Hellfire Hill

The sound of church clock in the early hours of the morning always brings back memories of my first day at school – or rather the anticipation of. Having woken up well before it was time to don my uniform for the very first time, many thoughts raced through my mind.

Fast forward some thirty years and the feeling is still the same. The butterflies are still same – the adrenaline released due to nervousness. My bag is packed. My racing uniform ready to be worn.

Sunday 29th August. Hellfire Extreme Triathlon would take place in the rugged terrain of Majjistral Park in Golden Bay. The Challenge consisting of a 1 kilometre swim, 20 kilometre cycle and an 11 kilometre run sounds relatively mild......on paper. In reality it is Malta’s toughest triathlon event, testing even the most hardened of athletes’ limits.

Having gone through the route prior to the event I was fully aware that this was not going to be a walk in the park. I knew that I would probably be the last one in. Not finishing was not something I wanted to consider and I tried to brush away such thoughts when they tried to edge into my mind. Having said that I really did not wish to finish the race only to find a bored Euchar from B’Kara St. Joseph waiting to clock me in. Realistically I estimated my finish time to be around 5 hours.

The start of the race, scheduled for 830am, could not arrive to soon. I tried to put in some fuel in my stomach but quite frankly energy bars are not exactly tasty and conjure up images of the food I feed my horse (am assuming here, just in case one thinks I might have actually tasted it) and the energy drinks all taste disgusting. But I need fuel to get the engine going so I make the effort and fuel up.

It is time to go. Walking down to the beach, the waves caused by the Force 6 winds seem much bigger than they looked from the transition area. Countdown starts.

Hitting the start button on my GPS we battle the waves just to get into the water and head a couple of metres away from the beach towards the marker buoy. I try to follow Danica Bonello Spiteri’s advice and not to push to much keeping in mind that I had to cycle and run as well. Battling the waves, I moved foward slowly.

The motion of the waves caused my stomach to churn and started feeling sick. Wishing I had taken some motion sickness pills, I try to think pleasant thoughts. I reach the marker buoy and start the second part of the first leg. I am sort of relieved to see that there are other swimmers next to me. I keep on, trying to keep a steady pace. Keeping my head in the water is difficult as I start feeling sick. As I am close to the waterline a huge wave hits me from the back. I feel pinned down for just enough time to think to myself "ok this is not good' when suddenly I am out of the water gasping for air and trying to keep my goggles over my eyes. Thankfully I have only a few paces to get myself out of the water and proceed up the steps towards the transition area to get ready for the bike leg.

From the transition area I can hear fellow athletes, taking part in the relay, cheering me on. I push myself up the stairs, still battling the motion sickness. The sun is now beating upon us. I pour water over my head before donning my helmet. I run out of the transition area, shouting out my number, and proceeding on the bike. I know I am in for a tough one having covered the route previously. I am not an offroad cyclist and I want to make sure I don’t injure myself as this could potentially disrupt my participation in the Sprint Triathlon and London Duathlon races in the coming weeks.


I head towards to soil banks that lead to Majjistral Park which lead me to the first offroad bit – a steep ramp. I get off my bike, there is no point attempting this one and risking the race in the first few minutes of the bike leg. Knowing that there would be a possibility of coming across the faster athletes heading towards the transition area I make sure I stay to the left as per our instructions.


Heading towards the cliff edge I meet Etienne Bonello heading down, first lap nearly completed. In his fast pace he finds the time to encourage me. I keep cycling as much as I can, getting off the bike when the offroad becomes too much. Reaching the tarmac road that leads to Popeye Village, I stand on the pedals and head down at a fast speed, hoping that no dog comes rushing to greet or attack me from the nearby fields.




Shouting my number to the marshal I start making my way up Hellfire Hill. “You may need to dismount and either carry or push the bike up the hill (feel free to disregard our suggestion)” said the race briefing document – I took up the suggestion and pushed my bike up the hill.

Back on the saddle and cycling up the hill towards the road that leads to Manikata my thoughts go back to last year’s Lifecycle Challlenge where cycling up hills, albeit not offroad ones, were the order of the day. A bout of nostalgia hit me but this was Hellfire Challenge and there was no time for nostalgia. Heading back towards the transition area I am faced with another tough downhill offroad, I attempt to tackle it but a slight twist saw the pedal embedded in my shin so I decided to play it safe and run down the hill. Next obstacle was a rubble wall which I had to first get my bike over then myself to continue the race. Following the well placed signs I soon reach the road that lead to the transition area. I was on tarmac so I was happy. I took the opportunity to increase the speed and cycled towards the gantry at around 30kms per hour.

