by Cathy Wood
Before leaving for Australia, he had been told of a Talent Identification Day (ID) at the Mile End Sports Centre in London, organised by ParalympicsGB, where disabled athletes from all over the country have the chance to try multiple sports under one roof. Those with talent are invited back to train for the sport and undergo further tests. On offer for all that autumn day were: Wheelchair Basketball, Wheelchair Tennis, Rowing, Swimming, Wheelchair Fencing, Archery, Wheelchair Rugby, Athletics, Judo, Sitting Volleyball, Cycling, Shooting, Skiing, Sailing, Powerlifting and Football.
As a boy, Byrne got to Black Belt level in Taekwondo; in the Army he’d enjoyed boxing and rugby, but on this particular day, he had eyes for one sport only and that was cycling. Having located the relevant area of the sports centre where the cycling tests were taking place, he parked his wheelchair out of sight, put on his artificial leg and walked over to register his interest. ‘There must have been 500 people at the ID day, but Cycling was the only sport I wanted to do. I hid my wheelchair because I did not know how much it would affect the coaches if they saw it,’ he says.
Not that he need worry: his results were good enough to see him invited back for further testing and the following year, in April 2009, he was offered a place on the prestigious British Cycling Development Programme. In June that same year, with the backing of the Army, Byrne moved to Manchester, where Britain’s elite Olympic and Paralympic Cycling team are based. Accommodation was found for him by the Army and he has their full backing to train until 2012 – with one proviso. ‘go and win some medals,’ he says they told him, ‘and we will support you.’
And that is what Tel Byrne intends to do, aiming for gold in the Team Sprint and the Individual Kilo, which is where riders race for 1000m against the clock from a standing start. ‘There is no point in aiming for second place, is there?’ he says. ‘You have already lost.’
As to the day in the summer of 2008 that changed the course of his life he has absolutely no regrets. ‘I loved the Army but I am lucky enough to have the opportunity to go to London in 2012 and I am going to grab it with both hands and do the best I can.’
Chapter Six
Behind the Scenes
‘An athlete cannot run with money in his pockets. He must run with hope in his heart and dreams in his head.’
Emil Zátopek, four-time Olympic gold medallist
There isn’t a professional athlete competing on the world stage today who could have started their career without the help of those closest to them, be they parents, coaches or other family members.
Ferrying a talented offspring to the pool in time for a 6am swim session (while the rest of the world slumbers), preparing meals and washing piles of sports kit are the universal roles played by parents and helpers the world over. They are the devoted taxi drivers, cooks and maids who keep the show on the road (at least to begin with).
For some, early promise remains just that and in time, they give up or move on to pursue different interests. Others go on to scale great heights, their parents often continuing to have a major influence. But for some parents, either of children born with a disability or those who have it thrust upon them by circumstance, there are far more basic issues, at least in the early days, to address and navigate, long before their children find an outlet in sport. Whether it is a mother and father who must decide if amputation will help, or hinder, their three-year-old son; a mother driving 100 miles a day for 10 months to be at the bedside of a son struggling with the will to live after a horrific road traffic accident; a father who depends on his wife and family to realise a once-in-a-lifetime dream; or a community coming together to help a young woman rebuild her future after a high-speed riding accident, there is a small army of people behind the scenes who will never have a medal hung around their neck.
***
The first people Jody Cundy thanked after winning Paralympic gold were his parents, Ann, a receptionist, and Alan, a fitter and welder. And, in an illustrious career spanning two sports, Swimming and Cycling, four Games, and five gold medals so far, he’s had plenty of practice. From his first success, in Atlanta 1996, to the most recent triumphs on the boards of the Velodrome at Beijing 2008 he knows he owes them a lot. And, since they’ve been present at all the Games he’s attended, he hasn’t had to walk that far to thank them. It’s not just the obvious support they provided, like driving Jody to training and competitions until he was old enough to get there himself, but because of a decision which fundamentally improved his quality of life.
