Hoka One One

Shortly after realising my childhood dream of becoming a British soldier I was soon to find myself patrolling the fields and villages of Afghanistan. We were there to provide support in an effort to keep the local population safe from the all-encompassing and utterly brutal Taliban influence.

 December 15th, 2011

 A day that I will never be fortunate enough to forget. A day that still reminds me of who I was all those years ago. The last eight years, although passing with a flash, have really been just a prolonged series of trials, errors, setbacks, failures, tests, surgeries, recoveries; but ultimately learnings.

 On this particular day, we were tasked with the role of a Quick Reaction Force: this is a team specifically amalgamated to assist anyone in our designated area of operations who required support.

 The day began with explosions and gunfire in the distance. It cannot have been more than 1km away. We were made aware over the radio that a commander from one of our sister platoons had been injured. A device was set off next to the path he was walking on and a piece of shrapnel entered and exited his lower leg leaving him unable to continue in the battle. We made our way to the area and assisted with the extraction of this casualty, and once dealt with, we made our way back to our small base that also doubled up as a checkpoint that controlled a significant supply route through the area.

 The day continued with shouts of ‘Stand to’ where we would grab our weapons and equipment and get ready to leave to assist anyone else in need. Often, we would shortly after be, commanded to ‘Stand down’ and we would then go straight back to normal routine around the camp. Guard duties, weapon cleaning, orders and mission briefs and general patrolling were a necessary daily occurrence. It wasn’t long until we heard the next volley of gunfire and explosions to follow. Another British callsign had been ambushed and we were needed at the scene, immediately.

There were three of us in the QRF team that were trained to use the specialist equipment to search for improvised explosive devices (IED). When the call came in, I was the closest to the equipment, so I just picked it up without a second thought. We left the checkpoint and made our way towards the sounds of gunfire. I carefully picked my way through fields, irrigation ditches and around sun-baked high mud-walled compounds, constantly surveying and searching the ground for any signs of disturbance, as I went. Occasionally we would also utilise a short ladder to speed up the process of crossing irrigation ditches filled with water.

 As we approached the perimeter of the field, I knew I would have to meticulously pick a route through the sporadic trees, grass and undulating terrain immediately in front of me. In parts the ground was undulating, caused by years of ploughing and irrigating, making the task of searching for explosive devices even more difficult.

 The route was selected, and the ladder was laid down across the ditch and I started to make my way along the ladder, towards the thin trees, pushing the branches out of the way, as I went. I neared the end of the ladder and stepped off.

 My ears are filled with a loud metallic ringing, and I’m now looking at the sky through an all-encompassing cloud of dust. My lower body numbed. My right hand bent and broken. The only sensation was a severe pins-and-needles feeling in my feet. Was I dreaming? Surely, I would wake up in a minute. No. This wasn’t a dream, this was reality. After stepping off of the ladder I had placed my right foot directly onto an IED hidden in the ground. It violently spat me into the air and back to the ground with a thud. My right leg immediately amputated by the ferocious explosion, just below the knee. My left leg broken in the middle of my shin, with bone, burnt flesh and tendons all exposed. My right hand was broken with most of my fingers damaged and unusable. My forearm, having taken some of the blast, probably saved my face from more damage – there was a small piece of my nose visible out of the corner of my eye, but this, thankfully, only looked worse than it actually was.

 At this point, the blood was rapidly flooding from my open wounds and my body was beginning to shut down. I didn’t have long left. If I didn’t receive immediate life-saving medical assistance I would certainly not be here writing this today.

 I am truly thankful to all those that worked tirelessly to save me from the battlefield on that particular day. I owe you my life and I will forever be grateful.

 Recovery pathway

 After years of consistent issues with my residual limbs (Stumps), I have now finally reached a position where my body is capable of keeping up with my resilient mindset. The last eight years have been full of revision surgeries, each with their own extended recovery periods, new prosthetics manufactured and re-learning how to move and use my body, again. Testing my new-found capabilities. Many times, for years even, I have had to limit my daily activity to a frustratingly low level that could almost be described as sedentary. But no matter the circumstances I faced I would always find a way to do something. Even if it was only enough just to keep my mind active but not damage my stumps. Sometimes all I could manage was a few steps around the house until everything was too sore to carry on. Then I would have to rest for the day. These times were the most frustrating of all especially knowing what my mind was capable of.

 Looking back, these constant setbacks are there very catalyst for my extremely resilient mindset, and without them, I could be someone completely different. It gave me the confidence to take control and overcome all the challenges that have been placed in front of me, this far.

