Blade Runner (6 page)

S
O THERE I WAS
, back in Gerry Versveld's office. We had
never lost touch, but it had been a while since we had
last seen one another, and he knew nothing of my sporting
successes. When I told him that I had hurt myself playing
rugby he was astounded and burst out laughing. My morale
was low, and I could not see what there was to smile about.

Gerry was able to heal me without the need for any
surgical intervention, and he further reassured me that if I
followed instructions and respected my rehabilitation process
of low-intensity gym workouts and aerobic training in water,
I would soon be able to return to sport. After three long
months of enforced inaction and rest, I began my physiotherapy
at the Sports Science Institute, which is part of the
University of Pretoria. I was placed in the care of Heinrich
Nolte, who advised me to concentrate on sprinting, which is
apparently the best way to regain functionality in the knee
joint. He put me in touch with Ampie Louw, who was
coaching athletics at university level. I was sceptical about
the arrangement as I had never had an affinity for athletics,
and I even tried to pull out, but was duly informed by Nolte
(whose opinion was supported by all my sporting heroes)
that if I wanted to be ready and perform in the next rugby
season (which was due to begin the following April), I needed
to do as instructed and start sprint training. I acquiesced, and
my training with Ampie began on 1 January 2004.

At the start of that year I was still using the handcrafted
prostheses made by our family friend Chris Hatting. They
were less expensive than the mass-produced equivalents but
they were brittle and temperamental, breaking very easily.
Living in South Africa meant we had very limited access to
the more technologically advanced prostheses designed for
sportspeople, but one advantage was that I was the equivalent
of a guinea pig for Chris, and he designed my prosthetics
with my specific needs in mind. His talent was such that in
2003 he was headhunted by an American firm and went to
live and work in America. In June 2004 he invited me to fly
to the USA and trial their new brand of prostheses, known
as Cheetahs. Cheetahs, first produced in the late 1990s, are
probably the most popular prosthetic limb on the market.
Constructed from carbon fibre, they give their users unprecedented
freedom because of their particular combination of
durability and lightness. Ever since that first trial Cheetahs
have been my running legs.

When I began training with Ampie my sole objective was
to qualify for my rugby team, but gradually I found myself
developing a taste for athletics. I realised that the main
reason I had hated it as a young child was because of my
heavy prostheses – they weighed more than 3 kilos each –
which made running incredibly difficult. The weight of the
prostheses helped me develop muscle tone but made me
cumbersome, whereas with the Cheetahs, which were about
half the weight, athletics suddenly became fun and I began to
think I might be able to achieve something.

Three weeks into my training programme, on 28 January,
I took part in my first 100-metre race. My favourite teacher,
Mrs Miller, had decided to register me for the race. Mrs
Miller was one of my greatest fans, a charming and rather
eccentric woman who, particularly after my mother's passing,
took a great interest in my life. She even took it upon
herself to counsel me about my romantic interests. At one of
our school dances, after a row with my then girlfriend, I
retreated to a corner alone. She noticed my maudlin behaviour
and came to reassure me that all would right itself. She
even topped it off by hugging me in front of everyone. My
friends really took me to task about that one.

On this occasion she had taken the initiative of telephoning
the organisers of the race in Bloemfontein to enquire
whether they would allow an athlete running on prostheses
to compete. She had met with a lukewarm reaction, but her
faith in me made her persistent, and eventually she managed
to bring them round. I think they all expected me to come
last, but as it turned out I won the race easily. It was an
incredible experience. All the spectators – people representing
all the different schools – were on their feet shouting my
name and applauding. To add to my delight, I was also part
of the school's relay team. I ran the last leg, and my
performance clinched the trophy for my school.

My father was watching me and was riveted by my
performance. I had not seen him as excited and energised in
a long time. He was jumping up and down, repeating to all
who would listen to him: 'Oscar completed the 100 metres
in 11.72! That's incredible, that's a really good time!'

As soon as we got home he started phoning all his closest
friends to tell them about my achievement. At first I was
touched at his elation and amused by his pride, but once his
friends started calling to congratulate me I told him he had
overstepped the mark. I thought my father was exaggerating.
That evening he, ever the stubborn Pistorius, spent his time
researching on the internet and compiling information about
disabled athletes, comparing my time with that of other
athletes in this category. At the time we knew absolutely
nothing about the Paralympics. He discovered that I would
be classified as a T43, the category which covers bilateral
amputees, and to our collective amazement he read that my
time, 11.72 for 100 metres, was in fact a new world record.
Until then the record had stood at 12.20.

From that moment things started to move very quickly.
Using Chris's prostheses, within the month I had improved
my time from 11.72 to 11.51, breaking my own world record
in the process. Then, following Ampie's encouragement and
advice, I decided to compete in the South African Disabled
Games. It was a first for me. Until then I had had no contact
whatsoever with the world of disabled athletics and the
experience of it made me approach my sporting career from
a completely different perspective. I found it quite an odd
experience: I felt very isolated and detached from the event,
since not only did I know no one but I was still focused on
returning to my career in rugby, and so I made little effort to
participate. I would arrive, warm up, race and immediately
leave. I did not feel that I belonged.

