by John Maclean
Finally, Amanda decided to have the anomaly bypassed through open-heart surgery. Then came the challenge of finding the right time to do it. Since the 60 Minutes story aired, my speaking schedule had taken off. I had engagements in both Australia and overseas that we had to dance around. We finally just picked a date, but then Amanda came down with a bronchial infection. We delayed the surgery while she went through a round of antibiotics. Then we had to delay it again. And a third time.
When she finally was able to get in and have the bypass, they scheduled the operation for the exact same time as a speaking engagement I had in Sydney for a group of over five hundred. I immediately planned on cancelling, but Amanda wouldn’t hear of it. “You’re not going to cancel. They booked you months ago. This is too short a notice,” she insisted. When I tried to argue, she told me, “I’ll be here when you finish. Go. Do your thing. Then come up to the hospital.”
Her spirit showed why I love her as I do. She didn’t plan on anything going wrong in the operation. Amanda had absolute confidence that she would come out of the operation well and would just need time and care for recovery. She had no fear about something going wrong on the operating table. She just felt that, as far as open-heart surgery goes, this was a routine operation, and she had one of the leading heart surgeons in Australia. As it turns out, she was right. I spent time with her the night before, and as I was preparing to leave for the city to go and do my presentation, she was in pre-op. By the time I finished, she was out of surgery, in intensive care, and doing fine. She made a full and speedy recovery.
*
As we got closer to the race, I had two consistent training partners join me as I prepared: Steve Waugh, former Australian Cricket captain and Australian of the Year, and Jock Campbell, former Australian Cricket team trainer and strength and fitness coach.
Steve, Jock and I got together as training partners thanks to Toyota. They had a film crew follow us around in the weeks leading up to the race and through the triathlon itself. They turned our sessions into three short films. Because Steve was on the same level I was as a swimmer before my first Nepean in 1986 (the year I basically dog-paddled a full kilometre), we spent more time in the pool than we did anywhere else. At one point I had Steve grab hold of my legs and I dragged him through the pool. We joked that he was going to do this during the triathlon itself. We also went on several bike rides and short walks.
To appreciate the enormity of this development, I need to take you back to my first Nepean Triathlon in my wheelchair. Johnno and I rode kilometre after kilometre after kilometre to build up my strength, not only to complete, but to compete. I didn’t want to just finish. I wanted to show I was the equal of any other athlete out there. This same drive followed me to Kona and the Channel and everywhere else I went. Now, for the first time in my life, I understood that just finishing was going to be a huge victory in and of itself. Yet finishing remained the big if for me. I truly was going into this race trying to answer the question, is it possible?
Three weeks before the race, I drove out to Penrith and met Johnno at the regatta centre, site of the triathlon, for a practice run. I needed to see how close I was to being able to do what I had boldly proclaimed I intended to do. We didn’t keep our test run a complete surprise. Several of his training mates who were friends of mine as well came out.
I wanted the test run to be as close to the real thing as possible. We set our bikes up in the parking lot that was to become the staging area for over 1,500 bicycles on race day. I also got one of my friends who runs the Penrith Lakes facility to set up a chair for me on the ramp leading up out of the water where the swim leg would end. The walk from the swim leg to the bike staging area covers the length of two or three football fields. I can walk that far without my braces, but I prefer not to. I put my braces and walking poles next to the chair.
Johnno and I and the rest of the guys jumped into the water a little ways back from the end of the swim portion. I didn’t see much point in swimming a full kilometre. After all, the swim was not going to be the problem. Thinking back to my first Nepean in 1986, I had to laugh. Back then I could hardly swim at all, but I knew however far behind I fell, I could make it up on the run. Now the swim was the only portion where I felt fully comfortable.
We swam a couple of hundred metres to the ramp. Back when I competed in triathlons as a wheelie, Johnno and someone else carried me up out of the water. This time around, when we reached the water’s edge, he gave me a look like, Am I supposed to pick you up or what? “I’ve got it,” I said. I started to stand up and walk up the wet incline, but I decided against it. Instead, I crawled up on my hands and knees. A couple of the guys looked like they wanted to come over and give me a hand. I waved them off. “Believe me, guys—this is the easiest way for me,” I said to them.
I crawled up the ramp and after putting on my braces and shoes, I grabbed my walking poles and said, “Let’s go for a ride.”
“Sounds good, mate,” Johnno said. “Lead the way.”
The bike leg of the Nepean leaves the regatta centre, heads up the road running alongside it, then turns north at a roundabout on Castlereagh Road, the main road leading out of Penrith. On race day all traffic is blocked, giving the athletes full use of the road without having to look over their shoulders for cars. Since we didn’t have that luxury, Johnno and I did two laps around the main lake, which comes to ten kilometres. Three weeks later I would have to do these same two laps on foot. The flat ride on the bike was more relaxing than a training exercise. We talked and laughed as we sped around the lake. The fun ended when we got off our bikes.
We parked our bikes back in the staging area. “You sure you want to do this, Johnny?” Johnno asked.
