Heart of a Champion (5 page)

Chapter 5
Richie

I
N
1984, G
REG MET
R
ICHARD
W
ALKER
at the Cronulla Surf Club. They immediately clicked and became mates. A year younger than Greg and quiet by nature, Richie was showing great promise as a triathlete. He was an excellent swimmer who had inherited outstanding sporting genes: his mother Liz was a 1956 Melbourne Olympic Games swimmer and his father David played football for the St George Rugby League team during its dominant years in the 1960s.

Richie had shown early promise as a swimmer and soccer player, and as a young boy revealed his unusual ability to focus, as his father David recalls: ‘Whenever he got his mind set on something, he'd just dedicate himself to it. With soccer, he'd be in the backyard, kicking the ball, up in the air, up in the air, like the pros do, and it was all soccer. Everything was soccer.'

But neither soccer nor swimming captured Richie's imagination or stirred his passion like triathlon. He discovered triathlon through the surf club. He competed with great success across the range of club events: surf swims, belt relays and surfing ironman. Although he had inherited his mother's swimming abilities in the pool, he much preferred swimming in the ocean. Richie was fearless on a surf ski in the most mountainous seas. Even so, he was terrified when travelling in a lift or on a plane, as his father remembers: ‘He'd walk up eight flights of stairs to avoid going in a lift, and he hated planes. He'd sit there rigid, with the sweat pouring off him.'

One year, David and Liz were very worried when Richie had to fly with his club to a surf carnival in Adelaide, but when they picked him up at the airport on his return, he was beaming. ‘He said, “I was in the cockpit next to the pilot when the plane landed.” I said, “You're kidding!” Obviously he'd been so nervous they decided to try to overcome his fear by letting him ride up front with the pilot. Those were the days. Anyway, as we were talking, the two pilots came up behind us and said, “Did they believe you, Richard?” They thought we'd reckon he made it up.'

Along with many of his Cronulla surf club mates, Richie was caught up in the early wave of enthusiasm for the fledgling sport of triathlon in the early to mid-1980s. Surfing champion John Holt, a local, was prominent in the early competitions, some of the first in Australia. Liz and David watched as Richie and his mates raced around the streets on borrowed bikes—some with baskets on their handlebars.

By the time Richie became mates with Greg, he was enthralled by the challenge of triathlon, and he persuaded Greg to give it a go. ‘Richie said, “Why don't you think about doing triathlon?”, and I said, “I can't do triathlon, I'm not a very good swimmer.” I could swim, I was a good surfer, but I couldn't swim a length of the pool to save my life. But I was bored with running. I hadn't thought of triathlon. I really switched because of Richard Walker.'

Richie invited Greg to watch him race in the Royal National Park on Sydney's southern fringe. ‘Why not?' thought Greg, and promptly ran down from Caringbah—about 16 km (10 miles)—just to be a spectator. ‘I watched the race and I loved it. It was a 1.5-km (0.9-mile) swim, about a 40-km (25-mile) bike ride and a 15-km (9.3-mile) run.'

Richie came in fourth and was due some prize money, so he wanted to wait for the post-event awards ceremony. Greg was taken, hook, line and sinker and, as usual, was desperate to get started immediately on training for his newfound sport. He decided to run back home—another 16 km (10 miles). ‘Richie said, “You're crazy.” I said, “No, I want to do a triathlon. I'm just so excited.” I ran home. That was nothing.'

Greg was hell-bent on launching his triathlon career at the next race, to be held the following weekend at Lake Illawarra near Wollongong. But he faced a few serious hurdles: first, he hadn't entered the race and it was full; second, he didn't have a bike; and third, he'd never swum 1600 m (1 mile).

As always, Greg tackled the obstacles head on. He called the race organisers. They wouldn't let him enter. He called them back. ‘I said, “You've got to let me in! You've got to let me in!” The race director says to me, “On what premise do you deserve the right to get into this race over other people who want to get in too?” I said, “I just desperately want to race.” I sold him and I got into the race.'

Next Greg set about finding a bike. Richie put Greg in touch with Olympic champion cyclist Gary Sutton, who worked at Clarence Street Cyclery. There, Greg spent almost his entire savings on a $1000 bike.

