Thank you!

 
So, WE DID IT!!!

It was a long old slog, 7 hours to be precise, but we did it!

I will start with the important bit; with everyone's help, I have raised over £700 for British Heart Foundation, currently sitting at £705 and still climbing! This is pretty incredible. I have been knocked sideways by how generous people have been and can only say a big huge massive awesome THANKYOU to everyone who has contributed! I'm quite proud really.

So, my cycle buddy, Alice, and I set off at 8:45 to claim our places at the start line for 9:30. The

Start line at 9:30

crowds were rife, nerves were high and bikes were many. Clapham common didn't know what had hit it. We set off 9:30 on the dot, enclosed in a capsule of lycra-wearing enthusiasts and jean/loafer-wearing non-enthusiasts. The first 15 miles were slow; red lights through Tooting and Mitcham caused major build-ups, creating havoc amongst the thousands of cyclists, desperate to get on their way. I saw a little old man with a stick get knocked over, only to be lifted to his feet, continuing on his pedestrian journey muttering 'I only wanted to get to church'. Yes, chaos, poor man. He was ok.

Traffic!

Once we left the red lights of urban London, the queues had a new root: hills. We began to get some speed up on the flat bits, with crowds building at the foot of the slightly more challenging inclines. At the beginning, this was quite frustrating, as the slow movement meant either trying to keep balanced on the bike, or getting off to push. After two hours, we had a quick stop at the 10 mile-mark. This was rather disheartening as in training we had managed to cover much more ground in the same time.

Bacon butties

From here on in, however, it picked up. At three hours, 20 miles, we skipped the over-run BHF refreshment stop in preference for a local stand doing bacon butties and a cuppa. With a new fire in

our hearts and food in our stomachs, we pushed on through the now more spread out crowd and our next stop came at 36 miles. This section had been the bit I was fearing, as I knew fatigue may set in, but was pleasantly surprised that it was the bit I enjoyed the most, with good countryside views, nice slow inclines, some down-hills to balance and light crowds.  I quickly wolfed a sandwich for sustenance and we pushed on to make up time. At 44 miles, we knew that the dreaded Ditchling Beacon was approaching, a vertical finger on the contours map that we had been given. We also knew that this was the last major push before our descent into Brighton. I saw it approaching over the hills, it looked awful!

Beacon approaching!

The beacon was a killer, I tried but I didn't make it to the top on my bike, alongside the majority, and the push up was not much easier! Alice, however, rode on like a trooper and beat the beacon on her bike. Once again, it was havoc going up the hill, I saw a man fall off his bike sideways onto the verge, only to be pretty much run over and shouted at by angry people losing their rhythm. Perhaps understandably irritated, but far from sympathetic!

The view at the top!

Once at the top, the views were incredible; fields green and lush stretching out in all directions, with the Brighton coastline just beginning to peak out between the hills. The slide down the other side of the beacon was delicious, wind flying through our hair and the elation of the finish line approaching.

Finish line

A final 30 minutes of queues hit us at the bottom of the hill, mostly due to a resurgence of red lights but it didn't take long to get to the finish line, which was set-up next to Brighton pier. We crossed at 4:30pm, high-fiving all the kids holding out their hands. It was a pretty good feeling! Medals on,

water in hand, sea lapping, we headed straight for a good old fashioned fish and chips. It really was worth it!

Fish'n'chips!

So, all that's left to say is another huge thank you for all the donations, they definitely inspired me to push on through the tougher bits towards the end. I intend to keep cycling, hopefully tackling London - Paris next year and maybe a cycling holiday in between. 

The sponsor page will stay open in case anyone feels a last minute donation is on the cards!! 

If anyone fancies a two-wheeled pootle any time soon, give me a buzz!

Big love and thanks

Corks

 

The cardiac cycle: Update!

Hi all,

Oh how touched and impressed I have been with this wonderful thing called mankind. My previous blog [The Cardiac cycle, below] was meant just to add a little water to the dry JustGiving link. Admittedly, I did have the conscious objective of raising money for the British Heart Foundation, but I had no idea how my chosen topic, tetralogy of fallot, may be so relevant for some readers.  The donations I have accumulated, currently standing at £420, nearly 3 times my original aim of £150. This is astounding, I really expected £150 to be a push! So here is me shouting a huge THANK YOU to all those who have donated so far.

