, and I recall clearly that I was supposed to be at BC Place Stadium, working for CBC Television News helping to cover the announcement of the host city for the 2010 Winter Games. Instead, I was at Royal Columbian Hospital, praying for a miracle.

It started on the Thursday prior. Mom went to our family doctor complaining of dizziness and other symptoms. Doc looked at her blood stuff (I'm not very technical with these kinds of things) and told her she needed to get to the hospital for a blood transfusion – her red cell count was dangerously low, in fact he didn't even know how she was still standing. So off to the hospital she went, and underwent a battery of tests to try and find out what the heck was going on. But of course, it was the Canada Day long weekend, and the technicians and equipment were low staffed, so results didn't come in right away. More tests, and some tumours were discovered in her lungs. Huh? Mom used to smoke, decades ago, but had quit cold turkey. They thought maybe the damage had been done. More tests. More tumours, this time in her stomach, and other parts. Time to call in the specialists. Test after test after test; she was bleeding internally, and they didn't know why. Slowly the reality came down upon us. Cancer, oh yes, but where it started from was still yet to be determined. What was non-negotiable, though, was the devastating news that she probably only had up to a year to live. WHAT?? How? Why? She just had a full medical that came clean! We needed answers, but we were still waiting for results. And still trying to find the source of the bleed so they could stop it, then think about treatment. If it was "just" lung cancer in one lung, they could take out a lung, right? Or, maybe take out her stomach if it was there? How about the pancreas? No, it had spread too much. Through it all, Mom was a rock. She was always the strongest, never wanted to let anyone see her hurt, physically or emotionally. I guess I know where I got that from. She was always in good spirits, cheering us up, telling us she felt good. Meanwhile, I was dying inside. More than anything, I wanted to be able to give her a grandchild right then, something that realistically could not happen, even if she lived for a year. A moment that is a snapshot in time, for me, is when my childhood friend and sister-I-never-had Bridgit brought her 3-month-old daughter Maiya to visit. As my mother held her in her arms, I will never forget the look on my mom's face, I can't even describe it, but I knew we both knew that this would be the closest she would ever come to holding a granddaughter. To this day, whenever I look at Maiya, I think of the joy she brought to my mother during her last days.

At 3am Wednesday morning, on July 2, we got a phone call from the hospital to come quick, mom wasn't doing too well, and we should be there... a phone call we dreaded, but welcomed so that we could be there. We rushed over, but turns out they stabilized her, and she was in good care. We stayed the night, I curled up on her bed near her feet, my (ex) husband Rafael, and brother Tony in chairs and other uncomfortable hospital furniture. Close to noon she shooed us away, saying she was good, to at least go get lunch and have a shower. So we did, and came back in the afternoon. Just as my husband and I were parking the truck and walking towards the hospital entrance, I get a frantic call from my cousin – get here NOW, things are going bad... – We're in the parking lot, I told him, we'll be there ASAP.
When we get there, we don't even need to go to her room. She's been taken out to a different area, curtained off, and when I go over to see what's going on, I feel like I've walked on set to any number of hospital shows. There were doctors and nurses everywhere, instruments, machines, noises... and the blood. There was so much blood, it looked like someone had been murdered. I knew it wasn't good, but the ex-cop in me took over as I sorted out what to do. First I told my cousin not to let my 80 year-old grandmother anywhere near the room because I didn't want her to see the blood and frantic-ness of the situation. Next I had to find out what the heck was going on. Basically, she started bleeding again, heavy this time, and they needed to transport her to the Cancer Clinic in Surrey to radiate whatever's bleeding. Ok, when do we leave, I said. Oh, no, they said, you can't go in the ambulance. Using everything I had to maintain composure, I explained I was an ex-cop, I could handle it, not interfere or freak out... and that my mom needed me. If she wasn't going to make it, I needed to be there. By a small miracle, they let me ride shotgun in the ambulance while they worked on her in the back. Didn't know where to have the family meet, either RCH or Surrey Memorial, so I just told them all to go back to my brother's in Coquitlam and wait for me to call and let them know where we'd be.

That was the longest ambulance ride in history. As a cop, I've gone Code 3 (lights and siren) many times, and had dealt with clueless drivers that failed to yield. But when it's your mother in the back of the ambulance, "sense of urgency" just doesn't cut it when drivers fail to yield to emergency vehicles. Again, that helpless feeling as we weaved in and out of traffic, precious minutes wasted as drivers nonchalantly toodled about their business. "Get out of the way!" I screamed to no effect. Finally we arrived. They hauled out the stretcher, and I told my mom she was doing well. Hang on, we're here, I told her. They wheeled her into the hallway right outside the room with the machine. There was a small army of hospital personnel waiting to leap into action. What's going on, I asked. They need to stabilize her before putting her on the machine, they said. Well, what's the delay, I asked. She's losing blood faster than we can replace it, they said. Meanwhile, the hospital staff are working furiously to stabilize her, and my mother in all her dignity is still worried about her hospital gown falling open, and having to throw up, even though she's had no food. Everything that's coming out of her is blood, and she's apologizing for making a mess. That's my mom. All this time, I'm at her side, talking to her, trying to keep her awake. She's in and out of consciousness, fading in, fading out. I'm holding her hand, and she's looking at me... then she looks through me, and closes her eyes one last time. Mom? Mom!! MOM!! I'm screaming at her now, as if louder is better and she will be able to snap out of it. MOM!!!! She doesn't open her eyes, but I can see her breathing, short gasps.
"I love you, Mom".

