Amanda goes 'firefighting'

Smoke flooded my vision, making it nearly impossible to see anything that wasn't right in front of me. A device strapped to my face provided me with fresh, smoke-free air, but it never felt like enough. My hands, clad in stiff work gloves, clumsily fondled a giant hose, and the cumbersome rubber boots I was wearing made walking a tad difficult.

Oh, and there was the small matter of a fire blazing a few feet away — a fire I was supposed to help fight.

No, this was not a horrible nightmare — just part of "Fire Ops 101," an event designed to give politicians and media people like me a taste of life as a professional firefighter. My adventure began with a telephone call from Tim Richmond, a pumper and engineer with the Bridgeport Fire Department. Richmond told me that the Uniformed Professional Fire Fighters Association of Connecticut was sponsoring the Fire Ops event, during which participants were supposed to suit up in fire gear and perform a number of typical fire fighting tasks. These included forcing open a locked door, pulling an injured person out of a motor vehicle wreck and, yes, running into a burning building and hosing down a fire.

Given my previous "Amanda Goes" adventures, Richmond said, he thought I'd be a good candidate for the event. Was I interested?

Well, of course. But wasn't it dangerous? Not really, Richmond told me.

A professional firefighter would be by my side at all times, making sure I didn't get hurt. And I wouldn't have to do

anything I didn't want to. That sounded good to me and I prepared to make my way to the Hartford Fire Department Training Academy for my new career.

But first, I had to visit the Bridgeport Fire Department and get fitted for some fire fighting gear.

While there, I met with Capt. John Botsko, who would be my shadow during the Fire Ops event. He was the one who was supposed to stand by me and make sure nothing went wrong. Botsko gave me a quick rundown of what I could expect during my day as a firefighter. He told me that, despite what you see in movies and on TV, real fire scenes are loaded with smoke, making it impossible to see. He also warned that, because of the heavy equipment, physical exertion and, you know, the blazing flames, fighting a fire can get a little hot. Or, as Botsko put it, "It's like doing a aerobics in a fur coat in a sauna in July." Yikes.

Intimidated, but not deterred, I began trying on my fire fighting gear, which included rubber boots, fire resistant pants, a coat, a hood, a helmet, safety goggles, gloves and a face mask. Perhaps most important were the devices that would provide me with oxygen while I was in the belly of an inferno.

On your back, you carry a pack with an oxygen tank attached. Hooked to the oxygen is the regulator, much like the kind used in scuba diving, which you strap to the face mask. This allows you to breathe. Botsko and fire Lt. Gary Baker found me a mask, and Baker ran a series of tests to make sure it fit snugly. The mask is supposed fit tight to your face, so none of the smoky, chemical laden air from the fire scene can get inside.

To test the mask, Baker had me sit down in a chair, hooked me to a machine and asked me to do a bunch of tasks, like count to 60, move my head up and down and stand up and touch my toes.

Just as I was starting to wonder if they were messing with me, Baker announced that the test was over and I'd passed. My mask fit well, and I was good to go.

Once that was done, Botsko fitted me for the rest of my equipment, and I was ready for action. A few days later, I headed to Hartford for the fire ops event. In addition to me, participants included other journalists and politicians, including Lt. Gov. Michael Fedele.

Before we started the day's activities, the firefighters took us on a quick tour of the building where they would be setting the fire used in our exercises.

Two exercises would take place in the fire building — fighting the fire, and pulling "victims" (actually dummies) out of the building. For the fire fighting exercise, we were supposed to handle the hose and knock down the fire — not put it out. It had to remain lit for the subsequent teams. I couldn't help but notice that, to fight the fire, we had to walk down a flight of stairs, into the basement. I remembered Botsko's warning about the smoke, and realized that I would be walking down a flight of stairs, in the smoky darkness, wearing heavy, cumbersome clothes in which it was difficult to stay upright in the most ideal circumstances.

That's when I started to get a little antsy. But the day hadn't even started yet. I'd look like a wuss if I backed out now. Better to brace myself and keep going. Participants were assigned to teams that rotated through the various exercises. My team's first task was vehicle extrication. The firefighters had staged an accident scene in fire academy parking lot — complete with a firefighter posing as a victim trapped in one of the cars.