Cycle to Hampstead heath

My training has been trickling along. 20 miles the day after my birthday was a good start. Interweaving a picnic in a springy Hampstead heath made for a great day, whilst also building up the old leg stamina. London can feel grey and opressive sometimes, and being a country girl, I like to make a point of searching out the green. Living in Kennington does not aid me in this, I must admit, as Kennington park is my most accessible greenery, and that is saying something! However, Clapham common, Dulwich and H. Heath have made for good training excursions around London!  I would happily try out some new routes if anyone has any suggestions?

Comments:

 Over easter, I had the pleasure of going back up to Scotland to visit old uni friends. Passing through a rainy Glasgow, a super sunny Edinburgh and up to the highlands never loses its novelty. We booked a log cabin for the weekend on the shores of the incredibly beautiful Loch Awe, it's well worth a visit if you're looking for a break on UK soil. On driving to the feral cabin, we got lost and passed through the valley where Skyfall was filmed, possibly the only enjoyable place to find yourself lost. That evening we crowded around a wood burner, played board games and drank wine. Perhaps I am getting old before my time, but if this is what getting older is about, I'm happy!

We managed to fit a cycle ride in on the second day. It was a little different from the flats of London; what seem like small gradients are misleading. We also learned that what would be difficult on foot is no easier on a bike! With, however, the four gruelling ascents in the London-Brighton ride, I do need to get used to it.

Cycle by loch Awe

I now find myself back in the bustling streets of London, and the quest for fitness continues....

Since the previous blog, the cause of my London-Brighton ride has taken a slightly more personal turn. The feedback after the previous blog brought to light the significance of raising money for the British Heart Foundation and just how much this can affect people without you even knowing...

My page is still open if anyone wants to support the cause :) I've upped my target to £650!!
Let's do it.

The cardiac cycle

I thought I'd write a wee blog to accompany the JustGiving link. Please donate if you feel like it's a worthy cause!


This blog is a slight exception to the rule for me, it actually has a purpose. My most successful new year's resolution to date started on the 1st January 2013; a rather dull promise to get fit and healthy. Living at home in Norwich, without much excitement to perk up my days, I bought a bike with my first pay-packet. While the first few days on the modest 3 mile cycle to work took it out of my dormant quads, my legs and heart soon adapted to the art of cycling and I'm still going strong. A year on, now living amongst the bright lights and dark shadows of London, I'm a huge advocate of the bike as the most effective form of transport; a way to avoid the hellish suffocation of rush-hour tubes, the temperamental timetables of buses and the huge dent that they both leave in a poor student pocket (my choice, I know). Yes, the daily struggle with those people I call 'the lycras' prevails but, overall, I couldn't recommend it enough.

Anyway, the point I'm meandering towards is this: I am doing the British Heart Foundation cycle from London to Brighton on the 15th of June. Having heralded the positives that I have personally gained from learning to cycle properly (oh if only you could see me in my bright yellow helmet and and fluorescent jacket), I will now move on to the positives that the money that could be raised from this cycle can bring.

As you may or may not know, I am currently training to become a children's nurse, and the decision to do this cycle has also coincided almost perfectly with some lectures on cardiology. With a bit of fresh knowledge in mind, I thought I'd take this opportunity to give an example of exactly what the money raised for heart research can achieve.

Have you ever heard of a 'Tetralogy of Fallot'? No. Not surprised. Its a rather dry and unattractive name for a very unforgiving congenital heart defect. I won't go into the minute details of it but basically it is a defect that some babies are born with which involves four anatomical abnormalities of the heart. Basically, this leads to blood leaving the baba's heart which has not properly picked up oxygen from the lungs. As you may imagine, this causes many adverse effects as the growing body is left with insufficient oxygen, and if there's one thing a baby needs, it is a hearty (appropriate!) supply of O2. As well as this, the heart (tiny tiny, we're talking the size of a new-born baby's fist here) has to pump super hard to get the blood around the body due to a malformed pulmonary artery. This, as you may imagine, is a lot of strain for a wee bab's heart to be under. 25% of children born with this die in the first year of life. Adult health is not my area of expertise, but I must highlight that TOF can and does affect all ages so this is a problem that can affect anyone around you, not just the young'uns.

