Terminal Velocity

I was surprisingly calm and relaxed, as Gaetano clipped his harness to my suit in preparation for the imminent sky dive – the very first from my end.

Sitting in a crowded Cessna, waiting to jump, I can’t recall any particular thoughts. Gaetano explained that quite a few people have second thoughts and go back on land on the very same plane they took off some minutes before.

Hanging out of the plane is Antonio, camera in hand. He is assigned the task of recording the whole experience. He motions me to smile as Gaetano and I prepare ourselves for flight. Suddenly, with no warning at all we are out of the plane. A double somersault into the air produces a sudden adrenaline rush that makes me realise I have just jumped out of a plane, approximately 4200m above the ground.


As the wind hits my face, whilst experience the downward falling sensation, I am laughing and screaming, with Antonio obligingly capturing every moment on camera. I had been looking forward to the free falling sensation, parachute closed, accelerating to terminal velocity, around 120 miles per hour. Freefall is such a stupendous sense of freedom. Flying through the air, you can do what you like with your body – fly forward, back-up, sideways, flip and twist. There are absolutely no limits as to which direction you can move your body. A veritable sensation of total freedom of movement.

Is this what birds feel when they are flying?, I think to myself.
Suddenly the reverie is broken when the parachute opens and I am yanked up. It doesn't even occur to me that I am 'safe'. It didn't even enter my mind, for a second, that the parachute wouldn't open.

From then on the sensation is the same as the ones I had in previous paragliding experiences, which nevertheless are exhilarating and adrenaline pumping. Circling above the airfield we take our time to land, enjoying the view of Palermo beneath us.

Bracing myself in the position I was instructed to, Gaetano skillfully maneuvers us into a soft and graceful landing.

I am still laughing when I realise that all my plans to scream Geronimo whilst jumping off the plane were fruitless as in the excitement of it all, I forgot totally about it and just laughed and screamed my way down.

Geronimo will have to wait till the next jump.

Survival Instinct

An eight-day trip to the Swedish Arctic wilderness set in a pristine environment we so sadly lack promised to be the trip of a lifetime, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. Let’s face it, such a Challenge is not something that is frequently experienced by the likes of us Mediterranean people, whose familiarity with icy conditions is more likely to be a short encounter with the freezers in a supermarket. The threat of frostbite, lack of sleep, no contact with other human beings apart from those involved in the Challenge, no internet, mobile phones or other creature comforts we are so used to in our day to day lives, would prove to be the real challenge.




A cabin with no running water and electricity was our base. We were all assigned duties, from cooking, cleaning and washing up to ensuring that there was a plentiful supply of firewood to fuel the centrally located stove which kept the cabin warm. The first three days were spent cross-country skiing, dog sledding and snowmobiling as well as preparing for the survival stage.

Dog sledding lived up to my expectations though I would have enjoyed spending more time with these strong animals. Very playful and craving attention, once they are harnessed they get into work mode. Six dogs pull a sledge carrying two people, one of whom steers and keeps the sledge’s balance. Every so often the sledges stop and the dogs take the opportunity to cool down by lying in the snow, nuzzling their noses against the cold ice. By the end of the day, they are all tired and almost fall asleep immediately in their ‘cabins’ on the truck.

Bluetooth, was the name of this loveable dog, who was always up for a kiss and a cuddle

If dog sledding was the best way to experience a true wilderness, completely dependent on the dogs with no noise except for the odd bark, then the snow mobile was the modern version of this sort of travel, with more adrenaline flowing, especially when pressing down the throttle at full speed while going up a hill, whose summit is just a straight line, with a huge unknown behind it. I must admit I had a whale of a time negotiating my way through forests, frozen lakes and undulating tracks. The only downer was the sound of the engine and the smell of fuel, a stark contrast to the unspoilt terrain we were travelling through.



At higher altitudes, near a weather station


Having never put on skis in my life, the prospect of spending a couple of hours picking myself up and untangling myself from a set of skis was admittedly very daunting. While quite a few people encouraged me, telling me that cross country skiing was much easier than downhill skiing, I still had visions of myself hugging a tree or being buried headfirst in the snow after a failed attempt to tackle some minor slope.

Happily, I managed quite well though I did have some very unceremonious falls, which required the assistance of my friends to get back on my feet. I enjoyed the experience so much, that I set off on the survival part of the journey, on skis, at night, carrying a heavy backpack and reaching the destination with a huge smile on my face.


Survival instinct

I guess that deep down inside each and every one of us there is a survival instinct that comes into play whenever we find ourselves outside our comfort zone. Although I have been on expeditions, I still had my reservations as to whether I would cope with the cold, lack of sleep and basic facilities. Each night I would crash into my sleeping bag with aching muscles only to be woken up a few hours later to carry out fire duties with my buddy. I found it very hard to go back to sleep, mostly due to the uncomfortable terrain and the cold.