And she's gone.

I know it, because that's when everyone stops fussing, and I can tell by the way they are looking at me. They don't need to say anything. They let me be, they allow me to cry in the hallway, on the gurney, a few feet from the machine that could have saved her life... or at least bought us more time. When I come up for air, they take control. They take my mom to clean her up, and let me gather my thoughts before I have to make that dreaded phone call. Oh no. What am I going to say? How do I find the words? N.O.K. notifications sucked when I wasn a cop and it was for strangers, but this is my entire family I'm about to devastate. But I couldn't put it off, they were waiting. So I called my brother, and I think I said something to the effect that she was really strong and put up a good fight, and that the docs tried everything they could to stabilize her... but she was gone. "WHAT?" screamed my brother. "Mom died", I think I said. Then I could hear everyone in the background lose it, crying, hugging, and I felt like shit because I had to do it over the phone. They all came to Surrey Memorial, and said goodbye. I'm glad that when they saw her, she was clean, and looking like she was sleeping.

The funeral had to be perfect. I know it's not custom for immediate family to speak, but it was my Mom, and I had to say exactly what I wanted everyone to hear about my mom and how much she meant to me, to us, her family. So I wrote her a letter, and read it out loud. I'll post the content of that letter below. My dad flew in Hawaiian leis, made from all of my mom's favourite flowers. Purple orchids, tuberose, were there gardenias too? It was perfect, she would have loved it.

The days, weeks, months and years following my mother's death have been filled with ups and downs. As usual, I kept busy, but as I mentioned in a previous post, I have found much comfort in dedicating my hula dancing to my mother's memory. I have my moments of complete breakdown, and a good cry is a healthy purge now and then. But what alarmed me the most was the physiological reation I had... to ambulances. I would see an ambulance, and immediately, I felt like someone was squeezing my heart, my throat closed up, and I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. It would pass quickly, but why did it happen? Eventually, the physical symptoms stopped, and now when I see an ambulance I think about my mom, but it's a passing thought. I think choosing to channel my healing through dance has helped. Oh, and it turned out she died from Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a blood cancer. So in 2005 I also trained for and ran the San Diego Rock & Roll Marathon in her memory, as part of Team In Training, for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Canada. I raised just over $7,000.

This has been a much longer post than I had anticipated, and I have to get up in 4 hours. Feel free to comment, but friends, please don't call me to see if I'm ok... I am. And writing this post helps. I encourage any of you who may have gone through a similar situation to find an avenue for healing, or to write things out and express what's bottled up inside. You don't have to make a public statement, even just something for your eyes only may help. Or, talk to a friend. Cry it out. But face it, head on.

Thanks for reading.

Trish

Here's the letter I wrote to my Mom:

Dear Mom,

How do I find the words to say goodbye? You left us so suddenly; we are still bewildered that you are gone. I guess I can start by saying thank you.

Thank you for giving me life. As a mother, you gave Tony and I only the best of yourself. We know and appreciate the sacrifices you willingly made for us, because as your children, we were your world. You gave us anything we wanted, and everything we needed. But you didn’t spoil us. Okay, maybe just a little. But I think we turned out okay. You allowed us to spread our wings, and to learn from our own mistakes. Yet you never interfered in our personal lives as we were growing up. We could always come to you with a problem, and you would always be there to listen, but not to judge. You were the envy of all other moms as we were growing up. And we were, and will always be, proud to call you our Mom.

Thank you for teaching us life’s lessons, not with words, but by example. You showed us what it meant to be patient and kind, and to never say bad things about people. Even though they may have hurt you, you showed us how to be the better person by treating those people with respect, in the same way they should have treated you. What goes around, comes around, and at the end of the day, you were always able to hold your head up high with dignity and grace, knowing your actions were honourable.

You showed us that good things come to those who wait. You were able to find love not once, but twice in your life. You and Dad kept our family together, even though it didn’t work out between the two of you. You were a class act, and you stayed strong for our family. And after many years, you found love again with Ricardo. You showed us that you don’t have to search for happiness, but sometimes it just finds you. And I am so happy that you were able to share another lifetime of joy with Ricardo, while keeping your love and friendship alive with Dad. It meant a lot to us, and we welcome Ricardo into our family with open arms.

You showed us that inner strength can define a person’s character. With the many hardships you faced in your lifetime, you always dealt with them with strength and courage. For that we admire you. Even when you were diagnosed with cancer just over two weeks ago, and they told you that you may have only months to live, you took it like a champ and stayed strong. Mom, we were so scared when we found out, but we drew from your strength and were able to share many special moments before you left us.

