Heart of a Champion (6 page)

David Walker was concerned when Richie said he wanted to compete at Nowra, but was reassured when Richie told him he was heeding the advice of his specialist. ‘The doctor said to him, “Just go 70 per cent, just take it easy.”'

In the week before the Nowra race, Greg was surprised when Richie told him that he was thinking of changing plans and doing the Tamworth Triathlon, to be held the same day. Not many top competitors were making the long trip out to Tamworth and Richie fancied his chances of winning there. ‘I think Richie wanted to do a bit of what we call cherry picking—racing in a low profile event where you have a good chance of victory. Mum and Dad's caravan down at Currarong was all set to go as we'd planned. It didn't make sense to me—half an hour's drive from Currarong to Nowra. Tamworth was six hours away.'

Greg's worries grew as the race neared and he tried to dissuade Richie from making the trip. ‘I said, “Richie, it's your first race back, take it easy, come with us to Nowra and have fun.” He said, “No, I think I'll go for it.”'

The Thursday before the race was Richie's 21st birthday. Greg wanted to make it special and asked Richie what he wanted to do. ‘He said, “I want you to take me to the track and show me how to run fast.” I said, “You've got to be off your effing rocker! Let me take you to a nightclub. Let's find you some girls, do what 21-year-olds do and be happy.” Nope. He just wanted to go to the track. Believe it or not, we went to the track at Sylvania Waters and we did a good set. I gave him some drills, looked at his form, made some suggestions and he was happy.'

Greg and Peter went to Nowra as planned, while Richie went to Tamworth. As he headed off, Richie told his parents that he was feeling the best he had for ages.

While Greg and Peter dived into the Shoalhaven River at Nowra, Richie plunged into Tamworth's Chaffey Dam. Just 300 m (328 yd) into the swim, while he was in the lead, Richie's arm suddenly shot up. The SES safety boat swept in and pulled him out. He'd had another cardiac arrest. They got him to shore and tried to revive him. But Richie died in the ambulance on the way to hospital.

The autopsy revealed he'd had an undiscovered and very rare congenital defect in one of his heart valves. A tiny flap of skin blocked the valve under stress.

Greg was devastated. ‘It hit me very hard. I don't think I realised at the time how hard it hit me. Like most 21-year-olds, we thought we were 10 foot tall and bulletproof. Of course, Richard's Mum and Dad were blown away. It was a terrible time.'

‘Looking back, I think I knew that something was wrong. I felt funny because I felt like he was trying to say goodbye to me but he didn't want me to be there with him when it happened. But that's when I knew that Peter and I needed to do Forster, and do it well and qualify for Hawaii and live out Richie's dream.'

Chapter 6
Plucky

L
OSING
R
ICHIE WAS LIKE LOSING A BROTHER
. It was the first time that death had touched Greg so closely. He dealt with his grief by reaffirming his pact with Peter Brunker to compete in the upcoming Australian Ironman Championships at Forster-Tuncurry in Richie's honour. ‘We were doing it for the three of us. Richie was always on our minds. He was the reason we kept going, and his memory drove us on whenever we thought of easing off.'

Forster was only five months away, and Peter and Greg found it difficult to keep up the same intense training schedule they'd maintained when Richie was their driving force. ‘Richie would want to do things like ride to Shellharbour and back, just for an outing. And he'd always take the toughest way. You could go to Waterfall and stay on the top road, which was the easier way because the only hill that you had to climb was Stanwell Park or Bulli Pass. But if you went through the National Park, it was all hills—the whole way. It was a much tougher ride. Richie always took the tougher option. But it was all fun and we were just out there exploring, just riding. We missed that when Richie went.'

Greg was still working six days a week as a plasterer. Each day his alarm would rouse him at 4.10 am. He'd get up, munch a couple of pieces of toast, skol a cup of Milo, hop on his bike and head off. He'd meet Peter Brunker, Mick Maroney and a growing band of local triathletes at 5 am. Then, for an hour and a half, they'd flog themselves riding on the roads. Back at home by 6.30 am, Greg would bolt into the shower and be dressed for work and in the car by 6.40. His guardian angel Noelene would have two egg and bacon sandwiches with barbecue sauce waiting in Greg's work bag. He'd devour them by the time he arrived at work, ready to start exactly 20 minutes later.

When Greg moved out of home to live with the Hopkins boys, his nutrition went from dodgy to appalling. ‘I no longer had the luxury of the egg and bacon sandwiches, so I'd have to stop off at a shop and buy stuff. I'd buy two packets of Tim Tams and I'd eat one packet on the way to work and the other packet for morning tea, around 9 o'clock— probably 20 chocolate biscuits a day! Then at lunchtime, I'd go to the tuckshop or the canteen or the takeaway food place and get a hamburger or a salad sandwich. I did that for a couple of years.'

After he finished work, Greg would head straight down to a nearby pool. Close friend and fellow triathlete Mick Maroney trained with him: ‘Almost everyone else would have had the day off because we were part-time workers or full-time triathletes. Greg would just dash into the pool, still covered in plaster. He'd have it through his hair and he'd be late, and he'd swim up and down for an hour and a half. Then he'd get out and he'd run till 7.30 or 8 at night because that was the only time he had.'

