Blade Runner (11 page)

My lawyers share my point of view. In fact they initially
contacted me and offered their services to me free of charge
after being struck by the inherent contradiction in the IAAF's
position on my case. The IAAF has an ethical code of
conduct, which it adopted along with an international code
of conduct concerning disabled people, and which enshrines
and protects an established 'right to normalcy' for all. My
lawyers (based between the USA, Switzerland, Italy and
South Africa) had been following my case and immediately
saw an opportunity to explore this problem and hopefully
make a contribution that would be important in the development
of civil rights more widely.

I was in Italy when the Court for Arbitration in Sport
finally passed judgement. I think I have a special relationship
and love for Italy because I have enjoyed two of my sweetest
victories while there. The Golden Gala was a unique moment
that marked my life, and then, of course, there was the day
that I learnt the conclusion of the CAS. The fact that my
Uncle Leo has shown that our family originates from Pistoia
simply makes the attachment stronger for me.

I was in Milan on 16 May 2008, waiting in the offices of
my legal firm. We had been informed that the court was
expected to make a pronouncement that morning, so we
gathered to share the tension and give one another some
moral support. I was unspeakably anxious, feeling nauseous
from the nerves, dejected and exhausted. To kill time I
decided to go shopping, but I was unable to concentrate and
undecided about everything so we headed back to the hotel.
We were standing in the hotel lobby chatting when I noticed
Marco, one of the Italian lawyers, moving away from the
group. I thought little of it at first but then I noticed him
coming towards me attentively reading the page that he was
carrying in his hand. As he came closer to me he seemed to
be consumed by emotion but I was still not sure whether this
was elation because the decision had found in our favour or
dejection because he was going to have to explain to me that
the decision had gone against me. Under normal circumstances
Marco is a phlegmatic chap, and the care he was
taking to read slowly was apparent to all.

Eventually Marco turned to me and explained that the
court had ruled that on the basis of the data collected it was
not possible to conclude that my prosthetic limbs (and the
judgement refers to my actual prosthetic limbs as opposed to
prostheses in general) gave me a technical advantage over the
other athletes, because at no time was it conclusively proven
that the advantages of competing with prosthetic limbs
outweighed the immense disadvantages of competing with
those same prosthetic limbs. The court ruled that the ban
against me was null and void and I was free to compete
again. It was a surreal moment for me and it took a while
for the significance of the decision to sink in. It was
everything that I had hoped for and yet the reality of it still
swept me away. We were all jumping up and down, shouting
in delight and hugging one another.

The press conference had been scheduled for three o'clock
that afternoon, and as the CAS had been firm in requesting
a press embargo until that time we had to be very careful to
keep the news private. This was not as easy as it may seem:
we arrived at the press conference half an hour early and it
took all my self-control not to break into a broad smile and
crack jokes with the full house of journalists. At three o'clock
on the dot, Peet rose to his feet and said: 'The Court of
Arbitration in Sport has decided as follows . . .' Then he
broke into a wide smile. The applause was fantastic as the
room exploded in cheers and the noise of cameras clicking
and flashes snapping. It was a unique moment, overwhelming
and unforgettable. I was ecstatic and very proud. Amazingly,
by the time I turned on my cell phone after the conference I
had 160 congratulatory messages and numerous missed calls.

Finally the controversy and the insidious gossip were laid
to rest. The IAAF released a statement to the press in which
Lamine Dick expressed his delight at the outcome of the
appeal process. This was all immensely gratifying for me; as
I had said in my statement before the CAS, my life has not
always been easy but I have had the good fortune to have
enjoyed a normal and healthy relationship with able-bodied
people, both in the sporting world and elsewhere, and at no
time have I felt 'disabled' or different in the way I had been
made to feel when I had been banned from participating in
competitions.

Now I was free to think about my future. It was time to
get back to what is most important for me: running. My
dream is to be the fastest man in South Africa and, with time
and a lot of hard work, perhaps even the fastest man in the
world, with or without legs.

