Aim High (3 page)

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 things 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.

‘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.

In this team are people I trust implicitly because I know they not only care about me as an athlete, but they care about me as a person, on and off the track. I don't always do everything they think I should do, but their advice is always valuable. They provide me with a fresh perspective on what I am trying to achieve, and the way that I am trying to achieve it.

The group around me includes my family and friends, coaches, training partners, physiotherapists, masseurs, sports scientists, dieticians and sports psychologists. I joke that I don't yet have a psychiatrist, but I am always open to offers!

My family are, of course, very much a part of this. They have always been there for me, encouraging me to try new things, and be the best that I can be. I don't remember a time when they explicitly said this, but the support was always there. Even now they will give me very honest answers to anything I ask: about the quality of the race I have just done, about my answers in an interview, or on the colour of the suit that I was wearing! That is what families are for – and if your family can't tell you things like that, then who can? I don't always react well to all their advice, but I try to accept it in the spirit it is given. Perhaps we should all spend more time thinking about how we interact with people. It is easy to get annoyed when someone tells you something that you don't want to hear, but in fact how you react is important to your development. I think that we are conditioned not to like people who don't agree with the things that we believe in, or have an opposing view. I know that in the past this has been true of me. However, I know that my family, and the people around me that I trust, give criticism with the best of intentions.

Planning is essential to make things happen. It isn't enough simply to know what you want to do. I learnt from my father than unless you understand your sport, and plan for it, you are just wandering around in the dark. I learnt to talk to other athletes about how the structure of the sport worked. I spoke to local and national coaches to understand the system. I sometimes talk about athletics being a ‘game', but that is to put down the sport I love. It is vital that all athletes properly understand their sports. It is not enough simply to train in a vacuum, even if you are training to your maximum capability. To have any chance of fulfilling your ultimate wish – being selected for the team – to happen, you have to know the qualifying dates for selection, the method of selection, even who is going to be on the panel and how they want the information they require to be presented to them.

It comes back to that crucial rule: you have to be on the start line as an absolute minimum if you want a chance of winning a race. You can be the fastest person in the world, but unless you fulfil the selection criteria, you won't be there. And winning a string of races won't matter, unless you win the major championships. As I was told many years ago by a coach, no one remembers who comes second, and it doesn't matter what you win before or after, it is the big events that count.

Finding out how it all worked made me realise that most of my success would be down to me. What I did every single day in training would impact on what I could achieve. Unless I trained hard, unless I tried to live as an athlete, I wouldn't get into a position to be selected.

But, of course, you need to know what to train at. And the hard part of planning is learning what is best to do, and acting on it, so you can make your dream happen.

Sometimes, if an athlete has a poor race, it is possible to blame other people. You say ‘she blocked me in', ‘she pushed me out', ‘those two girls worked together against me'. Or ‘my chair wasn't set up right' or ‘my gloves didn't work'. Sometimes, indeed, these things happen. I was at a race last summer when the glove of one of the athletes fell apart. He stopped, grabbed another athlete who had finished racing, and took one of his. An athlete I coach, Brian Alldis, while in a short sprint, lost his glove about 40 metres from the line. It flew off in an arc, nearly hitting several other athletes. I know plenty of competitors who would have just coasted the last 40 metres to the finish line. It was only one race – what would it matter in the scheme of things? But of course it could matter. What if that race had been the last opportunity for the athlete to qualify for the Paralympics? What if it had been the qualifying round for the Paralympic final, and the athlete was in the position to make it through?

The athlete must react instantly. There is no time to think about what to do. This athlete knew he had to get to the finish line. He carried on pushing, probably adding minor scratches to his hands. If he hadn't carried on he might not have made the start line in future competitions. In fact the race was a high level international, and if he hadn't finished it wouldn't have counted against him. The event wasn't his strongest distance, he had already qualified for the World Championships, and he had other events that week where he could prove his fitness.

But for me it was important that he carried on and finished. Afterwards he went and retrieved his glove, and made sure it was OK. And, crucially, he learnt a lesson. He learnt that if the same was ever to happen in a bigger race – his Paralympic final, say – it wouldn't be the end of the world. He could carry on and he could finish. And that is what being an athlete is all about.

Equipment can fail, of course, but when you are planning and training you work to minimise the risks. We don't often travel with a mechanic in tow and over the years I have learned to fix things myself. I always check my equipment is all there, and working correctly, and try to cover all the bases.

Worrying is sometimes seen as a negative emotion, but it does help you prepare for things that might happen. Worrying is what pushes you to anticipate what might go wrong, and plan accordingly.

It is important to train as hard as you are going to race. You cannot train at one level and then expect to step up to a higher level in a competition. Any athlete can have a blast of a day and perform way above the level that they are expected to, but this doesn't guarantee long term success.

Consistency in training and racing is also very important, but there is a difference between having a sensible routine and using irrational routine as a crutch to lean on. I knew an athlete who, before a race, always
had
to eat a certain sort of food. I knew another who was convinced that he couldn't perform unless he listened to a certain piece of music before he went on to the track. The day that he got to the track and the batteries died in his CD player was a disaster. He had nobody to run around and find batteries for him and he was too stressed-out to do it himself. He didn't get to hear his music and he fell apart.

I have never believed in using such routines, because I know how bad I am at temporarily losing things! I do have a routine that I use for warming up, but it's adaptable. Sometimes we don't have a track to warm up on which is separate from the competing track, so you have to be flexible.

On the other hand, I do mind who I share rooms with when I travel, and I have never felt guilty about this. When you have spent perhaps two years training specifically for an event, the choice of person who is with you for the final moments is important. At something like a Paralympic Games, you are away from all the normal things in your life. Family have limited access, you may be sharing an apartment with seven other people, some of whom you don't know very well, and the food may be exotic or just bad and not what you are used to. The last thing you want is to have to spend lots of time in a room with a person you don't get on with. Having said that, sometimes you do have to share with a person you don't know very well, and then you just have to make the best of it, and not let little things upset you.

Since I started competing I have kept a training diary. When times are tough it is useful to be able to look back and see what I have done. To the younger athletes that I coach, I also suggest that they shouldn't only keep a training diary, but also a diary of the people that they race against. I ask them to keep notes (however short) on the way that they perform. It is amazing how many athletes will race the same way, and it helps to learn their patterns for when they meet up competitively again.