Sitting up and taking notice: Kerry's former head of physio aims to bring ‘elite' thinking with Habitus Health
These days, Mr Harnett is the chief executive of Habitus Health in Cork, a healthcare tech company specialising in ergonomic and workplace risk assessment.
Habitus now has 6,000 users on its platform from 15 companies, and this month is closing on adding a further 12,000 users from more than 200 separate manufacturing sites — something which would be 'game-changing' for the company, says Mr Harnett.
The clients might have changed from dealing with Kerry footballers, but the knowledge acquired working with Éamonn Fitzmaurice now drives the Ballincollig-headquartered company.
'My club was Finuge in North Kerry. I played with Paul Galvin and Éamonn Fitzmaurice back in the day. I was an average wing back,' he says. 'I was gone when they started winning stuff!
I was head physio to the Kerry senior football team during Éamonn's time as manager and he brought an awful lot of that new thinking into that Kerry set-up, where data was so important.
'We looked at the whole medical support for the team. I set up a network of orthopedic surgeons both in Santry and locally. If there was an injury on a Sunday, we had the scan done and dusted by Monday."
Mr Harnett worked in the Kerry set-up from 2012 until 2016. In 2016, he co-founded Habitus Health with Breffni Allen from Cork, who had a background in computer science.
Habitus is a tech company at its heart, and its original focus was a sensor for workplace ergonomics and healthcare.
"We developed a wearable and built an app and an algorithm that would detect spinal movement. So if you slouched, say beyond 20 degrees, you'd get a haptic sensation — a buzz in your chest to remind you to move. We piloted in Cork County Council with around 70 people and we were getting 2,000 'reminders' a day."
Kevin Tattan, Habitus, head of product, and chief executive Ed Harnett.
Enterprise Ireland was an early backer, while the European Space Agency invested as Haptus researched preventing muscle injury in zero gravity.
Then Covid hit. "We had our first funding raise when it struck. The bottom fell out of the supply chain. The price of chips went from 40c to €5 or €6 and there were a number of chips on every sensor board. It wasn't doable."
The company switched direction to analysing movements. "That's when we got seriously into the computer vision technology in the workplace. We developed the idea of the workplace athlete.
All this money is thrown on players to perform for 60 minutes a week, but here we have millions of people sitting for eight hours minimum a day. We should treat each of them as an elite athlete.
Computer vision technology and AI are now key elements of the Habitus Health offering. Using a tailored, data-driven approach, assessments are often out incorporating video assessment. The most pressing cases in a company can be triaged all at once.
Employee workplace health can be monitored for as little as €2 a month, and the company has moved beyond office workplaces into sectors like manufacturing floors and aviation.
From its headquarters in Ballincollig, Habitus continues to expand, currently raising a further €1.3m in investment. It employs eight people in Cork — including former Cork City head of S&C, and former Wexford camogie manager Kevin Tattan as head of product — along with eight others worldwide.
The company is rolling out its workplace health and safety platform across Enterprise Ireland's 900 Irish-based and global staff. Contracts in construction and tech operations in the UK, and others further afield, are imminent.
All based on simple but economically sound ideas. "Healthy workers drive high-performing companies," says Mr Harnett. "When you apply the science to the employee, it's mind boggling how it's not being done. Your number one asset is the person — if someone doesn't turn up for work, there's going to be a pinch on your bottom line."