Now I don't want this to be a cling-to-your-tissues-wipe-the-tears-from-the-keyboard moment. The conclusion that I want to get to is that scientific research has changed the prognosis for this defect incredibly. There now exists a three stage surgical intervention to correct the malformed artery that can restore a near-normal oxygen supply to the body. And by-gum is it complicated, involving expanding balloons, meshes put inside the heart, insertion of stents, removal of stents, bypass machines....the list goes on. It is incredible that this stuff exists, let alone that it really can work. This can, and does, extend the life of many sufferers, making it possible to lead a practically normal life.

I have to note that there are many many heart problems that affect people and their families in all kinds of ways. TOF is just one of these and by focusing on it, I am by no means trying to take away from the other life changing heart defects and diseases that people suffer with. However, the point still remains that the money raised by events such as London-Brighton cycle contribute to the development of treatments and care interventions, such as the surgery for TOF, that I help patients with on the wards. It really happens and it's awesome.

So here's the crux: it would be awesome if you could donate even just a couple of pounds to help push this forward and make the lives of those affected by heart disease much improved. I'm aiming for £150.

Moral bit over, thankyou!

Please donate here if you want to support me in this!





Reading for the interested and geeks amongst you:

Tetralogy of fallot and surgical interventions: Patient.co.uk

BHF: Tetralogy of Fallot

Apitz, C., Webb, G.D., Redington, A.N. (2009) Tetralogy of Fallot. Lancet.

Walker WT, Temple IK, Gnanapragasam JP (2002) Quality of life after repair of tetralogy of Fallot. Cardiology of Young

South America

I have surreptitiously entered the realms of HTML coding in preparation for
a blog on our imminent tour of South America (they say you can never prepare too much..!). Please click on the 'South America' tab above to read all about it. Otherwise - feel free to scroll below to read my meanderings of a year in France!

Also, click on 'follow' button to keep up to date with the blog!

The heart of Django Reinhardt

Having been MIA for some months, I have decided to get out my rusty digits and get typing again. Apologies for the long yet necessary hiatus. 

Finding myself once again living in the UK, 'Keeping up my English' may seem a little out-dated as a title; but suffering in the throes of the current economic climate [three tired words which I am weary of] finds me monotonously filling out forms and looking at CVs all day, the thought of writing something where I can be me me, not professional me, somewhat appeals. So Keeping up my English stays.

My final months in France turned out to be the opposite of the slow start to the year. The many months of glacial progression towards fluency began to pay off, and I got the chance to move to Samois sur Seine, a gorgeous village on the side of the river Seine, and also the home of the founder of 'Jazz Manouche' or 'gypsy jazz': Django Reinhardt.  For those unfamiliar with old Django [before moving, I had only heard his name passed around in conversation but had not quite gauged how big he actually is in France], you may be familiar with his most famous song 'Minor swing', a song which became the theme tune of my final month in France. [Put it on, if you will, while you read this, just to get a true feel for the atmosphere of that last month]

Samois sur Seine

So I moved in with three other French people, a mix-matched but familial and extremely welcoming bunch, to a busy house placed just 10 meters from the Seine. My female housemate had a studio-come-gallery in the basement/garage where she put on an exhibition for the village in my final week (pictured). In the evenings we would have wine [these guys really knew how to drink] and/or beer and/or mojito. It was interesting to have been welcomed into the bosom of a French community after skirting around groups for so long; as I mentioned in earlier blogs, the stereotype of the French being 'closed' is not totally false. In fact, what I discovered was that once you were welcomed into a group, the cultural differences are not all that apparent, we talked about everything that we would talk about at home; music, TV, politics. However, getting through the 'initiation' stage is far more grueling than I, as a Brit, am generally used to and this is what appears 'closed'.

the exhibition in the garage

The living room had been converted into a fourth bedroom, where music would blast out in the evenings; generally Rosenberg Trio, a huge group on the Jazz manouche scene, or Rodrigo y Gabriella. I learned a lot about jazz manouche, its culture being totally intertwined with the village. On the way to work, I would drive past the traveling community to some rather hostile glances. I discovered an old-fashioned community where the men really are in charge, and in the evenings the kids play in the road and the mums would rap on our door to sell sunglasses. I really liked seeing how the Samois and gypsy community lived side by side, slightly wary of each other, but neither causing any trouble. And the fact that every member of the traveling community that I met claimed to be Django's grandson/daughter, showed the importance that the Reinhardt name still holds for its people.