In 1987, as he'd promised Richie, Greg made the starting line at Forster for his first Ironman-length triathlon—a 3.86-km (2.4-mile) swim, 180-km (111.8-mile) ride and 42-km (26.2-mile) run. ‘I knew that the first three men and first three women would qualify for the Hawaiian Ironman, but I really just went in it to finish the bloody thing.'

Greg surprised himself in the swim when he came out of the water around the middle of the 600-strong field. For most of the bike leg he held his own, although he faded from about the 120 km (74.6 miles) mark. ‘At the end of the bike I started to “die” a bit because basically my body wasn't used to the distance, my legs weren't strong enough and my nutrition had run out. I wasn't intelligent enough to know what proper nutrition was then. I don't think anybody did at that time. I just grabbed whatever I could get my hands on—bananas, lollies, cookies and jam sandwiches—and battled on.'

As he rushed through the transition from the bike to the run, Greg noticed his mates Chris and Tony Southwell in the showers. In those early days competitors had to run through the change rooms in the local services club. ‘I went in, upended my bag, and was putting my running gear on when I saw the guys showering. I asked, “What are you doing?” and they said they were getting all the dirt off from the bike and getting comfortable for the run. I thought, “Sweet.” Down go the dacks, off with the shoes, and I hopped into the shower. I looked up and they were pissing themselves laughing. They said, “Welchy, we're only kidding mate, we've pulled out!”'

Greg broke some kind of record, jumping out of the shower and getting dressed again, and he bolted outside still carrying his singlet. The shower was actually a bonus because it removed the sweat and dirt and the remnants of the bananas, gel and sandwiches he'd been scoffing during the ride. But as soon as he began the run, he realised he'd forgotten his hat. ‘It could have been a disaster in that heat. You can't have any outside assistance, but Mum came to the rescue. She threw a hat on the ground and I picked it up. That was the hat I wore in Hawaii for the first three years. A grungy green peak hat that she'd bought from Jupiters. It became my lucky hat.'

Once into the marathon, Greg started to reel in the field. He hit a dead spot around the 25 km (15.5 miles) mark—not surprising as he hadn't run much more than 20 km (12.4 miles) before! But he found a second wind and, grabbing whatever sustenance he could find along the way, he continued to pass other runners. ‘I started to get into a really good rhythm and I was picking them off one by one. Towards the end, I passed a Canadian guy I'd read about in the paper the day before and I thought, “Whoa! These guys are really going badly.” I had no idea what position I was in. I overtook Glenn Forbes near the line, and when I crossed the line I found I'd finished in third place—I'm 22 years old and I'm in third place overall in the Ironman! It was really incredible.'

Not only had he reached his first goal of finishing an Ironman race but also, by coming third, he'd achieved the feat of qualifying for the Hawaiian Ironman. He finished in 10 hours 6 minutes 33 seconds, and he did it by swimming, riding and running further than he'd ever done before.

After he'd crossed the line, Greg's first thoughts were of Richie. ‘It was a strange feeling—a weird mixture of satisfaction and sadness. I was happy to achieve part of Richie's dream, but I also had a hollow feeling because he wasn't able to do it himself. Still, I felt he was there with me and I've dedicated my career to him.'

When he cooled down, Greg realised that his overwhelming feeling was one of surprise: he hadn't really thought he had a chance of going to Hawaii. After all, it was only his third triathlon ever. ‘I thought, “Well, I'm going to make this a good trip. I'll never get the chance to go overseas again.” So I booked a trip to Seattle to visit the Boeing factory because I'm a plane freak, and I booked a trip to go to Las Vegas and Disneyland to do all that stuff. I really thought I'd never go back. I thought it would be a once in a lifetime experience.'

At the time, that opinion seemed quite logical. He was a builder, working six days a week. What were the odds that he'd ever get another chance like it? He settled back into his routine—working, training and saving his money—and counted down the days.

Around the same time, Greg's father Pat started a new job and things started to look up again financially for the Welch family. Greg talked his parents into selling their house at Ruse and moving into the Shire. Greg was able to repay some of the Hopkins's hospitality. ‘The boys would come over to Mum and Dad's every Monday night. In fact, everyone would come over on Monday nights for a baked dinner. Mmm, I can still taste it.'

A change at work also meant that Greg was able to put away some extra cash for the trip. ‘Arthur paid me cash in hand for working Saturdays—it was 100 bucks in my hand on Saturday. I couldn't believe it! My God, that was my rent and a little bit of food—everything I needed. The rest of my weekly wage went into my trip.'

Travelling to Hawaii in October 1987, Greg's goal was to finish, and if he had a really great day, perhaps to place well enough in his age group to qualify for the next year.

