Blade Runner (7 page)

As I have said, initially I really struggled with the starting
blocks. To help me out Ampie agreed with the race starter
(who has since become a friend) that I should be allowed to
begin on my feet and not the blocks. But even then I
struggled to stay still: I fidgeted too much and so inevitably
got off to a bad start. If you are not crouched with your feet
on the blocks your initial push-off lacks coordination and is
significantly less energy-efficient. I have worked very hard to
master the blocks but I know that I have not conquered them
yet as I am still not entirely comfortable and at ease.

No athlete manages a perfect start at every race. It is an
ongoing process, but I have found it particularly difficult not
only because I am not used to being in that position, but also
because I cannot feel the blocks as I do not have feet.
However, I have learnt an immense amount with Ampie. He
has taught me to position my body correctly, basically by
crouching down but with my body slanted forwards as the
gun goes off, ensuring that I spring off: this enables me to
gain up to 40 centimetres over the duration of the race. As
you wait for the gun to go, it is important to push your feet
into the blocks, as this will increase the drive behind you as
you push off at the start of the race.

Returning to my 'zones', once I have checked that the
blocks are correctly positioned in the ground and will not slip
then all is ready, and it is time to wait for the race to begin.
In my opinion this is the most stressful moment: you know
that you need to relax but your mind is racing with anxiety
and concerns about the other competitors. The next 'zone' is
when you are ready to race. You must be concentrated but
calm. Competitive, but focused only on the lane in which you
will race, not on your competitors or the general excitement
around you.

I am the kind of athlete who performs better when
running from behind. In short, I prefer chasing to leading and
so I try to avoid the eighth running lane where you are out
in front of everyone else. I like the first three lanes, since that
way I always have someone in front of me to chase. It
motivates me as I push myself to catch the person and
overtake them. It helps me to give my best at the end of the
race.

But in the moment before the race begins, when you are
squatting down with your feet on the blocks you need to
inhale deeply a couple of times and then hold your breath. It
is vital that instead of waiting for the noise of the gun that
starts the race you concentrate on your movement. Many
athletes are so focused on the sound of the gun that when it
eventually goes off they remain immobile for a fraction of a
second. It is almost as though they have forgotten what the
gun signals and so they waste precious seconds. Instead, it is
better to assume something resembling a trance-like state, in
which you remind yourself that you are ready to run and that
it is the noise of the gun that will signal when you can go.
That way you are concentrated on the moment you propel
yourself forwards and not on the noise itself. It may seem a
small difference, but it will make you mentally stronger and
faster on the track.

From a strictly personal perspective, it is crucial for me to
have a technique to help me cope with the enormous
psychological pressure that comes with the competition and
the racing environment. I found the nervous tension that is
inherent in the build-up to a race hard to handle. On the day
before a race I am often so nervous that I am physically
nauseous. I want to race but all my fears and self-doubt
resurface and I am a jittering wreck. On the day of the race
itself I always find twenty good excuses why I can't race – I
am not up to it, I have a stiff neck or I slept badly – nothing
really important, but still I have to mentally work myself
towards a healthy competitive state. Yet once I cross the
finishing line, all I want to do is start the whole process all
over again. I believe that if you can channel this nervous
energy it can work to your advantage. Many athletes contend
that nervous tension is simply proof of your ambition.

I will never forget my 200-metre race at the Paralympics
in Athens. There I was on my starting blocks, racing in lane
number seven, surrounded by athletes who were both much
older and much more experienced than me. In the sixth lane
was Brian Frasure, the reigning World Champion, while in
the eighth was a French athlete called Dominique André who
during his warm-up began grunting and spitting. I found his
behaviour both disturbing and nerve-racking. I could not
concentrate (which in hindsight was probably exactly the
point of his behaviour). I was completely intimidated. I was
only seventeen years old and a newcomer at that. To
complicate matters there were four false starts. When the gun
marking the fifth start sounded, I froze. I had convinced
myself that it was going to be another false start, and when
it was not I was so taken by surprise that I was immobilised.
It was horrible – by the time I realised that the second shot
was never coming I was already 1.8 seconds behind the
others. In retrospect my confusion was one of the things that
made my performance in that race so special to me. I ran for
all I was worth, managed to catch the pack, and went on to
win the gold medal. Marlon Shirley and Brian Frasure came
respectively second and third. My time (21.97) set a new
world record, which I have since improved on. It is hard to
describe my emotion – it was an incredible achievement and
a great triumph.

