I start my online check-ins. I need to get pretty much all of these finished before we head to Telford. I want to leave just after noon. Of course, that's never going to happen. I'm still using the toilet like we're an inseparable new love. I start packing the car about 1.30pm. I notice the tyre pump in the boot and remember my tyres are below recommended pressure. So I fish it out and start pumping them up. Two down, two to go. But the passenger side fails to connect properly and suddenly, instead of filling the tyre with air, it starts deflating. Soon, one is sitting completely flat on the driveway. And the other is seriously below the safe pressure to drive. I start to rant. Laura finds another pump in my son, Jack's, car. Fixed. Who's panicking? We set off, late as usual. But it's a smooth drive into Telford International Hotel. Some check-ins were late, so instead of relaxing, I need to go through these to ensure clients are set up for the week. Day 1 of the PCA British Championships has also taken place, so I have to go through instagram with a fine tooth comb and collate all results for FrontDouble. That is in between heading to the venue and getting my base coat of tan.
I use the toilet seven times before leaving the hotel. How am I even supposed to compete today when my stomach is like this? I check-in with Nathan; usual drill, short, sharp espresso and 10-minute walk to "get things moving". I pull a wry smile. Trust me, I don't need to get things moving. Still. I dress and walk round the car park for 10 minutes in the freezing cold. I get my things together and head to registration and top coat, leaving Laura to enjoy her complimentary breakfast. In tanning, I'm stood with a guy in tattoos. We stand there and dry in front of the fan in silence. I don't recognise him from previous shows. I later discover it is Mateusz Chmura. Had I known then who he was, maybe I would have spoken. It seems eerie now, but little did either of us know what was about to transpire. That within a couple of hours, he would collapse on that stage. Those thoughts persist all week.
When he collapses during Classic Bodybuilding Medium, no one knew if he had merely fainted, or was in real trouble. But the shrieks from PCA tanning made it clear soon enough. They scream for paramedics. Laura rushes to the stage. She is an Emergency Care Assistant - a paramedic in all senses. My abiding memory is seeing her start CPR. Pumping away on his chest. I will her on before being asked to leave as the auditorium is evacuated. Screens are hurriedly thrown around the chaos to ensure some degree of dignity. The repeated calls for a defibrillator echo around the silent auditorium. I wait in the foyer for news. Several people say the show cannot continue. There is lots of speculation. If he is alive, they may decide to carry on. This is not like football, where cardiac arrests in the crowd see fans ferried out while the game continues. Hundreds have planned and timed their body for this moment. It seems harsh. Cruel. Cold. Laura finally returns. I hug her. The details are harrowing. But at this moment Mateusz is alive. The PCA calls everyone back in after about two hours. A cheer goes up when news is relayed that Mateusz's heart is beating. They give competitors the choice of continuing. The overwhelming majority decide to carry on. Perhaps as a tribute to him. Who knows. About four classes are ahead of me. I'm on stage with another 11 or 12 people. It is a big class. Two large digital screens flank the stage. As I perform my posing routine, I turn to the side and see myself on it - I don't look too bad, I think. Still, in comparisons I'm not in the centre, but from the corner of my eye I can see the centre spot changes places several times, which is not normal. I'm uncertain of my placing right until the end, despite reassurances from Laura and Nathan. I'm British champion and a PCA Pro.
Before I do the overall and Pro show, I find out that, in fact, Mateusz has died. My mood changes. On the way home, as I'm cruising and chatting over the horrific events with Laura, I'm flashed on the motorway. I'm not even home and the good feeling is well and truly gone. It was brief anyway after what happened today.
Mateusz is the first thing on my mind as I wake. I check-in and Nathan asks, 'How you doing Mr New PCA Pro?' But I'm not feeling it. When I got home last night, I wrote the story of his tragic death. I got to bed at 2am. I feel rough this morning and have to reschedule a PT client. I'm still feeling ill. I don't train today either. Mind just not on it. Food is up though as we reset a little ahead of my final competition of the season, the NPC European Masters in Milan on November 14. 125g rice becomes 200g and Hydrorice or cream of rice moves from 50g to 120g at Meal 1 and 100g at Meal 5. Dark chocolate moves to 15g from 10g. This is the big win. You have no idea how much difference that 5g makes.
Again, I wake with Mateusz on my mind. Usually I am not affected by these things. But I think I am starting to be. I keep thinking of Laura working on him furiously and wonder how she does such a job. I tell the kids how proud they should be of their mum, that she is a real life hero, not me, a show-pony with a few muscles. Lots of people, including my old industry in the mainstream media, are jumping on the story. But true to form, they do it a disservice. I write a tribute piece. I still don't train today.
I start the day in severe pain again. What is going on with my stomach? At 8.45am I am lying on the kitchen floor in agony. I'm helped to the sofa, given painkillers and sleep until my shift. Later, I sign my contract. I got offered the job from last week's interview. New Assistant General Manager of my gym. First salaried job since my redundancy from my 20-plus-year newspaper career in December 2024. No more relying on my redundo package, which is now more than 50 per cent smaller due to using it to live. I train today as pain has gone and I need to do something.
I feel better today. No pain. A little less exhausted. Fatigue is still there but manageable. I PT a client, then train before my shift. I continue to make plans for my new AGM role. I have a raft of ideas. I still keep thinking of Mateusz. It is hard not to.
Legs today. I train, chat with the gym manager about Monday's start, then get home, change and take my daughter to Lakeside for the opening of new yoghurt shop Frurt. We wait in the queue for two hours just so she can be one of the first 150 people to get a free pot. I get one too. Not for me, of course, but for my son, Oliver. As I buy banners and wrapping paper for his 12th birthday on Tuesday, the yoghurt starts running everywhere. I'm now exhausted, fatigued and hungry. And stuck in a shopping centre. Later, I start to realise I need to get my head in the game. Milan is in just three weeks. And I've barely given it a second thought.
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