Live your potential

Testing, testing

I've just started the last and most intense phase of my rowing training. I have to row three days a week for the next eight weeks. And when I'm not rowing, I have to be leg conditioning with FES for an hour. I wonder how I'll feel by the end.

With fitness you get back what you put in. Because of the 160 mile round trip, I've only managed to row once, sometimes twice a week up to now. Consequently my fitness has stayed pretty much the same. Far better than had I not been rowing but nowhere near fit enough for me.

Now there's a step change. The last couple of sessions have been incremental exercise tests in the lab, with oxygen mask to measure VO2 max, ear sensor to calculate oxygen saturation and heart monitors all plugged in to a computer. After my eight weeks I'll be re-measured to see what impact the training has made.

The increased training has already made a difference. I've just come back from my fifth session and my power output has increased by some 10% (though the calories used haven't gone much above the 250 mark. Intense exercise has never seemed like the best way to lose weight). I've rowed 20km so far, another 80km to reach my target of a treble crossing of the Channel. You can boost my efforts by sponsoring me here!

No cat for you: you're disabled

I used to have three cats in my old house. I miss them. I miss the company of a purring animal sitting on my lap. And the kids would like a pet here.

All good reasons to get a cat then. It's the wrong time of year for a kitten so we decided to look at local cat rescue centres. We start with the Cat Action Trust (N &W Wilts). On their website, there's a rather lovely elderly black cat who I'm rather taken by so I call up to arrange a visit to the fosterer. I mention I'm in a wheelchair. "Oh, you won't be able to get to her. There are a lot of steps in my house". "I'll be with my children. Can they come in and take a look?". "Yes, that's fine". We arrange a time. There's a second cat we'd like to see but the fosterer can't be contacted.

The next day I get a phone call from the administrator.

"I've got some bad news. The fosterers of the two cats have been talking and they have decided you cannot have a cat. You won't be able to change its litter tray".

I'm shocked. "None of you have ever met me. How do you know what I can or cannot do?"

"I'm sorry. Life must be hard with your condition and I don't want to make it any worse. Do you have a carer?"

I'm getting angry now. "Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't have a carer. I live alone and independently"

"Well, you won't be able to catch the cat if it escapes. You might run over it with your wheels. And you didn't tell me that you were a wheelchair user when we first spoke. You should have told me"

"I don't think my being in a wheelchair is relevant. Are you saying that someone in a wheelchair can't have a cat?" (And, I wonder, how easy is it for anyone, in a wheelchair or not, to catch a cat that's run away?)

"No, of course not. We've just re-homed a cat with an elderly lady who uses a wheelchair. But she has a husband".

I'm speechless at this prejudice but it seems I am not going to get anywhere.

Finally, a valid point is made:  "We must see how the cat responds to a potential owner, so if you can't get into the house, then we can't tell how you'll get on with each other".

I'm getting weary with this conversation. I would have felt differently had the fosterer said this when we first spoke to arrange the visit. But the fact that the two fosterers have discussed me and decided I can't adopt one of their cats without ever meeting me leaves me incandescent. This will be the first time that I make an official complaint about discrimination under the Equalities Act.

(There is a happy ending to the story. I went with the children to the Bath Cats and Dogs home. No one mentioned the fact that I was in a chair. We're adopting a cat, Rothen - he's the one in the photo.)

Gliding

I enjoy sailing because it's a sport where you're on a more or less equal level with others: the fact that I'm in a wheelchair makes little difference. I love the freedom of the wind, the endless horizons, the silence.

So perhaps it's not surprising to discover I love gliding. You're on a more or less equal level with others; the fact that I'm in a wheelchair makes little difference and I have the freedom of the wind, endless horizons and silence.

It was a random decision to go. I was feeling restless and wanting to break my weekend routine. A friend had posted on Facebook about gliding so I typed in "disabled gliding" into google to see what my options were. The British Gliding Association lists eleven clubs with accessible facilities, including one about an hour's drive away from me.

I call them on the phone. "Are you flying today?" "Yes, it's good weather and there aren't too many people around. Come along". A short drive through the Wiltshire countryside brings me to the Shalborne Soaring Society and a large, empty field. A sign instructs me to drive around the edge, warning that "under no circumstances should you cross the airfield". Several bumpy minutes later, I see a caravan, a wind-sock, several cars and three gliders. The clubhouse is an old bus with a ramp, tables and a kettle. A brief bit of form filling and then a parachute is strapped onto my back and I'm wheeling across the field with an instructor. There's no hoist, so I'm lifted out of my chair and lowered into the front of the two seater glider with its dual controls: I'm going flying!

I thought gliders had to be launched by motor powered aeroplanes. This is the so-called "aerotow launch": the glider is pulled up by a light aircraft with a strong rope which is released when you reach the required height. But it turns out a "winch launch" is far more common. This involves being attached to a winch with a long reel of wire. When the wire gets pulled in, the glider gets the speed to fly into the air like a kite. When you are airborne and almost overhead the winch, you release the cable. This is what they have at Shalborne.

The acceleration is faster than a sports car: 0-60mph in three seconds. It's a strange experience, rushing over the grass and then climbing at a steep angle with no sound other than the wind over the wings. The views are extraordinary - with a crystal clear cockpit, I can see miles over the country. It's incredibly beautiful, and incredibly calming.

Then I'm flying: "you have control", says my instructor. As it's a trial flight, I'm not expected to use the rudder (hand-controlled in an adapted glider, in contrast to the usual foot operation), only the joystick. Move it left and the glider banks to the left; right and you go right; down and as the nose tilts down, you accelerate, up - well, you can guess. The glider is amazingly responsive and it only takes slight movements to get a reaction. We swoop across green fields at some sixty miles an hour and I could stay up here for ever but all too soon the instructor takes control to bring us into land. A gentle bump, a rush across the field and then a car tows us back to the launch point for another flight.

So, two flights of ten minutes for £69. This buys me membership of the club for a month and I can return whenever I wish during the month for more flights. These will cost £8 for the launch and then 25p per minute of flying. It's far cheaper than I'd expected and far easier than I'd imagined. The next stage is to work toward flying solo. I'm hooked.