Most importantly, you showed us the importance of family. Family is not just a priority, or an occasion when relatives get together for holidays or dinner. It is a living thing that needs to be nurtured with love. Family is here for you when the going gets rough. They share the highs and the lows. Life’s troubles don’t seem to be as big when you know you have a family that loves you. Thank you, Mom, for showing us the importance of family.

I don’t feel any bitterness that you’re gone, just sadness for the things you will miss. I’m sad that you never got the chance to meet Raf’s family, who accepted me as a daughter from the first time I met them. I’m sad that I won’t get to see the look of happiness on your face when you watch Tony say his wedding vows to the woman of his dreams when he gets married. And I’m sad that I won’t be able see you smile as you hold your first grandchild in your arms. I know you will be there in spirit, but we will all miss your presence on those special occasions when we are together as a family. We will miss you terribly, and my heart aches for you now.

But I’m not angry that you’re gone. Maybe that’s because you never showed anger when things went wrong in your life. You lived by the Serenity Prayer – God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. I take solace in knowing I was at your side during the last moments of your life, and I am comforted in knowing that the last words you heard as you slipped away were, “I love you, Mom.”

Drawing from your strength and your courage, Mom, we as a family will pull together, dry our tears, and celebrate your life. You made such an incredible impact on us all, especially on Tony and me. We couldn’t have asked for a more loving Mom, and for that, we will miss you more than words can describe. But know in your heart just how much we love you, and now that you are an angel in Heaven, we know you will be watching over us. So I guess I won’t say “goodbye”, but “until we meet again”, I love you Mom.

With all my love,

Your daughter Tricia.

Playing the Game

2008-11-05T20:12:00.000-08:00

Oh, those folks who design fire academy curriculums really know how to mess with you. Like Military Basic Training (what REAL Bootcamps are made of, not these glam-circuses with 3lb dumbbells and yoga mats, don't even get me started...), what's happened to me in the last 2 1/2 weeks has been textbook – break us down, so they can build us back up. Stronger, better, and smarter. Well, I don't know so much about that last one, but at least more knowledgable so we can figure out to squirt the cold stuff onto the hot stuff... :-).

But break us down they did, relentlessly, as I recounted in the past few entries. I should know better, because I do the same things to my clients, only on a much smaller scale. But not to THAT degree! Well, this week has been one of physical, mental, and spiritual recovery. This balance is something CRUCIAL I teach in my classes, and to actually go through it COMPLETELY is a gratifying experience. Now, my training is FAR from over, and it's going to get just as intense, and we WILL be yelled at, but it's part and parcel of becoming the best we can be... as a team. We train together, we learn together, we make mistakes together... so that we can do our jobs together, efficiently, effectively, safely, so that we can all go home – together.

Now just because we didn't get our asses handed to us on a platter didn't make it any less worthy. Reviewing theory is crucial for all, especially someone like me who comes from a non fire-related background. My class has some incredibly talented guys, with years of auxilliary firefighting experience or relevant trades that may make the theory side seem repetitive, but I for one sure appreciate it.

The one thing I did have experience in is experiencing critical incident stress. This is a "touchy feely" subject because many will deny the impact a horrific or tragic call or event can have, but the effects can be long lasting and debilitating if not dealt with in a timely manner. As a police officer, I saw many things the average person should never ever have to see, and I was only with the department for four years. But the major incidents were dealt with professionally and the department took care of its officers through defusings and debriefings.

At this point I'm going to have to take a break and divide this post into two parts. What I want to communicate requires more thought and will most likely be emotional for me, but I have to hit the books and ready for a big test on Monday... so I will continue this later when I can focus more clearly. In the meantime, if you have any comments on critical incident stress, I'd love to hear from you!

Best,

TD

Firefighter Recruit Training + Sustained DOMS = a lot of changes in my "other" life!

2008-10-30T20:51:00.000-07:00

In the fitness training world, DOMS is an acronym for Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness. Usually, this happens when the trainee makes a significant change in their program, or starts something brand new and their body isn't really ready for that adaptation. So it rebels by making the area hurt for days after. It takes quite a bit for anything to make me sore for days after, and usually I welcome that new challenge because, well, that's the kind of strange breed I am. Hmpf... well now, let me tell you something funny!

I have been DOMS-ing for a week and a half straight. And not just a little, "ooohhh, my hammies are sore from all those deadlifts... :-)!" I have been in full-on-everything-hurts-and-I'm-completely-mentally-and-physically-exhausted mode for a full wek and a half. Even when the larger muscles start to get back to normal, my hands, and grip strength, are still cramped in a claw-like position. Yesterday I loaded up with not only the biggest bottle of Ibuprofen I could find, but a crapload of Glucosamine/Chondroitin/MSM 1300mg caps as well as Glucosamine & Chondroitin topical cream... and herbal tea.

