by John Maclean
“And you are up on your feet walking,” she said.
“Yep. I am a walking man,” I said.
Almost immediately our phones blew up with e-mails and text messages. I had to ignore mine because I was in Las Vegas for a speaking engagement. I hadn’t even seen the report when the calls started, since I had to wait several hours to be able to view the show online. By the time I saw it, Amanda had already been besieged by calls and texts and more e-mails. Many people contacted us just to congratulate me. Others e-mailed to inquire about my treatment, and more still requested to have me come and speak to their group. Several people wanted to know more about the John Maclean Foundation and how they could get involved. If the 60 Minutes piece sealed my decision to do the Nepean Triathlon, it also confirmed my idea of using it to benefit the foundation. I began to think this could be our greatest fund-raiser since I launched the foundation.
Now that I had fully committed myself, I had to face another question: Could I actually do this? I knew I could swim one kilometre without a problem. As I wrote earlier, once you swim the English Channel, you figure you can pretty much do anything in the water. I also felt confident I could handle the thirty-kilometre bike ride. In addition to riding Amanda’s bike, I spent a good bit of time on the spin bike. Soon I wouldn’t have to steal my wife’s bicycle. Dave Richardson from Panther Cycles, a bike shop in Penrith, who had looked after me and my handcycles for years, had generously offered to custom-build a new bike for me. With the right equipment, I knew I could do anything, especially with six months to train before the race.
The problem was what it had always been. Twelve months earlier I took three steps then lost my balance and had to stop. Six months ahead I planned on walking ten kilometres after pushing my legs to propel a bicycle thirty kilometres. From three steps to ten kilometres in eighteen months, I didn’t know if it was possible. I wondered if I was a little crazy to try. My doctors also expressed some concern. Because of my lack of abduction at my hips, they tend to twist out of alignment, and my right leg is shorter than my left. Taking short walks did not seem to pose any danger. However, there were questions about short- and long-term damage I might do to myself after walking ten kilometres. Amanda and I used to joke with one another about it. We’d say, “Well, what’s the worst that could happen? I guess I could end up in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.” Since I had already lived out that scenario, I figured I had nothing to lose.
A solution presented itself immediately after 60 Minutes aired my story. As I wrote earlier, for as long as I can remember, people have come into my life at just the moment I needed them most. When a particular e-mail arrived, I knew it had happened again. A man named Darren Pereira wrote to us via my website. “I’ve just watched 60 Minutes,” he said, “and I found your story to be very inspiring. I work for a company called Neuromuscular Orthotics. We are a world leader in the prescription, design and fitting of a type of orthosis called a ‘Stance Control Knee Ankle Foot Orthosis.’ The SCKAFO has worked particularly well with spinal cord injuries and neurological clients to improve their walking. We have over 100 clients with this type of orthosis and I believe John would benefit greatly from it. If he’d like to call me up, I’d love to get together with him and see what we could do.”
Amanda was the first to see Darren’s message. She forwarded it to me in Vegas. When I returned home, I immediately called him and set up a meeting. In the meantime, we did a little research into his company and their work. From the start, this appeared to be another of those coincidences that always seem to arise for me at just the right time. Darren’s company was located in Melbourne. It took a few weeks to coordinate our schedules, but I was finally able to go spend time with him and get fitted for the latest in carbon-fibre leg braces.
The difference in ability between my legs dictated different types of braces for each. Even though I always try to be “equal and even”, as Ken preached to me, the fact of the matter is my legs are not equal. After a series of tests, Darren fitted my left leg with a dynamic ground-reaction ankle-foot orthosis, which fits under my foot and runs up to just below my knee. The brace uses two carbon Kevlar rods, which stabilise my ankle while also giving me some spring in my step to assist my weak calf muscle group.
On my right leg, Darren used a SCKAFO that used a stance-control orthotic knee joint from Horton’s Orthotics & Prosthetics, a company in Little Rock, Arkansas. The brace runs from under my foot to above my knee. When I put weight on my heel, the Horton knee joint locks to prevent my knee from collapsing. Then, as I move forward, the joint unlocks and lets me swing my knee freely for the next step. The lower section also immobilises my foot and ankle, the foot and ankle that want to flop down. This gives me more stability as I walk.
