For once the fears were unfounded and Götzis was brilliant for me. ‘She’ll have a face like a slapped backside,’ Chell said cheerily to the media guys as he came down to greet me after the javelin on day two. I knew I could have thrown better, but 43.83 metres was okay and I was happy. I was not worried about Denise’s British record today. The other girls were struggling and, by the time I edged out Jessica Zelinka in the 800 metres, clocking a personal best of 2 minutes 8.46 seconds, I was struggling to contain my emotions. I had scored 6790 points, my second-best tally, and had beaten the rest by 251 points. I knew that Daegu was likely to be different, but knowing that Dobrynska had only been 45 points behind me the last time we met, I had every reason to be cheerful.
It had been a huge weekend. I knew that, even with minimal training, I could get myself into peak running shape and that might be good enough to carry me through. Suddenly, everything felt like it was back on track.
My journey into the surreal reached a new peak with the news that I had got an MBE in the Queen’s Birthday honours. Deep down I thought things like that did not happen to people like me. I was just Jessica Ennis, the same woman from Yorkshire I had always been, with the same friends, same motivations and same beliefs. But I also know that there was now another Jessica Ennis, the one on the billboards, the TV and, soon, at Buckingham Palace.
There was also a Jessica Ennis in Madame Tussauds. I had been shocked when Suzi told me they wanted to do a waxwork of me. I’d never been, but had obviously heard of the place, so I went down and did a sitting. It was a fascinating if painstaking process. I had to sit for ages while they took photographs of me from every angle, slowly turning me round on a spinning board, and taking hundreds of measurements. I was surprised as I had expected them to take a cast of my face, but they did everything from their own calculations and expert eye. They then cut a lock of hair to get a sample, gauged my teeth colour on a white board and matched my eyes to a chart.
Some time later, when I was down in London doing a photo-shoot at a studio, they said they would bring my head along. It was an unnerving experience, like the film Seven with Gwyneth Paltrow’s severed head turning up in a box. I felt uneasy when someone at the shoot said: ‘Your head is here.’ Then they came in and lifted the clay face from the cardboard container. I thought this is brilliantly freaky. The next time I saw it was the night before the unveiling. Andy and I arrived late and there were just a couple of people from Madame Tussauds there. They touched up the colouring and added a few freckles. It was dark and quiet and I could feel hundreds of glass eyes on me. We got taken on a personal tour after that, although I gave the Chambers of Horrors a miss and remember Bruce Willis’s eyes seemed to follow me everywhere. I told them to stick me next to David Beckham and was happy to get out.
9
THE WHEELS COME OFF
Andy would leave early for work leaving me to wake up slowly. I would take Myla for a walk and then stumble out of the house at about 9 a.m., fuelled by toast or cereal. Chell had not wanted us to get Myla because he thought she would be a distraction. She was, but in a nice way. Yes, I had to take a lot of phone calls from people saying, ‘Your dog is in our garden’, and, yes, I was mortally embarrassed by her behaviour at the obedience classes, a contradiction in terms as it turned out, but she was therapy when I was getting back on my feet. Even if it meant pursuing her down the street in my PJs, or crying as she gnawed her way through the radiator pipes, she was the nicest sort of distraction.
According to Chell’s colour chart, I was green and need a plan. That was why I worked six days a week at seven events for one big championship a year. It’s risky when your season comes down to two days, but I don’t know how footballers can be competitive every week. My week was designed to get me ready for those two days, this time at the World Championships. I left Götzis and carried on working away, building up the unseen gains that I hoped would see me through. They were hellish weeks that went like this.
MONDAY
Another week would start for me with an 800 metres running session in the morning and my hurdles drills. Then I did some circuits and throwing. We looked at videos to analyse what I was doing wrong. There was always something. The shot was something we had studied in detail, going over videos of my action, and seeing how I glide across the circle. Chell would demonstrate, I would laugh and somehow it would come together. Then I’d finish the day with more violent treatment from Derry.
