You think your fitness is good. Think again

Getting Fit is Killing Me

Fitness is a real sickener

 

Dishforth Police training school

 

 

So there we were, about 10 of us all bent double and being sick. Like birds feeding their young we were all regurgitating our dinners into the open mouths of the toilets whilst at the same time rubbing dislocated limbs. This had nothing to do with the food at the Dishforth Police Training College which was actually quiet good. It was our second day there and the end of our first fitness and self defence lesson.

 

Trained by a hoodie

fitness and self defence lessonsThe officer taking us for the fitness lessons had a hobby of ripping the legs off puppies, dipping them in Tabasco sauce and eating them raw. At night he went round loosening the wheel nuts on wheelchairs. He was a hoodie without the hood. Anyway, enough about his good points. For half an hour we were given a real life demonstration of how body parts fitted together and how easy it was to separate them. There must be a manual on this somewhere written by Mary Shelly of Frankenstein fame. When he demonstrated self defence on you, it always felt like some body part had been ripped off and he was using it to make a friend.

Just when we thought the torture was over we went strait into half an hour of fitness training. Before I started at Dishforth I had been out running every night with a piano strapped to my back to improve my fitness. I thought I was close to Olympic standard. Unfortunately when it came to police fitness, Olympic was not even entry level. I do not know how I got through it but at the end of the lesson the instructor just pulled another puppy out of his rucksack and watched as we crawled, red faced, towards the changing room.

 

You cannot make a policeman without smashing a few bones

tortured by Police trainingThe fitness and self defence tortures were twice a week. As the course progressed the school looked more like a hospital with students in bandages and plaster on various appendages. This was not fitness. It was a war of attrition and we were loosing. We knew from that second day that the lessons would get harder so, as a class we decided to go out running for half an hour every night after normal lessons. This is where the ex forces lads came in handy as well. They were used to it and shouted and pushed us every night. We were also glad to see that we were not the only class who felt like this. In fact, of about eight classes most of them were out trying to improve there fitness each night. I am no distance runner and I hated it but I also knew in the last week there was a timed cross country run I had to pass.

 

Would you like a stroke

Police swimmingBesides the fitness and self defence we also had to go swimming every week early in the morning. The pool was some distance away so we took a very old, green, RAF bus there. You never knew what you were going to get when you arrived. Some days the water was “Dancing on ice” temperature and others it was hotter than a Russian joggers butt crack in a sauna. The swimming was all about passing the “Bronze Survival” medal. You may remember doing it yourself. The one where you have to be able to make your pyjamas into a float so you could just stay in one spot for an hour. Just one question though. Why would anyone be walking around in their pyjamas or nighty and then jump into a river? Why would they want to float for an hour when they were probably two meters from the shore and could touch the bottom? I did later find the answer to this question that had puzzled me for weeks. On some estates in Humberside the height of fashion was to stand on your doorstep at three in the afternoon in your winceyette nighty, smoking a fag whilst waiting for your fourteen kids to come home. The shell suite later became fashion and I am presuming this was because it was easier to make into a float than the nighty was! I never really found out just why they would want to jump into a river, unless it was to put their fag out?

 

Fitness makes you hard. Tea makes you soft

Police foodAnyway, I digress. Whilst our bodies were being broken they also needed to break our hearts, souls and loins and again they had well practised skills to do this. Firstly they gave us three good cooked meals a day. This is something most normal people do not have but you learnt very quickly that on a day with a fitness/ self defence lesson you never ate before it. You also never drunk the tea they supplied. The police run on tea and the training school was no different. There were tea breaks every hour and as much as you could drink with the meals. The problem was that the rumour grapevine had it on good authority that the tea was laced with bromide. It was a well known fact that bromide destroyed your sex drive and if you did get the chance it would be like trying to shove marshmallows in a money box. As there were only about two or three girls per class the chances of seeing if bromide really worked were negligible so I accepted the added flavour.

 

It ain’t half hot mum

drill sergeantAnother lesson we had each week was marching. This was where the class would attempt to all walk together to the same place at the same time along to military band music. Let me tell you that there are people who will never, ever, be able to march. Their bodies have no concept of rhythm. If they were in a school band they would always be the kid at the back with a triangle who could never hit it at the right time and wet himself. The lessons were given by a Sgt. Cochran. Windsor Davies had used him as a role model and he was the living embodiment of every British Sgt. Major. Besides the marching lesson we also had to march as a group anywhere we went on the camp. If someone had left a book back in the dormitory the whole class had to march there and back to get it. You soon learnt not to forget anything.

 

You really don’t want to know what happened next

In between the physical stuff we had law lessons and practical’s. Some things that went on would land you in an orange suite with a rock breaking pick axe for company if done today. We also had lots of beer and learnt some army games that no one should ever, ever try at home, or anywhere if I am honest, but that is all for the next blog.

2 Responses
  1. Phil Stewart

    Absolutely fantastic, you bring the memories flooding back. I remember the marching music was produced from a little box on the edge of the drill square containing a record player, same tune every morning.
    You’re right about those that can’t march, those whose arms and legs move more randomly and uncoordinated the more effort they put into trying to get in step, every class had at least one.

    Looking forward to the next instalment.

Leave a Reply

We are using cookies to give you the best experience. You can find out more about which cookies we are using or switch them off in privacy settings.
AcceptPrivacy Settings

Blue Lamp Logo