Welcome To Officer Safety Training...

“Get back,” I screamed pathetically as the well aimed punch caught me on the side of the shoulder. I moved my feet to try and stabilise myself but it was no good. The punches were coming in at me too quickly and I was unable to prevent myself from being pushed back. I was just about clinging on to any dignity I had left when the punches changed to powerful kicks, the first of which knocked me backwards. It was a humiliating defeat and for a second I wondered what on earth I was doing. I then heard a voice from our trainer and was quickly reminded: “Welcome to Officer Safety Training folks.”

Throughout training school and every scenario or role play we would do, the same message was drilled into us.

“What’s the most important thing on the streets?” a trainer would ask. “You are. Your safety is the most important thing. Then it’s your partners. And then it’s the public. If you’re hurt, you can’t help anyone.”

I instantly warmed to this idea and was comforted by the fact that such an emphasis was put on keeping officers safe, regardless of how much trouble someone else could potentially in. My fellow recruits would spend hours talking about how they would put themselves in between an armed robber and innocent children. I on the other hand had spent weeks biting my lower lip, anxious that somebody might realise that I instead would probably take the uniform off and hide. Surely I would be rumbled eventually? But until I am, I was expected to fulfil my duties to the best of my ability and that involved regular officer safety training.

I had heard various reports about the training day which ranged from the wild claims that it was “the most punishing day I have ever had,” to “it really isn’t that bad” so was unsure what to expect. But half way through, I was struggling to keep up the façade that I was relaxed and that my composed expression was genuine. I was starting to tire and pain was beginning to set in. I looked around the room and was disappointed to see that nobody else seemed to be struggling. I was completing circuit after circuit, press ups, squats, sit ups and both I and my body knew that I wouldn’t be able to continue for much longer. I began taking short cuts on the circuit, took twice as long to complete a press up and wondered if I just laid on the mat without actually doing a sit up whether I would be noticed. The session came to an end and I was a quivering wreck, my body screaming at me that it couldn’t continue any further.

The trainer’s voice boomed throughout the hall we were in.

“That’s the warm up complete, well done.”

Warm up? Was he serious? I looked around and saw nobody laughing, they just accepted it. Surely that wasn’t the warm up? I was exhausted and didn’t know how much longer my legs would support me.

“Get some handcuffs and protective equipment please,” the voice boomed again. I felt sick and wondered whether I would have to produce actual vomit to be excused from the class.
Twenty minutes later I was being attacked by various members of my team. I was holding a mat in front of me to cushion the punches, kicks and baton strikes but it did little good.
While standing sideways on so a colleague could hit me with his baton, I turned my head to see when he was going to strike. He did so as I turned and the mat was pushed into my mouth.

“Well done,” I said cheerfully as I felt pain rip through my tooth. Was it broken? Had I inadvertently swallowed my own tooth?

“Wasn’t hard enough,” he replied.

You just nearly broke my tooth, I felt like screaming. Instead I smiled and said, “Have another go then.”

I was seeing strange behaviour in the room. Fellow colleagues had turned and they were trying to outdo each other in a weird macho display of strength. Why we were practising painful moves on each other anyway I didn’t know. But surely we shouldn’t be getting too carried away?

“This is what they want,” I tried telling a partner. “We shouldn’t be hurting each other, we’re on the same side.” My pleas did little good.

As I was thrown across the room for the third time I landed at the feet of a passing trainer. I felt sure he might have a word with the brute that had nearly destroyed me. Instead he began offering him advice.

“The power comes from the hips, turn with the hips,” I heard him say as I scrambled to my feet, praying I would survive until the end of the day. “You’ll deliver a much more powerful blow if you turn like this.

As I was turned into a human bunch bag, I noticed some began smiling as they delivered incredible kicks and punches to my torso and I became concerned for their mental health. I gasped for breath and realised it could be much easier to let a suspect escape rather than risk getting this pummelled.

The following day I was aching in places I didn’t even know I had muscles. Getting ready for work my colleagues all seemed blasé about the whole experience.

“How was officer safety training,” I was asked by a friend who had not yet completed it.
“Nothing to it mate,” I shrugged. “You won’t have any problems.”

The words came out before I had a chance to think. Why I said it, I’m not sure but already dread has set in for the next round of officer safety training.