by John Maclean
“Muz.” I paused, fighting to hold it together. “None of this would have happened without you. I am so grateful for your friendship.” I could not say anything else. Emotion overwhelmed me.
I could tell the moment got to my old friend as well. He just said, “I will see you soon, mate,” and hung up.
After hanging up with Johnno I slowly opened the door into Amanda’s room. “Are you awake?” I asked softly.
“Yes, come in,” Amanda said.
I crawled up into bed next to her and wrapped my arms around her.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Good,” I said.
“Wow, what a huge day. It is finally here. You’re going to do a triathlon,” she said to me.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
“Are you ready?” Amanda asked.
“I have to be,” I replied. What other choice did I have?
We arrived at the regatta centre before the sun was up. Although the JMF wave was to be the last to start, I had much to do before I climbed into the water for the swim leg. Wally, my close friend and support swimmer for the Channel, had come in during the night and met us at the hotel before we left. He rode over with Amanda and me. He did not enter as a competitor. Instead, in classic Wally fashion, he came simply to do whatever Amanda or I needed him to do throughout the day.
People were already buzzing about when we arrived at the site of the triathlon. From the moment I got out of the car, I had to wear two hats. In one, I was John Maclean the triathlete, just another of the 1,500 who had turned out for this, Australia’s oldest triathlon. Unfortunately, I could not put on that hat until I actually waded into the water. Until then I had to be John Maclean, host of all those who had come out to support the John Maclean Foundation. Ricky Jeffs, chairman of the foundation, and our CEO, Tiffany, did an incredible job pulling everything together to make the day happen, including getting the caps to the site in time for the race. But since the foundation bears my name, I am its face. And on the day so many people had come out to support me and my foundation, I had to play the role of host.
Before I kicked into full host mode, I did a final check of my bike. One of the guys from Panther Cycles was already there. “Let me take a look at it,” he said. The next time I saw my bike it was waiting for me in the bicycle staging area. The bike guy adjusted the derailleurs, brakes and every other moving part, making sure everything was in perfect working order. With my bike ready, I made my way up a hill to where more JMF competitors had started to gather.
Amanda and I went up the hill together, just the two of us, me in my chair with her walking alongside. A morning layer of clouds made it seem earlier than it was. We didn’t say much. This was the closest I came to a quiet moment before the start of the race. I was thankful to have it and even more thankful that Amanda was with me. Before every race I have entered, before every great challenge, I have had an image in my head of what I wanted to accomplish. In Beijing, I pictured Kathryn and me on the top step of the podium with gold medals hanging around our necks. When I dove into the English Channel, I pictured myself lying on the sands of France, soaking up the moment of triumph. Since the day I committed to doing the Nepean as a conventional athlete, all I wanted to do was walk across the finish line holding hands with Amanda on one side and Jack on the other. I didn’t care about my time. Honestly, how could I? Nor did it matter to me how many or how few other people were there. Don’t get me wrong—I am very grateful for the massive support I received from so many people. But more than anything, I wanted to share this moment with my wife and little boy. If they had not been there, I wouldn’t have been either.
Ricky came over to me as we reached the sign-in area. “Looks like it’s going to be a big day for you and JMF, Johnny,” he said. “I can’t believe the response.”
“Do you have the numbers for how much it looks like we will raise today?” I asked.
“It should come in around a quarter of a million dollars,” he said with a huge smile.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s incredible.” In addition to having people come out and join me for the triathlon, we also planned to present grant cheques to five families in need of support for their young wheelies after I crossed the finish line. We wanted people to see exactly whom they were supporting on this day.
Ricky and I talked for a few more minutes. Then I remembered something I needed to do. If I was going to compete, I needed to sign in. I wheeled over to the registration area. “Which wave?” the triathlon volunteer asked until she looked up at me. She broke out in a big smile. “Oh, John, it’s great to have you with us today,” she said. Digging through a box of envelopes, she pulled one out and handed it to me. Inside I found the ankle bracelet that would electronically mark my time as well as the other assorted items I needed as a competitor. Even though I had planned for this moment for months, putting on the ankle bracelet and affixing my number to my shirt brought home what was about to happen. I’m really going to do this! I said to myself.
After leaving the registration area, I spent the next hour or more greeting people. Over and over I stood from my chair to shake hands and talk with people eye to eye. I probably should have sat more and conserved my energy for the race, but that was the last thing on my mind at that moment. So many people had come from all over the world—the least I could do was stand and thank them.
The PA announcer in the background called a group to the start line. The JMF wave still had a little while to wait. When it looked like most of our people were together, they all gathered near the JMF booth we’d set up where people could receive their jerseys, T-shirts, and caps. Ricky called for everyone’s attention. He said a few words about the day; then it was my turn to talk. As I looked out at all of them, incredible gratitude came over me. “I want to thank all of you for coming out and supporting me and the kids our foundation reaches. This is a day I’ve looked forward to for a very long time. I guess you could say this is a day that’s been twenty-six years in the making. I plan on going out and finishing something I started a long time ago. Thank you for being here to do this with me.”