Motivated by the loud claps and cheers I proceed towards the second lap of the route, which proves to be more difficult as fatigue and the intense heat set in. Coming across faster cyclists battling their way towards the end of the loop makes me realise that I have a long way to go. I am dreading the run knowing that will be my weakest point. Muttering to myself “focus, focus”, I cycle on determined to finish what I had started earlier on in the day. I did not relish having to go up Hellfire hill another time nor carrying my bike over the rubble wall but this is what made the Challenge what it was.

Two hours have passed since I started the bike leg when I make it to the transition area and prepare for what is my living nightmare – an 11 kilometre run, two laps around the clay slopes in the Riviera Martinique area. Pouring water over my head I run out of the transition area and attempt to pick up a slow and steady pace. The heat is unbearable. I keep trying to pour water over my head but it dries up immediately.

If there is one thing that gets to me psychologically is having to do a circuit or loop more than once. I’d rather go a further distance to make up the mileage rather than having to go round a circuit twice – naturally this is part of what makes a route tough I guess.

Nearing the Riviera carpark a marshall, who has obviously never taken part in any kind of sport except perhaps fast food guzzling, looks at me and asks me if I am the last one. My positive response generates a loud groan and an “oh no, I have to wait longer here?” from this marshal. Having been brought up to be polite as much as possible coupled with the fact that I needed every ounce of energy I choose to ignore him although deep down I think to myself that perhaps I was biting more than I could chew.

Neverthless, I plodded on. I reached the dreaded hill that leads towards the clay slopes. I start walking at a fast pace, knowing very well that any extra effort would not get me anywhere. Looking at my GPS I know that I still have a long way to go. Trying to banish negative thoughts from my mind I take one pace at a time. Following the signs I slowly make it to Lippija Tower. Having come across Danica Bonello Spiteri, she encourages me on, encouraging me and motivating me by remindimg me that from this point on the rest is flat or downhill. I pick up a pace, slowing down at times to drink from the small bottles attached to my belt. The drink is disgustingly hot but keeping hydrated is imperative.

Slowly but surely I find myself near the car park and head towards the transition area. Cheered on by my friends my motivation increases but lasts only a few minutes when I find myself running alone. Going up the hill, for the second time, I am very much aware that I will be the last one in and if I am lucky there will be some people left to welcome me at the finish line. Perhaps it might sound pathetic but I really did not want to finish this on my own.

Having been swimming, cycling and running for the past three hours my back starts to hurt and so do my heels. I drag my feet in a semi-walk/run, trying to estimate what time I would arrive at the finish. Looking at my watch I can't even figure out how much it is going to take me but at this point in time finishing is my main concern. The marshals have gone from their previous station. I feel so alone in the world. I mutter to myself that failing, giving up is not an option. I feel like crying but that would be wasted energy. I start humming to myself, whatever the song was I have no recollection.

Suddenly I hear the sound of someone running. I don’t really take notice immediately thinking that the heat must be playing tricks on me. But the sound is close to me so I look back and to my astonishment I see my friend Chris running behind me, bottle of water in hand and a big smile on his face. Having completed his cycle part of the relay he decides to come and join me. Egging me on, we pick up a pace. We are met by a marshall who is obliged to wait for me so that he can take my number to ensure that I did actually cover the route. Having someone running next to me I feel motivated and pick up a steadier pace. The end is getting closer and closer.

Reaching the clay slopes I am even more surprised to find my training buddy Cyprian waiting for me, ready to run with me. He has just completed the full route, and on the previous day completed the 10k Trail run but he joins Chris to push me to the finish. Shortly after I find Donatelle Callus and her dog BenG. Donatelle urges me to keep on fighting, whilst BenG just looks at me with his gorgeous eyes. This show of support from my friends brings tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I owe it to them to push myself. In the car park I find Rachel Galea on a bicycle cycling at a pace next to me. “Pace yourself, keep this rate, come on, and you will complete the challenge in less than 4 hours” Cyp tells me. I slow down to try and conserve energy. BenG runs next to me, looking at me and keeping my pace, he knows he must not run fast and keeps close to me. It is incredible how intelligent dogs are!

