by Jo Pavey
From South Africa to a Silver Medal
The 2006 Commonwealth Games were in March, which is extremely unusual for an outdoor track championship, but I thought, ‘I’ve got to give this a go.’ It was now around Christmas 2005 and time wasn’t on my side. It was another one of those situations when I had nothing to lose by training hard. If I didn’t make the Commonwealths, I needed to get on with it for the summer 2006 season. I’d lost so much fitness and muscle that the season might well prove to be a washout. We would just have to play it day by day. Returning to South Africa, where we had spent every winter since 2001, I faced a long road back to full fitness. I was effectively starting from scratch yet again, so it was fitting that we were beginning afresh in a new place in South Africa: Dullstroom.
The green hills of this part of Mpumalanga province reminded me a little bit of upland areas in Britain, with rocky outcrops, boulders and rolling grasslands. I loved the vast open landscapes; we’d see blue skies stretching towards the horizon on one side and storms building in the other direction. It felt very elemental with a daily, short-lived downpour caused by the warm moisture-laden air flow from the Indian Ocean meeting the high veld. The altitude of more than 8,000 feet above sea level would, we hoped, be beneficial for my training sessions.
Dullstroom lies on the road from the town of Belfast to Lydenburg in the north-east, but the roads branching off the main tarmac route are pretty much all dirt roads: miles and miles of running routes set amongst gentle hills and forest. I could run 15 miles around an area called Lakenvlei and not see another person. The isolation was broken only by the occasional passing pick-up truck, which could be annoying as they’d kick up clouds of dust. I ran mostly on my own but sometimes with Gav or occasionally with some of the Nordic athletes who trained there. They were mostly orienteers from Finland, and when they led the runs, they’d take us through tricky terrain and undergrowth as that’s part of their sport. It was fun to go ‘off-piste’ and I thought it might do me good, though in what way I was never sure!
Our day started with coffee and toast out on the veranda of the house we rented – an old Victorian place that overlooked marshland. To one side was a lake and a very steep hill, or, I suppose, technically a mountain, given Dullstroom’s elevation. After hydrating a bit more we’d head off in the car to one of our runs. There were plenty of routes to choose from, although we had two favourites: the UT trail and Lakenvlei. (‘UT’ was our own name for a dirt road we used for most of our training; it had a long Afrikaans name beginning with ‘Ut’ and we shortened it affectionately.) I enjoyed heading off in the car, listening to the Killers or U2 or something upbeat to motivate me before training. It was mostly clear blue skies but Dullstroom could have its cooler cloudy days too. After a drive of 10 or maybe 20 kilometres along the tarmac road we’d turn off onto a dirt road, drive another kilometre or more and park the car. The routes were all off-road and the landscape was varied enough that I could choose a flat run or a hilly route.
Dullstroom’s claim to fame is that it is one of the coldest towns in South Africa. Although we were there during their summer months, it could get fairly chilly and we’d get the odd wet misty day at about 12°C. Mostly, though, it would be in the low to mid-20s which was great for training. We experienced some mega thunderstorms, too – very spectacular – and joked about our storm-dodging skills. We’d be sat having coffee outside at a café, note the billowing grey clouds approaching, and set off in a panic to get the run done before the afternoon storm. It made us always do our most important session in the mornings. Sometimes storms would come out of nowhere. Once, we spotted a tornado travelling towards us, devouring trees and barns. We ran as fast as we could – talk about a speed session – shouting to each other to lie flat if it reached us. On another occasion, we had driven to an area of higher altitude when a massive storm started brewing. We’d made a special journey there so we didn’t want to turn back and waste the time. I ran with Gav driving right behind me on the dirt road and lightning dramatically spotlighting different pockets of the landscape. It was an incredible view, but when the lightning forks seemed to be getting nearer, I jumped in the car, feeling like I’d pushed my luck enough. We felt like storm-chasers on one of those documentaries!