With that, my host duties were officially over until the end of the race. After more handshakes and greetings, everyone made their way down the hill and over toward the starting area on the long lake where the rowing competition was held fourteen years earlier during the Sydney Olympics. Eventually most everyone had left me except Amanda and Wally. I heard the PA announcer call another group to the start line. We were next. “I guess this is it. I need to get down there,” I said.
“Yep, off you go,” Amanda said, and gave me a kiss. “See you in transition.”
I let out a little sigh. “So here goes,” I said. I wheeled my way down the hill and along the long walking trail to the start area. I’d spent so much time as host that I had to hurry now. Wally trotted along beside me with Amanda just behind him. When I finally made it to the start area, Wally pulled out my wet suit and handed it to me. I pulled it over the compression suit I wore (the compression suit helped hold in the muscles over which I lacked full control). Then I pulled on my swim cap and wheeled over closer to the start group.
Johnno and David Knight came over to me. “Let’s do this,” David said.
“Yep, let’s do it,” I said. I stood up from my chair. “I won’t see you again for a while,” I said as Wally took it away. I waded out into the water with just over one hundred other John Maclean Foundation competitors. Steve Waugh and Jock were there.
Craig Alexander, three-time Ironman world champion, came over and found me in the water. The two of us moved closer to the front of the group. “This is it,” I said.
Craig smiled. “Glad I could share this day with you, mate.”
“Me too,” I said.
I looked over. The starter raised his hand. The buzzer sounded. We were off. The race had begun.
19
The Final Push
* * *
“Daddy. Daddy. Open your eyes,” I
heard Jack say. To be honest, opening my eyes took more energy than I had at that point.
Before I lay down on the ground, I could see the finish line perhaps 100 or 150 metres ahead. I thought I had the strength to get there, but my body demanded I stop. I had to lie down. I could sense the crowd gathering around me. I felt the cold of ice under my neck. Someone poured water over my head. “Here, John, take a drink of Gatorade,” someone said. I planned on having some as soon as I mustered up the strength to raise my head.
I never thought the heat would be the thing that would stop me so close to the end. Even though the calendar said mid-spring, the thermometer had other ideas. On the day I decided to walk two laps along a five-kilometre course around a lake with absolutely no protection from the sun, the temperature hovered in the high thirties. To make matters worse, I had on a black compression suit under my clothes along with long black, legging-type socks stretched up the length of my legs. The socks protected my skin from the braces, but they also locked in my body heat.
“Daddy. Open your eyes,” Jack pleaded. I planned to open them. I just needed a minute to rest first. I wish we finished with the swim instead of starting with it, I thought. The cool lake would feel so nice right now.
The lake had actually felt cold when I waded in five hours earlier. The water temperature hovered around twenty-one degrees, which was much warmer than the cold North Atlantic waters of the English Channel but still cool enough that almost all the competitors wore wet suits. Swimming a kilometre was, for me, refreshing. When I took a breath on my right side, I saw Craig Alexander, holding back to keep pace with me. One of the top triathletes in the world who specialises in 70.3 triathlons, also known as half Ironmans, Craig normally swims twice the distance we swam at the Nepean in roughly the same time we did on this day. But he wasn’t out for time. He was there to share the day with me and the rest of our group.
When I took a breath on my left, I saw another Aussie legend, Ky Hurst, perhaps the greatest open-water distance swimmer Australia has ever produced. As I looked back and forth at these two champions, I had to smile and think, How much better can it get?
Just as I did on my practice run, I crawled on my hands and knees out of the water at the end of the swim leg. Amanda waited for me next to the chair the organisers had set out for me to use to put on my leg braces. The chair was the only special provision made for me, the only thing that set me apart from the rest of the thousand-plus athletes who came out of the water through the course of the day. Amanda handed me a towel and my socks. “How was the swim?” she asked.
“Incredible,” I said. “The water felt great. What was my time?”
“A little over twenty-two minutes,” Amanda replied.
“That’s not too bad. Not too bad at all.” I felt great. I pulled off my wet suit and put my cycling jersey on over my wet compression suit. I then pulled up my socks, attached the braces, put on my shoes, grabbed my walking poles, and headed off to the bike staging area. I had recently switched to a different brand of shoes than I had used in any of my training walks. The new shoes plus the modifications Darren made to my braces should, I thought, keep my feet from blistering as they did on both my 4K and 5K walks.
As I walked up the slight hill towards the staging area, the scene looked very different than it had the deserted Saturday afternoon of my practice run. Bikes and equipment covered the entire parking lot. Some of the bikes had already been returned by athletes who had completed the bike leg. A few of the starters from the first wave neared the finish line for the entire race by the time I came out of the water.
I walked through the barriers that kept spectators clear of the bikes. Most of the JMF bikes were concentrated at one end of the staging area. I smiled as I found my bike. “Even with taking extra time to put on my braces, I’m still out ahead of a lot of my wave!” I said to Amanda as I climbed on my bike.