“Yes. I need to do at least one lap,” I said.
“All right. I’m right here with you,” he said.
I took off my bike helmet and grabbed my walking poles for the walk back down from the staging area to the walking path that goes around the lake. The track starts off with a climb up the rise of the bridge that goes over the part of the lake that connects the section where races are held and the old lakes that have always been there. Together the lakes form a loop, with the old lakes serving as the warm-up area. The bridge itself is rather impressive, with the Olympic rings right in the middle.
After one or two steps up the bridge, I felt discomfort. It increased with the next step and the next. I knew I was in trouble, and we had barely begun. Even without looking at my feet, I knew blisters were growing on both of them. I didn’t stop to take off my shoes to take a look, but I knew they were there.
Johnno and I walked along. He chatted a bit, but I didn’t answer. I stared straight ahead, concentrating. Right pole, left leg. Left pole, right leg, I told myself over and over. The happy guy on the bike who was out for a bit of fun with his friends on a Saturday afternoon was long gone. The pain kept building. I pushed it aside as best I could and kept moving forward. About halfway around our one lap Johnno finally said, “You’re not saying anything, Johnny. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. I didn’t say much else until we reached the end of the track and started back toward our cars.
As we were coming around at the end of the one lap, a guy rode by on a bike. He stopped and approached me. “Are you John Maclean?” he asked. He was wearing a John Maclean Foundation bike jersey from one of our earlier fund-raisers.
“Yes,” I said.
“I thought it might be you,” he said with a smile. “I just wanted to let you know that I have followed your career, and you have inspired me. Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
“Do you mind if I snap a photo of us together?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
The two of us chatted for a few more minutes as he snapped a few selfies with me. My new friend’s timing was perfect. By the time I reached the end of that practice lap, I was spent. I was experiencing transferred pain from my feet and my back ached.
An internal dialogue bounced through my head, asking how I was possibly going to be able to do the full triathlon when just half the distance had worn me out. Yet, as I came to the finish line, here was a man who reminded me why I was going to attempt to do that which should have been impossible. This wasn’t about me. By getting out of my chair and completing this triathlon as a conventional athlete, I hoped to push the boundaries of what was possible. I hoped to inspire others to take their eyes off their limitations and go beyond all they ever imagined was possible. More than anything, I wanted to touch the lives of children in wheelchairs, those who were growing up hearing all they could never do. I wanted them to look at me and say, “If John can do that, nothing will hold me back either.”
My new friend’s encouragement gave me the lift I needed. However, the question I hoped to answer with my practice run still hung over me. Was it possible for a man who spent twenty-six years in a wheelchair to get up and do a triathlon as a conventional athlete? I would find out soon enough. If the answer was up to me, then it was going to be an overwhelming “Yes!”
18
Race Day
* * *
I woke up a little after three on the morning of the triathlon. I hoped finally to find the time to go to a quiet place within myself to mentally prepare for the race. Up until this moment, quiet eluded me. The weeks leading up to the Nepean had been some of the most hectic of my life. Normally, when I go into a huge competition, I follow a very regimented training schedule. I peak in my physical workouts a few weeks before the actual event. Then I move my focus to the mental preparation I must have to compete at my best.
The lead-up to the Nepean was anything but normal. I had not been able to train at the level I felt I needed to prepare myself for the single greatest challenge of my life. With so little physical training, my mental preparation became that much more crucial. Unfortunately there was no time for that either.
The madness began right after Johnno and I went on our practice run. A day or two later I jumped on a plane to fly to Hawaii for the Ironman at Kona. Race organisers invited me to speak to all the Ironman contestants at a dinner before the race. They showed a clip from the 60 Minutes piece, then had me say a few words. Afterward Bob Babbitt, co-founder of the Challenged Athletes Foundation, radio host and Ironman Hall of Famer, did a question-and-answer session with me. The first question was simple enough: “What words of encouragement do you have for the athletes, especially the first-timers?” I talked about my own first experience and made a couple of jokes about the wind on the course. I will never forget that wind. Then I was asked, “What do you have coming up?” That gave me a chance to talk about the Nepean Triathlon and my attempt to do it as a conventional athlete. Finally, I was asked, “Do you see yourself ever coming back here to Kona?”—that is, not as a guest but as a participant. The crowd cheered over that one. I replied, “Well, I’m just learning how to walk. I’ve got my first conventional triathlon coming up, so I just want to take it one step at a time.” This wasn’t the first time I had been asked about doing Kona as a conventional athlete. Friends back home ask me about it all the time. Even Ken mentioned the possibility during our sessions together.
A full schedule awaited me upon my return from Kona. I had a few speaking engagements, then Amanda and I both got caught up in making sure everything was ready for the hundreds of John Maclean Foundation folks who were coming out for the triathlon, either to race or to do the walk. Racers were to receive jerseys, while walkers would receive JMF T-shirts. Both were emblazoned with the logos of all our corporate sponsors. While the foundation has an excellent manager who takes care of such matters, I found I still got caught up in questions about their arrival. Everyone was also to receive a cap, but those were delayed. I wasn’t quite sure if they would make it in time for the race.