I have a new class of Police Training Program vicitms starting this coming Sunday, and believe me, they are going to get NO sympathy from me anymore! As sadistic as it may sound, I greatly admire the standards the Fire Training Chief has set for us new recruits, because he demands we meet and exceed the bar set for Abbotsford Fire Rescue. If we don't like it, we can go home. For that, I am proud to have even made it this far. Keeping in mind that for each of us 11 recruits in my class, there are a couple hundred that would gladly step in to take our spots, so NONE of us are going to allow ourselves to be beaten down.

Beaten UP is another story, and for that I have this blog. As I recount my experiences, there comes a realization that something's gotta give, and that means sacrifices in my personal life, the "other" life before I became a Career Recruit Firefighter. I have had to give up (at least in the meantime) any questionably injurious sports (ie. judo or volleyball, and I even parked the motorcycle), fun stuff like salsa dancing or, hmmm, going home to my condo in Vancouver during the week ;-), my volunteerism at Odd Squad and BCR Army Cadets... I am even slipping on, but trying desperately to hang on to, my hula dance and practice, because that keeps me sane and spiritual. But on the business of training side, I have ceased all personal training, and most recently, postponed my regular Saturday kettlebell classes. This hurts a lot because I feel I am letting down my loyal clients, even though most understand what I am going through and recognize the sheer IMPORTANCE of me focusing on my training.

With the kettlebell class, I thought I would be able to continue because it's something I do anyways, so why not keep it going? Well, weekends are for rest and recovery, and even if I didn't participate and only instructed, SOMEONE'S gotta haul out the bells, throw them into the truck, drag 'em out the the field, and reverse the process once it's done. That in itself is tiring enough! I tried to book space at the Y where I can store the bells on site, but I can't get in until January.next year. So until then, I have no choice but to postpone my classes. I hope everyone understands.

Tomorrow, we are told, will be Hell on Earth. We are doing ground ladders ALL DAY, and our training officers promise the Chief will drill us until we drop. Of that I have no doubt, because he is a scary man, well actually, he is a human with a role to play and that is to turn us into top-notch firefighters. Which means inflicting a lot of pain during recruit training. So I'm going to shut 'er down, get some rest, and look forward to a new day!

TD

Beating myself up is easy during fire recruit training...

2008-10-27T19:54:00.000-07:00

... both physically and mentally. Physically I've been challenged before, but this takes things to a whole new level. Mentally, because I've survived some intense situations that I overcame because of a strong spirit. But when you put the two together, I don't have a word for it, but it feels like a big frustrating happy cry that leaves you... spent.

Today we got familiar with catching a hydrant and deploying large diameter supply hose. Blah blah blah for those who don't know what I'm talking about but it's fundamental skills that all firefighters need to know and practice. But it was the SCBA and stair tower evolutions that threatened to void us of our lunches, lest we suck it up. I am the smallest in my class at 5'4", 130lbs. The biggest guy is 6'5", 260lbs, and then there's everybody shape and size in between. Self Contained Breathing Apparatus and bunker gear weighs maybe 40 - 50 lbs, so we are like bulls in a china shop by the time we are suited up and ready to go. We ran up and down the tower, multiple times, crawled through small spaces, up and down tower ladders, and then, for even more fun, hauled each other up the tower taking turns playing the "victim".

This is where things get hard and humbling. As firefighters, you do what needs to be done. Size, sex, nationality, etc., mean zero when you need to save your fellow partner and pull him out of danger. So we practiced lifts and carries, in full gear, UP the stairs. But our Company has only 5 people, so we had teams of 3 and 2. I was with the 2-man team, paired with a classmate that is about 5'11" 235lbs in street clothes. First he had to carry me up, which, as I could hear him huffing and puffing, was no easy task. Boy, I felt fat and huge! Then, we had to switch. Same teams, just reverse the roles. How the heck was I going to get this guy up 6 flights of stairs? I had some serious moments of self doubt at that point. I knew I had practiced carrying heavy guys in judo, with no problem, but they wern't all bulked up with an extra 50lbs of gear hanging off them, and in judo we were walking across nice cushy mats, not going up a tower. But there was no option, I had to do it, so I carefully loaded him across my shoulders, took a wide stance, and prayed for stability as I took one step at a time up those metal stairs. I made it up a flight and a half before I had to put him down and switch to trying to drag him up, basically doing a modified deadlift / horizontal row while taking steps backwards and upwards. The most awkward thing I've done, and he helped my out by kicking up now and then, but I have never felt so uncoordinated and useless before. Dejected, the instructor told us to come down on the fourth flight, before I killed the poor guy because his helmet came off and I could bash his head against the stairs... ooops...

I felt like I had let me team down, maybe I killed my partner, maybe I wasn't cut out for this... but the instructor gave me a mini Atta Girl, saying I impressed the shit out of him because I was able to get my partner up and out of the way that first flight and a half – removing him from immediate danger, at least. At that moment I felt like crying because I was so upset I hadn't made it up to the top, but a bit happy because Atta Girls don't come often, or at all, during recruit training because we work as a TEAM and nobody gets singled out. So I let myself feel a bit better, even more so when my partner shared with the team my meager little victory.