It is astounding to think back on that moment of my life:
so much has happened since that it seems a lifetime ago.
When I look at the photographs of me on the winner's
podium with the laurel leaves around my head and gold
medal around my neck I am struck by how young I look.

The Athens Paralympics were a fantastic experience. The
Olympic Village was mind-boggling: it was 4,000 square
metres in size and the food hall boasted the capacity to feed
16,000 people simultaneously and at any time of day or
night. There was no limit to what you could eat: the choice
went right across the culinary spectrum. Even McDonald's
had a counter that was 30 metres long, and all this was
entirely free for the athletes. As we were in Greece, the fruit
was delicious and plentiful. Once I had finished my races I
went straight to McDonald's, ordered five Big Macs and
proceeded to devour them one after the other. Pre-race Big
Macs are of course strictly prohibited, but once I was finished
I gave myself free rein.

The Olympic Village also hosted two entertainment zones,
each equipped with huge TV screens and PlayStation points
with all the Olympic sports available. By the end of the week
athletes had blisters on their hands from their devotion to
PlayStation and the intense competitiveness with which they
had been playing the games. It was a serious business. There
were electronic kiosks dispensing a seemingly endless supply
of ice creams and cool drinks. Athletes had an electronic card
system that allowed them to order and consume whatever
they wanted for free. It was amazing.

Once the Games were over I toured the Greek islands –
Mykonos, Paros, to name only two; there were so many I can
barely recall them all. It was a magical experience for me as
I slept on the beaches by night and by day toured my chosen
island by Vespa.

But it wasn't just the beauty of the location or the
incredible facilities of the Olympic Village that made this a
life-changing experience for me. It opened my eyes to a world
that I had previously been disdainful of. I began to understand
that by participating solely in able-bodied sport, I was
depriving myself; I had never before enjoyed similar levels of
sporting camaraderie and sportsmanship. Disabled sport is
equally competitive – after all, it is a competition between
serious, dedicated athletes – but a unique atmosphere of
profound mutual respect prevails. I came to regret having
come to disabled sport so late, and in particular to races
between amputee athletes. At the highest level the difference
between the qualifying times and the winning times and
between each of the athletes is so slim that each competitor
has to push him- or herself to the limit. We are driven by the
desire for victory and the pursuit of excellence. But once the
race is over we can all go out for dinner together and enjoy
the camaraderie, understanding and friendship.

While in Athens I had the good fortune to meet an
extraordinary athlete who has changed my approach to my
accomplishments for ever. A couple of days before a race, I
decided to attend a swimming event – I think it was the 200
metres butterfly – when I noticed one swimmer, whose time
was double that of the other athletes. He was competing
although he was without one arm and both legs. He seemed
to be completely oblivious to the other swimmers. After the
race I went to speak to him because I wanted to tell him that
I had found his performance remarkable. I was wearing
shorts, so my prostheses were visible. We chatted a bit and
he asked what my speciality was. I replied that I was a
sprinter and that it was the first time I had participated in
such an important disabled event. He told me that he could
see nothing 'disabled' in his performance. It made no
difference to him as he was not competing against the other
athletes – he was competing against himself and his goal was
to improve his time. He struck a profound chord with me:
his perspective exactly mirrored my own, and I too share this
approach to sporting excellence.

When people ask me why I want to compete in the
Olympics when I cannot be sure of qualifying for the
semi-finals or the finals I try to explain that they are missing
the point. It is a point which applies equally to the
Paralympics. The prime objective is not to compete against
other athletes. Of course it is fantastic to win, but however
sweet the moment of victory may be, it is far preferable to
come second or third but better your own personal best time
than come first with a time that is slower than your personal
best. What I learnt while participating in Athens is that what
is really important is not the victory over your adversaries
but the victory over your own limitations. This, in my
opinion, is the essence of true sporting endeavour and it is
the absence of this outlook that lies at the heart of problems
such as the doping scandals that have plagued professional
sport.