With every step I take I am closer to the finish. Keeping an eye on my GPS I realise that achieving an-under 4 hour timing is actually possible. I try to save my energy as I get on to the main road and head towards the finish line. One last burst of energy is all I have and I use it to sprint into the finish line where surprisingly I find a crowd of people cheering me on.

I look at my watch – 3 hours 54 minutes and 53 seconds. I did it. I completed the Hellfire Extreme Triathlon.

What happens next, I must admit, is a bit of a blur. A bottle of cold water is thrust into my hand. My heart rate is over 170 beats per minute and much as I try to slow it down I am not successful. I am aware of someone leading me to a chair and giving me water and electrolytes to restore the depleted salts. Removing my muddied shoes, I give me feet a well deserved breather. My heart is now beating at an acceptable rate and I am already feeling much better. As I walk over to where the pasta is being served, fellow athletes come over to congratulate me, some surprised at my determination. I am further surprised when I am presented with an award for my determination in a form of hamper full of isotonic drinks, which will definitely come in handy.

Being presented with an award for determination


Posing happily with my dirtied bike after successfully completing the Challenge

Much as I was looking forward to the pasta lunch my stomach can only take liquids and I have to force myself to eat a few mouthfuls of penne. The adrenaline is still pumping in my veins. All I want is cold water and an ice cream!

My friends - Thank you, I wouldn't have done it in such a time without you!

Left to Right - Cyp Dalli, Donatelle Callus, BenG Callus, Chris Shultz, Rachel Galea

As the organising team, who have done a wonderful job, start dismantling the place, the Hellfire Extreme Triathlon is well and truly over. The satisfaction of completing the race was immense, the pride at being given a prize for showing determination was great but the best part of it all was the show of support by my friends and fellow athletes.

A huge thank you goes to the organistation team – Nathan & Deirdre Farrugia and Antonello Gauci as well as all the volunteers that contributed towards the success of the event!

The Living Years

“I wasn't there that morning

When my Father passed away

I didn't get to tell him

All the things I had to say”

The Living Years, Mike & The Mechanics

This song could not be more appropriate.

In the early hours of that morning, thirteen years ago, when he passed on to a better life, I dreamt about him. I could see his smiling face telling me that everything was going to be all right. When I woke up I knew he was in a better place.

Daddy had been considered to be a confirmed bachelor for many years. That is until he met my mother. I came into his life when he should have probably been preparing to be come a grandfather. Although Daddy’s image of little girls was that flowery dresses, pig tails and a ladylike demeanour, he soon enough realised that I was not going to be such. Whilst I never really caused any serious trouble, I never knew how to stand still. If there was some degree of disappointment at my tom boyishness he hid it well. I am sure it amused him to buy me toy trucks for my birthday or my enthusiasm to run out and play football.

Daddy graduated as a lawyer but practiced as a notary all his life, gaining a wealth of experience. Gaining respect from peers and clients alike he was generous with his time. Patient, never tiring of explaining the same advice over and over again just to make sure that he was understood. He took pleasure in mentoring and guiding newly graduated lawyers and notaries, helping them make their way in the legal world.

Streetwise yet embracing strong principles he instilled in me values that I try to follow in my day to day life. Discipline and respect towards others was something that he made sure I learnt at a very young age even though my rebellious nature made it quite difficult for him to get it through to my young hard head. His experience in life gave him a wealth of wisdom that I sorely miss, especially when I need advice on career paths or choices that need to be made in life.

Over the years we had our fair share of arguments, but then again which teenager with a rebellious streak wouldn't? But I know that, never for a second, did he stop loving me and giving all his energies to ensure that I was successful in life.

It is a pity that he was not around to see me graduate, to see me successfuly complete Challenges like Kilimajaro and Lifecycle, that he wiill not be there to give me away when I get married. But he is with me in spirit and I know he is watching over me.

Today, thirteen years since he left us, I can truly appreciate all his efforts, all his patience and all his hard work......

.........I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Dedicated to my father, Notary Dr. Joseph Vella Galea LL.D, 27th February 1997

Rush Hour

Their hands clutching at their steering wheels, with a grip that would strangle the strongest of men, they drive at a snail’s pace on the ‘fast’ lane.

Then, suddenly, shock horror. They are forced to stop at a roundabout or stop sign.

Reluctantly, gingerly, they slowly release their grip on the steering wheel, and in slow motion put their hands on the gear leaver. Releasing the gear they wait for their slot to proceed on their journey.