So this was supposed to have been an easy day, because the rest of the week will be HELL since we are on SCBA the whole time, plus we will be doing ladders. Which may just replicate the pukish-ness of today, and the first day. So on that note, I'm off to study, rest, hydrate, and get ready for another day of Fire Recruit Training.

TD

A Newfound Respect for Humpin' Hose

2008-10-24T20:36:00.000-07:00

And that title is not meant to have any dirty connotations!

I said I wasn't going to go into detail into our training specifics, but firefighter recruit training has opened up a whole new perspective on functional fitness for me. For the last three days, we've rolled and unrolled hose, learned how to load, carry, and connect hose, and how to squirt water from different sizes of hose. We've learned a lot more than that, actually, but it's the cardio and strength aspect of it all that I can really speak to from my three days of experience.

I did a damn good job at training myself for the CPAT fitness test; a 10:20 timed obstacle course specifically designed to see if the fire recruit candidate has the bare minimum level of fitness required to do the job-specific duties of firefighters. It wasn't easy, but I did it, and gave myself the humble pat on the back since the fitness requirements are the same for me as they are anyone else. Well, let me tell you, the Abbotsford Fire Recruit Training MOCKS that standard and I have confidence in saying this even on DAY 3 of the program... because it only gets harder from here on in. Put it this way – I've gone through Police Academy, the RKC Kettlebell Instructor program, and a TON of challenging physical activities, but firefighter training kills them all. I'm so VERY thankful for the knowledge I have about fitness, biomechanics, form, breathing, and especially TRAINING with kettlebells, because without that, I'd be in trouble! I'm not tough, I'm realistic, and while I know I am strong for my size, the duties of a firefighter don't give a crap whether I'm 5'4" and 130lbs or 6'5" and 260lbs. The job needs to get done. End of story.

I worked my ass off, yet I feel it wasn't enough. I felt like I should have been faster, more coordinated, and just STRONGER in general! Mental fortitude only goes so far before you just have to grunt and give it everything you've got. And sometimes you come up short. We did evolution after evolution after evolution and I soaked through my turnout gear (from water), street clothes (from sweat), and chafed my legs and heels (from big-ass boots). I have no idea how many THOUSANDS of calories we burned, but my uniform pants are already loose!

I realize I am starting to babble so I'll call it a night, get some rest, and think about my game plan for next week. I will definitely NOT be working out this weekend... but my experiences will be translated into the language of fitness to one day share with you all.

Fit for Duty has taken on a whole new direction!

T

Digging Deep

2008-10-23T20:08:00.000-07:00

So it's been four days since my last blog. I was going to create a masterpiece entry yesterday, but I, uh, fell asleep. But rest assured, there's a whole lot to share, and a lot more to learn, as I push myself to physical and mental limits I thought not possible. This is from someone with an already strong Type-A perfectionist personality, who survived Police Academy, RKC training, and whose self-imposed workouts continue to clear a path in the gym when the kettlebells hit the mats. But let me tell you, Day 2 of Abbotsford Career Fire Recruit Training was one that stands out as probably the most physically and mentally draining experiences of my LIFE so far.

We rolled and unrolled hose. Lots of hose. Over and over again. 1 3/4 inch & 2 1/2 inch hose. In turnout gear, minus the snoopy hoods and SCBA. For four hours. Word cannot describe the complete and utter exhaustion we felt as a team of 11, but I assure you, the feeling is unforgettable. Our Training Chief is a disciplined man, who has a reason for strict expectations of us as a rookie group, and he is very good at his job... which, if we can live up to his demands, will be to ready us to work with the regular crew on the fire trucks as soon as we finish recruit training on Dec 19. To ready us for a job that DEMANDS readiness in physical fitness, strength, coordination, skills, and most importantly, the BALLS to dig deep when the shit hits the fan and you need to pull up your big girl panties and DEAL with whatever needs to be done, no questions asked.

In a twisted way, I appreciate this, not because I am masochistic (well, maybe a little) but because I've played that game before. Police Academy, to learn knowledge and skills where your life (or the life of your partner, or a civilian in your community) could be at stake on the next routine call, or training my own police pre-recruits, who need to understand the very concept of training for a lifestyle, not a job. Much is the same for this training. I knew it would be hard, and I knew these days were inevitable, but I also know it's done for a reason, and it's a reason that will one day keep me and my teammates alive when things go sideways at a call - because of the thoroughness of our training (longer than any other Fire Depatment around here, if I'm not mistaken) we will be able to perform under duress and do things RIGHT. I'm very proud to be with Abbotsford Fire Rescue Service because they are investing a significant amount of time, resources, and money on me and my 10 teammates; they chose US over the other applicants and they believed when they hired us we have what it takes to do this job and represent their organization in the community. Now we have the task of proving them right.