TUESDAY
Javelin day. I drove up to Leeds to do my weekly session with Mick. My javelin had come on leaps and bounds. In heptathlon you will always have favourite events, but I knew I could not afford any bad ones. The bad ones had to be average, the standards shifted.
I would see Ali in Leeds too. She did the same assessment at the start of each session, making me stand up and bend over, while she checked to see if my pelvis was off line or if there were any displacements.
WEDNESDAY
This was my long-jump day at Loughborough. Bricey the biomechanist helped Chell analyse my speed and the angle of take-off. We freeze-framed the videos but it was still a very difficult event for me. It had been a trial to change my take-off foot, but in a way it simplified things. I now had one foot for high jump and one for long jump. My brain could work with that. I took lunch with some other athletes. Steve Lewis, the pole-vaulter, was usually there. We came up through the ranks together, so there was a lot of banter. The pole-vaulters are crazy and I remember one, Nick Buckfield, landing on the pole and almost having an enema. It was way too dangerous for me. After lunch I went back to Sheffield for a weights session.
THURSDAY
My day off. I could switch off from sport. I didn’t usually look up my rivals on the Internet to see how they are doing. My friends are not particularly sporty and I would try to catch up with them. It was also the day to get any commercial commitments done.
FRIDAY
Friday was a technical morning doing hurdles and high jump. Chell would have his laptop computer out and spreadsheets showing comparisons for the past four years. I liked that because it drove me on to know I was running faster at this point in 2007. He’d tell me he made me, that I’d be nothing without him. I would try to laugh it off or ignore him.
The hurdles is one of my best events, but there is always room for improvement. Then I’d have another shot-put session in the afternoon, some plyometrics to help make me more explosive and then a weights session. I’m not bad in the gym. I’m small but I can lift quite a bit over my bodyweight.
SATURDAY
I would start off with another javelin session with Mick. I’d got used to not having weekends. There were plenty of other people in the same boat and at least I always have a goal. Daegu was now occupying all my time. I had to get it right. If I could defend my title there, I would be set up for London and 2012. I wanted to keep this winning streak going and underline my ability. I wanted the other girls to know how badly I wanted this.
SUNDAY
I didn’t have a regular psychologist, although we would talk to Pete Lindsay at times. I thought they were good but sometimes I wondered whether you go because you have a problem or to create one. It was possible to overcomplicate it. On Sunday I’d think about everyone else getting over their Saturday nights and consider that my weekend was rubbish. So I’d leave the house feeling utterly miserable. It was also a hard, long day with lots of weights and running. I’d do a ten-minute jog as a warm-up and run. I would do something like 250 metres, rest for three minutes and then 240 metres and so on. I’ve done a lot of work with physiologists to find out what are the best sessions for me. You might think a long run would be good for the 800 metres but it’s not. Sometimes I’d do an 800 metres time-trial but generally I would not run for more than 350 metres at a time. The best thing is 200 and 300-metre repetitions with little recovery time so you get the lactic acid in your legs and there’s no time to shift it before you go again. I could be very grumpy when I’m tired and this stuff hurts. Then
it would be Monday again, a week closer to Daegu and the next huge test.
Another Monday turned to Tuesday and the weeks ticked by. It was now less than a year to the Olympic Games and every countdown had been marked in the media – 1,000 days, two years, 500 days, one year, tick-tock. The truth is I was more concerned with the moment and Daegu. London was the endgame but you had to put yourself in a position to win it and that would be decided now. I would drive past five big posters of me on advertising hoardings on the way to training. It was still hard to take in. One night I was driving to a chip shop and was about to go in when I saw the huge Powerade ad hanging outside. There I was, supposedly sweating after a hard session, clad in Lycra and selling good health. I thought, ‘God, I can’t go in now’, and drove on to Sainsbury’s instead. Later Chell had his picture taken next to that poster while tucking into a bag of chips. I had people telling me they could see me from their bedroom window. Carmel came back from a trip and said: ‘Blimey, she’s even big in Birmingham.’ It was growing, but I had to back it all up with results. The pressure to defend my world title was raised with every billboard.