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Irish Times
3 hours ago
- Irish Times
Living next door to Carrauntoohil: ‘Mountains are my cathedral. They've added to my life'
There's a framed photograph on the wall of Davy Leane's kitchen which hints at the mystery of the peak that looms above his home in mid- Kerry . In the picture, Leane and a few others are on top of Carrauntoohil, the country's tallest mountain, part of a group who back in 2020 were carrying out one of the periodic repaintings of the cross which stands at the summit, 1,039 metres up. But in the photo, taken by Leane's son and with all the participants hazy against the backdrop, strange lines appear to hover around him, almost like in a cartoon. 'That evening, I got a pain in my chest,' Leane (52) explains over tea and biscuits. READ MORE 'We were going up painting the cross on top of Carrauntoohil, during Covid, four or five of us. And I got a pain in my chest, five or six times, from the top of the Ladder,' he says, referring to the Devil's Ladder, part of the approach on the mountain. 'And I took no notice of it.' Davy Leane of Coolroe with his dog Max on the foothills of the MacGillycuddy's Reeks with Carrauntoohil in the background. Photograph: Valerie O'Sullivan A week later, he climbed the mountain again to gather his sheep, and again felt the pain 'every 100 yards or so'. Back home a few days later, after shearing the sheep, the tingling came up the arm – 'And I still said nothing.' He went to hospital in Tralee, passed all the tests but caved on the walking machine, with a doctor – convinced there was something serious wrong – dispatching him to Cork by ambulance. He subsequently had a stent fitted. 'And when I see the force,' he says, referring back to those strange lines in the photograph, 'I ask: what is that around me?' A neighbour took the photo to a fortune teller in Limerick. 'He said: 'Is he still alive?' That's the first thing he said.' Leane is indeed alive and well and able to talk a mile a minute. He is the fifth generation of a family living and working near Ireland's tallest mountain, someone who is intimately familiar with its trails and aspects. But these days, he's also part of a growing number of people scaling Carrauntoohil, and for a variety of reasons. That more people have been climbing the peak – and the Reeks generally – has been well documented, as has the likelihood that this places greater pressure on services such as Kerry Mountain Rescue, who are charged with helping those who get into difficulty. Gerry Christie, a long-time member of Kerry Mountain Rescue, got a bit of a knock doing a sliding tackle the previous night when playing football with his young nephew. It seems the mountains keep Christie young – he's 72. Originally from Meath but well acquainted with the terrain of the Reeks, Christie says it takes an average of seven hours to go up and down the mountain, but the times can vary. The profile of those climbing the mountain has changed, he says, from members of climbing clubs to pretty much anyone and everyone. When it comes to those getting into difficulty, it's a similar story, though Christie says experienced and well-prepared climbers can get into greater difficulty, but less often, whereas the more inexperienced climber may simply lose their bearings or go over an ankle. Kerry Mountain Rescue volunteer Gerry Christie says it takes an average of seven hours to ascend and descend Carrauntoohil. Photograph: Valerie O'Sullivan John Cronin, current co-ordinator of Kerry Mountain Rescue and owner of the nearby Cronin's Yard, from where many groups depart for the summit, says that as of mid-July this year there had been 35 call-outs to Kerry Mountain Rescue, which represents a slight increase on previous years. Cronin, another fifth-generation local, recalls with a sense of wonder a time he was dealing with a mountaineer in full regalia who had sustained a serious injury, only for the rescuers to be passed by another man descending the mountain in his bare feet. Fatalities are rare, but not unknown. Christie points out that even on a nice day it can be 10 degrees cooler at the top, but not everyone is adequately prepared. 'They don't listen,' he says about some of those who take on Carrauntoohil. 'You're banging your head off a stone wall. Being up there as a guide on a fine summer's day, I'm stunned what people get away with, but I also think at this stage that there's always sufficient guided parties, and there's our people who kind of have an aura that they know what they're about.' Anyone joining the mountain rescue team has to have 'the right stuff', not least calmness under pressure. A view of Carrauntoohil from Cnoc na Péiste. Photograph: Valerie O'Sullivan He believes similar qualities are required of those seeking to take on Carrauntoohil and who find the going tough: they should know when to turn back. The Coffee Pot cafe near Beaufort is one of the businesses doing a solid lunchtime trade as cars and buses full of visitors plan their next move. Behind the counter, Laura O'Sullivan, originally from the north side of Cork city, says visitor numbers have been brisk but she has not, and will not, climb the mountain herself. 'No, it's not my cup of tea,' she says. 'I climbed the Comeraghs when I was in college and it was bad. It was horrendous.' Maria Coffey (right) owns and runs the Coffee Pot cafe with her husband Derry. It is located at the entrance to the Gap of Dunloe. Photograph: Valerie O'Sullivan Leane has concerns over the sheer number of people climbing it these days, meaning shortcuts and grooves have been etched into its face, instead of the old zigzag approaches. He recalls the late 1980s when 'the guiding of tourists started on the reeks and it was like Neil Armstrong landing on the moon, as if they were the first humans to land on Carrauntoohil'. 