I also have to thank my hula kumu Paul for his same standards of perfection he SCREAMS into us every class. Ok, the risks and rewards for firefighting and hula dancing are VERY different, but I seem to attract this need for utmost refinement of skills in whatever activity I undertake. Perhaps it's the feeling of gratification, and gratitude, when you know you've worked hard towards an objective and you nail it... it could be for a trophy, or a simple "atta girl" and a pat on the back... or perhaps I am one to chase a challenge and will never slow down, because life is full of challenges and I've never shied away from a single one. I don't know, but I know that today was day four and there are going to be a LOT MORE days like today and yesterday in the next two months.

So I'll just hydrate lots, suck it up, and put on my big girl panties... and deal with it!! Because when it comes down to it, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Bring it on!!

Trish

My new life begins today!

2008-10-20T20:13:00.000-07:00

Not that there was anything wrong with the "old" life, and I certainly have no regrets. But today was Day 1 of 9 weeks of Career Fire Recruit Training with Abbotsford Fire Rescue, and there will be many trials and tribulations over the next 2 + months. It takes a lot to unnerve me, but as much as I know I rightly earned a spot amongst my 10 other classmates, as much as I have mentally prepared for this undertaking, and as much as I have physically trained for this demanding career, I - to be blunt - was scared shitless.

It doesn't matter how tough I SEEM, it doesn't matter how GOOD everyone says I'll be, and it doesn't matter that I beat out hundreds of other applicants for this opportunity to PROVE myself worthy of joining the exclusive brotherhood of firefighters... the awesomeness of what lies ahead is both intimidating and inspiring, and I bow my head in humility when I think of the enormity of what this fulfilling career really means to me. I am thankful and appreciative that I have 10 incredible classmates with whom I will share this journey, and with whom I will form a lifelong bond. I'm also grateful for the department and personnel that believed enough in us to make a significant investment in time and money, entrusting us to carry on their traditions with honour, pride, and respect.

I'm focussing my blog posts on how this training affects me at a deeper level, instead of a play-by-play on what the tasks of the day were. Well, maybe I'll pepper that in occasionally. And I'm sure you'll all understand if Duckie lays low for the first while, because, well, it's not his time to shine just yet.

Day 1 was a scary, joyous, info-overloaded, proud, fast, incredulous, and mind-boggling adventure. I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow!

Trish

What's with the Duck?

2008-10-12T19:24:00.000-07:00

Ok, fine. It's been a year with me and Squirt, the Fire Duckie. And the question never changes: "What's with the Duck?"

There is no big story. There is no fantastic life-altering event that brought me and Duckie together as inseperable companions. I was teaching a kettlebell workshop in Victoria, BC, one weekend last fall (Oct 28, to be exact), and went into one of those quirky little boutiques that sell funky knicknacks and useless tacky gadgets. Well, this little store happened to have an entire section devoted to duckies of all kinds. Long story short, I have a Police Duckie, a Hula Duckie, and yes, Squirt, the Fire Duckie.

I knew I was working towards a career in the fire service, and was in the process of getting all of my requisite certifications and exams: Level III Occupational First Aid, Class 3 Driver's Licence, NFPA 1001, CPAT physical, Fit-Tech physical, Ergometrics aptitude testing, AW Fraser psychological testing, not to mention applications, resume, references, blah blah blah... I figured why not have Duckie accompany me on my journey through it all? So I starting bringing him... everywhere.

Sure, some people pretend they find him silly... think I'm crazy... but there's no denying the cuteness of the lil guy! The journey's not over, but through it all, I will bring Squirt along for the ride and share our adventures with y'all!

The next stage starts Octocber 20... stay tuned!!

TD & squirt

Being "in shape" is not the same as being "fit"!

2008-10-08T22:41:00.000-07:00

Tonight is more of a rant, really. I've had a few days to reflect on the workshop I gave for fitness leaders at the BCRPA Fitness, Strength & Conditioning Conference this past weekend. It was a great turnout, and I was pleasantly surprised when all these trainers showed up to learn how to use kettlebells in their programs! Because I wasn't within my "normal" client group (normal meaning somewhat crazy but fun to be around...) I laid off the tough love, kick-ass persona and treated them, well, kinda nice. Apparently, "nice" in my vocabulary means something quite different in other people's!

It was a 90-minute workshop designed to introduce them to the concept of kettlebell training. I covered some basic movements, and demonstrated different programming options using 2 moves - the kettlebell swing, and bodyweight pushup. Pretty simple, no? But, as they say, simple doesn't mean easy. The first thing I showed them was ONE partial set of a decreasing ladder superset workout. I even knocked off the first rung, and modified the "workout" to 20-15-10-5 each of swings supersetted with pushups.

Half the attendees dropped out before completing this! Many couldn't even perform a proper pushup! I was, and still am, shocked. I told them they were the fitness trainers. I told them THEY were the ones people look to for improved health and wellness! I told them – they had to walk the talk. They had to set the example, and to motivate and inspire their clients. And I told them to stop looking at me like that... :-) Is that too much to ask? They may be in great "shape", but there is a humbling moment when one realizes that being (or having) great shape does not necessarily mean one is "fit".