Darren needed three weeks to manufacture the braces for my legs, which was followed by many adjustment sessions to fine-tune everything and get it just right. The results were, for me, mind-blowing. The only way I can describe the difference the braces made to me is this: Without them I am Peter Parker. With them I am Spider-Man. Taking even one step requires such great effort, both physically and mentally, that if someone came up and started a conversation with me while I was walking, I might fall over. The braces give me much greater stability. My knees and feet are aligned and supported, which lets me just go. When I combined the leg braces with my walking poles, the type hikers use when traversing up and down trails, I believed I had found the key to beating the walk leg of the triathlon. Like I said, before my braces I was Peter Parker. With them I am Spider-Man.
Around the same time I received my braces, I got a phone call from Dave at the bike shop in Penrith telling me my new bike was ready. I cannot describe my excitement. This was the third new bike in my life. My experience with the first two hadn’t gone so well. The first, you may recall, was stolen from in front of my house after I’d had it all of one day. The second was under me when the truck hit me on the M4. Two strikes against me just meant my third bike was going to be the one where I would see my greatest success. After all, my third attempts have often proven to be the charm. It was that way when I competed in the 1,500-metre racewalk as a boy, and with Kona.
When I got to the bike shop, it was love at first sight. The bike was customised and the black frame had the words John Maclean Foundation emblazoned across it. The shop had also fitted the bike with the pedals my friend John had designed for me. “Let’s have a go at it,” I said. I drove the bike to the road used in the bike leg of the Nepean Triathlon. For the most part the road is flat. However, there is a hill on the edge of the suburb that I knew was going to be my biggest challenge. I thought I might as well tackle it right from the start. I dropped my new bike into a low gear and pedalled with all I had. When I reached the top of the hill, I immediately turned around and coasted back down it with a grin from ear to ear. Even though I hadn’t pedalled anywhere close to thirty kilometres, I knew right then I was going to be able to do the bike leg without a problem.
Once I had my bike I began experimenting with wearing my leg braces while riding it to keep my ankles clear of the frame. Even with my customised pedals, my legs, especially my right, had a tendency to clip the frame from time to time. Darren made a few adjustments, and the braces became a part of my riding gear.
With my new bike in hand, I called Johnno. “I’m going to come out and ride with your cycling group,” I told him. He and a few of his mates got together on Saturdays and rode around the roads close to where I used to live. Most of them were training for something, an upcoming triathlon or Ironman, but more than anything they went out to have some fun then stop for a coffee along the way. The first time I joined them I knew I had made the right decision in ditching my paddle for a bike and pushing towards doing the Nepean Triathlon. Back when I used a handcycle, Johnno and I logged many, many kilometres together. He and I went out on the M4 a few years after my accident as we trained for my first Nepean Triathlon in my wheelchair. When I trained for the Ironman, Johnno often joined m
e as a training partner. But in all those rides over so many years, the two of us had never looked over at one another and talked on the same level. When I rode my old handcycle, he had to look down at me and I always had to call up to him. On my new bike we were on the same level for the very first time. It was a wonderful experience.
As I explored my newfound freedom on my bike, I ran into one problem. Amanda and I had moved to the Inner West suburb of Haberfield, much closer to Sydney’s central business district than Penrith. Just over a kilometre from our home is Iron Cove, part of Sydney Harbour. A popular walking and riding path called the Bay Run crosses over the Iron Cove Bridge to form a seven-kilometre-long loop. One afternoon I decided to tackle the Bay Run for a training ride. Most of the trail is flat. However, the trail becomes quite steep on the climb up to the bridge.