Removing tree branches to build a shelter, made of trees and snow

We were all busy working on the construction of the snow hole, which saw us pile as much snow as possible into a heap at least two metres high, that would be big enough for 20 Challengers to sleep in. Although many hours were spent working on the snow hole, we sadly never managed to spend the night there. Due to heavy snowfall, the construction collapsed. Three people, including myself, who were working inside at the time, found themselves buried in the snow albeit for a very short time and were lucky enough to suffer very slight injuries and able to continue the Challenge after having been given the all clear by doctors.

Digging into the snowhole a few minutes before it collapsed


The Challenge is now over and some of us are struggling to get back into our old routines. There were many lessons to be learnt from this trip. Apart from giving me the opportunity to learn new skills, it has shown me how much we take what we have in our lives for granted and that we can really get by with few things and still be content.

We left Malta as acquaintances but came back as friends. We supported each other when the going was tough, shared a hearty laugh and a silent tear when it was needed. The best part of it all is that our effort will help the voiceless abandoned animals to lead a better life.

London Duathlon 2010 - A Beginner's Perspective

I must admit I was regretting my decision to sign up for the London Duathlon – The thought of participating in the worlds’ largest Duathlon seemed a good idea at the time of registration, now it was very daunting. The race is held in the spectacular Richmond Park, which is the largest open space in London covering almost 1,000 hectares (2,500 acres), and is home to a huge array of wildlife, including hundreds of deer.

Negative thoughts were racing through my head as I attempted to assemble my bike in a small corner of my London hotel’s lobby. “The room is too small for the bike” the receptionist told me when checking in. Great! With every single guest and hotel employee, that happened to be in the lobby at that point in time, starting at me like I was some kind of alien, hands covered in grease, I kept staring at my bike as if it were the first time I was looking at it. Bolts, springs and pieces of bike looked totally unfamiliar. Getting all hot and bothered and almost in tears I phoned my training buddy Cyp in an attempt to share my frustration rather than anything else. What could he do miles away back home in Malta. Having vented my frustration on a totally amused Cyp, I went back to assembling the bike. Half an hour later I gave it to the hotel staff who promised they would look after it for me until I was assigned my room.

Knowing that there are travel restrictions for bikes, I decide to trace my travel route for race day that afternoon and would also give me the opportunity to collect my Race number and pack. It takes me about an hour to get to Richmond Park. The roads are littered with signs advising drivers that roads in the Park would be closed the following day. I start to get pre-race nerves as I find myself approaching the ‘Race Village’ as it is called.

The area is a hive of activity, the transition area is being setup, banners raised, fellow athletes are forming a line to register and volunteers and busy giving directions and offering assistance to lost athletes like me! Race day planning is essential, so that racking of bike, warm up, hydration and focus can be achieved so that one can put in their best performance.

Collecting my race pack, I eagerly open the envelope to find the race number, security wristband to be worn from Registration until equipment is collected after the race, bike and helmet stickers to be fixed to the equipment before going into transition and the electronic timing chip to be worn on the ankle throughout the event. My number is 2421. I can’t believe I am taking part in my first international race!

The butterflies have gone up from my stomach to my mouth. My major concern is the bike. What if I have not assembled it properly and it breaks down half way? What if my tyres burst and I can’t repair them, thus ruining the whole event for me. These are things that could happen in every race so I try to banish these negative thoughts from my head.

Although the allocated time for my start is 11:25 I know I will wake up early anyway and would also need to allow for travel time, so I head back to the hotel with every intention of an early night. I still needed to unpack and prepare my kit for the following day. Checking into my room, to my horror I find I have a slow puncture. I try to repair it but seems to get worse. In tears I go down to the lobby and ask the receptionist, who looks amusedly at me, whether there was an open bike shop in the vicinity. I am in luck, he advises, after phoning the shop he found on his database, as they are open. I rush up to my room to get the bike, catch a taxi and go to the bike shop who fixes my puncture in no time. Wheel sorted I feel a bit more confident as I find my way back to the hotel. Neverthless the excitment, tension and nerves are on the increase.

Having eaten a plate of pasta giving me enough carbs in preparation for the race, I settle down to watch some television, to keep my mind off things. Surprisingly sleep soon takes over and I sleep a restful slumber all night, waking up when the first, of six alarms go off the same morning. Having ensured that all my kit is prepared, my race numbers are in my bag and I have a forced breakfast I set off to Waterloo station to catch my train. I see a few cyclists, which all look like pros, making me feel like an amateur which in all honesty I am.

The train journey seems never ending. More cyclists join along the way. Most of them are travelling in groups and are chatting animatedly. I never cease to be amazed at the good spirits some athletes have before a race – something that I always which I can achieve – but most of the times the butterflies take over and I clam up. I feel much better at having gone to check the venue the previous afternoon. All I need to do now is get to the transition area, rack my bike, warm up and get ready to roll!!