People often ask me why I want to participate in the
Olympic Games and whether it is because I consider the
Paralympics second-best. I believe the two games are not
mutually exclusive. It is not because I am able to compete in
the Olympics that I will not compete in the Paralympics. To
me the Olympics are just another sporting avenue, and like
most other athletes I am eager to explore every possibility
and to be present and competitive in all the top sporting
arenas. I do not consider the Paralympics to be inferior,
merely different, and it remains incontestable that the
Olympics are the ultimate sporting event.

I am not a Paralympic athlete, nor am I an Olympic
athlete. I am simply an athlete and a sprinter.

U
NBEKNOWNST TO ME
, my victory and my status as gold
medallist at the Athens Paralympics 2004 had changed
my life for ever. I became a sporting celebrity overnight and
the media interest and the angle they chose elevated me to a
superhero for disabled people worldwide.

My return to South Africa was particularly stressful for
me. I had not actually grasped the significance of having my
name in all the newspapers; suddenly journalists were
queuing up to interview me. Initially I was euphoric, but by
November I was burnt out by the combination of intensive
training and racing and the press attention. I decided to take
a holiday and headed to the coast with my family for a
month and a half.

The changes in my life had been drastic and sudden but I
gradually got used to a new equilibrium in my life. When I
first shot to fame I was both young and naive, and found
myself taking interviews with journalists very personally and
getting particularly upset when the results were less than
flattering or my words were taken out of context. With time
I have come to understand that each of us has a job and a
role to fulfil and that the journalists cannot only write from
one perspective. Now, through the interviews I give, my
principal aim is to contribute towards changing people's
attitudes and perception of Paralympic sport.

While in London in 2007 for a press conference, I took
issue with what is, in my opinion, the double standards
applied by much of the press while reporting on Paralympic
sports. In able-bodied sporting events, when athletes under-perform
– even if they win – they are called to account by
the press. Their slower time is scrutinised, and journalists
conjecture on their lack of general fitness, wondering
whether this is due to inadequate training, a recent injury or
some other cause. In Paralympics this rarely happens.
However mediocre the performance, or poor the race time,
the press comment only on how wonderful the sportsmanship
was or what remarkable endurance or competitive spirit
was displayed by the athletes. I have asked myself on
countless occasions why it is that the press feel that
Paralympic athletes cannot be treated like the serious athletes
they are and called to account for the level of their
performance, simply because they are disabled? If your time
is slower than your previous times – even in victory – or your
performance is less impressive, being called to account will
serve to motivate you as an athlete and encourage you to
better your performance on each fresh occasion. To say that
you won the race but that you did not realise your full
potential is hardly an insult – it should be considered
encouraging.

Although I have not been part of the Paralympic sporting
world for long, I feel that people are too ready to confine any
comment to the symbolic side of Paralympic competition. In
the main, we hear only about the inspirational stories of
people who have overcome obstacles and hardship to compete.
I am not for one minute suggesting that it is not
important to spread the word of these important accomplishments,
but in no way should this negate applying normal
standards of excellence and athletic performance to the
competing athletes. Paralympic athletes need to be subject to
the same exacting standards and constructive criticism
as their able-bodied counterparts. I think this is particularly
true because athletics is an individual sport and you are
competing for yourself and against yourself. Your performance
is entirely your responsibility, unlike the team sports
where the one can always dissipate responsibility throughout
the team.

This is exactly what I miss about team sports and
particularly rugby. It is a wonderfully unifying and rewarding
sensation to win a match as a team. The camaraderie and
the sense of collective endeavour and achievement are
special. I no longer play rugby: I can't afford to risk an
injury. I now play touch rugby with a group of friends, which
involves far less physical contact and no hard tackles and is
a more relaxed and amateur game.

Water polo is another sport I have always enjoyed, and it
has the added advantage of being something I can do without
prostheses, but the truth of it is that I perform better in short
spurts – sprinting and anaerobic sports. My issue with water
polo, and it is the same with swimming, cycling and
marathon running, is that it is an endurance sport and
constitutionally I am better designed for speed rather than
endurance. I believe this is a question of muscle fibre and
physical predisposition. Even when I was at the height of my
physical fitness and training specifically for these sports,
when I played water polo I always arrived at the last of the
four sessions which comprised the match totally exhausted.
My performance, whether it was in water polo or rugby, was
about my explosive energy, energy which by definition was
not consistent for the full length of the match.