In what seems like an eternity, and several missed opportunities, they eventually put the car in first gear. Quickly, in a flash, their murderous grip is back on the steering wheel.

Chin sticking out dangerously close to the wheel they proceed at a snail’s pace, blissfully unaware of the fact that should, God forbid, they have an accident they are at more risk of being seriously injured than if they had to keep a safe distance from the wheel.

Totally oblivious of the fact that such driving causes frustration and is potentially dangerous these people lurk on our roads making rush hour even more unbearable than usual.

Yes, you guessed right. I experienced a tad too many of these drivers this morning.

Now wait. Don’t get me wrong, I do not condone reckless driving but extremes are bad on both ends. If you are not confident to push the pedal a bit harder keeping within the specified legal limit, that is fine, but get out of the way!

Don’t be selfish and block other drivers’ way. The outer lane is for overtaking, so it should be kept free. Driving at 5 kilometres per hour on a road that has a limit of 60 kilometres per hour is bound to cause frustration and irritation.

Let us be realistic, blocking someone from overtaking, especially when on their way to work in the morning or home in the evening, is extremely frustrating. And please do not come and tell me that it is not. If you don’t find it frustrating then you are either living an illusion or else have the luxury of taking things calmly and not rushing to get to work on time or getting home in time to feed the family etc etc

I was very pleased to read that the Ministry of Justice and Home Affairs will be imposing a €100 fine on those found driving in reserved lanes or those blocking traffic by driving on the outside lane when not overtaking.

What needs to be seen is whether this will be enforced or not.

One lives in hope!

Drive carefully and safely!

Jasper

Jasper

1988 - 2010

And then he was gone.

A friend of mine, asked me “why the tears, he was just a horse, and he wasn't even yours”. Words spoken by someone, who although meaning well, has never experienced the unconditional love of an animal or the noble and generous nature of a horse who allows us to ride on it's back, making use of its speed and strength for our pleasure and purposes.

I met Jasper, or Jessie Boy as he was fondly known, one Friday afternoon in September 2007 and fell in love with him immediately. Having just signed up for an eight day horseback trek, crossing from Argentina and Chile, I set out to take lessons. My instructor came highly recommended and was lucky enough to be fit into his busy schedule. Throughout our brief phone conversation I advised him that I was a complete beginner, and my horse riding was limited to a couple of hacks at a riding school. “No, problem, you will be fine on Jasper” he reassured me.

Training for the Trans Andes Horseback Trek on Jasper, Maghtab 2007

And I was. I felt safe on the back of this gentle and patient horse with kind eyes. I had a couple of tumbles but they usually my fault. Although an intelligent animal, there was no malice in Jasper. He did his utmost for all the riders that took lessons or rode him in equestrian competitions.

I will never forget our first show jumping competition. Organised by the La Vallette Riding Club, it meant that he had to journey by van from Maghtab to Marsa, and spend a day in a field devoid of the luxury of his own stable. Moreover, he had to wait for the other horses, he travelled with, to be ready from their competitions before he could go back to his stable. My nerves at competing for the first time in a class full of seasoned riders were calmed by the fact that I could trust Jasper. Tackling the course, keeping in my the techniques learnt combined with some vocal encouragement from my part we managed a clear round. Since, two other riders were clear there would be a jump off for first, second and third place. The activity of the day, took its toll on Jasper and our time saw us place third. However I was ecstatic. I knew that Jasper had given his 110%, in the true generous nature of the horse he gave it his all.

Just after the showjumping competition in Marsa, Jasper is on the right. Marsa 2008

Some people mistakenly believe that horses are devoid of emotions and thus incapable of forming a bond. These people would have you believe that horses are not capable of feeling the same emotions that we humans feel. How wrong they are. Horses desire companionship just as much as we do. A clear example of this was Jasper's bond with Tuta, my instructor's other horse. Their stables and paddocks were next to each other and you could see him look out for her if she was out in the field and he left on his own in the paddock. He would call out to her when he would hear her walking into the stables. So close was his bond with her, that if they both were in the field at the same time he would do his utmost to follow her.

Walking through the stables, early in the morning, smelling the fresh hay, the sound of horses munching contentedly and the sight of them acknowledging my presence as I walk in gives me a sense of peace. Alas, Jasper is now no longer there to welcome me, but his hoof print is clearly embedded in my heart, just as much as it is embedded in the heart of all the riders that have ridden Jasper over the years.

Rest well, Jasper, you will be sorely missed.