I’m often asked to school events to discuss fitness and wellbeing with children but have to admit I wouldn’t always have pictured myself as the ideal candidate. I actually came to fitness quite late. I used to swim as a child but completely stopped as a teenager as I had a titanium rod put into my back to help with my scoliosis. I’m probably one of Sport Ireland’s statistics on teenage dropouts from sport, but truth be told, it wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy swimming, it was more so my health and pain from rods that stopped me.
There’s also that annoyance that as a wheelchair user or person with a disability, especially one as rare as mine, there are way too many hurdles to getting back to fitness. When you eventually pluck up the courage to reach out and ask for assistance or maybe advice or guidance, sometimes you’re met with insurance queries, health and safety concerns and things that are, to be quite frank, well outside your remit. Sometimes you’re so exasperated about the whole thing you just want to reply: “Just drop me in the swimming pool and I’ll take my chances, if it means not disturbing or upsetting you”.
[ Joanne O’Riordan: Sports’ rulers need to just stop ruining the worldOpens in new window ]
The other bizarre thing I’ve come across is lack of resources. Swimming is a sport I really enjoyed and I have been, excuse the pun, trying to dip my toe back into to work on my mobility. But a ridiculous amount of clubs have said that they have no staff or resources to help and do one-on-one swimming classes.
I thought this was simply because I’ve no limbs and it could be deemed a ‘situation’ if I sink rather than swim, but my niece, who doesn’t have a disability, also can’t find a club. If we’re talking about getting girls involved in sport, surely there has to be some link up with clubs in areas to see the demand. In both my niece’s and my own situation, our ‘local’ swimming pool is either 30 minutes or an hour away.
This isn’t just a swimming issue though. It also relates to gyms and public spaces. I have a ridiculous hunting dog that needs to be walked every day. And he needs to be walked a lot. And yet, all the forestry spaces and wildlife areas where people are encouraged to get out and get fresh air aren’t accessible for me and my wheelchair.
There are two sides to this problem. I find it incredibly funny that my current wheelchair is effectively the equivalent of the Canyonero in The Simpsons. If you don’t remember Canyonero, the lyrics include “She blinds everybody with her super high beams, She’s a squirrel crushing, deer smacking, driving machine!”
Since getting the big dog, I’ve realised my Canyonero struggles with the off-road terrain in the wild areas of Ireland. We’ve sunk, got stuck on gravel and failed to get over stones and tree roots. It’s not like we’re going to the Amazonian jungles here, these are designated outdoor spaces and trails for people to enjoy.
Either manufacturers of wheelchairs need to realise that users like to leave their house on occasion, or investment needs to be made for safe and designated areas so person and beast can roam freely and live their lives.
My story ends happily, despite every hurdle known to man. I have found a gym that will cater to my needs and is quite imaginative when it comes to exercise. For the first time in over 10 years, I have now started walking freely and unaided without my wheelchair (think the shuffle The Penguin does in every Batman). Thanks to a trainer’s creative thinking, I can successfully do some splits on a reformer Pilates machine and my body can stretch quite a bit thanks to mat Pilates and yoga.
The one thing all these efforts have in common is people who are probably internally petrified, but who look at me and say “Sure, Joanne, that won’t be a problem”. It takes a lot of guts to reach out and say you want to start exercising. According to research in the UK, there are more than 7,200 health and fitness clubs, but only 68 of these gyms are accessible. There’s no doubt in my mind Ireland is as bad as that.