'They invented new place names and created new paths and today we have the erosion of the mountain physiology and the disregard – [the] erasing of its hundreds of old Irish place names.' He can list off those place names on Carrauntoohil, trails and gullies that he himself still regularly climbs, watching the sheep. Just a few months ago a video clip posted by a photographer captured Leane skilfully descending a steep aspect of the mountain – it got 9,000 likes on Instagram and 178,000 views, a currency he doesn't particularly value but which prompts him to joke: 'I was almost viral.' Cathal Fitzgerald's family owns some of the mountain. Fitzgerald (29) is in the fourth year of a 'Covid project', namely his coffee hut perched at the Lisleibane car park. He says the first 45 minutes of the walk is on his father's land. Such is the growth in his clientele, he says, he is going to close only in November and then reopen for Christmas. 'What a lot of people give out about now is, even though you can walk it, it's the erosion that's happening up there,' he says. 'There are places such as the Devil's Ladder, we hear from everybody, and it's the most popular route, and the erosion actually makes it less walkable.' Cathal Fitzgerald runs the Carrauntoohil Coffee Hut at Lisleibane, at the entrance to MacGillycuddy's Reeks. Photograph: Valerie O'Sullivan He believes more funding is required for maintenance of paths, and that some sort of charge could be applied in future to help pay for it. According to Leane, it is only in recent years that farmers in the area have acquired an insurance package that gives them some indemnity in the event of someone injuring themselves. But as Fitzgerald says, the visitors come and go but the local bonds endure. His 'absolute favourite thing' is 'how the community bands together', he says. At Cronin's Yard, which as John Cronin explains, started as a drinks vending machine and expanded to the extensive tea rooms of today, the scout troop has made its way down. Esther and John Cronin own and run Cronin's Yard tea rooms at the entrance to the Hags Glen, Mealis, Beaufort, one of the departure locations for hikers traversing MacGillycuddy's Reeks. Photograph: Valerie O'Sullivan Leaders Dan Smyth and Hannah Geraghty say some of the group found the climb challenging, even though many had previous experience of bigger climbs. But Smyth says other climbers seemed to have a different approach. 'The thing that surprised me was the lack of preparation,' he says, referring to the lack of appropriate kit. Or as Geraghty put it: 'Some people looked like they were going to their local park.' There might well be an explanation for the eerie lines around Davy Leane in the 2020 photo, most likely a Brocken spectre, where person's magnified shadow is projected on to mist or cloud. Yet it's hard not to feel drawn towards some kind of mystical explanation. It's the kind of thing that keeps drawing people back. The number of people making the journey up Croagh Patrick on traditional Reek Sunday has fallen, yet climbing Carrauntoohil has become a type of secular pilgrimage. Or as Christie puts it: 'The mountains are my cathedral and they have added much to my life – it's an honour, if not a duty, to put a little back.' Smyth and Geraghty are asked how, when you've climbed Ireland's tallest mountain with a group this young, you could top that achievement. To which the response is: 'Do it again.' A view of the eastern reeks from the summit of Carrauntoohil, showing Cnoc an Bhreaca (hill of the Speckled Slabs); Cruach Mhór (big stack); An Ghunna Mhór (big gun); Cnoc na Péiste (hill of the serpent); Maolán Buí (golden knoll); Cnoc an Chuillinn (hill of the holly); Cnoc na Toinne (hill of the wave); and Lough Callee, served by tributaries of Lough Cummeenapeasta. Photograph: Valerie O'Sullivan
Irish Times
3 hours ago
- Irish Times
‘My 14-year-old wants to drop out of sports, but his dad is a GAA coach'
Question My 14-year-old son is going through a difficult time and he is on a waiting list for an ADHD (a ttention deficit hyperactivity disorder) assessment, which the school recommended. He used to play Gaelic football and seemed to love this a year ago. Now he wants to give up. His dad is forcing him to keep going and, the more he insists, the more my son resists. This is leading to big rows at home. My son mainly wants to play video games or hang out with this new group of friends, none of whom are in the GAA. His dad, who is a GAA coach, wants him to keep up a sport as he is struggling in school. He also doesn't want him to lose contact with the boys on the GAA team, some of whom were good friends. Do you have any advice to help us? READ MORE Answer On average, 14 is the most challenging year for teenagers, and also for their parents. This is a time when teens are trying to work out who they are and what they like – conflict with parents is often at its highest, when communication can be at its lowest. School becomes much more pressured during this year and if your son has ADHD this is likely to make things more difficult for him. At 14, it is normal for teens to seek new interests and to question activities they have been involved in for years. Even though his dad is passionate about the GAA this does not mean that his son will be. One key feature of ADHD is a difficulty attending to subjects that don't hook your interest, whether these are subjects in school or extracurricular activities. A lot of ADHD children also change interests quickly – they become passionate about one for a period and then can change and move on to something else. [ 'My 14-year-old is struggling with study and homework. Her teachers think she might have ADHD' Opens in new window ] ADHD children often get lots of negative messages about who they are – why can't you just do what you are told? why can't you just try harder? – which make them think something is wrong with them and damages their self esteem. Instead, it is important to be much more compassionate and to provide a learning environment that suits their needs and many strengths. I appreciate his dad has very good intentions, when he insists his son stay in GAA, but the most important thing he can do during this challenging time is to preserve his