Warrior Training (21 page)

I've owned several motorbikes, and I did many irresponsible things between the ages of 17 and 21. That sudden rush of blood can change your life in an instant. Many young men feel invincible and have little thought of self-preservation. This is an attitude that diminishes with age, although I still struggle with it. My mother never attempted to talk me out of buying a motorbike as she knew it'd be futile to try. Instead, she sent a top-of-the-range Shoei helmet to me in Perth.

So how should we encourage young males to drive or ride in a sensible manner? This is a challenge I'm sure I will be confronted with when my son, Reyne, turns 17. For me, the most effective motivation is to make a young man aware not of what he might do to himself, but of how his actions might impact on others. The more graphic television advertisements in which young men drive recklessly and kill innocent people have had a far greater effect on me than the doubling of fines did. And if that doesn't work, then I'll buy Reyne a clapped-out Datsun and remove a spark plug or two.

For SAS soldiers, having a high level of physical fitness, strength and endurance is not simply desirable; it is essential for our very survival. My experiences in the Regiment taught me that. From scrambling up the side of a mountain in Afghanistan, to trying to control our breathing while
being hunted by militia forces in East Timor, to negotiating heavy seas while diving from oil platforms – the fitter and stronger the soldier, the greater his contribution to the team.

In the Regiment I rarely felt the need to look for excitement after I knocked off. It was the perfect job for someone with my personality. We were taught how to drive correctly, from seating and hand positions and vehicle dynamics, to braking, steering, cornering and acceleration skills. The training took place under stringent safety procedures at forgiving locations, such as racetracks and skidpans. I had no need to find a dirt road on my time off and throw a car sideways. Then there was the parachuting, climbing, roping, working with explosives, shooting and diving. We were also challenged intellectually, with medical, language, signals and computer skills. It was a brilliant combination that met our intellectual and physical desires.

As good as the specialist training was, I still looked forward to our morning PT sessions the most. On Monday mornings we would run the cross-country, an eight-kilometre soft-sand run. We'd slow-jog to the range sentry gate before stretching. At this stage there was usually still some talking, but most guys would fall silent as they began to psyche themselves up for the run.

If I was coordinating the session, I would attempt to control the speed until we reached the pumphouse near the beach. Trying to restrain 15 or 20 competitive guys who were keen to unleash was always difficult. We all wanted to be at the front. After reaching the pumphouse we would slow-jog along an orange gravel track before
hitting the most challenging section of the course – two kilometres of sand dunes.

Not even a medic with an unlimited supply of valium-charged syringes would be able to calm the guys down from this point on. It simply became a race. The troop was so competitive that it was rare for any one person to dominate. If the guy in front maintained a cracking pace, then the next three or four guys would make use of his footsteps and wait for their own chances to pounce. If Kane, Charlie, Mick or the Boss led the pack, then that chance may never come. However, if a pretender – someone who had let his ambitions get ahead of his ability – tried to sneak into the lead – he might hear something like ‘Knew you'd fade, pussy!' as a group of up to half a dozen men churned up the sand around him.

The lead pack would run hard but just within their limits, holding back a little for the monster sand dune known as ‘the bowl'. At the top of each hill we would try to maintain our stride – quite a feat when your legs are heavy and burning with lactic acid. Our lungs fared no better. The front group would remain tight until the track swung west into the bowl. No one paced himself from here on in. Quite often it would be Kane who took the lead through the lower bowl, with the rest of us jostling for position. Then it was on. The gradient was perfect – steep. Kane would always go hard early but we'd often claw him back with five metres to go. He sometimes held on to win, but any one of three or four guys would hit the summit within half a metre of each other.

We'd then jog back to the rear gate, although sometimes this would become a second race.

Many guys would do their own strength work in the afternoons, so the morning PT sessions were a mix of running, swimming and circuit-training. A Tuesday might include a boxing circuit, or the guys might grab a 17-kilogram pipe and spend an hour curling, pressing and squatting the thing. We usually worked in pairs; one man would do 50 bicep curls before handing the bar to his partner. The second set would be 40 reps, followed by 30, 20 and then 10. With this complete, we'd pyramid back up to 50. The last two sets usually aroused a little grunting, as the guys maintained a balance between good form and racing each other.