My warm-up for Daegu finished on a good note with a PB of 12.79 seconds in the 100 metres hurdles at Loughborough. That put me second on the UK all-time list, ahead of Angie Thorp, who had been the long-term British record-holder until her mark had been beaten by Tiffany Porter earlier that summer. Tiffany had been receiving a lot of flak as one of the so-called ‘plastic Brits’, athletes who had recently joined the British team from different countries. Tiffany grew up in America but she had a British passport. That was the end of the story for me. It’s not as if they give them away.
Before I flew out to South Korea, Ali asked me if I was excited. I thought about it for a while and realized I never get excited before big competitions. It’s more a feeling of mounting nervousness and anxiety as the entire year comes down to two days.
The weather in the holding camp in Ulsan had been awful and so we were expecting rain when we got to Daegu, but it turned out to be brighter than we’d hoped for. In some respects. Anyway – the event had already got off to a dramatic start when, on the second night, the eve of my competition, Usain Bolt false-started his way out of the 100 metres final. It caused a furore, with calls for rule changes and talk of thousands of people being short-changed, but I have always been one to stick to the rules. Mum and Carmel and others were the kind of people who might push them, but I believed they were there to be adhered to. Bolt had broken the rules so that was hard but fair. Mo Farah had been yards from winning the 10,000 metres title too, but was overhauled in the final strides. He had a look of almost terror on his face as he crossed the line for a silver medal. It was a great achievement but I knew it was not what he wanted.
The next morning, Monday 29 August, it was my turn. I was in the first heat, in lane two, flanked by Hyleas Fountain and Jessica Zelinka, both good hurdlers. Before the first event you start to think, ‘Don’t fall over’, ‘Don’t false start’. Then I banish that negativity. I think dos, not don’ts. I felt good and was running well, shown by my time in Loughborough. Just repeat that and I would be in good shape, but in the hurdles there is a lot that can go wrong and my timing was ever so slightly out, a small mistake with big consequences. I clattered into a couple of hurdles and it knocked me off my pace. I was really annoyed and crossed the line seething with frustration at not having made the most of an opportunity. Fountain won the heat and I was second in 12.94 seconds. Dobrynska and Chernova both set personal bests in their heats. Already, it looked as if it was going to be tougher than ever.
Doc was there and looked at my knee. It hurt really badly, but he put a Voltarol patch on it and I was not too worried at that point. People often limp through the heptathlon, with their bodies falling apart and patched up by tape and bandages.
But the high jump was worse and did not flow at all. Maybe the knee played a part. I needed two attempts to get over even 1.80 metres. It was the same at 1.83 metres. By 1.86 metres, my minimum requirement, I was struggling. I grimaced as I felt the bar falling on my first two attempts. I had one more left and already I could see the wheels falling off. Chernova pulled out a season’s best of 1.83 metres on her last attempt at that height, but that was as far as both she and Dobrynska got. I clipped the bar twice and then squeaked over 1.86 metres. It meant that Fountain led after two events with me second and Chernova third.
I went back to the combined events room in the stadium. This is a room where the girls can all stay if they want. Everyone has their own section. Sometimes they are screened off because nobody wants to let anyone else see if they are injured. If you see someone covered in strapping or having rigorous physio then you know they are struggling. I got back and was quite teary. The bruise on my knee had spread and it was darkening but worse was that I had hurt my ankle in one of my final jumps in the high jump and that was giving me the problem. It hurt to walk and I had five events left. I thought I was going to have to pull out, but Chell tried to lift me and put a positive spin on it.
‘You’ll be fine. There’s a gap in the day now. Let’s ice it and get some food.’