In my opinion, one of the most important legacies of the
CAS decision is to state clearly that the excellent qualifying
times and the many achievements of athletes like myself,
amputees who run with prostheses, are entirely their own
achievements based on merit and talent and not, as had been
implied, due to the quality of the prostheses. And furthermore,
these athletes display not just incredible talent but also
immense tenacity as they have each overcome the disadvantage
of having to run with prostheses in the first place. The
judgement was pronounced by the most authoritative body
regulating the sporting world: there is no other body to
appeal to, and this fact, along with the content of the
decision, will set a precedent for any future cases. I hope that
it will serve to inspire people – sportsmen and -women,
disabled and abled – to commit themselves and work hard in
the confidence that they can achieve the highest rewards and
believe in the power of sport.

I always like to quote Pietro Mannea's words: 'Sport is like
an elevator, everybody should be allowed to ride in it.' I feel
strongly that sport must be a unifying force in society,
bringing all elements, colours, religions and sexes together,
and that this can only be meaningful if it extends to uniting
able-bodied and disabled people. Having grown up in South
Africa with its recent past of racial discrimination and
violence I can't emphasise enough how important this is to
me. To know that my struggle may just help other people
today or in the years to come makes a big difference to me.

N
O SOONER HAD THE DRAMA
of the CAS drawn to its
happy conclusion than the Beijing Paralympics
beckoned.

In truth, the work for Beijing had started several months
earlier because of the extra training I had put in to try to
qualify for the Olympic Games. What this meant was that I
was more than equipped for the 400 metres, but the 100
metres and 200 metres were a completely different story.
Therefore, as soon as I returned after my qualification
attempts for the Olympics, the 100 metres became my sole
focus for the next two months.

The 100 metres is by far the most demanding event for me
at the Paralympics. There are some really strong contenders,
and I knew that if my start wasn't up to scratch my goal of
three gold medals would wither away. Ampie, my coach,
along with Sebastian and Vincent, my body conditioners and
gym trainers, needed to make me powerful and lean. Giving
them the task of achieving that within a two-month period
was some demand. But I was lucky, as everyone around me
understood the time and sacrifices I needed to make in order
to be ready for the world stage.

The day had come for me to pack for the Games and
already there was a huge expectation that I would deliver.
The team met up at the airport in Johannesburg and for the
first time in months I was back in uniform. After twenty-seven
hours of flights and transfers we arrived at the
Paralympic Village. It was eleven o'clock at night yet it was
humid, verging on uncomfortable. I remember everyone
including myself being frustrated and tired. We were ready
for bed more than anything, but as my head hit the pillow
my mind wandered off to the challenges ahead. The next
morning I woke up in my little white room and looked out
of the window for a view of the village. My roommate, Arnu
Fourie, an amputee sprinter, a great friend and one of the
greatest examples of a gentleman I know, was also staring
out at our new temporary home; neither of us could
remember much about the village from the night before. It
wasn't long before we were dressed and showered and ready
to indulge our inquisitive minds, so off we embarked on an
exploration of the village.

It was extraordinary! The dinning room was about 200
metres by 100 metres and the gardens were amazing. There
was also a huge selection of arcade games and internet points
located around the village to keep the athletes' nerves from
eating away at their confidence.

The one thing that I particularly enjoyed was that every
night at eight o'clock they had a cultural show in a small
amphitheatre that offered a particularly agreeable way to
unwind and reflect upon the next couple of weeks' targets.
The smallest details were taken into account at the venues,
including a religious centre in the village where, I must
confess, I found it hard to contain my laughter while listening
to the Chinese priest trying to deliver the service in English
on Sundays.

The day before the opening ceremony Ossur – the leading
company in sports prosthetics – decided to host a press
conference for its athletes. This included some of the top
Paralympic sprinters of all time. I caught a cab and arrived
at the venue in downtown Beijing a little late. I guess I wasn't
ready for what was to happen next, but it certainly gave me
an intense surge of adrenalin. I walked straight into a waiting
room, which was about 5 metres by 5 metres, full of all my
strongest competitors, one of whom was Marlon Shirley. I
hadn't seen him for four years as he had pulled out of every
competition as soon as I entered. He had beaten me in
Athens in the only 100-metre sprint we have ever run against
each other, but since then I had broken his world record
every year.

