Of course, to many of the general public I hadn’t failed at all in Atlanta. My profile was high. I appeared on Question of Sport, and also This is Your Life. It was a strange experience, having my life run through in twenty-nine minutes, and it brought together a lot of my friends.
I must say I enjoy the way my sporting achievements have brought me into the public eye. Other highlights have been having my wedding featured in Hello! magazine and having the opportunity to appear on The Weakest Link and Mastermind.
It’s partly, I suppose, because I enjoy the attention, but also it all helps to get across the message that I am keen to promote: that I want all young people to have the chance to participate in sport.
Over the years I have, of course, made some incorrect, or even bad, decisions. Probably more than I realise. But I also know that because the decisions I have taken have felt right at the time, I have rarely had regrets. There are some things I would do differently now, but I know you cannot go back. You have to learn from every decision, even if it is hard to admit your own failings, and keep moving forward.
Athens was a particularly difficult Games for me. I went into it as one of the most successful Paralympians of all time. I went in as British, European, World and Paralympic champion and record holder in a number of events. I qualified for the Olympic demonstration race in the 800 metres, but didn’t compete well.
Going into the Paralympics, I did lots of media interviews where journalists asked me what I thought I could achieve. I believed I could win two golds, a silver and a bronze. This was based on what I had done in the past year, and the current form as I saw it of the athletes who were likely to be there.
I performed well in the semi-final. I did a decent time, and then got a good lane draw for the final. On the warm-up track I felt OK, and seemed to be preparing well, but then something happened. Going in to the final waiting area on the track, I just knew that I wasn’t going to perform well that day. I had had these feelings before, though the other way around. A couple of times in my career I have suddenly known, just before the race, that without a shadow of a doubt I was going to go out there and break a world record, or win the race.
This was the first time that I sensed I could fail. And, of course, negative feelings do affect your destiny.
I started well, but was indecisive about what I was going to do – this was about 100 metres into the race. I didn’t know whether to go to the front, or to try to sit in the pack and wait for a sprint finish. This indecisiveness not only cost me a medal (my prediction had been that I could win a silver), it cost me the chance of getting placed anywhere. I knew from 400 metres from the finish that I was going to come nowhere.
I had come to the Games a champion, and this was my worst position in a Paralympics race, probably my worst 800 metres ever, and the event was shown live on national TV. I felt that I had let a large number of people down – the people who had come to watch me race, my family, my team, and also myself.
I remember going to the side of the track, and I just started crying. By the time I got to where Ian was standing I could see he was visibly upset too – most unusual for him. I looked across to where the BBC camera crew was sitting, waiting for me to give an interview, and you could tell that they didn’t really know what to do.
They gave me the option to do the interview later, but I believe in confronting demons. If I win I am more than happy to head over to the BBC and talk to them. They did an interview that asked some tough questions. Paul Dickenson said that perhaps it had been a Paralympics too far for me. I could deal with that because they were just doing their job. They weren’t being malicious or unkind. Afterwards the interviewer gave me a hug and told me to take care of myself.
I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was trying to make my way to where my friends were sitting, and on the way several members of the public came up and gave me a hug and told me not to worry. One guy stopped me. He had obviously never competed in an 800 metres in his life. He was overweight, and I remember him telling me that I had chosen the wrong tactics! He was right, but I didn’t need to be told that. It was hard not to be rude. I just wanted to get to my friends and my daughter and be with them.
I finally got to the stands. My close friend Maureen and her husband Ray and their daughter Sarah (they were looking after my daughter Carys while I was at the Games), were obviously upset. Two of my oldest friends were are also there, Ric and his wife Julie, and their three daughters, who are my god-daughters. They didn’t seem to know what to say.
The only person who wasn’t upset was Carys. She was walking around, seemingly oblivious to everything, and I turned to her and said, ‘Did you see Mummy’s race?’ She looked me straight back in the eye, and replied, ‘No, I was eating a hot dog.’
This immediately broke the tension. I remember my friends joining in the laughter. It made me realize that, while athletics was incredibly important to me and my family, and the people who care about me or the sport, at the end of the day, it was just one race. It was a big race to lose, but just one race in my career.
Later that night, with Jenni, team coach Jason and Ian, we tried to figure out what had gone wrong. The fact was that it could have been anything. It could have been my attitude going into the race, and me thinking that I couldn’t win. It could have been my indecision, or it could just have been that there were six better people than me in the race. You can analyse things too much, and sometimes there is no answer.
But training during the next two days was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I needed to get some confidence back, and I needed to do everything I could to go out and win, to prove to myself that it wasn’t a Paralympics too far, and that I wasn’t past my best. I had had a good season. I had won a lot of races, and I knew that my form couldn’t possibly have completely deserted me overnight.