I was not convinced. I had an anti-inflammatory tablet and, although it was a bit sore, I went back out in the afternoon and threw a personal best of 14.67 metres in the shot put. That put me into the lead but Dobrynska looked strong and her 16.14 metres lifted her into third place, with Chernova dropping down to sixth, some 128 points adrift.
The 200 metres came just after the last of the 400 metres semi-finals, where Oscar Pistorius, the double amputee and Paralympic star, received a huge roar from the crowd as he made history. I did not notice. I was fully concentrated on me. There was a strong headwind so times were never going to be stunning, but I clocked 23.27 seconds to be the fastest woman in the competition. Chernova had been in the same heat and pushed me hard. She ran a personal best of 23.50 seconds and was delighted. She was up to second place after the first day.
I had mixed feelings. I was sorry not to have maximized my strong events and had my two problem ones ahead, but I was in the lead and with a healthy points advantage. I had beaten Chernova in all four events and the ankle did not seem too bad. It was around midnight when I got back to the village, but I went to sleep quickly, walking through the next day in my mind.
It was early morning when we made it to the stadium. There were not many people in for the morning session but it did not matter. I knew we had rebuilt the long jump and that I was capable of more. I had seen the proof on Bricey’s laptop. I tore down the runway, tried not to think too much and reached. It is always a leap of faith. The opener was measured at 6.27 metres, which was not great, but not a disaster either. Chernova was jumping in the same pool and she started with 6.38 metres and then put in a big 6.61 metres. This was where she knew she could make inroads on my lead, but I responded with a personal best of 6.51 metres. All that fear and anticipation was suddenly replaced with relief. I was 118 points clear of her. I was confident I could beat her if I had to in the 800 metres so it would all come down to the javelin.
In truth, I was not happy with my javelin going into the World Championships. The injury had meant I had lost a lot of technical work and I had been inconsistent all year. I just needed today to be one of the good days. They had split us into two groups for the event, with all the big hitters in the first one. I was annoyed by that. I am the sort of athlete who responds to other people’s performances, but I had to suffer and watch as Chernova launched her javelin a huge 52.95 metres in the first group and then gave out a roar of effort and delight as it sailed into the crisp blue sky.
The pressure was now on. It was me and her now. She was ten inches taller and in the shape of her life; I had missed training and began to feel the walls closing in. I knew I was capable of throwing 45 metres and that would make it close going into the final event. The warm-up was okay. I pinged a couple to the 45 metres mark. I just needed to do it again. One shot. On the first one I bounced up, slip
ped and managed barely 38 metres. That was a disaster. There was a re-laid bit of track on the runway and if you didn’t put your heel down properly then you could slip. I was tentative on the second one because I did not want to ruin the whole throw. It flopped at 39.95 metres. Now the pressure really was on, but I had been here before and pulled out jumps and throws when I needed to. All those wagers struck with John and Chell in the EIS had served me well. But not this time. I stuttered to the line and watched in horror as the javelin turned prematurely and flopped.
Anger, frustration, horror. They boiled over. I felt as though the odds were stacked against me. I had been injured in 2008 and now again this year. I felt it was not supposed to be. I walked back and Darren Campbell, the sprinter working for BBC Radio, collared me.
‘It’s not over yet, Jess.’
I knew, though. I knew in my heart. I went over to find Chell to find out what I needed to do in the 800 metres. He looked at me and his face said it more than the words. Somewhere deep down I had been thinking that maybe, just maybe, I could run an astonishing 800 metres and keep hold of the title. Then he told me the lead was 133 points. Chernova had made up 251 points in one event. The bottom line was I needed to beat her by nine seconds over two laps. It was gone – the nearest thing to impossible.
I went back to the combined events room and was trying as hard as I could not to cry. It was there that I could see Chell was close to tears too. It was the first time I had seen him like that and I could tell how much it had got to him. We were really in this together.
Jessica Ennis: Unbelievable - From My Childhood Dreams to Winning Olympic Gold Page 10