Free Weirwolf by David Weir Page B

and Paralympics in the autumn of 2000 was a devastating experience. For the rest of the nation, getting up early to see Sir Steve Redgrave winning his fifth Olympic gold medal or Tanni Grey-Thompson winning her fourth in the Paralympics must have been a joyous celebration. The Olympics had set a new gold standard – but it was the way the Australians embraced the Paralympics that really changed the game.
    The organisers sold a record 1.2 million tickets and for the first time it felt like the Paralympics was being treated seriously. Compared to Atlanta, this was another world. After the Olympics closing ceremony Australians just couldn’t accept that the party was over. They threw themselves just as enthusiastically into the Paralympics. There were sell-out crowds, the media gave it big coverage and, for the first time, thanks in part to the introduction of National Lottery funding a few years earlier, there was a real turnaround in British fortunes. The Australian teamstole the show but, for me, Tanni produced the outstanding performance of the Games, winning the 100m, 200m, 400m and 800m. Her achievements in Sydney were a real inspiration to me.
    These were exciting times for British sport and yet I was currently playing no part in it. Seeing Tanni do so well was amazing but it left me feeling distraught. I have always loved competing for my country – maybe it’s my dad’s army upbringing or growing up on a working-class council estate. You are just taught to love being English and British. I feel so passionate about pulling on the GB vest and doing battle for my country. I knew I owed my country some medals.
    I had packed in taking drugs long before Sydney. Kaylie had helped me see sense. I was back training again with Chas and Dan Sadler and, while it was tough and my body was in a mess, it felt good to have a focus again. But at that point I thought representing my country again was just a pipe dream. The training was just a distraction – something to keep my mind off all the other rubbish. While I dearly wanted a second chance and to line up at the Athens Paralympics in 2004, deep down I didn’t really believe I could come back.
    But at least I now had a routine in my life. I was training three days a week and getting back into the swing of things. At home, things were a bit more settled. I was twenty-one now and had been with Kaylie for about a year. It was my first real relationship and back then she was my saviour.She really helped get my head straight. I was now totally focused on racing again.
    To be honest, I didn’t have too many alternatives. Every time I went to the job centre it was a pretty depressing experience. I didn’t want an office job. That wasn’t me. I couldn’t contemplate sitting behind a desk doing basic filing and answering the phone. It would have driven me mad. From time to time, more practical jobs would come up. Those were much more interesting. I went for one job at a small electronics company a couple of miles away. It involved soldering parts, so I went along for an interview and did the little test every candidate was asked to do. I am pretty sure I passed but in the end the job was given to someone else, someone with more experience. And yet on the application form it specifically said you didn’t need experience. I felt so dejected I told the job centre I was no longer interested in finding work. I was done. Whenever I was sat in a waiting room for an interview and someone able bodied came in, I knew that was it. Before I had even said a word. It was a waste of time. I got fed up with being judged as stupid. No one was looking at me as a person, they just saw my chair.
    These days it’s very different. It’s changed dramatically. If I was in that situation now, having to go for those same jobs, I would feel far more comfortable, like I had a genuine chance. Of course, some companies do it because they feel they have to; it’s just a token gesture. A lot of people would