I had the option of going home. I had been told that I didn’t need to compete. But I knew that I wanted to stay and see what happened. Part of this desire was to confront my worse fear (losing) and just be there.
Jenni came out and trained with me. She was going through a really tough time at the Games. Things had not worked out for her, but still she came to the track to help me.
Leaving the track and going back to the village was always a bit scary because there were guard dogs on duty – and that night we were chased. I remember laughing, almost hysterically, that my Paralympic career could be ended, not by my being rubbish, but by two really ugly dogs.
On the day of my 100 metres final, I was perhaps the most nervous I had ever been in my life. Normally it is quite usual for me to be sick during the warm-up. Nerves affect everyone in different ways. Before this particular race I was sick twelve times. Jason was allocated as coach to look after me and he stayed by my side, getting me drinks and ice, and just talking to me. Ian was there, working with a number of other athletes. I didn’t want to disappoint him any more than I felt I had already done.
As I was leaving the warm-up track, Ian came over to me and smiled, and said good luck. Jason looked at me and told me I was the best in the world, and that I could win. Those two small things were amazingly comforting to me.
But, even more touching, one of my main competitors – Francesca Porcellato from Italy – came up and asked me if I was OK. We have known each other a long time, and have competed against each other since 1990. I looked at her and told her that after the 800 metres I was feeling pretty bad. Francesca had won a medal in the race.
She looked at me and smiled. She told me that I was the best in the world, and that over the 100 metres that season no one had come near me, and that it was my race to win. What was amazing was that in every 100 metres race we had competed in that year, she had come second. She had the most to win, if I lost. It would be her chance to win gold. She could have said something that would have messed up my head, and made me lose concentration before the race. But she didn’t.
Francesca’s actions and words were one of the kindest th
ings that anyone has ever done for me in sport.
Going out on to the track for the final, I was sick one more time as we waited. The wait seemed to go on forever. As we lined up on the start line, I remember my hands shaking and I could barely keep them still as the starter called us to the line. I just thought about what Francesca had said.
I had drawn a middle lane, with Francesca on my left, and an American on my right. The US girl had a good start, but Francesca had a blinder. However, although she got out of the blocks so incredibly quickly, for once I didn’t panic. I knew that if I could get past her I would be OK.
By 60 metres I was alongside her.
Then I relaxed, and I won the race.
I was the happiest I had ever been after a race. Leaving the track this time I felt great. The BBC did a more positive interview this time, and Ian looked relieved. I joined my friends on the stands, and they were so pleased it was a delight to be with them.
Only Carys was looking a little grumpy. When, once again, I asked if she had seen my race, she glowered at me. She told me that she had been told by Maureen that she wasn’t allowed to have an ice-cream unless she watched me race. And she told me that she had. Once again, her attitude lightened the situation.
The next race, the 400 metres, was my only event that wasn’t held in the evening. I had qualifying rounds for the 200 metres the evening before and knew that I wasn’t going to get much sleep. I pushed well in the 200 metres rounds, and got through to the final, but had to rush back to the village to eat, and rest.
To race at nine o’clock in the morning meant that I had to be up at around four thirty. Ian was less than happy to be up at that time, but he got up to be with me for the race.
Going on to the track I looked across to the finish line and saw the BBC presenters Clare Balding and Colin Jackson. Both just looked at me and nodded.
The semi-final had been close. I had drawn a good semi and had won. The second semi, which I managed to watch track-side, had been won by Madeline Nordlund from Sweden in a new Paralympic record. Francesca Porcellato had been second.
For the final I had the best chance that I could have. Madeline was not a quick starter, but a fast finisher. Francesca was on my outside and was a quick starter and – once she hit her top speed – was very consistent, but she didn’t really have a big kick. I knew that I had to start fast, to try to make Madeline panic, and then not give her enough room to pull me in.
Francesca went off very quickly, and my plan was to work on the first 200 metres, to be past her by the half way point, and then just bury myself until the finish line.
I only remember the first 50 metres. I got on to Francesca’s shoulder at the 50 metres mark and by the 100 metres mark I knew that I was past her. I don’t remember much else about the race. With 20 metres to go I could feel Madeline coming up behind me, and my only thoughts were about keeping my technique right, and finishing.
I didn’t have the energy to do a lap of honour, and in any case the crowds were quiet, because it was early on a Sunday morning. Going over to be interviewed, I was asked by Clare how it felt to be Britain’s most successful Paralympian. For once, I couldn’t think of too much to say. I muttered something about it being great, and then I probably gave the cheesiest answer that I have ever given. I said that I was glad that I hadn’t got the film crew out of bed so early for nothing…
But winning that medal meant a lot to me because, as Clare said, I was now Britain’s most successful Paralympian. It’s a strange title to have, and it’s a title I will probably only hold for one four-year cycle, as there are a couple of swimmers who are on high medal targets and have a couple more Games in them.