To my relief, I find a bike mechanic who is offering a mini-service for £15 – I quickly put myself in the queue. I am definitely not going to hold back from paying £15, if anything for my peace of mind. Twenty minutes later my bike has been seen to and fine tuned for the race.

Having fixed all the stickers, labels, race numbers etc to my paraphernalia I queue up to rack my bike. Prior to entering the transition area I am vetted thoroughly – my helmet checked to ensure it conforms to European Safety Standards – once this has been verified, I am waved in, by a very cheerful steward.

Finding my way through the transition/racking area I find my rack and start setting up my bike and belongings – helmet on handle bars, bottle of energy drink in bottle cage, rest of belonging neatly put aside so as not to be in the way.

A variety of emotions re gong thorough me – pride and excitement at being part of such a major event, loneliness as I am alone with no one to encourage, reassure me or share my excitement, no support from my friends who are there when I race in Malta and worry that I have bitten more than I could or should have chewed. Since I still have enough time before I start warming up I keep my mind off things by taking photos of the surroundings and go through the race route map provided knowing full well that I would forget the mental picture I tried to place in my mind. I just hoped that I would not be too far back from any competitors so that I could follow them.

The amount of carb drinks I drank throughout the morning had their effect and I find myself in the queue to the little girls’ room …..well outdoor mobile toilets to be exact. I strike a conversation with a fellow female athlete only to realize that we had ‘spoken’ to each other on Facebook the previous week. How strange is that – to find each other amidst the 2,500 or so participants. What was uncanny was the fact that we shared the same birth date! Three visits to the bathroom and a good warm up session later it is time to start queuing up. Participants are batched in groups of fifty and started off every ten minutes. Everything is working like clockwork. The organisation is amazing. Controlling so many athletes is no joke!

Finger on the Garmin start button, my legs are ready to run. Prior to starting us off, the steward gives us some words of encouragement and gives us a boisterous send off.

Finally the race is on!

Most of the athletes in my group shoot off but I pace myself knowing that I had to cope with a 10k run, a 20k cycle and a 5k run. It will be a long morning but I just pick up a steady pace and try to focus on my breathing. I want to enjoy the scenery as it is not every day that I can run in Richmond Park in glorious sunny weather. The sunny and warm weather has drawn a large number of crowds, some supporting friends and family others just absorbing the atmosphere.

I am quite surprised that my tension has gone away and I find myself enjoying every minute of it. Perhaps the fact that I don’t need to work on an improved time, that I am the only Maltese doing this race helps. No pressure. Each step that I make will take me closer to the finish line. The temperature is quite hot and water stations are very welcoming. Manned by people of every shape, size and age they all have one thing in common – enthusiasm and support towards all athletes. A simple “way to go”, or “come on love” can really motivate me. With a smile on my face (I realize this after seeing the photos) I keep running along.

Reaching the transition area, I start hoping that I find my bike, after all there are thousands of them, in one piece without any flat tyres. I must admit that the cycling leg is always my favourite in multi sport events. I just love shooting out of the transition area, even though my legs would still be unaccustomed to the change. The course is not at easy as I thought it would be. The wind is blowing form the opposite direction causing further resistance whilst negotiating some steep inclines.

There is some stiff competition between other cyclists as they zoom past me, granting expletives that would not give them any prizes for camaraderie. I find myself ‘competing’ against a young slightly overweight but nevertheless strong cyclist, who to my dismay breezes past me in the hills. I manage to fly past him in the flat surfaces and it becomes a sort of duel between us. I push hard as I want to beat him. I focus on my pace and the ‘duel’ ends in my favour having reached the transition area well ahead of him.

Changing quickly into my running shoes, my legs feel like jelly. The adrenaline is pumping. I admit that I can’t wait to get to the finish line to savour those few seconds of glory of having finished a race that I never even knew of until a few weeks before. As I run my last few kilometers I am delighted to see deer, totally unfazed with all the activity surrounding them. The race instructions had warned us to be careful of any deer that might shoot out onto the road but this one just happily munching away on the lush green grass.

With each step I was getting closer to the finish line. I found myself overtaking exhausted runners. I kept visualizing the finish line, but as soon as I could actually see it I felt a surge of energy running through my body.

As I sprinted into the finish line, amidst the cheers of strangers, I made sure I savoured every second of that moment.

I had successfully completed the world’s largest Duathlon in 2 hours 37 mins.

Proudly wearing my finisher’s medal I walked to my bike with the biggest smile ever. Wanting to share this moment with my friends, I shyly asked a fellow athlete to take my photos with my Blackberry. Uploading it on Facebook within seconds I was happy that technology allowed me to share this moment in real time!