Our goal was cut through the car's windshield, slice the car free from its roof and pull the victim out. One of the firefighters handed me a glass cutting tool, and instructed me on how to saw at the windshield. This proved harder than I thought. First, the tool was kind of heavy and was hard for me to get a good grip on it. Plus, the chips of glass that flew out as I dug my blade into the windshield were a little disconcerting. I mean, I had on goggles and other safety gear, but flying glass never inspires confidence.

I didn't make it very far through the windshield, so the firefighters handed off the tool to one of the others my team, Windham First Selectwoman Jean de Smet. Much to my dismay, she sliced through the whole windshield in less than half the time it took for me to even cut an inch. It was embarrassing.

Next, I had to use a cutting tool to snip the roof free from the body of the car. I was shown how to place the metal I wanted to cut in the maw of my tool and rotate a knob on the tool until it closed around the metal and snapped it in two. Despite the fact that the tool was so heavy that one of the other firefighters had to help me lift it, this wasn't hard — plus, it's kind of cool to cut through metal.

Less cool was when I had to pull the "victim" from the car. I consider myself fairly strong, but I'm not very big and, even with the help of the rest of my team, I had a hard time getting the poor guy out.

But, that wasn't the worst part. Apparently, the firefighters wanted to make a point about how easily diseases could be spread through bodily fluids at emergencies. Obviously, there's a lot of blood at these scenes, and um, other fluids that can carry disease and it can be a health hazard for firefighters.

To drive that point home, my firefighter/victim spewed fake vomit on me as I was pulling him from the car.

I didn't even realize what had happened until we were almost done getting the guy out. I saw the bag of fake vomit lying on the ground, then glanced at my coat and saw more specks of the brownish glop decorating my sleeve.

Charming.

I worked my way through the other exercises, which included doing CPR on a mannequin, and watching some firefighters saw a hole in a fake roof (I climbed on the roof, but was too chicken to actually hold the saw).

Then, it was time for the big show. I had to go fight the fire. We were supposed to take hold of the hose and carry it into the basement, where the fire was waiting for us. We headed into the building. Turns out, Botsko wasn't lying about the smoke — or about not being able to see.

For a while, I could see silhouettes through the visor on my mask. Then, nothing. That was really upsetting because I knew those stairs were coming up soon. So, I tried to take tiny steps, feeling out the ground for a possible stairway.

But the rest of the team was moving through, and I didn't want to hold anybody up. So I walked on, terrified that we would come upon the stairs suddenly, and I would tumble to my doom.

Thankfully, that didn't happen, though I did lose my footing on the stairs and briefly dropped my section of the hose.

Finally, we made it to the basement. There, in the corner, the fire blazed. I could feel the heat even through my layers of protective clothing, but Botsko — who was standing right behind me — decided that, to get a better idea of the intensity of the fire, I should take off one of my gloves.

I obeyed, but, just as I got the glove off, I was told I had to help turn on the hose and blast the flames. I struggled to pull the glove back on, while also fumbling around with the hose. Once I pulled myself together, I got a chance to turn on the hose. The water came blasting out, which was kind of impressive.

Before I knew it, it was time to leave. We exited the building, and I was a total wreck. I pulled my gear off, and hair was stuck to my face, which was sweaty as all heck.

I was absolutely exhausted and, though I was glad I'd gone into the fire, I was super happy to be out of it. Then, Botsko informed me that I would have to go back in later, to do the search and rescue exercise.

My reaction to that news was, I believe, best described as a baby tantrum. "No!" I said. "Please don't me go back in there! I don't want to go in there!"

Both Botsko and Richmond tried to coax me back in. "Oh come on, Amanda. It'll be fine!"

"No! Please, no!"

Botsko led me over to the rehab trailer where he got me some Gatorade and a hot dog, and tried to get me to go back into the building. Then, a miracle occurred. Apparently, during one of the exercises, someone accidentally extinguished the fire in the building. Thus, fire exercises for the day were done, and I didn't have to go back in.

I nearly wept with cowardly glee.

Overall, my day as a firefighter went pretty well. Certainly, it gave me a much better understanding of what a difficult job this is.

Every day, these men and women risk their lives to help others. They never know what the day will bring or what they'll be asked to do.

It's commendable and I applaud them.

But was it really necessary to spray me with vomit?