Johnno, Ky and Craig were waiting for me along with a few other friends. I strapped my right foot into the pedal, pushed off with my left, and said, “Let’s go for a ride, guys.” We quickly caught up with more of my friends. It took us a little over an hour to ride the thirty kilometres. The race winner completed the bike leg in forty minutes. My time didn’t bother me, nor did it bother any of the group riding with me. None of us were out to set any sort of personal bests. The bike leg truly was just a bunch of guys going out on their bikes for a fun Sunday-morning ride. To be honest, I don’t think I stopped smiling the whole time. I didn’t want the bike leg to end.
Unfortunately it did.
I knew my feet were in trouble before I had walked the length of two football fields. I recognised the discomfort of blisters forming from my experience on my two training walks. Walking from the bike staging area to the walking path around the main lake, I went down a slight hill. The walk leg then starts at the base of the bridge with the Olympic rings on it. I could feel every step. Amanda was right beside me, as she would be for the next three and a half hours. Initially, the group of walkers with me was relatively small. Much of the JMF triathlon group was just coming in from the bike leg and hadn’t caught up with me yet. The walkers weren’t scheduled to join me until my second lap around the lake.
With the discomfort building, I had to concentrate hard to keep moving, focusing on every step. Right pole, left leg. Left pole, right leg, over and over and over again. The sun was still climbing in the sky. The heat hadn’t yet hit its peak. Right pole, left leg. Left pole, right leg. I could hear the people around me, even those watching as I went by. I overheard a young boy ask his father as I passed, “Who’s that?”
“A legend,” his dad replied.
I didn’t feel much like a legend. Right pole, left leg. Left pole, right leg. A camera crew from 60 Minutes and Channel 9 News rode in a golf cart in front of me, cameras rolling. Mobile phones were raised all around as people recorded the moment. My fourteen-year-old niece, Alana, planted herself right next to me. She was keen to be a part of the action.
“How ya feeling, Johnny?” someone asked. I smiled and said something like good, or okay. I don’t know exactly because the question was asked at least every two minutes by a different person throughout the entire walk.
We crossed the bridge and walked along the curved portion at the end of the lake. The main lake at the regatta centre is nothing like the lakes you go out on for a day of fishing or waterskiing. Because it was designed for Olympic rowing and kayaking events, the lake is just under two and a half kilometres long and quite narrow. When I reached the side of the lake directly across from the regatta centre grandstands, I noticed a soft patch of grass under a tree. “I need to stop for a moment to make an adjustment,” I told Amanda. I lay down on my back as the growing parade of people around me came to a halt. The pain radiating up from my feet told me the blisters were growing, but I didn’t dare take a look. Instead, I adjusted my socks and the positioning of the brace under my foot, retied my shoes, took a drink of water, and was up and on my way.
The parade of walkers grew. Most of those who were supposed to join me on my second lap jumped in on the first. Conversations went on all around me. People seemed to be having a reasonably good time. Up from behind me I heard running footsteps. Jock and Steve shot past me. Jock called out, “See you at the finish line.” He then broke out laughing as the two of them stopped and started walking alongside me.
“How are you doing, mate?” Steve asked.
“Good. You survived the swim?” I glanced over at Steve as I spoke, but only for a moment. What he and Jock didn’t understand, what no one other than Amanda knew, was how much I had to concentrate to take each step. The effort I expended every time I lifted a foot and moved it out in front of me, physically and mentally exceeded anything I had ever done before. Out in the middle of the English Channel, I could stroke through the water on autopilot. After so many practice kilometres, I could have swum in my sleep. The movement was automatic. Walking was not then, and is not still to this day, an automatic movement fo
r me. If I lose my concentration, I will fall down.
Right pole, left leg. Left pole, right leg. I kept moving on. We reached the curve on the upper end of the lake. About halfway around it I looked over at Amanda. “I need to rest for a moment,” I said. We found a shady spot, and I sat down just long enough to drink more water. The sun was nearly directly overhead now. The temperature continued to climb. The pain level climbed as well. When I started out again, my gait was just a little slower than it had been before, but I don’t think anyone really noticed. An almost party atmosphere started to develop in the growing crowd. Those who had completed the 10K as a run, not a walk, came back out on the course to join me. More people in JMF T-shirts came along as well. Johnno came up next to me and walked along with Amanda and me for a while. Wally was always just a step or two behind, lugging some of my gear for me.
As we neared the end of the first lap, the sound of the PA in the grandstands of the regatta centre grew louder and louder. Matty Harris, the race MC, was giving out the awards for the finishers. The grandstands were nearly full. When I was perhaps two hundred metres out, I noticed Matty wasn’t talking about finishers or their awards. “Here comes John Maclean, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “He spent twenty-five years in a wheelchair until he met Ken Ware and went through Ken’s Ware K tremor therapy.” The crowd began to applaud.