But when he arrived at Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii, he was spellbound, captivated by the tropical magic of the place and the camaraderie of the event. He was 22 and on his first overseas trip. He played the tourist, roaming around the island and soaking up its history: the site of Captain Cook's death at the hands of the locals at Kealakekua Bay in 1779; the church of Ku'emanu Heiau, the only temple in the world devoted to surfing (Greg was fascinated to learn that in ancient Hawaii only the chiefs could surf—commoners caught surfing were put to death); and Holoholoku, where US Marines practised for their famous World War II assault on Iwo Jima. He visited the island's volcanoes: Mauna Kea (at 8900 m/29 200 ft the tallest mountain in the world if you measure it from its sea base—compared to Everest's 8850 m/29 035 ft), Mauna Loa and Kilauea, the active volcano that every day creates the earth's newest land as it spews out lava that is then cooled by the Pacific.

Greg threw himself into the social side of the event, revelling in being part of the boisterous mob of Aussie competitors and supporters, especially the Southwell family, who had five members in the race. He was ecstatic when he was able to rub shoulders with the sport's legends—Dave Scott, Mark Allen, Scott Tinley, Scott Molina, Ken Glah, Mike Pigg, Erin Baker and Paula Newby-Fraser. He bought the race T-shirts and a swag of souvenirs for his family.

On race day, Greg attacked the brutal event with the nonchalance of someone who has nothing to lose. Ironman's two heroes, Dave Scott and Mark Allen, fought another titanic battle on the lava fields. After swimming and biking side by side with Scott, Allen broke away in the run and established a 4 minute 30 second lead. But the irresistible Scott ran him down, passing him in the last 10 km (6.2 miles) and running away to win by 11 minutes. Erin Baker took the women's title and Paula Newby-Fraser came third. Despite the extraordinary heat, Greg exceeded his wildest dreams. He swam in the middle of the pack, then made up considerable ground with a strong ride before coming home with a powerful run to finish fifth in his age group and 45th overall—out of a field of 1381. All in 9 hours 45 minutes.

His results earned him an automatic qualification for the next year. He was walking on air as he headed off to Vegas, Disneyland and his beloved planes at Boeing's HQ in Seattle. ‘I was stunned that I qualified for the next Ironman. I really didn't think it was possible. I thought it would be great while it lasted but that it had to come to an end.'

The day after he returned to Sydney, Greg went to see Richie's parents and relive his experiences, taking his finisher's medal and souvenirs with him. As he was about to leave, David Walker noticed Greg had left his treasures in Richie's room. ‘I went after Greg and said, “Don't forget your medal and your things.” Greg said, “I'd like to leave them with Richie for a while if that's OK.”'

Once home from his dream trip, Greg slipped back into his life as a plasterer who played sport for fun. He continued to fit his training around his work commitments, but he soon developed a new confidence in his Ironman performances. He took this new attitude into the 1988 season and his results began to steadily improve. He broke through to win his first race at the Lake Macquarie Triathlon, beating Steve Foster, then ranked number one in Australia, in the process. Mick Maroney was there: ‘Greg actually stopped and apologised to Steve for running past him. Greg slapped him on the back and said, “See you at the finish line.” And he was genuinely apologetic, out of great respect, about having passed this guy. He crossed the line and won the race, and at the end was just completely gracious to everyone. He didn't acknowledge the fact that he'd won the race, he acknowledged everyone else in the first ten. It was all he spoke about—it was generous. I remember sitting there, staring at him and thinking, “This guy's just not like us, there's something strange about him.”'

Greg's first victory earned him the nickname that would follow him throughout the rest of his career. It came when his mates read a report of his win, written by journalist Mark Cashman in Sydney's
Daily Mirror
. The opening paragraph began: ‘Plucky little Sydneysider Greg Welch won the Lake Macquarie Triathlon yesterday…' From then on, ‘Plucky' Welch it was.

Mick Maroney was pleased to see that the recognition didn't change Plucky. ‘One of the things I noticed about him was that as we improved and were reported on, the egos got involved and we all got a bit too ahead of ourselves. That never happened with Greg at any stage. He was always the sort of guy who brought it back down to earth. He was always family oriented and he'd have time for everyone, but he'd still go out and he wouldn't let a good time get in the way.'

Greg showed his versatility shortly afterwards when he was chosen for the New South Wales team to compete in the Australian Cross-Country Championships in Darwin. Greg's triathlon commitments meant that he couldn't take any more time off work. The race was set for 5 pm on Saturday at Darwin High School. Greg flew out of Sydney at 6 am that same day and arrived at lunchtime. He was picked up by the team manager, snatched a few hours' rest at his hotel and then went down to the track, where he joined Steve Moneghetti, Rob ‘Deek' de Castella, Brad Camp and the cream of Australian distance running.

‘Nobody expected little old Greg Welch the triathlete to do anything against the best runners in Australia. They'd said they would take the first six to the World Cross-Country Championships. It was still stinking hot when the race started—12 km (7.5 miles) in four 3-km (1.9-mile) loops across a river and over very hilly terrain. I think Brad Camp, de Castella and Moneghetti finished the top three. I finished ninth, out of 70 or 80.'

Greg was proud when he was selected as an active reserve for the World Cross-Country Championships because of his performance in Darwin—while still a triathlete. ‘Deek said something like, “You're probably capable of running a 2-hour 12-minute marathon,” but I didn't see it. I left running because I really loved the amount of racing I could do in triathlon. Who knows what would have happened if I'd focused on running? But I loved the challenge of triathlon.'