Free Weirwolf by David Weir Page A

the World Championships and I knew UK Athletics and my coaches were upset with me. I had been on another planet. I had let a lot of people down. No one really tried to find me while Iwas out of the sport. My mum had a few phone calls from people in the sport but I wasn’t interested. It must have been so upsetting for my parents because they knew that I could have had a good career.
    The road back would be long and painful. I returned to training slowly, seeking out my old coaches, Chas and Dan. They said they were prepared to pick up where we left off but that there would be some new ground rules. ‘We don’t know what you have been up to,’ they told me. ‘And frankly we don’t care. But if you are coming training, we are here at this time on these days. Don’t let us down.’
    So I had to prove a point. At first, it was hard. Even doing a few laps was difficult. I had put on a fair bit of weight and was wheezing from smoking fags for three years. I was in terrible shape. But I kept at it. I went to training three times a week, just for something else to do. Something to keep me from falling back into bad habits. A combination of Kaylie’s encouragement, the training and my sheer stubbornness helped me get through it. After a while – maybe three months – I felt like I had turned a corner. In the back of my mind I was a bit worried about what might happen if I really pushed my body. After all the punishment it had taken, how might it react? Would it trigger something really nasty – either mental or physical? And how long does this shit stay in your system? What if I want to race competitively again and get drug tested? Will it always be there?
    At first, I didn’t want to think about racing and competing again. Dan was going to the Sydney Paralympics in theautumn of 2000 and although I was really excited for him, I didn’t think it was going to bother me too much.
    But when I saw it on TV I broke down. I couldn’t stop crying. I kept asking myself, ‘What have I done?’
    Seeing those golden images from Australia – Tanni and all the other British athletes winning medals, the crowds, the atmosphere. It just killed me. I couldn’t help but feel that I had tossed away four years of my life. And on what?
    Absolutely nothing. I couldn’t even remember most of it. It was just so sad. I cried for hours and hours.
    Even now, I still feel that sense of regret. Things have turned out OK but I am still deeply ashamed and embarrassed by what I did. I wish it hadn’t happened and I hate to think how my kids and other members of my family who didn’t know all this will react when they read this and see how stupid I was. As a parent now, I would hate my three children to go anywhere near drugs. If there is one good thing to come out of the experience it is that I totally understand the damage people can do themselves. I was lucky: I don’t seem to have done myself any harm. Equally, people shouldn’t get the wrong impression about what went on. I wasn’t some kind of junkie. I wasn’t. It was a terrible phase of my life, but it was part of growing up. Rebelling. And, ultimately – like it or not – it is part of my story.
    And how do I feel now that I have got it off my chest?
    Lighter. Like a load has been lifted from my shoulders. It was such a long time ago and there is something comforting in knowing you have been through something like thatand survived. In fact, I know it made me stronger, helped shape my character.
    The Sydney Games was the wake-up call I needed. Even though I had started training again it wasn’t until the Games started that it really hit home. I had let so many people down: my family, my coaches and myself. I had let my sport down. Now, I finally knew that this was what I wanted. As long as I could race I would never miss a Paralympics again.

CHAPTER 5
A SECOND CHANCE
    W atching the Sydney Olympics