One week before the race, the real craziness set in. Mark, my collaborator on this book, flew in from the States the Sunday before the race. The two of us found time to do a couple of laps around the Bay Run on bikes, but I did not find time for the quiet reflection I needed to prepare mentally for the race. Mark and I started right off working on the book, laying out the chapters, talking about the structure. He wasn’t going to be in Australia long, and we needed to make the most of our time. Then Monday night I had to go into the city to stay at a hotel where I was scheduled to make a breakfast speech the next morning for a business group. As soon as that speech was over, I rushed home, changed clothes and then ran out to Penrith to drop my bike off at the regatta centre and take one final look at the course. Then it was back home to throw a few things into a suitcase and go back into the city for a dinner with a group of primary school principals. I stayed in Sydney that night. First thing the next morning I spoke to the Primary School Principal Association at their annual conference, then went straight over to Dimension Data’s offices to give a pep talk to the employees who planned to run the triathlon with me four days later. No sooner had I finished speaking than I had to get back home, change again and head off to Cronulla Beach. Steve Waugh and Jock Campbell met me there for another film session with the crew from Toyota.
The next day, Thursday, kicked off with my phone blowing up. The Sydney Daily Telegraph did a front-page feature on my quest to do a triathlon as a conventional athlete. As soon as the papers hit the newsstands, national sports channels started calling to set up interviews. I was still on the phone when I went out to the airport to pick up my brother Don and his wife, who had just flown in from Canada. They settled into my house just long enough for them to catch their breath. Then we all headed off to Watsons Bay for lunch overlooking the Harbour with David Knight and his mum. David had flown in from New York. After lunch it was time for a little sightseeing before heading out for an appointment with Darren, who had come into Sydney for the race. He did a couple of adjustments on my braces in the hopes of alleviating my problems with blisters. I tried to find a quiet moment while he went into his shop to grind off a little of the instep, but I fell asleep instead.
Friday was also a whirlwind. Amanda and I spent a good deal of time with Ken and his wife Nickie. It was our first chance to reconnect with them since the 60 Minutes piece aired. I had more interviews to do throughout the day, which were followed by more time with family. My brother Marc along with his family, as well as my sister Marion and Amanda’s brother Calvin, were all in town for the big event.
By the time Saturday rolled around, I was pretty well exhausted, which was not good since the race was the next day. Amanda and I loaded up both of our vehicles with a variety of friends and family, along with our luggage and my gear, and drove out to Penrith. After checking into our hotel, I tried to catch a little alone time, but more friends who had come in just for this event were also at the same hotel. They wanted to see me, and I wanted to see them as well. I also needed to go out to the triathlon site to check on some last-minute details. I kept telling myself, I’ll still be able to catch come quiet time in a bit. I’ll have time to calm my mind and prepare mentally, but that time never came. Saturday night we had a small family reunion over dinner at Panthers Leagues Club, which includes a wide variety of restaurants. I broke away from the family gathering as early as I could, but more phone calls awaited me when I got back to the hotel.
Now here I was wide awake at 3:45 on the morning of what I knew was going to be the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. Amanda was in the next room. Jack had stayed at home with a close friend, Ashleigh, who would bring him out to the race later in the morning. I slept out in the front room of our suite, as I knew I might have trouble sleeping and would be up early. Lying back in the bed, I tried to start the process of mentally going through each leg of the race, of visualising what I needed to do. Since I could not really train for the ten kilometre walk, I basically had to tell my legs we were going to do this and give them no choice but to obey. Unfortunately, I could not calm down my mind.
Grabbing my phone, I fired off a text to the only person I knew
who was always up at this hour. “Get out of bed. It’s going to be a great day,” I wrote.
My phone buzzed almost immediately. “You need to get up earlier than that, brother, if you want to get up before me.”
I laughed and hit the call button. Johnno answered on the first ring. “Hey, Muz,” I said, using the nickname I had for him.
“Johnny, you’re up already?” Johnno asked.
“I couldn’t sleep. Too much adrenaline, I suppose.”
“It’s going to be a big day,” he said.
“That it is,” I agreed.
“A lot of people are coming out to support you,” he said.
“I know,” I replied.
“And Amanda and Jack are going to be with you,” he said, with a tone that conveyed far more than his words.
I paused and fought back tears. Johnno and I had been through so much together, going back to our days as two young football players for the Warragamba Wombats. He was the one who came to the hospital more than anyone whose last name wasn’t Maclean. Once I came home from the hospital, he was there, pushing me as we became training partners. We got lost together in the dark on the Nepean River in our kayak; then he carried me in and out of the water for my first triathlon as a wheelie. The two of us had shared so many more moments over the years—he supported me at Ironman, stood and delivered a speech at my and Amanda’s wedding, and the two of us crossed the finish line in his first Ironman just a few years earlier. He, more than anyone else, knew what it meant to me to have Amanda and Jack share this moment.