ROWING/Atlantic Diary: Just when Paul Gleeson and Tori Holmes had fallen in to a strong rhythm during the second week of their Atlantic Rowing Race challenge, a huge low pressure system blew in and stopped them in their tracks

Tori: We've been anchored for more than 48 hours, until this morning. We spent the first 24 hours solid in the cabin with the door closed and the waves crashing and breaking over the boat. We played every game we could: Xs and Os, Connect 4, whatever we had. The low pressure system hit on Saturday night, and you just can't row into it - the winds will blow you back and the waves crash right into the bow.

During the day on Saturday the sea was like a lake. It was so, so calm. It was the calm before the storm - but we didn't know that. We got a text from Woodvale, the organisers, saying this low pressure system was coming.

That first night there were massive waves. We put out our sea anchor, which is like a parachute that goes into the sea in front of the boat and fights the wind and waves trying to push it backwards. But that first night we lost miles.

There were very, very strong winds. You're facing into the storm: the waves crash into the cabin door, and you can't open it. We were stuck in a space the size of a closet. I've never played so much I Spy in all my life. We were there for 24 hours: I had to hold my pee for so long I was dying! We ate all our goodies, our chocolate bars and our sweet things. We were saving up letters from friends, but we read half of them.

But it wasn't as bad as the sea sickness we had last week. The worst thing about the storm was that it broke our momentum. We had just got our night routine down pat.

There were a few strange things this week. We saw dolphins and flying fish, and one night something rubbed up against us, against the boat. It was spooky. I think there's a blind fish out there.

Paul tried his hand at fishing yesterday. Not much luck - he was using energy bars as bait!

Paul: We're finally going again, which is nice, but it was frustrating to be stopped for two days - even if everyone was in the same situation. We're still rowing into a headwind and there is a swell, but at least you can row. We're going to both go on the oars to make a bit of progress.

It was weird during the weekend. Out at sea you don't have a dependable reference point. It didn't seem we were going backwards. When I got a chance, I looked up the GPS (Global Positioning System) and it said we were on the same longitude as Antigua, which is where we're going. I thought, Jesus, that was some storm! It was a glitch, unfortunately.

We are still a long way south, so we must have a good chance of picking up the trade winds if we go another 50 miles or so.

We've actually rowed about 500 miles, but from what I hear that isn't being reflected on the official website, because they measure your distance from Antigua as the crow flies.

Over the next week or two, as the boats hit the trades, I like to think it will be like the break in an 800 metre or 1,500 metre race - you will be able to see exactly where everyone is relative to the other boats.

Our steering system is really old and hasn't been great - we don't have an autopilot, like some of the boats - but we're mostly happy with how well things are holding up, and, honestly, physically we're good.

Some boats have problems with their seats, but before we came out I went to a butchers' on Moore Street and got some lambswool for the seats. It's been great. We got to wash the salt out of it when we couldn't row on Monday.

The Saturday night swell was big. You can feel the waves banging into the cabin; you can feel them crashing in on top of you. And you can hear the winds, a real angry noise.

The cabin felt safe, like a nest. It felt fine, even if it is the size of a wardrobe. The last few days have given us a lot of confidence in the boat. The more you experience, the more you realise the boat is fine. It's the same Woodvale boat as the others have, but we know from talking to the Kavanaghs, who built it, that they reinforced it. It's heavier but a bit safer, I think.

And it's comforting to know that it's been across the Atlantic when Peter and Eamonn Kavanagh competed in this race in 1997.

We got bumped at night by a shark or a whale, which was weird. I suppose we really should have gone out to see it.

Spending so much time in the cabin has really tested our resources. We have books on our MP3 players, and I listened to Around the World in 80 Days, the Michael Palin version. There he is discussing food, or talking about the great meals he had and the nice bed he will sleep in, and I'm tossing around in a tiny cabin in rough seas.

Tori was listening to a murder mystery, which kind of freaked her. We found a mini version of the game Connect 4, which was a big hit.

We spent a lot of the first night chatting away. It's been all go-go for the last two years. When you sit down and talk, what you get to realise is how much debt we're in. We'll have to set our minds to that when we get home. We're both broke.

We've got some good sleep in the last few days, and we realised how much we were putting up with cramping in our hands, particularly in our knuckles. So we've wrapped bandage around the oar handles to open up the grip a little. We've got used to the blistering and chafing, even Tori, with her soft Canadian skin.

I got some really bad news, and I was very upset yesterday. Linda Cantrell, who was the mother of a close friend of mine, Kevin Cantrell of Wanderers Rugby Club, died of a brain haemorrhage. They had been great supporters. It was a big shock, and I know the family held off telling us because of where we are. This row is now in her honour.

(In an interview with Liam Gorman)

To contribute to the Gleeson/Holmes race, text Row to 57252. Each text is worth €2 to Concern.