Awkward doesn't even come close to describing how it
felt. Sprinting probably involves more elaborate mind games
than any other sport. Of course, everybody acted as if they
were completely relaxed, but as soon as the programme
coordinator came to call us you could feel the tension as
everyone made for the door. We took our places at the front
of a room jam-packed with international sports journalists
and media companies. Needless to say it didn't take long
before each athlete was playing their game and forecasting
the race. When it came to Marlon he stupidly claimed that
the 100 metres would be his as he hadn't lost a race in eight
years. I managed to suppress a grin. I knew that Marlon had
just given me the fuel to show him that the track belonged to
me.

Athletics is brutal. I went last and the press asked me what
I thought, to which I answered: 'The 100 metres is going to
be one of the greatest races of the Games, be sure not to miss
it!' I decided to keep my ammunition for the track; I knew
that there I would get my point across more than clearly.

The 100 metres is the most nerve-racking of all three races.
I only run a handful of them every year, and tend to focus
on the 400 metres. What this meant was that if I managed to
win the 100 metres, I would feel far more confident in the
200 metres and 400 metres. My start and first thirty metres
are not as good as those of the single amputees, and therefore
I knew that I would have to perform at my peak to take the
100 metres.

The semi-final went well. I ran an 11.16-second race, and
this placed me first, which was about right as athletes usually
run 0.3–0.4 seconds slower than in the final. I was really
looking forward to the final, but there was to be a greater
plan for the race. I woke up on the morning of the big race
and looked outside; it was overcast and windy. The weather
report confirmed my fears of afternoon rain. My race was at
4 p.m. and when I got to the track it was pouring. My spirit
was unsettled but Ampie talked me back into the right
mindset. Seeing Marlon and Brian Frasure out on the
warm-up track made me want to run like I had never run
before.

An hour before the race we gathered in the final calling
room where all the athletes have to meet about forty-five
minutes before a race. Once again, the tension was high –
uncomfortably high. At this point you wouldn't want to be
anywhere else, but at the same moment you wish you were
holed up in a log cabin listening to classical music in front of
a roaring fire – and yet everyone looks supremely relaxed. I
reckon any sprinter could win an Oscar for their acting skills
in that waiting room.

As we walked out onto the track this feeling merely
intensified, but by now I actually did see red and wanted to
rip the track up. Marlon and Brian weren't my only worries,
however. Just as I had come from nowhere in 2004, this time
there was another athlete to watch out for: Jerome Singleton,
a talented sprinter and one of the most humble yet deserving
athletes I have ever run against. Jerome had amazed everyone
in the semi-final, in which he finished second behind me, with
a really quick time. In all honesty he had no need of mind
games and attitude: he was more intimidating than any other
athlete as he had proved himself where it mattered, on the
track the day before.

We lined up, Marlon on my left and Jerome on my right.
I knew that they would both fly out of the blocks, and that
I had to stay with them and not let them pull more than 2
metres ahead of me. The time had come, and down we
settled in the blocks as the rain dripped from my brow and
trickled into my mouth as my breathing intensified. I placed
my fingers firmly on the wet Mondo track just behind the
white line as the crowd of eighty thousand plus people
hushed. At this moment I knew that I would have to cut my
driving phase (the first 30 metres) shorter as the track was
wet and I was worried about slipping to around the 20-metre
mark – in effect coming upright more quickly and pulling the
ground beneath me instead of pushing it. I prayed to God for
the power and glory to be His and closed my eyes and
waited.

At this point the 100 metres becomes the most surreal of
experiences. Everything seems to slow down until you can
feel your heart beat, yet the rate at which you can process
thoughts is phenomenal. Once you cross the finish line your
recollection of what has happened in the previous ten to
eleven seconds is close to minimal. As we went on the set
position I inhaled and waited . . . waited . . . wai . . .

BANG

First thought, movement of alternate arm and leg, second
thought, stride placement for first complete stride. The next
couple of thoughts were either misaligned or I simply wasn't
thinking at all. By the time I got to the 10-metre mark I was
nearly upright, and as I watched the field run away from me
I had to make a serious analysis of my current position and
motion. By the 30-metre mark I was about 5 metres behind
Jerome, who had an overall lead of about 2 metres. He had
made one of the most phenomenally quick starts I've seen in
a long time. I had some serious work to do, and I can't tell
you how the next 40 metres unfolded, but as I saw later in
video replays, I reached the fastest speed I have ever managed
in my life.