But it is something very nice to hold on to for a while. There is a difference between a gold medal and a record, whether British or world. No one can ever take my medal away from me. It doesn’t matter whether it was a good or bad race. World records are wonderful to hold, but they are transitory. At some point, sooner or later, someone will take them away. So you just enjoy them for a while.
Leaving Athens was an emotional experience. I had been through so much in two short weeks, and so had my family. I longed to be back in my own house, back training, and back to normality.
The most important lesson I learnt from this experience was who my true friends in sport were. They were the people who didn’t tell me what to do, but questioned some of the decisions I was taking. They asked me to think about whether I now wanted to retire, and were honest about what they thought I could still achieve in sport. Some thought I should stop, others that I should carry on, but the real friends let me make the decision for myself.
Those friends have stayed with me throughout the rest of my career. And I have made new ones along the way who offer me the same sensitive advice and support. These are the people whom I trust with the rest of my career.
CHAPTER FIVE
Making It Happen!
People are always interested in the details of my life and how I train. Like all athletes I have to look after myself and eat sensibly. On a typical day I’ll have toast or porridge for breakfast, with coffee; a sandwich and fruit for lunch, and pasta or rice in the evening. I’m not the best cook in the world!
My weakness is probably drinking too much coffee – my favourite is single shot grande caramel latte, from Starbucks. Ian laughs at me a lot because this is one thing that I am really fussy about.
I train six days a week so I need plenty of sleep and try to get to bed reasonably early.
People prepare and train in different ways but there are a few fixed realities in sport, which are the same for everyone.
First, you have a very limited time in which to achieve. You have to be gaining qualifying marks in your late teens or early twenties to be able to qualify for the national teams and then make it to major Games. You cannot go back. In many professions you can take a career break, or go back and re-sit exams, but you can’t go back to a Paralympics.
It is often said that one of the most important things an athlete can have is parents who can pass the right genes on to you. What is certainly true is that the time of year you are born can make a difference. At seventeen, for some sports, you can fail to make it to major Games, simply because you haven’t matured enough physically, mentally or emotionally. Six months either side can make a huge difference. The dates of the Olympics and Paralympics are set in stone. The same is true for World Championships, Commonwealth Games, and national and regional championships. They all play their part in the developmental ladder that athletes have to work through in order to compete at the ‘big’ ones. Some athletes jump a couple of steps, but most work from the bottom up, and the timing of those, in relation to an athlete’s age, can be crucial.
Athletes don’t have the power to change any of this, nor the date or timing of their events during the Games. You just have to fit in with what is there.
If you are aiming to win a gold medal at a major Games event (which is what team mates and sponsors want from you) then that is when you have to deliver. Not a week before or a week after. You can win every event in a championship season but the general public, sports administrators and the media will only remember who won the big one.
Second, no athlete has a right to win a medal. Athletes can go into major Games as favourite or underdog. But apart from the psychological benefits or disadvantages this might bring, on the day it is a split second of time that will decide who wins and who doesn’t. In Britain we love the underdog, the people who come from behind, or who deal well with adversity. That is what made Eddie the Eagle so popular. But for those who want – and need – to win, there is only one way to increase your chances of doing so, and that is to train.
There are many things that I have learnt through competing in sport – and you have to keep learning if you want to be the best. Sport is about much more than physical training. I have learnt how to manage my time, plan my life, and also find out some of the ways that I can, and can’t, achieve.
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br /> ‘Individual’ sports are not necessarily about individuals. For some reason that I have never quite understood, people often want to split sport into two categories: ‘individual’ and ‘team’ sports. Competitors are seen as belonging to either one or the other. People talk about the differences in personality or character that are required for each.
I have been asked numerous times throughout my career whether I am a ‘team player’, the assumption being that because I compete as an individual, I can’t be. But in truth there is very little that I do on my own. The only time that I am ever truly alone is when I am on the track competing.
Wheelchair racing is seen an individual sport as opposed to a team sport. But in both kinds of sports you need a strong character and personality, and the ability to deal with adversity and success.
Whichever path a competitor chooses to follow, you need similar qualities, and, if you don’t already have them, you need to develop them. Personally, I find that having good relationships with the people I work with is crucial. Very few of us can get through life entirely on our own. You may not choose to be friends with the people that you work with, and you may not hang out together after work, but you need to know their strengths and weaknesses, and respect both, and be able to work with them.
For most of my time in sport, I have had a (varying) group of people around me to help me achieve my goals. Though most of my training sessions are spent on my own, these people advise me, and help me work on my training plans and fitness so that I am the best that I can be.
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