Some Coaching Advice

Had an incident this morning that has made me sit down and type this rather than do all the backlog of promised training programmes that folk are waiting for.

Went for a run (if one could call it running) in the Domain in Central Auckland this morning.  The Domain is a favoured training ground of mine because of the nostalgia it has, plus the environs it offers.  The environs being the delicious bush tracks at the side of the Domain which are always invigorating, even to the most aged and broken down of us.

The minute I enter under the branches of the bushes and trees I feel the heaviness of my running thud lift and whatever state I am in the bush has me believe that I am once again a good contender for the Olympic Games.  Sadly that is not borne out by the struggles I am in once I exit the bush tracks and come back to reality.

It was mid-morning when I went and ran, meaning there were very few runners or walkers in the bush tracks, indeed I never saw anyone at all, initially, which had me enjoy that feeling the entire place was mine alone.

Until I turned a bend and saw on the path ahead of me a dog staring into the bush.  The dog was on a walking lead and that led into where he was looking.  As I got closer to the dog I saw that on the end of the lead there was a lady sitting on the ground among the foliage in an obvious state of dishevelment and distress.  Her face was a little ashen and there were signs of some tears.  Naturally I stopped and asked if she was all right.  Stupid question, under the circumstances.  It was clear she wasn’t.

She informed me she had tripped and in an attempt to stop herself falling had ended up stumbling headlong, into the bush.  I got there just as she had righted herself into a sitting position and was looking at her hands and legs for any obvious signs of blood or injury.

After squatting next to her while she checked herself she informed me she and her dog walk the tracks regularly and this was the first time she had ever tripped.

She had clearly given herself quite a fright as she was mildly tearful and reprimanding herself for being  silly to have tripped so easily.  She would have been in her early forties and judging by her overall persona and attire, from a well-heeled household. Not that that is relevant to any part of this story.

                          

As I helped her to her feet she winced as she felt pain in her ankle.  She resat down while we checked the ankle to see if there was anything visible, injury-wise.  It had mildly swollen on the outside but apart from that she was able to bend it backwards and forwards with only a little discomfort, but it hurt considerably more when she tried to rotate it.  We both came to the conclusion she had probably strained and sprained a few tendons and ligaments and when she stood again she was able to tentatively put a little weight on it. 

On her insistence she began to semi-hobble along the pathway back from where she had originally walked whilst trying to persuade me she was fine and would be able to get herself home.  I could not leave her, it was clear her over confidence in her ability to walk from where ever she came was not going to prove helpful to her ankle.

I noticed she was not carrying any purse, bag or cell phone so I asked if she had someone who could drive to the Domain to pick her up, or, could I drive her to her home.  After a short discussion she borrowed my phone and telephoned her husband, explained about her tumble and asked if he would come to the Domain to collect her.

Which he did.  While waiting for him we sat together on the grass at the top of the bush he arrived.  In the few minutes it took for him to arrive we discussed the fact that she goes dog walking without any mobile phone, or more importantly, any identification with her; only her dog with his registration tag.

Verna went into ‘coach’ mode and spoke to her about the importance of always having some form of identification on her body, no matter where or for how long she went. 

I then went on to tell her the story of a bike ride that I and my friend, Gillian K, had early one January Sunday morning in 2008.

We left Mt Albert around 6 a.m. in the morning heading toward the Auckland waterfront with our final destination being Clevedon via the Auckland eastern suburbs.

We were enjoying a glorious morning cycling without any cars, fellow cyclists or even pedestrians around.  It was early and most people were still in bed, enjoying their holiday break.  We wound our way around the Eastern Suburbs and Riddell Road area and were climbing up one of the very residential stretches of Riddell Road when we looked up ahead and noticed something lying on the road, at the top of the hill.  As we got closer we could see that it was a bike with its rider still clicked into his pedals in a state of unconsciousness, yet twitching a little and making some gurgling noises. 

We knew immediately that there before us was a cyclist in the midst of a heart attack and to our credit we began to get into our own mode of emergency procedure, be it amateur as it was.  By chance a car drove passed, saw what was happening and the driver stopped and ran over to us stating he was an off duty policemen and asked what had happened. 