So, perhaps I won't ever be the Fitness Trainer of Trainers of the year. Hell, maybe I won't be invited back to present!! But I am proud that I protected the integrity of the humble kettlebell as an exercise tool. So although it may take a little longer for the KB craze to kick in fully here in Vancouver, I now know that the instructors that do end up using them seriously will give the bell the respect it deserves.

Until then, my classes are open!

TD

Kettlebells for Fitness Leaders

2008-10-03T23:12:00.000-07:00

This weekend (Sunday afternoon) I'm presenting a 90-minute workshop on Kettlebells for Fitness Leaders at the BCRPA Fitness, Strength and Conditioning Conference. The theme is Moving Forward, Gaining Strength, and I think it's a perfect way to introduce kettlebells to the masses – responsibly.

I love kettlebells. They literally have changed my life and opened up so many more opportunities that just wouldn't have presented themselves if I hadn't started training with them. But I respect them as a training tool, nothing more, and nothing less. Nothing more, because kettlebells aren't the be-all-end-all of fitness toys. They are very effective at what they are designed to do – but they are one modality of many in my arsenal of exercises I use to train myself and my clients. Nothing less, because they deserve the respect they command. And this is what today's blog is going to focus on.

Too many people jump on the "teacher/trainer/instructor" bandwagon. Not just in strength & conditioning; I, an avid salsa dancer, am sickened by the number of "salsa teachers" that have suddenly become "world experts" in teaching this dance to unsuspecting newbies. What are your qualifications? Oh, you mean someone liked the way you danced and asked you to teach them how to spin? THAT makes you a teacher? AND you have a website and YouTube video? Oh, ok. Just checkin'. You get the drift. Now, of course, salsa teachers aren't qualified with the certification requirements fitness leaders possess (provincially through BCRPA, nationally through CanFit-Pro, or other internationally recognized certifying organizations), but the fact they are passing on flawed knowledge to others is what annoys me. How does this apply to kettlebells?

Kettlebells are a fairly new-to-North America phenomenon, but are quite an ancient tool in Europe. I first learned about them from a friend, who encouraged me to get my certification with an outfit called Dragon Door, which offered the Russian Kettlebell Challenge (RKC) Instructor Certification. I followed his advice, and since then have trained with and learned from some of the world's top experts – REAL EXPERTS – in the field: Pavel Tsatsouline, Steve Cotter, Steve Maxwell, Mike Mahler, Nate Morrison, Brett Jones, Anthony Dilugio, to name a few. These people helped me along in my journey to becoming a respected and solid kettlebell instructor. There are now more than a few different certifications out there, but folks, lets get realistic - a weekend workshop does NOT make you an expert!

I remember one of my judo instructors telling me that achieving the rank of black belt means you have a good grasp of the basics. At that point, your real training can begin. And I just loved that reality. We are ALWAYS learning. We can never know it all. Because once you think you've reached the top of your game, well, there's only one way to go! And so it is with kettlebells, in my little corner of the world.

This weekend I am going to TEACH these fitness instructors that just because they attended my 90-minute workshop on how to incorporate kettlebells into their programming, they are far from being qualified instructors. Yes, I know, "but nobody has a certification in dumbells!?...." – Don't get me started. Just because you ordered a DVD online and watched some crazy KB stunts and stupid human tricks on YouTube does NOT make you a kettlebell instructor! And you will be doing a disservice to your clients. Walk the Talk. Be a good example, demonstrate proper form, and earn your respect. The old-fashioned way. 'Nuff said.

Trish

Aloha

2008-09-28T22:19:00.000-07:00

I sat for a few days, thinking about blogging, but choosing not to, because I'm still searching for WHAT I want to express, to WHOM I am expressing, WHY I want to write about a chosen topic, and HOW I want to come across. As a freelance journalist, I have always strived to create the perfect article or story, in an interesting, witty, yet brief, manner. But you know what? This is MY blog, and I can write whatever I want! I am my own editor!! I can make as many speling misstakes and use as much ungood grammar as I want to! Ha!

But, the perfectionist in me won't really allow that, so enjoy that last bit while you can. I have just decided that I won't have a blog theme (ie. daily workout logs or videos; training-only; personal stories, whatever). Instead, I will just write what I feel that day. Maybe I'll reveal bits about my life; somedays I'll focus on training; perhaps I'll have a motivational story to share.

Today I'll just share my passion for hula. Polynesian dance, not the plastic hoops. I took it up January 2005, after a soul-searching solo trip to Maui the week before Christmas 2004. It had been a tough year and a half; the worst, actually, because July 2, 2003 was the day I lost my mother to cancer. I hated being vulnerable to my emotions, I hated that I NEEDED my mom and she was never going to be there again, and I HATED that I didn't have the answer to how to stop the ache in my heart. But I did know that I needed to get away, so I went to Maui, Hawaii.