To reach a track, we had to do a ninety-minute drive to the town of Ermelo. If I set off feeling nervous about meeting my targets in the track session, those worries were soon put into perspective as I looked out of the window and saw the poverty in the shanty towns: houses constructed from random bits of wood and corrugated iron sheeting, children finding immense joy in playing with an old tyre. I found the contrast between our lives very humbling, very emotional. The track facility was completely open. It had weeds growing on the inside lane, which Gav often went round pulling up before we started the session. On one occasion, a school was training at the track and I ran around with them. That brief spell of integration with the local community felt very special. As it was such a journey from Dullstroom, we’d make the most of the outing, changing out of our kit in the dire changing room to go off to Nando’s for chicken and spicy rice and stocking up with a big supermarket shop.
There were no fellow Brits in Dullstroom (the British athletes who came to South Africa mostly still went to Potchefstroom or Stellenbosch, whilst others had started to go to other parts of the world like Albuquerque in New Mexico, Boulder in Colorado or Flagstaff in Arizona). But we made some great friends, such as Pekka Itavuo from Finland, who would join us on runs. On one run with him, we parked the car and saw a leopard emerge from the long grass a few feet from us and casually cross the trail. Gav and I once rounded a bend on a forest trail to find a tiny leopard cub sitting on the path. Thinking the mum might be close by, we did a quick about-turn and hastily headed off in the opposite direction. The locals thought both these animals were more likely to be servals, but I’m sticking to my leopard story. I have always sought out locations that inspire me to run, and Dullstroom, while not a place of spectacular beauty, was full of wildlife and teemed with bird life. At Lakenvlei, a sanctuary area with fairly large lakes, I’d often see eagles soaring overhead.
From time to time local kids would join in as we ran past. One lad of about ten made a particular impression on me. He wore worn-out leather school shoes but he didn’t care. I was on an easy recovery run and so I steadied my pace and ran with him for a mile or so. These kids didn’t have much in material terms, living in their small huts in the shanty towns, but what they did seem to have was a natural joyfulness, the type you can imagine only in Africa – I don’t get small kids running alongside me in south-west London or Devon! They seemed to recognise an innocent joy in running, or perhaps it was the novelty of running with this foreigner, I’m not sure. But they always seemed so excited to see me running past; they’d be shouting, full of smiles and laughter, spontaneously sprinting alongside. They were such fun-loving kids, literally jumping out of the roadside, inspiring me.
The house we rented in Dullstroom was old and rundown but we loved it. Finnish orienteer Olli-Pekka Kärkkäinen made the arrangements for us. In the evenings it was so peaceful sitting on the large wooden veranda with a glass of wine, listening to the croaking frogs, with the reflection of the huge hill next to us playing right across the lake. A few hundred yards from the house, just over the brow of the hill, lay the shanty town of Sakhelwe. We’d often run by it, and into parts of it. I was very aware that settlements in South Africa still reflect the old Group Areas Act under apartheid. One day, I hope, we will see the redevelopment of these poor areas and a genuine integration of people, but for now Sakhelwe adjoined Dullstroom – it wasn’t hidden out of view – and in chatting to the locals, what came across was the sense of community between the towns and a spirit of togetherness. During our time in South Africa, both in Dullstroom and in Potchefstroom, we lived integrated lives as athletes, coaches and physios. We had great evenings at the houses of Jean and Alta, Eben and Marijke, and Paul and Andrea who were so welcoming. Bu
t beyond our circle in sport, I was taken aback by how segregated general life was years after the official end of apartheid.
On our trips over the years I was always torn and did find it a culture shock: I’ve never seen such extremes of wealth and poverty side by side. It was something that continually troubled me. The poverty and crime always got to me. In our little quiet part of Mpumalanga it felt fairly safe but over time you’d hear about various crimes and road accidents and understand there is a darker side to this beautiful country. Gav and I would have long chats about it. Almost 18,000 murders a year is simply staggering and add to this 600,000 victims of violent crime and you get a chilling sense that this is not a very safe country.