The house, on the right with the red roses (French cliché)

The traveling community had descended on Samois as it was, in fact, the month of the internationally renowned Django Reinhardt festival. I had not quite anticipated the significance of this when I arrived, but as my flatmates formed the heart of the organisational team, I soon realised what a big thing this festival was going to be. One Wednesday, I got home from a long day at work to find a queue of about 100 people outside our flat, waiting to get onto the island where the festival was warming up. The atmosphere was buzzing; old Belgian couples, young Brits, middle-aged Americans and Frenchies from all-over had swarmed to the village to experience the festival, right at the heart of the jazz manouche birthplace [our house was opposite the house that Django grew up in]. It was then that I felt pretty lucky to be living where I was living, and with the housemates that I had, who had managed to squeeze me a free pass! And so, despite being a little stressed by my double life of doing an 8-6 day job in a school for kids with disabilities and festival goer by night (Samois-style, which generally means alcohol), it was amazing. The house was over-run with guests, on one occasion I was kept up until 4am by Moldovan accordionist [and possibly one of the most talented musicians I have met] in the kitchen, with the famous festival performers taking to the guitar and voice. Retrospect does make that story seem a little rosier than reality (with a 6 am start the next day).

The main-stage featuring Rosenberg Trio

So, with a large dose of Sod's law, my final week in France was probably one of the best I had. A balmy evening, listening to Ibrahim Maalouf, surrounded by 5000 people, my front door just 50 metres away, narrow boats piled up on the side of the Seine with people leaning off them to watch the bands and a cool [free] beer in hand...couldn't have asked for much more!

If anyone is interested in going to this festival next year, or knowing more, tickets are cheap and I would certainly be keen to go. Let me know!

Winging it on the slopes

Kart-ski

I learnt a wonderful fact last week. Being an adult isn't always about being wise, it's not about knowing the answer. It's about winging it.

To put this revelation into context, last week I had the pleasure of joining some of the kids in my school on a trip to explore the wonders of skiing for disabled people, also known as handi-ski. Having worked in a school for children with physical disabilities for some months now, I thought I had a handle on the logistics required for day-trips and excursions. A trip to KFC, which proved more complicated than just eating chicken, showed me that you really have to think of everything in advance. Quite the logistics required for a trip like this, however, I was not expecting. For example, the relatively simple task of driving to your nearest ski resort is immediately doubled from a normal four hours to get to the Alps, to an epic eight hour trek to find Serre-Chevalier, the handi-ski hot-spot situated firmly in the south-west of France. Fair enough, you think, it'll be a long day, but eight hours is do-able. Now add another layer of complexity, seven children very different disabilities. With this, you have to think about how long they can sit still for on a bus without getting uncomfortable thus the requirement of breaks, each one taking no less than an hour. Three breaks and a little maths later, the journey has jumped to eleven hours. This is but a taster of the organisation required for such a trip.

Now imagine, four apartments, each built for four people. Four people without disabilities that is. Although 'adapted', these apartments had no idea what hit them when seven delightful twelve year olds blasted through their doors, accompanied by seven lagging adults and two bus loads of equipment. At peak times (morning showers and meal-times) there were some serious circulation issues...said meal-times were an optimist's dream and a realist's logistical nightmare. It is some feat to perfectly time 14 three course meals [always three courses in France, however complicated it may make things], whilst installing seven children with wheelchairs and 7 other rumbling stomachs, into a room built for four. You get the picture.