Hawaii has always been a special place for my family. From when I was only 2 years old until 12, we went every year for two weeks – a week in Oahu, and a week in Maui. My mom absolutely LOVED Hawaii. The tropical heat. The flowers, especially tuberose and gardenia. The Society of Seven, Blue Hawaii, and The Hawaiian Wedding Song. And she loved watching hula. Those glamorous girls in the grass skirts and colourful muu'muus! The graceful hands and swaying hips! The hauntingly beautiful music and song. It was something she had always wanted to learn, but never did because she was self-conscious about being overweight after she had kids. I'm sorry we never got a chance to learn it together.

I never found, nor find, solace in the cemetary where she is buried. I just don't feel the connection, neither earthly nor spiritual. So I thought I'd see if Hawaii had a healing power of its own. I had a wonderful time on my solo vacation; I did what I wanted, when I wanted, where I wanted. Wake up at 3am to drive to the top of a volcano (Haleakala) to see sunrise at 10,000 feet? It was worth it, even if it meant I had to pack my winter jacket just for a few short hours.

I was also mesmerized by the rolling waves at Big Beach, Makena. It was such a perfect day, with sun, beach, and waves. The power of the ocean, the salty smell, the cooling breeze and misty spray, the smooth grains of perfect sand, the surfers and boarders with not a care in the world. Could it get any better? It didn't matter to the ocean that I had lost my mother; it kept going on, wave after wave. And then, I knew I had to as well. Life, like the ocean, goes on, and so must I.

A "traditional" Hawaiian luau gave me the dance bug. The incredible Polynesian dance performances made me want to BE a dancer, not just watch. So I decided then that I would learn to dance hula, in memory of my mother. It would be my therapy, and my connection to my mom. So when I returned to Vancouver, I looked up a local hula halau (school), and found a studio – Paul Latta Dancers & Co. I signed up for a beginner class, and have been with him ever since. Kumu (teacher) Paul is absolutely passionate about the art of Polynesian dancing, and his knowledge and respect for the culture is unmatched. I am honoured to be his haumana (student) and because of his teachings, I was able to to return to Maui in Dec 2007 and Feb 2008 and take some unforgettable photos with reknowned Maui photographer, Randy Jay Braun.

This is one of my favourites; I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to work with such an incredibly talented artist, as well as the continuous teachings from my Kumu hula. I look forward to many more years of learning the art of hula, as well as the life lessons dancing has taught me.

I've learned that the ache in my heart from missing my mom will never go away. But I have found that for me, dance is a way of expressing myself, and focusing on the beauty of this art brings with it the ability to cope with my grief.

This dance is for you, Mom. Mahalo nui loa; aloha wau ia 'oe.

Trying to find balance

2008-09-24T07:53:00.000-07:00

I am known for always taking on too much, and being constantly BUSY. After that incredible weekend in Conneticut, I picked a few things to start working on right away (one of which was this blog). A few more things I am implementing:

Divide my time into manageable chunks. I tend to overwhelm myself with too many projects, and generally getting nothing done but always being busy. So, taking one of Ryan Lee's awesome tips, I'm divvying up my day into 50-minute slots, with 10-minute breaks to do computer stuff, e-mail, etc.
A simple truth from Dax Moy: Get things done. Not stay busy. Not start projects. Not "do things". But getting things done.

So what I have to do today, stated in the public domain, is get the following done:

Laundry
Fire study
Train (fire)
Practice (hula)
Clean my condo
Meet my AFR classmates for a group study session

This blog is short, because I'm over my time limit. Time to go get things done!

And so it begins...

2008-09-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

What a weekend! I've just returned from the Ryan Lee Bootcamp III in Stamford, CT, with a side trip to NYC. Talk about inspiration! Motivation! Innovation, communication, and socialization. It was an unforgettable event. The one thing I had to do first was set up a blog, so here it is. I'm no computer whiz, so it took me longer than I thought it would, but voila! My foray into the world of blogging begins.

This Bootcamp was my third of three bootcamps. The first, in 2005, I went to as a wide-eyed attendee and neophyte trainer. Dazzled by the speakers and trainers I saw onstage and met in person, I was inspired emboldened to approach Ryan at the end of the event, thank him for putting on such an awesome weekend, hand him my media kit, and state, "See you next year... onstage!"

What was I thinking? Who did I just challenge to put me onstage? How big were MY cojones!!!?? Well throughout the year, I found my niche, a passion for training, and when the Ryan Lee Bootcamp II came 'round, well, yours truly was onstage, sharing the spotlight with the best of the bootcampers, and wondering if it was for real. Really!

2008, and RLB III is now a memory, but I am still truly humbled and grateful for my experience onstage and off. This year I was able to rip up the stage with Steve Cotter, Zach Evan-Esh, Dave Schmitz, and Dave Whitley in the Battle of the Bootcamps; I also participated in Speed Coaching, as well as the expert panel on Bootcamps. I reunited with old friends, met many new ones, and found my focus from the many motivating and inspiring figures I met.

I'm tempted to write more, but I am vowing to get on and keep a schedule, so I will hit the sack and see you back on the blog tommorow!

Trish