Once a sportsman turns professional he or she is forced
into making choices in order to excel at his or her chosen
sport. From my perspective today, as an athlete and a
sprinter, it would be counterproductive for me to cycle 20
kilometres. I am sure I am fit enough and one could argue
that it would only further my general wellbeing and all-round
sporting fitness, but as I do not want to encourage my
body's development of slow-twitch muscle fibre I make sure
that it does not have the opportunity. Slow-twitch muscle
fibre is of course significant, because in athletics reaction
times are everything. My commitment and focus on my
career as a sprinting athlete mean that, however much I enjoy
water polo and rugby (the latter a sport that keeps you
running pretty much for the full eighty minutes of every
match), I no longer partake in anything that is detrimental to
my preparation and chances of success. Even when I work
out at the gym, two minutes is the maximum length of any
one exercise, and even that is an exception.
Underground
Secrets to Faster Running
by Barry Ross, who was a coach
for more than thirty years, has revolutionised my approach
to my physical fitness and training. He was one of the first to
understand that it is vital that one's training reflect the nature
of the sport in question – in other words, training sessions
for sprinters need to be short and focused. Another example
is the difference between pull-ups and push-ups. As in
athletics you need to propel yourself away from the ground
it is recommended that I train using push-ups, as that way I
am pushing my body away from the ground, whereas
pull-ups would require me to pull my weight towards
something. Every detail of your training package must be
designed around the result required. I concentrate on short
explosive movements: for example, I will jump from a
platform and as soon as I touch down immediately spring
forward towards another, thus training my body to push
away with ease and speed.

When I train I use my ordinary everyday prostheses, not
my running blades, and early every morning I work out in
the gym under the instruction of Sebastian Rothman, a
celebrated former boxer and exceptional personal trainer.

Nutrition is another aspect of my life that has been
transformed since I committed to my career as a professional
sprinter. I no longer consume as many carbohydrates as I
used to, since I have no need to build and maintain important
energy reserves. In order to sprint effectively I need energy to
burn quickly, and so it is logical that I need to eat large
quantities of protein like chicken or fish. As a rugby man my
favourite treat was to eat five slices of bread thickly coated
in peanut butter, and I could get away with it as I was
burning the calories during the match; sprinting, however,
does not consume as much, and in any case one's body uses
only the energy stored in one's muscles, so I have had to give
up that particular pleasure.

Originally I had thought I could simply swap rugby for
athletics and carry on as before, but it soon became clear that
the choice was more complex. I studied the different types of
muscle fibres and spoke to a number of people qualified in
the field of sports science; it was quickly apparent that to be
a successful sprinter I would have to give up rugby altogether,
and I must confess that within three weeks of giving
up rugby my qualifying times improved significantly. The
same can be said of my nutrition. Although giving up
carbohydrates meant that I was more tired by the end of a
training session, I was and am far stronger and my muscles
repair far more quickly. Obviously this knowledge has
deepened as my experience in athletics has grown, and I have
gradually adapted myself to the discipline.

To be a professional athlete is as much a lifestyle choice as
it is a career choice and it requires sacrifices in every aspect
of one's life. In what may seem a trivial example, it is not
possible to be a professional athlete on only five or six hours'
sleep a night. Training hard is not enough: one needs a
minimum of eight or nine hours' rest, since it is imperative
to train both body and mind. My life has changed enormously
over the last four years. For example, on Saturday evenings
when I could in theory go out as late as I want as I do not
train on Sundays, I generally end up watching a DVD at
home. By ten o'clock I can hardly keep my eyes open and
even when I go to the cinema I often end up falling asleep in
the middle of the film – embarrassing but true. Ten years
from now I am sure my life will be different, but right now
I have to be totally dedicated to what I am doing in order to
do it properly and succeed.

Most of my friends in my peer group are university
students and are living and enjoying a lifestyle that is
diametrically opposed to mine. They are out late at night
socialising, drinking and going to parties. I believe that there
is a time in life for everything, but for the last four years I
have been engaged in other activities and my perception of
life and of what is important has changed a great deal –
inevitably, a gap has opened between us. Some people tell me
that I am no longer the same person; to some extent they are
right; I have seen and been exposed to many new things and
my eyes have been opened to other life choices. It is a
situation with which I feel very comfortable.