Dual ski

Underneath this heavy pile of logistics, it seems easy to lose the point of our trip: skiing. Handi-ski is, in no fewer words, bloody brilliant. It comes in different forms, depending on level of independence. For the less autonomous, there are the luge-like 'dual-ski and 'tandem ski' which basically means sharing a pair of skis with the instructor. They look like the best roller-coasters of your life, whizzing downhill at the speed of the monitor, without the fear of falling over. For those who have the desire and ability to take control, there is kart-ski which enables almost complete independence, a bit like skiing sitting down. Of the group I went with, three tried kart-ski and four took on the luges. At the end of the week, one girl got her first 'flocon' (snowflake), which is the first-level ski certificate with école du ski Français. Her piercing scream of excitement when surprised with it was, alone, enough to make all our hard work worth it.

         Tandem-ski: please ignore the music and watch how it works to get on and off the lifts...amazing

So, back to my starting sentence. It may seem that we had it all under wraps, but the truth is that such a feat would have been near-impossible. The official organisers of the trip had put a back-breaking amount of time and effort into getting everything right and raising the funds. Even so, the fact that after the aforementioned 11 hour journey, I found myself single-handily cooking a three course meal for the kids is enough to explain that not everything ran smoothly. Poor kids. Saying that, they ate hungrily and one of the more polite kids even said I could cook it every night of the week and she would be happy. God love pre-packaged soup...

I feel far too young to have already been one of the 'teachers' on a school ski-trip. It seems only yesterday that I myself was one of those kids, waiting eagerly for my tomato soup, ravioli and chocolate pudding to be served so that I could get on the slopes [!]. I would have had no idea back then that it was being cooked by a just-out-of-university student with limited culinary skills. I think I got away with it. But I learnt a lot in a week; trying out the knackering life of a 24 hour carer and the logisitical complexities of disability 'on-the-go'. Most importantly, I learnt the unspoken talent required of adults from time to time, when you give kids an answer, or cook, with certainty, even if you are no way near certain...also known by another term: winging it.

More photos to follow...

A cautionary tale of Kony

Now, I am by no means a political activist. However, I watched the Kony 2012 video yesterday and I was strangely unnerved by it. Here is what I think.

Social networking is a strong force. So strong, in fact that it is becoming hard to avoid. Now that Kony 2012 has caught on [in just 40 minutes, I watched the number of views rise from 1,800,000 to 4,300,000] people will be using every means of social networking to feed this. I am also frustratingly aware of the irony that I am doing the exact same thing by writing this blog. It is unavoidable, whether you support the notion or not, acknowledgment leads to sharing. So what I am saying here is don't buy straight in to it.

Now, I am not normally one to express a set opinion about things but here is what I can see happening. As we have seen with almost any 'internet phenomenon', passion fades. This video will be watched by millions; millions of people who will give half an hour of their lives, write a comment and move on. The problem is that a project like bringing down Joseph Kony first and foremost needs full understanding. It also needs strategy and it needs time. Giving the people of the world 'a voice' allows people who know very little about a very delicate political situation in Uganda to feel like they know more than perhaps they do. As seen with Live Aid in 1985, mass marketing of third world issues can drum up awareness, great really great, and it can also generate unfathomable amounts of financial support and huge amounts of activism. But is this the end of the story? No.

Having been involved with two charities, it has taken me some time to even begin to understand a bit about charitable interventions. I have seen first hand that if money is given to a corrupt organisation it can feed the problem, not make it better. As a result, I've learnt that even on a small scale, interventions and financial aid need to be heavily regulated, so as to prevent furthering the problems that are already considered so bad that they needed intervention. My worry, is that yes, 1 billion or more people may soon have heard of Kony, but what then? The policy makers who are being targetted will find themselves straining under the weight of an incomprehendable number of letters, phonecalls, faxes, blogs...and therefore effectively the pressure of the entire media world to intervene. If they really would intervene due to this pressure, they could well be doing so prematurely in Uganda, and this would certainly not solve the problem.

So here it is. If Kony 2012 is a 'success', and the voice of the people does in fact lead to an American intervention in Uganda, there is no way it will 'expire' by the end of 2012. The mere suggestion of this is ridiculous. So, after considering this and chatting to my brother, who very succinctly referenced me to this blog and this video to learn a bit more, I urge you to be aware of this whole Kony campaign. If you still want to back it after considering the other side of the argument, feel free. Just proceed with caution.

Afterthought: The Kony backlash could be just as proactive as the video itself if people donate to other, more accountable, more direct charities as a result of it...