Born in Wisbech, East Anglia, with a deformed right foot, Jody was fitted with specially adapted boots but by the age of three, his right leg was growing more slowly than the left one. So, on the advice of the surgeon, Ann and Alan decided to amputate Jody’s right foot in order to create a stump he could bear his weight on. Once a new artificial leg was attached, he had the freedom to career about like any other youngster and never looked back.
Although amputation had the most obvious impact on Jody’s life, there were other significant decisions his parents made. Two years after the amputation, during a school swimming session, he was given an inflatable swimming aid to help with buoyancy but no one realised his incomplete right leg unbalanced his body causing him to roll over, sink and almost drown. Fortunately, a quick-witted parent dived in fully clothed to rescue him.
After that his parents enrolled him in swimming lessons at King’s Lynn Swimming Club so he would never be in danger again. Little did they realise they had, unwittingly, literally plunged him into a sport he would later excel at. At first, Jody progressed like any other swimmer, from widths to lengths, before becoming proficient enough to be selected to swim for the club in weekly galas.
By the age of 10 he was regularly racing against non-disabled competition and winning half of all the events entered. Apart from the routine of training and galas there were, periodically, camps to attend which Alan would also take Jody to. Since these were the days before the introduction of Lottery funding, the Cundys met whatever costs were incurred. ‘There were very few places where you could get any money,’ he recalls. ‘I am glad it was a cheap sport.’
In 1994, at the age of 16, Jody got his first big breakthrough when he was selected to represent Britain at the World Championships in Malta. Although he arrived in the Southern European country as a total unknown, within the space of a few hours he was World Champion for the 100m Butterfly, in the S10 category. (In Swimming classes 1–10 are for those with a physical disability, 11–13 for those with a visual impairment and 14 is for athletes with a learning disability).
Selection for Atlanta in 1996 seemed inevitable, but just in case there was any doubt, Jody broke the world record at the qualifying trials, all of which meant, a few months later and still just 17, he walked into the Olympic Stadium in Atlanta for the Opening Ceremony only to be met by a overwhelming wall of noise. Even as a teenager he knew this was something special. Jody loved his first Paralympic Games and the gold medal he won in the 100m Butterfly.
Jody dived into two more pools in his Paralympic career. First, there was Sydney 2000, where the Australians’ love of sport, excellent facilities and enthusiastic crowds contributed to a Games beyond all expectation in terms of athlete experience and, for Jody in particular, success. It was here he took two more golds. And then at Athens 2004 where, despite having his pre-race build-up hampered by glandular fever, he won bronze.
Had Jody retired then his parents would, undoubtedly, have supported him. Instead he continued swimming while also signing up for a Disability Open Day at Newport track where he enjoyed cycling so much he kept going back for more. It wasn’t long before his talent was spotted by one of the coaches. Jody entered the National Championships and broke the British record for riders with a disability. A move from one Paralympic sport to another seemed inevitable.
In Olympic sport switching mid-career is rare, although many will recall that Rebecca Romero, who won a silver at Athens 2004 in Rowing, changed to Cycling at Beijing 2008,
where she went one better and won gold. In Paralympic sport, it is more common for athletes to change sports and, by 2006, the change was complete for Cundy. Swimming’s loss was Cycling’s gain. Two years later, in Beijing 2008, his gold medal haul grew from three to five as the Individual Kilo and Team Sprint were added to his growing tally.
Today, Jody Cundy is the fastest man in the world in the Kilo, the distance he specialises in, and one of the most successful riders on the British Cycling squad. Funded by UK Sport, he no longer relies on parental support, although their influence has been ever-present, not least because they instilled in him long ago a belief that hard work yields results. In London there’s every chance more gold will be added to the Jody Cundy portfolio. If so, no prizes for guessing who he’ll be thanking first.