 Being outside and active gives me every satisfaction I have ever needed. After my last major surgeries, I had a short recovery period of about six months and then managed to squeeze in enough training to enable myself to reach the summit of Mont Blanc. And after such a turbulent few years this was a huge achievement for me. I had been searching, longing for the feeling of physical exhaustion for what felt like an eternity, and to finally have it back after just walking whenever I wanted, was a feeling I welcomed with open arms.

 Mont Blanc 4810m.

 Standing at 4810m and considered the highest mountain in Western Europe it seemed like the perfect start to my mountaineering career. But mostly, I just saw it as my first real personal challenge: one that I had been craving since I had left the military. Only six months previously to the climb I was recovering in hospital having had a second major surgery to remove ten centimetres from my right femur. Six months prior to this operation I had had the exact same procedure completed on my left stump. It was safe to say I was pushing the limits of my body at this early stage. My mind, however, was as ready as it had always been. The previous years of challenge had further enforced my resilient mindset and it was more than ready to be applied to this physical challenge. I had trained hard and pushed myself in daily sessions to give myself every possible chance of success. The last thing I wanted was to not have enough strength and fitness to make it to the top.

 After four days of pushing, pulling, climbing, falling, slipping, tripping we had successfully made it up and down! I believe we were the first to have made it to the summit of Mont Blanc with this level of amputation.

 Kilimanjaro 5895m

 After my recent success on Mont Blanc, I was pleased but not totally satisfied, or fulfilled. So, upon returning home I immediately began looking for my next challenge. During the usual internet searches, I came across the ‘Seven Summits’ challenge. This is to climb and reach the top of each of the seven continents highest peaks. Something stirred inside me, this was it then: My new goal!

 Kilimanjaro is a different style of climbing to Mont Blanc, depending on route selection. Our route started with a gradual ascent along well-used and clearly marked path, which makes it easier to cover long distances with minimal stress on the body and stumps. One of the most challenging aspects of summiting Mont Blanc, and due to the steep snow and icy terrain, was that I had to use a much shorter length of leg, which in turn meant a largely reduced stride length. This transpired into using a similar amount of energy for much less distance covered. On the steep icy sections, I counted up to six steps for every one of an able-bodied, climber.

 Nevertheless, after six days of walking, climbing, pulling and pushing, we had safely made it to the summit and back down. On the evening of the summit attempt, we were walking for twelve hours through the night, leaving at 2200hrs and not getting to the summit until 1000hrs, with snow and wind cutting and biting through our hard-earned warmth for the majority of the night.

 Towards the top and at the altitude of 5895m you really do feel the effects of altitude and physical exhaustion, and not only was I battling the physical and psychological aspects of the climb but also the limitations of my prosthesis, too. At altitude, my stumps seemed to lose mass inside the prosthetic socket and they would often be slipping off of my stumps, and potentially leaving them open to the elements, which in more challenging climbs, could quickly escalate into disaster. Putting myself and the team in danger is the last thing I want, so a well-conditioned, and resilient mindset is paramount to push myself through the physical exhaustion and numerous issues with prosthesis.

 It often goes unnoticed how much a particular design of trainer can affect the use and feel of prosthesis. A good trainer for walking when used with prosthetics can give you confidence. A great trainer can make you feel like you are walking on air, while also providing the required grip, giving confidence in the gait and reduced impact. I used my Hoka Clifton 5’s for most of the way up and most of the way down! They made a huge difference to the impact my stumps were taking over those long distances and ultimately enabled me to move for hours without the usual heavy contacting inside my prosthetic socket. They performed so well I now use them every day! The cushioned energy return can be the difference between a nice walk and a frustratingly painful amble. So correct footwear can literally be the difference between success and failure. Well done Hoka!

Future challenges

 In July 2020 I will be attempting to summit another of the ‘Seven summits’: this time, Mount Elbrus in Russia. Standing at 5600m. Mainly covered in snow and ice it will hold elements of both of my previous climbs, so as long as the training package is correct, I will be in a good position to utilise my pre-gained experiences.

 With the completion of Mt. Elbrus, that will be two down with only five to go!

 A message to all: whatever challenge or adversity you face in your life make sure to approach it with vigour. There will times when you feel like you cannot go on. But, you can. Utilise your mind for positive. Even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of light to be found. Sometimes we just have to spend more time focussing when looking for it.

 Let’s do this!