The anti-landmine project that I am now involved in is a
good example of something that is now close to my heart and
that has completely shifted my perspective on the world. I
was as naive and as self-absorbed as the next man, but the
opportunity to travel and actually witness what was going on
changed this. I can no longer ignore that a mere 600
kilometres away from my home town, in Mozambique, so
many people have lost and are continuing to lose limbs to
landmines. In addition, many live in terrible poverty without
basic comforts like a roof and running water. South Africa
too has high levels of poverty and hardship (there is a
township not 50 kilometres from my front door where life is
very difficult indeed). I know that if I had not been blessed
with fame and success I would never have become aware of
these people's struggles. Today, because of my profile and
celebrity, people ask for my help, they invite my involvement
and show me where my participation will bring added value
to the people and cause in question. As I have matured I have
come to realise and value my own good fortune in life and,
at the same time understand the humanity of others.

Today, my main goal in life, alongside my sporting goals,
is to help others. I would like to build my own nongovernmental
organisation to assist African amputees, both
financially and otherwise, in obtaining prostheses. I would
like to find a way to manufacture prostheses at a reduced
cost. I know from my research along with my own personal
experience that the cost involved in manufacturing the
prostheses is not enormous in itself, but of course the
manufacturers have to maintain a profit margin. If we were
able to manufacture the prostheses directly, the savings
involved would permit people – for the same outlay – to buy
three pairs instead of two pairs at today's prices. I discussed
my idea with one of the scientists who oversaw my tests
during the appeal process before the Arbitration Tribunal in
Lausanne – about which more later – and he explained to me
that the technology necessary to produce low-cost, lightweight
but resistant and therefore low-maintenance prostheses
exists already. In an African context this is very
important: we do not have the infrastructure necessary to
provide long-term maintenance easily and affordably to all
who need it, and furthermore, with the enormous distances
involved a doctor will often fit prosthetic limbs but have no
opportunity for follow-up clinics with the patients.

Today it is easy for me to use my name to help other
people, and for precisely this reason I feel it is my responsibility
to do as much as I can to make a difference. I think
that many celebrities consider this a burden that they can
address simply by donating money to charities. I would never
wish to suggest that financial donations were not vital, but I
feel strongly that it is important to be personally involved
and to lend your time and support to initiatives you really
believe in. There is so much need both here in South Africa
and abroad.

On a personal level, I have chosen to get actively involved
in helping people in Mozambique. Mozambique was an
obvious choice for me as a Southern African, as indeed was
the subject of landmines given that I am an amputee. I found
myself inspired, in a way that is comparable to my encounter
with the incredible swimmer I met at the Athens Paralympics,
by the manner in which people make do and succeed with
what they have. Many of the Mozambicans I met had very
little in the way of material comforts or money and had
undergone trauma and hardship, yet instead of complaining
about their lot they were getting on with life, doing their best
and living happily. Their love of life and positive approach
was contagious: it reminds me to value my life and to
remember how lucky I have been. I find it immensely
rewarding to help these people because they delight in what
life is giving them. I struggle far more when people call me
in desperation asking me to help one of their loved ones who
has lost a limb, perhaps in an accident, but who is mired in
anger and depression and refusing to get out of bed and learn
to walk with prostheses. It is tough for everyone involved,
but it is almost impossible to help someone who does not
want to be helped. Often I find myself telling these people
stories of those I have met in Mozambique, in the hope that
I can inspire them and help them understand their good
fortune even when it has been tainted by the experience of
an accident and an amputation. A seventy-year-old Mozambican
woman particularly moved me. When we gave her a
pair of prostheses she had not walked in thirty years. That
same day she learnt to walk again and by the end of it was
moving around without the help of others. Sometimes
perspective is all that is required for a person to understand
that despite undergoing an amputation they are nonetheless
alive and well and able to make the most of the incredible
advancements that medical science and technology have to
offer. Unlike many people who find themselves in similar
circumstances but do not have enough money to put food on
the table, let alone buy a pair of prostheses, regaining
something approaching their accustomed quality of life will
be easy for them. Everything, of course, depends on your
attitude to life. You have a choice: take what has happened
to you as a slight from destiny and the theft of your natural
right to have two legs, or simply embrace life and relish the
new opportunities and knowledge that will come with the
change.