A typical Wednesday included a transition session in the pool. It would begin with a 300-metre swim followed by a one-kilometre run. Without resting, the guys would then complete swims of 250, 200, 150, 100 and 50 metres, each separated by another one-kilometre run. This is a fantastic way to train. Just as the body begins to find a rhythm, it's thrust into a contrasting activity. Your blood is shunted from your legs to your upper torso. These sessions slightly favoured runners over swimmers.

A pool session often concluded with some underwater work to boost lung capacity. Everyone in the water troop had to be capable of swimming 25 metres underwater. The top guys, when fresh, could push double this – up to 60 metres. Carrying out a ‘free ascent' – swimming from a tie-off line to a target vessel or oil platform with a single breath – always turned me on. I loved the challenge of trying to swim underneath a ship, especially in dark or murky conditions.

I've since taken an interest in breath-hold training and
am blown away by what some free-divers are able to achieve.

I realised the importance of remaining calm underwater when I lost my board in eight- to 10-foot storm swell and was caught in the impact zone. Sucked to the bottom over and over again, I had to force myself to remain calm.

Underwater training: a 55-metre run, carrying two 32-kilogram kettlebells.

‘Static apnea' is an underwater discipline that requires a participant to hold their breath for as long as possible while their face remains underwater. After my first couple of attempts I managed three minutes and 10 seconds. I increased my preparation time, and four weeks later I held my breath for five minutes. I thought this was okay until
I viewed footage of a French guy holding his breath for 10 minutes.

With just a few weeks training, my lungs seemed stronger and more efficient. I don't do a lot of running – one track session and a mountain run each week – but within three weeks I had lowered my one-kilometre track time by 20 seconds.

The guys I train in the ocean with – Chris, Perry and Brett – are hard chargers who are also keen to increase their lung capacity. We began breath-hold training in a sand-bottom ocean pool. While carrying two 32 kilogram kettle-bells, we'd run 55 metres underwater. Running with a combined weight of 64 kilograms sees our lungs screaming for air before we're even halfway. To push the entire length of the pool and beyond is mentally and physically challenging. To work our upper bodies, we pull ourselves along a rope that is secured with kettle-bells to the bottom of the pool. Within a couple of sessions we were able to make 90 metres with a single breath. After 90 metres, I'd return to the surface dizzy and then float on my back as my lungs suck hard for air. I noticed that Chris was standing beside me, ready to pluck me out of the water if I pushed it a little too far.

Underwater training is dangerous and can be unforgiving. If someone panics or extends beyond their limits, there is a chance they can experience an underwater blackout. The training must be controlled and never performed alone. I always take the time to give a safety brief, which covers actions on something going wrong.

When we're finished I usually run a modified session for our children, who are eager to dive to the bottom and pull
their way along the rope. It's great for their water confidence. On a recent trip in the car, Tahlie's best friend, Kate, asked me a question: ‘Keith, are we doing breath-hold training tomorrow?' A nine-year-old girl enquiring about breath-hold training sounded tough. I looked at Colleen and we both laughed.

Underwater training: a 90-metre rope traverse.

Sometimes I run sessions in rivers. I had the opportunity to train three hard-hitting corporate clients. By the end of the session each person was dragging a 24-kilogram kettle-bell across the bottom of a sandy river. To take a breath, they had to make it the 10 metres to the other side. Considering that one of these people wasn't comfortable in water, it was an amazing effort. I took as much inspiration out of the session as they did.

Another exercise I do with non-military clients is to put a set of blacked-out goggles on one person and have another person guide them out the back of a surf zone without touching them. It is an excellent activity for communication and trust. You have to be clear and concise with your commands. This activity is dependent on surf conditions and one's ability.

I also sometimes conducted an exercise that I learnt from the US Navy Seals. If the participant is confident
enough, he or she wears a blacked-out set of goggles and has their hands restrained behind their back with a thick elastic band. In a pool with a depth of at least 2.5 metres, you have to sink your body by exhaling quickly and firmly. When your feet touch the bottom, you crouch and drive towards the surface. Once your head breaks the surface, naturally, you take a breath. Then you repeat the exercise any given number of times. Someone who is uncomfortable might only manage five repetitions, while a person who is fit and confident can continue for several minutes. If you don't blow the air out quickly enough, you'll sink too slowly, or you might only sink a foot or two, and so you have to kick to reach the surface. If you're tentative when driving off the bottom then you'll also have to kick to the surface, burning up valuable oxygen. This type of training is hugely beneficial for confidence in the water, and over time it will give you a set of lungs like a whale.