Since I had conquered one hill already, I thought I should be able to manage the two on the Bay Run. Once I got out on the track, I realised I forgot to factor in the other cyclists and runners. The Bay Run is very popular with people walking, running and cycling. I took off riding and was having quite a good time, when I came upon a group of women walking and talking. They were spread out across the path and weren’t paying much attention to anyone else. As I came up on them a thought flashed through my mind: Oh no! You can’t stop this thing without falling over! Because of the way I have to strap my feet into the pedals, I can’t just stop for a moment, put a foot down on the ground and wait for the traffic to pass. Once I am moving on my bike, you cannot tell there’s anything wrong with my legs at all. But the only way I can stop and start is to lean against something for balance.
Thankfully, I managed to navigate around the first group of talkers I came upon, and the next, and the next. When I reached the rise leading up to the bridge on Victoria Road, I started to get very nervous. Falling over here wasn’t really an option. On top of that, once I got up on the bridge, I had to deal with the car traffic on the other side of the pedestrian path while also avoiding other walkers and bikers coming at me.
When I got home, Amanda asked, “How was your ride? You weren’t gone as long as I thought you would be.”
“I don’t think I am quite ready for the Bay Run yet,” I said. For a while, at least, I spent most of my time riding back in Penrith, forty-five minutes away, especially on the flat trail around the Penrith Lakes, where the Nepean Triathlon was going to be held. Every time I climbed on my bike, though, I felt that much more confident leading into the triathlon. I could not wait for the challenge to arrive.
17
Too Big to Fail
* * *
The first indication of the magnitude of what was to come with my triathlon attempt came while I was in Las Vegas just over five months before the actual race. In my speaking engagements with business audiences, I usually stick to a similar story line. My presentations take the audience along my varied achievements in sports, often built around my father’s words, “Look how far you’ve come. Now, how far can you go?” At the end I always challenge the audience to set big goals for themselves and then map out strategies for reaching them.
However, I added a new twist to my Vegas presentation for an IT company. At the end of my presentation in front of 1,500 people, I unveiled my latest achievement by standing up out of my wheelchair and walking across the stage. That brought the house down. Now that I had their full attention, I added, “In October I’m going to attempt the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’m going back to where my journey began and attempting the Nepean Triathlon as a conventional athlete. I don’t know if I can do it, but I’m going to give it all I’ve got.” Then, almost as an aside, I added, “You’re welcome to come to Sydney to join me. We’re going to get as many people as we can to come out, not just to support me, but to help raise money for children in wheelchairs through the John Maclean Foundation.”
In response, a company-wide sales incentive was announced. The winners would receive a five-day trip to Australia, culminating in the Nepean Triathlon. They could compete or they could just come out in support. The incentive turned out to be a big hit, and in the end over thirty employees came over from the States for the event.
After the success in Las Vegas, I decided to make walking across the stage and inviting people to come join me at the Nepean Triathlon a regular part of my presentations. People responded, especially in Australia. Along with asking people to come join me, my foundation staff and I called companies with whom I had relationships and asked them to come on board as event sponsors. Many responded. Dimension Data, a longtime supporter of the John Maclean Foundation and of me personally, not only wrote the foundation a sizable cheque, but they also had a large team of employees sign up to compete in the triathlon. Hyundai signed up to sponsor the triathlon effort and made a long-term commitment to the foundation. Even my old football club, the Penrith Panthers, stepped up and joined the effort.
As more and more corporate sponsors came on board, more people signed up to join me in the triathlon. Gordon Bell set up a special category for people registering to race for the John Maclean Foundation. A triathlon starts participants in groups, called “waves”, based on their age and ability, from professionals on down. The organisers set up an additional wave for this event, the JMF wave. They promoted the foundation in their materials leading up to the race. Because not everyone is physically able to do a triathlon, we created another way for people to get involved. People could sign up just to walk with me on the second of two laps (five kilometres) around the primary lake at the regatta centre at Penrith Lakes. In addition to the one hundred and fifty people who were doing the whole triathlon for JMF, another three hundred people signed up for the walk. What started as an idea that came to me as I pedalled around my old neighbourhood on my wife’s bicycle was growing into a movement.