Some of the troubles were close to home. In April of the previous year, 2004, the lovely Sam Haughian, one of Britain’s most talented up-and-coming 5,000m runners, was fatally injured in a car crash and then robbed as he lay dying in the road. He had been to Johannesburg and was on his way back to Potchefstroom with his girlfriend Rebecca Wills. Sam was such a nice, humble guy and great company. I’d see him often in Teddington as he also trained at St Mary’s University and came from Hounslow. A nice memory is Gav and I going to Maria Mutola’s house just outside Johannesburg with Kelly Holmes, our good friend Anthony Whiteman (of a 3:32 1,500m PB fame), Sam and some other athletes. We had a great evening. Kelly and Maria put on an amazing barbecue, or braai as it’s known in South Africa. Gav, Anthony and Sam larked about together all night . . . The last time I saw Sam was a week or two later in Bushy Park. He was due to return to South Africa couple of days later. He was running towards me and as we passed we exchanged a ‘hi’. I had dropped Gav, who was about 20 metres behind me, and I could hear Sam laughing at him and shouting across, ‘You can’t even keep up with your wife!’
Sadly a car accident in South Africa also claimed my Exeter Harrier teammate Cathy Hulme, a lovely girl, who died not long after she had qualified as a doctor.
The Commonwealth Games in Melbourne began on 15 March, only three months away. We left the decision about whether to go or not as last minute as possible. As a test, I did an indoor race at the end of February in Ghent, which wasn’t a spectacular time – around 8:45 – but it gave me the marker I needed. With the Games being in Australia, I had to get there at least a couple of weeks beforehand to shake off the jet lag, get to the holding camp and continue training. When Gav and I boarded the plane, three weeks before I was due to run, we were still unsure about whether or not I was going to compete. I still had a lot to do in those three weeks when, as I knew from experience, the jet lag is hard to shrug off. I would need to train hard before tapering in the last week, and that would mean going to the track when my body wanted to sleep. Fortunately, in those last three weeks my form and fitness duly started to come together. It was difficult because Gav again was instrumental in coaching and pacemaking for me, but he wasn’t allowed in to the Athletes’ Village. I was grateful the team staff allowed us to do whatever we felt was necessary to get me ready to compete. So Gav and I rented a flat to make things easier. It was not without a hiccup, of course. I was doing a session of 10 x 800 reps when I injured my hamstring. There’s always something! So I was not as fit as I’d like to be for a major championship, but I was determined to give it a go.
The Melbourne Cricket Ground – which was built as the centrepiece stadium for the 1956 Olympics – was the venue for the 2006 Commonwealth Games. Packed with more than 80,000 fervent fans, it felt more like an Olympic Games. There were no qualifying heats for the 5,000m. It was a straight final and I was up against the Kenyans, including the Olympic silver medallist Isabella Ochichi. Also in the field was home favourite Eloise Wellings, nine years my junior, who we saw a bit in Teddington. Buoyed by the fact that I’d even made it to the start line, I was determined to do myself justice. I had put so much into my attempts to win a medal. After so many near-misses, I had to make this one count. I was thirty-two now; I didn’t know how many more championships I had left in me. But I was also not quite sure how to run the race. I didn’t want to leave it all to the end, and risk having to race someone in a sprint finish as I never felt that sort of race played to my strengths. I decided to react to how I felt in the race itself – and that’s what I did.
I hit the front with a few laps remaining and gradually picked up the pace. I was hoping to run away from the others, but also to save a bit for the sprint at the end. I gave it absolutely everything, but eventually had to concede to Ochichi in the sprint to the line. To my utter joy, I won the silver medal, my first outdoor major championship track medal. It had taken me a long time!
I was truly thrilled. Gav picked me up and twirled me around. It was something that together we’d worked so hard for. I love running and, despite the frustration of missing out on the medals, I’d always approached it with the mindset of appreciating all the wonderful experiences running had brought me. But I did feel so happy to finally stand on the rostrum and receive a medal. That evening I went out to celebrate with Gav and my mum and dad who’d come out to watch me. The next day felt like a dream, I had to keep reminding myself that, yes, it really did happen!