Finally, he started swimming, training with his mate Bruce Hopkins, who was studying to be a physical education teacher at the University of Wollongong. For his course, Bruce had to pass many proficiency tests. One of them was being able to swim 400 m (437.5 yd). ‘So Bruce says, “Why don't you come up to the pool with me and we'll swim 400 m.” I'm like, “Yeah.” I got to the end of the first length and told him I had to get out, I was puffed. I couldn't go on anymore. I was a runner. My legs were dragging under the water behind me at a 90-degree angle. I was an anchor. Anyway, I ended up swimming 100 m (109.4 yd) that day. But by the end of the week I was swimming 800 m (0.5 miles).'

Greg was delighted with his progress, but he soon struck a major snag. On only his third training run with his brand new $1000 bike, he was cut off and hit by a car near Campbelltown. He was fine but the bike was mangled. Mortified, Greg was determined to compete that weekend, so he went back to Gary Sutton, cap in hand. ‘I told him I'd had a crash and he said, “I've got a spare bike, come by tomorrow and pick it up.” How kind was that?'

Problem solved. Almost. Greg went for a test ride. The bike was far too big for him. Solution: put the seat all the way down. Greg loved it. He appreciated just having a bike, never mind the world champ's. But then another major hitch: on another training run he had a flat tyre. He had no idea how to change a flat tyre and even if he had, there was no pump or spare tyre on the bike. He had to gingerly wheel it about 5 km (3.1 miles) to the nearest bike shop.

‘I didn't know it when I walked into the shop, but it turned out that Paino Bikes in Miranda was Clarence Street Cyclery's biggest competition. Frank Paino took one look and recognised the bike. He said, “Is that Gary Sutton's bike? What are you doing with it?” “He loaned it to me so I can go in a triathlon tomorrow.” He said, “So you want a new tyre?” I said, “Yeah.” “Well I'm not selling it to you. Why? Because it's Gary Sutton's bike.”'

Greg immediately switched into salesman mode and eventually won Frank Paino over. He rode home very carefully with a new tyre and a spare. ‘The tyre cost me 50 bucks and I had to get another one. I thought, “I've just spent half my week's wages on two tyres. I can't afford to do this sport. It's a silvertail's sport!”'

Greg drove down to Lake Illawarra with Leonie. He was jumping out of his skin with anticipation and only realised that the lake was full of jellyfish after he'd muscled himself halfway through the swim. Every other stroke he squished into a jellyfish. His body soon went numb. He'd wasted so much energy kicking during the swim that when he struggled out of the water, he cramped. Looking around at the changeover to the bike, he realised he was in the bottom third of the race with perhaps 1000 competitors ahead of him. He took an age to get his shoes on. Then he put his helmet on backwards and had to stop and change it. The ride was 36 km (22.4 miles) of cramping and overtaking before Greg came into his own in the run leg. By then his cramps had eased, and he scythed through the field to finish near the top 100 with one of the fastest runs of the day. ‘It was the greatest thing. I still remember the pain, the ecstasy, the whole lot. That one day was just fantastic. Richie was about fifth or sixth. It was great. I couldn't wait for the next one.'

But that was the last race of the season. Greg had to wait six months for the next one. He threw his energies into training with Richie and Peter Brunker, a surf club friend. Richie had joined his father as an apprentice butcher but later took a job as a lifeguard at Cronulla Beach so he could concentrate more on his triathlon training. He was totally dedicated: one New Year's Day when his family was lazing around in the heat of the Sydney summer, Richie headed off for a 20-km (12.4-mile) run.

Liz Walker noticed the contrast between Greg's easy-going attitude to sport and life and Richie's. ‘A lot of the triathletes, including Richie, took it so seriously. If they got a flat tyre they'd blow up about it. If it happened to Greg, he'd just burst out laughing—“Look what happened to me!”— and he'd have them all laughing with him. Richie loved that about Greg. He'd come home laughing and telling us what Greg had got up to.'