Through my career, I have competed on some very large stages. Just forty-five kilometres down the road from the site of the Nepean Triathlon, I raced wheelchairs in front of 115,000 people at the Olympic Games in 2000. That race didn’t turn out so well, as I recall. However, even though the crowd was huge, the number of people in the stands who were there just for me was fairly small. A large group of my family and friends flew to Beijing for the 2008 Paralympic Games, but altogether they numbered around fifty. But nothing I had ever done elicited the kind of response the foundation and I did with my upcoming triathlon. On top of all the people who came out just to support the foundation and cheer me on, friends from around the world called to tell me they were going to fly over and join me in the race. David Knight, who now lived in New York, promised to be there, as did a friend of mine, Tim, from Boston and another from Vancouver. Johnno wouldn’t miss it, although his commute wasn’t nearly as far. Amanda’s brother Calvin and my brother Marc and his family from New Zealand were committed. Even my brother Don and his wife Kelly planned to fly over from Toronto. Don had been with me in Kona as well as the Channel swim and Beijing. He told me there was no way he was missing this, which, in terms of the wow factor, outdid them all.
After hanging up the phone with another friend who committed to come to Australia to support me, it hit me. This little triathlon of mine had grown too large for me to fail. I could not let all these people down. However, unlike everything else I had ever attempted, I honestly did not know if I could actually pull this off. Twenty years earlier when I attempted to become the first wheelie to do the Nepean Triathlon, I knew I could do it. My training rides with Johnno in the months leading up to it far surpassed the distances I faced in the triathlon itself. The same was true of Kona. While the severity of the winds and the difficulty of the course surprised me my first time over, I felt very confident going in that I would indeed finish. And I did. Three times. Even when I dove into the English Channel, I knew I could swim fifty-plus kilometres in open ocean. I had done more than that in a single attempt during the 1,770 kilometres I swam in the eight months before the actual Channel attempt.
But this was going to be d
ifferent. I tried “training” for the walk leg, but it proved difficult. Amanda and I walked four kilometres one day in the park across from our Haberfield home. I felt great while Amanda and I walked. She was like, “You know what? Look what you can do without even really training.” Our high spirits took a hit when we got home. When I took off my shoes, I discovered large blisters, especially on my right foot. I was also very tired from the effort. A measly four kilometres was less than half of what I would have to do on the day of the race. I told myself that after training I would do better, but the sores on my feet made me wonder how much real training I could realistically do. If I tore up my feet before the actual race, I might have to drop out. That was not an option. My dilemma was then how to train without doing damage. I went back to Darren for some adjustments. Beyond that there wasn’t much I could do.
I forgot all about training after Amanda came home from a doctor’s appointment. For some time she’d had on-again, off-again chest pains. Over the past year the pains had grown in frequency and intensity. She went through a series of tests at the end of 2013 after we returned from Hawaii, but they all sort of took a back seat when her father took a turn for the worse. When she finally made it back to her cardiologist, she assumed he was going to refer her on to another specialist. Never in our wildest dreams did we expect the diagnosis Amanda received. She had a coronary artery anomaly in her heart, which she had been born with. The anomaly caused blood flow to sporadically slow, which resulted in angina-type pain. Our first question was, what now? The doctor could not tell us.
What followed was more than six months of opinions from a variety of cardiologists and heart surgeons, all with varying views. Apparently her condition was quite rare, and doctors don’t often come across it—at least in living patients. The condition is known to result in sudden death; therefore, it was usually discovered in otherwise healthy people who had died suddenly. Some doctors told us we should do nothing. They didn’t want to do open-heart surgery on an otherwise perfectly healthy forty-four-year-old woman as a preventative measure for something that might never happen. On the other hand, we had doctors warn us that she might get up one morning and simply fall over dead. Amanda is a very no-nonsense kind of girl, and such indecisiveness drives her crazy. The uncertainty also thrust our entire family into limbo. Amanda had finished working just before we went to Hawaii. I was now the primary provider for the family through my speaking engagements. She wanted to look for a new job, yet she could not until we knew whether or not she was going to have to have surgery. On top of that, every time she had a pain, it threw her into a bit of a panic. Headlines like “Toddler Found Playing Cars on Top of Dead Mother” flashed in her head. She always kept her phone with her.