relationship with his son and keep good communication warm and open. If it has got to a point of big rows about going to GAA, this is counterproductive. These rows are unlikely to restore his son's interest in attending but are likely to erode their relationship and push his son further away when he needs his dad's love and support the most. As a result, I would suggest his dad takes a pause in the rows and takes time to listen and understand. Give your son the message that though his dad would like him to attend, it is up to him to decide (he also has the option to take a break and go back later). [ 'Underage team sport is all about winning. It's heart-breaking to see our son ignored and excluded' Opens in new window ] Encourage your son to talk about his feelings – what makes him reluctant to attend? Are their parts he likes and parts he does not? For example, you could discover that he likes the discipline of the training but does not like the competitive matches or vice a versa. Or he likes the friendships and social aspect of the GAA but not the competition etc. Perhaps you could help him keep the friendships going whether he attends or not. In addition, I would suggest you take time get to know the passions he currently does have. This might mean getting to know his new friendship group and supporting these connections. For example, you might encourage them over to the house for a pizza or facilitate them going out to a movie or a bowling evening. This way you get a sense of how these relationships work in his world and this could deepen your own connection with him. You say in your question that all he wants to do is play video games. While understandably most parents are reluctant to encourage screen-based passions (and indeed they are the number one source of conflict in families), I think a more nuanced approach is important. Some screen-based passions can have a positive role in teenagers' lives and adopting a blanket critical stance about them can be another withdrawal from your relationship with them. [ 'My 15-year-old son hates going to school and is not doing any homework' Opens in new window ] So instead I would suggest you get to know a bit more about your son's video games, what he likes about them and the role they have in his life. You could ask him to explain his favourite games and even join him in playing them – who knows, they might even become a shared hobby and source of connection between the two of you. Once you understand his video games, then you are in a position to explore safety, screen addiction and the importance of having other physically active interests as well. Finally, even if your son does not continue his attendance at the GAA, use this as an opportunity to explore other passions he could be interested in – what would he like to do instead? Are there some within the school he might be interested in or some outside that you can support him to access? The ideal is to find a range of interests that match his passions, make him feel good about himself and which may even be a source of connection and shared hobby with his parents. John Sharry is clinical director of the Parents Plus Charity and an adjunct professor at the UCD School of Psychology. He will be delivering a courses on parenting ADHD and autistic children in autumn, 2025. See
Irish Times
2 days ago
- Irish Times
We Don't Use Words Like ‘Crazy': Irish readers will find many points of comparison to this insider's view of the crumbling NHS
We Don't Use Words Like 'Crazy': On The Frontline of Mental Health Author : Elliot Sweeney ISBN-13 : 978-1785122064 Publisher : Blink Publishing Guideline Price : £20 'In mental health , it's not hard to get away with bad practice,' Elliot Sweeney ruefully notes of his chosen career . A nurse in this field for 20 years, he is ideally placed to comment on how some in the profession, are 'more interested in cutting corners, publishing papers and booking holidays than doing some good', while also sympathetic to how difficult the work is, and the gaping holes in provision. The term 'firefighting' is repeated. Sweeney writes specifically of the crumbling NHS , but Irish readers will find many points of comparison with overextended mental health services here, and understand that 'without gallows humour, the bleakness would overwhelm'. READ MORE Some reminders – for example, that mental health is 'a serious business' – may feel a tad obvious to younger generations, used to a certain amount of lip service on this issue, but Sweeney jumps right into the less palatable cases. A mother poisoning her children, suffering from factitious disorder, more colloquially known as Munchhausen's by proxy (a diagnosis medical dramas and crime novels are fond of), is not an immediately sympathetic character. Nor is someone wielding a knife in public – knowing that severe mental illness means one is more likely to be the victim of, rather than perpetrator of, violence does not magic away the real danger of such moments. Sweeney is aware of the tensions between an individual's agency and the risk they pose to themselves or others; with a novelist's eye, he shows rather than tells of the bind health professionals often find themselves in. He knows the system is broken and how many have fled; he's still there. His case studies – careful composites, as is the usual practice in books of this kind – illustrate a variety of suffering and labels, and explore what it means to help in such cases. Sometimes he can't. One particularly volatile patient demonstrates how essential professional boundaries are. [ 'Immense progress': Use of restraint and seclusion in mental health centres falls Opens in new window ] Psychiatrists tend to be the ones writing memoirs such as these; nurses – those who are 'hauled in for answers' if something goes wrong – are less represented. This is a welcome addition to the mental-health-workplace canon from someone not yet burned out: 'Beneath the crackle and static of paranoia,' he writes, 'I hear the pathos of a human in pain. It's this I try to focus on.'