When I arrived home, I put the medal in an old shoebox. I’m not one for displaying medals or having a trophy cabinet. You wouldn’t know I’m an athlete from my home – that is, if you turn a blind eye to the treadmill in the cloakroom and the piles of trainers surrounding it. I’ve often found myself in a panic trying to find the medals when I’ve been asked to take them into a school or something. However, once they’re found, I believe that’s what they are there for – for kids to finger and ask questions about, and perhaps to inspire those children towards their own dreams. I never worry if they come back covered with greasy handprints. It’s the memories, the experiences and the work that went into winning them that I treasure.
In Melbourne we were again able to meet up with my former physio work colleagues Ross and Dana. This time we would meet their children too. It was great to be in the company of this lovely couple again and it made us realise how much we longed to start a family of our own.
However, immediately after Melbourne I would be preparing for another summer of track competition. This was still March and so I had five months to prepare for the 5,000m at the European Championships in Gothenburg, Sweden . . .
CHAPTER 15
I Wasn’t Doing It All Wrong After All
That 5,000m final is a race I find very difficult to dwell on. I watched it for the first time in November 2015 with Ben Bloom from the Sunday Telegraph. After the news broke of a state-led, systematic doping regime in Russia, Ben asked if he could come down to Devon so we could sit and discuss the race. I agreed to do it on the understanding that it would be used as an example of how a race can turn out for a clean athlete. I didn’t want an article implying ‘poor me’, as of course this situation had happened to other athletes too. I also knew it wasn’t the only time that it had happened to me.
At the time I saw my performance in that race as a failure, a chance missed to win a medal. I was in great shape going into that champs. Just a few weeks later, I ran a lifetime PB of 14:39 at a Golden League event in Brussels.
The race itself was relatively steady. I went to the front, working hard to break up the field. I wanted to try and up the pace, to attempt to take out some of the sting of any kickers at the end. I didn’t go crazy. I threw in a 2:56 km. This left just me and three others: Marta Domínguez of Spain, Liliya Shobukhova of Russia and Elvan Abeylegesse of Turkey. I was leading with that trio right behind me. I started putting in some 69-second laps to take some more out of their final kicks and then, in a flash, with 200 metres remaining, they struck and moved past me. Their freshness was phenomenal. They took all three podium places, leaving me coming down the home straight alone with all hopes of a medal snatched away. I had nothing to respond with.
I was very disappointed. I tried to rationalise it. In taking the lead, had I just taken the kick out of myself? Gav and I have alwa
ys looked forwards. We had to discuss how on earth I could ever possibly compete with those performances. We had to write it off to a bad champs and didn’t look back at the race again. However, nine years on, watching the race with Ben and Gav was even more painful than I expected. I had run away from the rest of the field apart from these three – and who were these three? Domínguez, Abeylegesse and Shobukhova have never been found guilty of taking drugs at the time of the 2006 European 5,000m final, but that all three have subsequently been linked with doping offences is enough to make me realise that I hadn’t failed. Domínguez has been banned for three years for irregularities in her biological passport. Shobukhova was later banned for doping and, it has now emerged, allegedly bribed officials to avoid a ban. And Abeylegesse’s sample from the 2007 World Championships was re-tested in 2015 and found to contain a banned substance.
When I ran a 3,000m a week or so later at a Norwich Union International in Birmingham, Shobukhova was there again. I was representing my country and there was an enthusiastic home crowd to please, but my instinct told me something was up. The Russians were being viewed with a lot of suspicion. They were achieving phenomenal times, even with unimpressive running styles. Sometimes they didn’t even look that fit or athletic. I tried to ignore Shobukhova’s presence in my race by running away from her, expecting the inevitable, which happened, and I came second.
No matter what else, though, I still had my silver medal from the Commonwealths. At this point in my career I had a string of top four or five finishes in major championships, with the wonderful exception of silver in Melbourne. I had a Commonwealth fifth, a European fifth, an Olympic fifth, then a European fourth, a Commonwealth silver, a World fourth. It makes me angry, looking back at those results with the knowledge that some of the athletes who consistently pipped me to the podium have since been caught doping. I lined up on every start line expecting someone to ‘come out of the woodwork’. That’s our euphemism for the situation.