There was one particular stride around the 90-metre mark
that gave me the couple of extra centimetres I needed at the
end. I dipped Jerome on the line and wasn't sure who had
won. Jerome ran up behind me as we looked up at the time
board and as my name came up first he exclaimed, 'Where
did he come from?' He had run an amazing race and as I
turned around to congratulate my competitors I saw Marlon
lying on the line. He looked as if he was in pain and I later
heard he had twisted his ankle.

I went up to him and extended a hand to help him up;
either his pain or his ego got the better of him as he refused
it. This, however, was my moment, and I believe the top
three fully deserved the result. I was ecstatic. I ran up to
Ampie who was shaking his sixty-year-old bones like a
teenager. I had missed the gold in the 100 metres in Athens
but I had made sure that this one was mine. In the
commentary of the race the shouting as I crossed the line
was, 'You wouldn't have bet a dollar on him at the 50-metre
mark but you would've made a million at the end!' That was
good enough for me . . .

Going into the 200 metres and 400 metres was a lot easier.
My confidence went up and I was beginning to acclimatise.
The 200 metres is my favourite event as speed is still crucial,
but the start has less influence on the race as a whole. The
day of the 200-metre final came and I wasn't feeling great.
My chest was tight and my head was thumping lightly.
Nevertheless, I was really excited to be running the race. My
goal for the Games was three gold medals and at least one
world record. I had missed the world record in the 100
metres but I realised I had been lucky just to win the race;
but the 200 metres, my next race, was up for grabs. The
stadium was near its capacity of ninety thousand people. The
cheers were awesome. As I walked onto the track I was
shaking my head. Arnu looked at me and said, 'I know, isn't
it just amazing?' The aura, the emotion, the sheer excitement
was going to make this race a big one.

I ran the race with all I had, getting off to a far better start
than in the 100 metres, and at last I was running on a dry
track in the Bird's Nest. This track was FAST – a relatively
hard surface, with the Mondo laid in such a way that its
elasticity was enhanced, making for exceptionally quick
times.

The 200 metres wasn't going to give me the time I needed
for a world record, yet I was happy with the race. Standing
on the podium and listening to the South African national
anthem for the second time allowed me a moment of
reflection on the year. It was a bittersweet reflection, but for
the year to be ending on such a high note was more than I
could have expected.

By the time the 400 metres came I had picked up a nasty
chest infection and found myself tired and frustrated. I had
started to compete on the second day of the Games, and
now, nearly two weeks later, I was ready to bring the whole
experience to a grand conclusion. Staying focused for that
long really deserves a medal in itself!

I woke that morning to find that it was raining again. As
I went down to breakfast Ampie handed me a paper which
informed me that my race had been moved to the last athletic
event of the Games. The closing event at the Bird's Nest: the
final moment of truth. My physical state remained poor for
the rest of the day and by the time I left for the track I was
in a terrible mood. I arrived at the warm-up track in the
drizzle and sat under the grandstands watching for about an
hour, every now and then glimpsing an athlete as visibility
was now down to about 30 metres. I thought about the
Games, the job at hand, my tired muscles, but most of all I
thought about my goal for the Games: three gold medals, one
world record. The 400 metres was my strongest race. Could
I do it? I didn't have an option: as long as I was capable, I
would do it. I didn't want to look back one day and regret
not using my talent to the full.

I walked out onto that track, in the rain. I did my thing. I
ran a hard race but more than anything I ran a clever race.
As I crossed the line I felt like death but looked up at the
board. There next to my name were the two letters I longed
for: WR.

For a brief moment I was in a state of pure ecstasy; I was
at peace with my performance. During my third time on the
podium I felt very alone. The podium was huge, and I
realised I had not achieved all this on my own. My coach,
trainer, body conditioner, physio, chiropractor, dietician,
doctor, manager, family and friends deserved to be up there
with me. They too had dedicated time and effort, made
sacrifices and commitments in order to put me centre stage.
I wished they could have been alongside me in that moment
of glory.

They are always in my thoughts, and I will never forget
their role in helping me to achieve my highest goals. In my
life I have always tried to make the best of a situation, look
for the positive and go forward with a smile. I feel that it was
my destiny to be born as I am, and that my experiences and
my life story as a double amputee have made me who I am
today. But this journey has not been undertaken alone.