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Unlike Jody Cundy, who relied heavily on parental support throughout the early days of his career, Tim Reddish was married with two small children of his own when his Paralympic opportunity came along. Pursuing and fulfilling his dream would not have been possible without their help and cooperation.
Not that his dream took form until later in life. Reddish, who has been chairman of the British Paralympic Association since 2008, didn’t run around the streets of Nottingham thinking that one day he would go to the Paralympic Games. That’s because he grew up sighted.
Born in 1957 and raised in one of the city’s tougher neighbourhoods, he was the eldest of five. With two younger brothers and sisters, the age span between him and his youngest sibling was 13 years. His father, who was an ex-Serviceman, drove buses and lorries; his mum worked behind a bar.
School was a struggle. ‘I wasn’t the brightest,’ Tim now says, and he didn’t enjoy the application required to do his homework. Instead he was in and out of trouble, known for making mischief and being cheeky. At 16, he left school and took up an apprenticeship offered through a local supermarket to become a butcher.
Despite growing up with more familial responsibility than most and constantly getting himself in and out of childhood scrapes, sport was always a release, a way of letting off steam and energy. Tim did anything the school offered, including athletics and swimming, as well as playing football on the streets around their home.
And it was through playing football, three months short of his 17th birthday, that he met Val, his future wife. Val’s brother, who played on the same football team, set them up on a date at the Football Club Presentation Dance. They were married by the age of 21.
By now, though, Tim was having increasing trouble with his sight, bumping into things and not seeing objects close to him, like doors, which he would walk into. After a spell as a swimming coach Tim, who by then had two young sons to look after, became a leisure facility manager for Nottingham City Council.
And then, he got the worst news ever when he was told he had a genetic eye condition called Retinitis pigmentosa. This condition meant that eventually he would completely lose his sight. It was 1988; Tim was only 31.
To keep fit, he had been swimming at the club, Nottingham Northern Swimming Club, which was based at the same leisure facility he managed. One of the swimmers who regularly trained there was Olympian Maggie Kelly-Hohmann. A breaststroke specialist, Maggie had been to the Montreal 1976 Olympic Games and then to Moscow in 1980, where she won a silver medal in the 4 x 100m Medley Relay. Sometimes Reddish would open the pool early so that she could get some extra time in the run-up to the Seoul 1988 Games, which would be her third, and final, Games.
And then, as Tim’s sight continued to deteriorate, came a gesture from one retiring athlete to another aspiring one that would stay with him forever. When Kelly-Hohmann returned from Seoul, she gave Reddish her bronze participation medal, awarded to more than 9,000 athletes and delegates in recognition of attending the Games. ‘I want you to go to the Barcelona Paralympic Games in 1992,’ she told him, ‘and give me your participation medal.’
Today, Paralympic sport is on the nation’s conscience. If a youngster with a disability wants to try swimming or tennis they could, in all probability, ring a local club and ask to come along and have a go. In late-1988, it was a different story. ‘I had heard about the Paralympic Games, but not to the degree it is on the radar now,’ Reddish says. With Kelly-Hohmann’s challenge uppermost in his mind, he needed to make some changes. ‘I felt I might be a bit old,’ he admits, ‘so I did some research. I felt if I really committed myself, I could maybe make the team.’
In December 1988, at a coaching session for blind athletes, he met Chris Holmes, the swimmer who won six gold medals at Barcelona in 1992 and is today Director of Paralympic Integration at the London Organising Committee of the Olympic and Paralympic Games (LOCOG). Although Holmes was considerably younger, both shared a ‘no compromise’ approach to training and instantly got along. ‘No compromise meant whatever you did and whatever you wanted in life, swimming was our priority,’ says Tim. ‘You never miss a training session because you don’t feel like it.’
At the same event he talked to Terry Davies, father and coach to child swimming star Sharron Davies, who won a silver medal at Moscow 1980. Tim asked Terry to look at his training log to see what he needed to do to be fast enough to qualify for the British squad. ‘Terry agreed – he felt there was a good chance I could make it,’ Reddish says.