We quickly explained we had merely come across this fellow cyclist only moments before and were calling the emergency services.  We were pleased he was there as he immediately took charge and once we had removed the bike that was intertwined with this man our off duty policeman began CPR while Gillian remained on her cell phone to the emergency ambulance department.

While he was pumping on the man’s chest and Gillian was on the phone I began to look for any identification of who this poor man was.  We removed his helmet, nothing inside that with any name or ID.  We checked over his bike, a brand new and expensive one, but there was nothing on his bike that gave us any indication of who he was.  We reached into his back cycle pockets and pulled out his up market cell phone.  Fortunately there was no lock on it so we could check his contacts on the phone as that would help identify who he was.  But there were no contacts listed in his phone. 

However there were two logged previous call numbers, but with no name.

Within a short period of time the ambulance arrived and the medics performed some further CPR for a short period, but sadly, the man had passed away.

The sadness was, no one there knew who he was, nor could find any identification.  We could see he was middle-aged, clearly had a reasonable income as his bike, clothing and mobile phone indicated this person was a professional, well heeled man and one who kept himself fit by cycling.  Yet we had no idea who he actually was, where he lived or anything to help us identify anything about him.

The policemen who had stopped informed us he was a detective (or sergeant, or man of reasonably high rank) at the Avondale Police Station who happened to be driving past with his wife to the local park to walk their dogs.  

The medics loaded the man into their ambulance and left to take him to where ever he had to go. We were left, a couple of loose and superfluous cyclists not quite comprehending all that had happened at 7.30 a.m. on this lovely, fine January morning.  

It would be fair to say there was a feeling of deep ‘gut wrenching’ emotion with us.  For numerous reasons. But mostly because we had just witnessed another fellow human going from being happily cycling and enjoying the morning as much as we were, to a lone body to be taken to the morgue with no one knowing who on earth he was.

It was a heavy and sad day for Gillian and I.   Life gives us experiences all the time, this time it was one we wished we did not have.

The policeman took our details and said he would be in touch with us as soon as they had identified the man and informed his family.

All we could do was keep cycling.  We had people waiting for us in Clevedon. We hardly spoke for the next 50 or so kilometres out to Clevedon.  We were mourning a John Doe. All we could think about was the probability that somewhere in Auckland there would be a wife, a child or a friend waiting for this man to cycle up the driveway after his morning excursion and for their lives to continue on as normal.  It was heart breaking.

So, this morning in the Domain, while the dog walking lady and I were waiting for her husband, I related this story in the hope that she would realise how easily she too may have been another statistic.  One knock of the head on a rock as she tumbled could very well have ended in the same result as our cycling man. 

At this point her husband arrived and they kindly thanked me for helping and waiting and I waved them goodbye and continued on with my own run;  with my own identification bracelet on.

It had me pondering that as a coach it is my responsibility to ensure anyone I am overseeing should also be spoken to about the importance of always having some form of identification on them.

Here we had a lady, merely walking a dog, yet she could well have been another statistic. 

Bear this in mind folks.  Whether you are yet another mad athlete, or a mere jogger, or a walker, a swimmer, a cyclist, a mountain biker, a trail runner and even a dog walker – always carry identification with you. And identification with contact details to your next-of-kin.  Ensure your own safety for your family’s sake.

After that cycling incident I found a US supplier of the perfect identity bracelet and encouraged athletes and friends to know of its value; so now I see many of my friends and associates wearing their ID bracelets when swimming, or biking, or running, or walking.  

I even had a bracelet made for Tony in his latter years, in case he became lost (which was beginning to be a frequent occurrence) and that gave him and myself assurance that should it be required his name, identity and my name and contact details were on the bracelet.

When I went overseas in 2014 I had spare plate made with my UK emergency contact details.

A simple, easy and inexpensive assurance. 

www.RoadID.com.

                                              

Get yourselves one, or two.  Give them as gifts.