‘I didn’t know it when I walked into the shop, but it turned out that Paino Bikes in Miranda was Clarence Street Cyclery’s biggest competition. Frank Paino took one look and recognised the bike. He said, “Is that Gary Sutton’s bike? What are you doing with it?” “He loaned it to me so I can go in a triathlon tomorrow.” He said, “So you want a new tyre?” I said, “Yeah.” “Well I’m not selling it to you. Why? Because it’s Gary Sutton’s bike.”’
Greg immediately switched into salesman mode and eventually won Frank Paino over. He rode home very carefully with a new tyre and a spare. ‘The tyre cost me 50 bucks and I had to get another one. I thought, “I’ve just spent half my week’s wages on two tyres. I can’t afford to do this sport. It’s a silvertail’s sport!”’
Greg drove down to Lake Illawarra with Leonie. He was jumping out of his skin with anticipation and only realised that the lake was full of jellyfish after he’d muscled himself halfway through the swim. Every other stroke he squished into a jellyfish. His body soon went numb. He’d wasted so much energy kicking during the swim that when he struggled out of the water, he cramped. Looking around at the changeover to the bike, he realised he was in the bottom third of the race with perhaps 1000 competitors ahead of him. He took an age to get his shoes on. Then he put his helmet on backwards and had to stop and change it. The ride was 36 km (22.4 miles) of cramping and overtaking before Greg came into his own in the run leg. By then his cramps had eased, and he scythed through the field to finish near the top 100 with one of the fastest runs of the day. ‘It was the greatest thing. I still remember the pain, the ecstasy, the whole lot. That one day was just fantastic. Richie was about fifth or sixth. It was great. I couldn’t wait for the next one.’
But that was the last race of the season. Greg had to wait six months for the next one. He threw his energies into training with Richie and Peter Brunker, a surf club friend. Richie had joined his father as an apprentice butcher but later took a job as a lifeguard at Cronulla Beach so he could concentrate more on his triathlon training. He was totally dedicated: one New Year’s Day when his family was lazing around in the heat of the Sydney summer, Richie headed off for a 20-km (12.4-mile) run.
Liz Walker noticed the contrast between Greg’s easy-going attitude to sport and life and Richie’s. ‘A lot of the triathletes, including Richie, took it so seriously. If they got a flat tyre they’d blow up about it. If it happened to Greg, he’d just burst out laughing—“Look what happened to me!”— and he’d have them all laughing with him. Richie loved that about Greg. He’d come home laughing and telling us what Greg had got up to.’
On the other hand, Greg learnt so much from watching Richie’s swimming technique because he was a natural like his mother. Similarly, Richie deferred to Greg on running. The Walkers transformed a garage at the back of their new house into Richie’s room so he could stay at home but still be independent. Richie and Greg would spend hours in this haven talking about triathlon and pumping weights.
Around this time, largely through the Wide World of Sports coverage, word had started to spread about the ultimate triathlon event, the Hawaiian Ironman. It quickly attained iconic status among the growing band of extreme sports aficionados. Two blokes from Greg’s surf club, Paul Bannister and Warren Buchan, had finished the 1984 Hawaiian Ironman and returned as conquering heroes. Richie and Peter Brunker idolised Banno and Bucko, and were determined to follow in their footsteps and take the challenge on those distant lava fields. Greg was swept up by their enthusiasm. ‘Richie would take me on swims, and then on weekends in the winter, we’d ride. Peter Brunker and Richard and I would ride to Shellharbour and back. We did that because Bucko and Banno did it.’
Running was natural to Greg, but he was on a steep learning curve in the water and on a racing bike. He used his innate physical intelligence to gradually improve his swimming. By observing training partners with superior techniques, he corrected his body position and stroking. He was a long way from being an elite swimmer, but he slowly cut down his times and built up his condition. And despite growing up with a pushbike and spending many hours in the saddle on his paper and chemist runs, Greg was still a relatively weak cyclist when he started in triathlon. But he learnt to put down dedicated bike kilometres, constantly learning how to improve his bike training, adding some gym work for his legs and putting in time on the stationary training bikes to help with his technique. He also saw the benefit of setting up his bike correctly, and he and Richie would spend considerable time working with bike mechanics and taking advice from the experts.
Richie was soon performing consistently, regularly featuring in the top ten in local races, often making it into the top five. His swimming leg was always his strongest and usually gave him a substantial lead going into the ride, where he generally at least held his own. His running held him back. Greg could spot him 5 minutes into a 10-km (6.2-mile) run and reel him in, but Richie’s swimming was so far ahead of Greg’s that Richie would still beat him home.
By the time The Great Race at Surfers Paradise came around in May 1986, Greg had a few triathlons under his belt and Richie was a genuine contender. It was a half-Ironman: a 2-km (1.2-mile) swim around Jupiter’s Casino, an 80-km (50-mile) bike ride around the Gold Coast hinterland and a 21-km (13-mile) run around the Broadbeach area. Greg convinced Leonie to compete and persuaded a big group of friends to come.
The longer distance was both a big step up and a major challenge for Greg and the others. As usual, he lost touch with Richie in the swim but nevertheless struggled through it. Then he had a solid ride and another powerful run and finished in about 5 hours. Greg was elated, but almost immediately he heard that one of the earlier runners had collapsed and died, just metres from the finish line. He had a powerful feeling of dread, which was confirmed within minutes when one of his friends rushed over and told him the stricken runner was his best friend, who was, in fact, still alive but on life support at Southport Hospital.
Richie’s heart had stopped beating for almost 4 minutes before paramedics revived him. Then he lapsed into a coma. He was on life support for almost a week, and Greg stayed at his side, ‘all day, every day’, with Richie’s parents. ‘Richie had had a cardiac arrest at 20 years old. There had been no history of heart problems.’ Having regained consciousness after about 40 hours, Richie had a pacemaker implanted and was given a clean bill of health. ‘He, Peter Brunker and I started training again. Richie had no other ill effects. He was lucky, a healthy young man.’
Looking back, David and Liz Walker now think Richie may have misunderstood a warning of his impending heart problem in the months leading up to his heart attack in the race at Surfers. One day, he’d just returned from a long bike ride in very cold conditions when he fainted at the kitchen sink as he tried to take off his gloves. He recovered immediately and put it down to the cold, but David insisted that he have himself checked out. ‘He went to see a doctor, and the doctor told him that he thought it was indigestion. He gave him a cardiograph and other tests, but nothing showed up. That reassured us. He was super fit. We had no inkling anything was wrong.’
Richie’s doctors performed the full range of tests on him after his Gold Coast collapse but again found no abnormalities. David tried to dissuade Richie from competing in more triathlons. ‘I used to say to him, “Go easy. You don’t have to do it.” And he’d say, “No, no, I want to do it, I want to do the triathlons, I want to be fit, I don’t want to sit around and get fat.”’
Richie’s doctors reluctantly allowed him to resume training but warned him to take it gradually. They put limits on his distances. He had no further problems during the off-season and he, Greg and Peter set themselves to compete in the Nowra Triathlon, on 6 November 1986, one of the first races for the new season. Their plan was then to compete in the upcoming Forster Ironman, a qualifying event for the Hawaiian Ironman.
David Walker was concerned when Richie said he wanted to compete at Nowra, but was reassured when Richie told him he wa
s 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.’
Greg’s FIRST VICTORY EARNED HIM THE NICKNAME that would follow him throughout THE REST OF HIS CAREER.
Chapter 6
Plucky
LOSING RICHIE 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.’
Heart of a Champion Page 5