In truth, I had other things on my mind. I had fallen in love
for the first time and my girlfriend, Nandi, was a ball of fire.
I could not keep up with her as she kept changing her mind.
One minute she was interested in me, the next she was less
certain. She was great fun but I needed more consistency and
so decided to break up. Hot on Nandi's heels love struck for
real. It was May 2004 and along with a friend I decided to
organise a big lunch party. Each of us had to invite ten
people whom the other did not know, and he invited a girl
called Vicky. I was smitten at first sight. She was beautiful,
charming and unusual. We immediately hit it off and talked
for hours, and later that evening I met up with her at a
bonfire-night party. We were in love. As it was not long
before our annual school ball I asked her to accompany me
but unfortunately she had already agreed to attend the dance
in the company of a friend of mine. If I had not been so
disappointed it would have been amusing. Raul, the friend in
question, and I had been waxing lyrical to one another about
our new love interests who shared the name Vicky . . . Little
did we know we were talking about the same person. The
evening passed in an embarrassing blur with us staring
doe-eyed at one another, and pretty much as soon as the
midnight bell rang and the ball was over Vicky and I started
going out. We remained together for the next two years.

In the meantime Carl had finished school and went off to
work. It became almost impossible for him to keep up with
my engagements and ferry me back and forth between my
sporting commitments and training sessions, and so I decided
to buy myself a car. I had saved quite a bit of money that I
had earned by participating in a television advertisement, and
in addition I received a monthly bursary from MacSteel, the
company that produced the carbon prostheses I was using at
the time. They considered it a contribution to my sports
training. I started trawling the car dealers but fortunately
about a week into my search a friend of my father's came to
my aid, explaining that he could help me buy a car through
the company that he worked for.

And so it was that in May 2004 I bought my first car. It
was marvellous, a Smart cabriolet in black and silver; I
remember absolutely everything about it, and rather in the
same way that your first love remains special to you, so this
car will always have a place in my heart. I have many
wonderful memories of that car, but the overriding feeling it
gave me – one that remains with me to this day – was the
sense of freedom that came with owning my first car. It was
exactly as I had dreamed, and my ultimate pleasure was to
take it out at night and drive on the freeway with the music
on loud and the wind in my hair.

I was training very hard at this time, and after my
performance at the South African Disabled Games I was
informed that, after only eight months of athletics, I had been
chosen to represent South Africa at the Paralympics in
Athens 2004. I was terrified at the thought of competing
against some of today's sporting legends, like the Americans
Brian Frasure and Marlon Shirley – monolateral amputees
and therefore potentially much more powerful than me.
Athletics was still new to me (I had not yet learnt to use the
starting blocks correctly) and I did not feel ready to compete
on the international stage.

In rugby, when you run your body is in a state of alertness
and you are conditioned to be aware of what is happening
on the entire field. You watch the other players, calibrate the
distances between you and watch carefully for any gaps or
changes in the rhythm of the play. Athletics is the exact
opposite. In athletics you need to be absolutely focused
within yourself: indeed, were it not for the fact you need to
see to keep within your lane it would be better to run with
your eyes shut. Peripheral vision only serves to distract you,
detracting from the energy and focus you need to win.

Rugby is a very physical game: you are in a state of
perpetual tension waiting and watching for your opponents
to move. Your entire body is required as you scrum, tackle,
jump, score and run. In athletics it is vital to relax: I found
this very difficult and had to work at it considerably. While
I was at the Athens Paralympics a journalist asked me why I
was chewing gum. The truth is that it helps me to relax. I
find it loosens my jaw, which is a great help – to run well
you need to loosen your jaw and neck in order to facilitate
movement in the shoulders. My coach is forever reminding
me: Relax, Oscar. Initially relaxation seemed to me to be a
contradiction in terms – how can you relax at the very
moment you are required to run as fast as you possibly can?
But slowly I have come to understand the thought process
behind this.

Posture is also of paramount importance, and I am still
working at perfecting mine. Take Maurice Greene, the great
American sprinter: when he begins a race, he pushes from the
block with his legs spread far apart and then he gradually
narrows the distance between his feet. As he is very fast I
thought I should try to imitate his style, but of course the
way in which you run is determined by your size, weight and
frame. For a shorter athlete, the choppy style adopted by
Maurice Greene is very powerful, but for a taller athlete that
same style will simply cause him to waste energy and lose
speed accordingly. As an athlete you need to calibrate the
technique and elegance of movement with the energetic yield
of the sprint so as to obtain maximum speed and therefore
results. The more aggressive or tense you are the more energy
you waste. You need to be calm and in harmony with
yourself to feel the moment that your foot touches the
ground and then judge the instant at which you must again
push forward.

I have also had to learn to use my arms. To be honest I
still struggle with the concept of the kinetic chain, which
means simply that everything is connected. In other words, if
you push your pelvis forward your bottom will stick out and
so you will lose momentum. This is known technically as
being seated, and it prevents you from developing speed. You
need to pull your pelvis inward and bring your spine
forward. These may seem tiny adjustments (sometimes it is
just a millimetre forwards or backwards), but they make all
the difference.

I struggle with the initial part of the race. The weakest
element of my sprinting is the point at which I am ready to
go, bent over with my feet on the blocks. Your body follows
your head, and as I am a naturally inquisitive person I like
to look around me. The instant the gun goes and the race
begins I look up too quickly, and so my back straightens too
soon. I have to concentrate on keeping my head down for at
least the first 30 metres of the race so that I keep my body in
the correct position, straightening my back gradually without
any brusque movements. I am still working at this as I know
there is much room for improvement, but with Ampie's help
I am sure I will get there.

Ampie is an excellent coach. With me he uses the 'zones
method', a sporting technique made famous by Michael
Johnson. When I race, I do a lot of stretching during my
warm-up, then I enter the first 'zone': I relax by deep
breathing and by visualising the race in my mind. It is as
though I am mentally programming myself, as I map out the
points at which I need to accelerate, others where I need to
conserve energy, and then the stretch in which I have to give
the race everything I have got. Once I have accomplished this
mental preparation I put it aside. It is time to move into the
next 'zone': at this point I prepare my starting blocks. I
adjust them and balance them until I am certain that they are
perfect. Then I move away.