But he could never have contemplated making the 1992 team had it not been for one person, central and consistent to his story: Val. He knew, if he wanted to go and have a chance of winning a medal he needed to commit to 20 hours a week while simultaneously holding down a job and raising two children. It would mean early mornings and late evenings, and missing out on school events such as parents’ evenings, which Val would have to attend alone instead. But the prize at the end of it all was beyond measure. It was Tim’s chance to achieve something where it didn’t matter if he was visually impaired or not and Val was totally supportive of her husband’s goal.
With her support, a club to train at and a programme in place, Tim Reddish began his journey to Barcelona juggling a young family, training and a full-time job. Initially, he continued to do his day job with Nottingham City Council. ‘I would work in the day and Val would work at night. If we crossed over, then our parents would babysit. If you want it badly enough, you make it happen,’ he says.
In 1992, Reddish achieved what he had worked so hard for – he was selected for the Great Britain team and returned from Barcelona with a silver medal in the 100m Butterfly and a bronze in the 100m Freestyle. Val and the boys had been there to see it all. But he wanted gold, not silver, next time around in Atlanta and so on his return began to refine the training process he’d started three years earlier.
As was so often the case with athletes from the earlier Paralympic Games, raising funds was often an issue because, in those days, there was still no formal funding in place. Even so, money did amazingly appear and often from the most surprising sources. Reddish and another swimmer, Mark Woods, wanted to go to Singapore to train in the build-up to the Atlanta 1996 Games. Val went into a local travel agent to see if they could help find the cheapest flight tickets possible, explaining why they were needed. Some weeks later, the travel agent called. ‘I have got you some tickets,’ she said, ‘and I have got one for free.’ She did this because she wanted to and sought nothing in return. Then, when they got to Singapore, another friend found them a place to stay, while the local Disability Centre welcomed the pair and let them train for free.
There were other acts of kindness and support, too. A local ambulance centre raised enough money to ensure Val could make the journey to Atlanta to support Tim and a disco was held to raise enough funds for the children to go along as well. ‘The estate might not have been the best, but the community spirit was fantastic,’ Tim says. ‘People wanted to help for the right reasons – it wasn’t ever patronising.’
Although he first learnt of his eye condition in 1988, it was another seven years, in 1995, before he lost his sight completely. ‘When I was diagn
osed, I just thought I was short-sighted and clumsy,’ he explains. In fact, he had tunnel vision, which together with night blindness, are the main symptoms of retinitis pigmentosa. In the intervening years, the tunnel grew narrower and narrower until eventually he couldn’t see anything at all.
As the Atlanta Games approached there was another decision to be faced, as Tim and Val still needed to raise more money if they were all to go. In the end they sold their much-loved VW Camper Van for £450 to make the very last payment. Did they regret it? Not for one moment. Tim wanted to compete at the highest level and together they made choices to give him the best chance of achieving this. One year those choices included taking the whole family to Butlins Holiday Park in Minehead, Somerset, where, as it happened, a top swimming club was training at the same time. As they were both working towards a common competitive goal, Reddish asked if he could join them as they trained, but the coach said no. ‘I don’t think you would be able to fit in,’ Tim recalls being told.
Another reason he had wanted to swim with the club was because they trained from 6am until 7.30am, which would mean he could train while the family slept so they didn’t miss holiday time together. After being turned down, Val took Tim to the pool for 7.30am and he trained, alone, once the club had left.
So for a week, other swimmers, and probably visitors, stared at the man with the white cane as he made his way to the water, but once in it no one would have known he was visually impaired. To the uninitiated he swam no differently to anyone else as he used a method of counting each stroke to make sure he knew where he was and when he needed to make a turn.
In the end, though, Reddish’s perseverance, determination and unquestionable swimming skills made a formidable impression. By the end of the week the coach approached him and apologised but by then, he had simply got on with it.