On the other hand, Greg learnt so much from watching Richie's swimming technique because he was a natural like his mother. Similarly, Richie deferred to Greg on running. The Walkers transformed a garage at the back of their new house into Richie's room so he could stay at home but still be independent. Richie and Greg would spend hours in this haven talking about triathlon and pumping weights.

Around this time, largely through the
Wide World of Sports
coverage, word had started to spread about the ultimate triathlon event, the Hawaiian Ironman. It quickly attained iconic status among the growing band of extreme sports aficionados. Two blokes from Greg's surf club, Paul Bannister and Warren Buchan, had finished the 1984 Hawaiian Ironman and returned as conquering heroes. Richie and Peter Brunker idolised Banno and Bucko, and were determined to follow in their footsteps and take the challenge on those distant lava fields. Greg was swept up by their enthusiasm. ‘Richie would take me on swims, and then on weekends in the winter, we'd ride. Peter Brunker and Richard and I would ride to Shellharbour and back. We did that because Bucko and Banno did it.'

Running was natural to Greg, but he was on a steep learning curve in the water and on a racing bike. He used his innate physical intelligence to gradually improve his swimming. By observing training partners with superior techniques, he corrected his body position and stroking. He was a long way from being an elite swimmer, but he slowly cut down his times and built up his condition. And despite growing up with a pushbike and spending many hours in the saddle on his paper and chemist runs, Greg was still a relatively weak cyclist when he started in triathlon. But he learnt to put down dedicated bike kilometres, constantly learning how to improve his bike training, adding some gym work for his legs and putting in time on the stationary training bikes to help with his technique. He also saw the benefit of setting up his bike correctly, and he and Richie would spend considerable time working with bike mechanics and taking advice from the experts.

Richie was soon performing consistently, regularly featuring in the top ten in local races, often making it into the top five. His swimming leg was always his strongest and usually gave him a substantial lead going into the ride, where he generally at least held his own. His running held him back. Greg could spot him 5 minutes into a 10-km (6.2-mile) run and reel him in, but Richie's swimming was so far ahead of Greg's that Richie would still beat him home.

By the time The Great Race at Surfers Paradise came around in May 1986, Greg had a few triathlons under his belt and Richie was a genuine contender. It was a half-Ironman: a 2-km (1.2-mile) swim around Jupiter's Casino, an 80-km (50-mile) bike ride around the Gold Coast hinterland and a 21-km (13-mile) run around the Broadbeach area. Greg convinced Leonie to compete and persuaded a big group of friends to come.

The longer distance was both a big step up and a major challenge for Greg and the others. As usual, he lost touch with Richie in the swim but nevertheless struggled through it. Then he had a solid ride and another powerful run and finished in about 5 hours. Greg was elated, but almost immediately he heard that one of the earlier runners had collapsed and died, just metres from the finish line. He had a powerful feeling of dread, which was confirmed within minutes when one of his friends rushed over and told him the stricken runner was his best friend, who was, in fact, still alive but on life support at Southport Hospital.

Richie's heart had stopped beating for almost 4 minutes before paramedics revived him. Then he lapsed into a coma. He was on life support for almost a week, and Greg stayed at his side, ‘all day, every day', with Richie's parents. ‘Richie had had a cardiac arrest at 20 years old. There had been no history of heart problems.' Having regained consciousness after about 40 hours, Richie had a pacemaker implanted and was given a clean bill of health. ‘He, Peter Brunker and I started training again. Richie had no other ill effects. He was lucky, a healthy young man.'

Looking back, David and Liz Walker now think Richie may have misunderstood a warning of his impending heart problem in the months leading up to his heart attack in the race at Surfers. One day, he'd just returned from a long bike ride in very cold conditions when he fainted at the kitchen sink as he tried to take off his gloves. He recovered immediately and put it down to the cold, but David insisted that he have himself checked out. ‘He went to see a doctor, and the doctor told him that he thought it was indigestion. He gave him a cardiograph and other tests, but nothing showed up. That reassured us. He was super fit. We had no inkling anything was wrong.'

Richie's doctors performed the full range of tests on him after his Gold Coast collapse but again found no abnormalities. David tried to dissuade Richie from competing in more triathlons. ‘I used to say to him, “Go easy. You don't have to do it.” And he'd say, “No, no, I want to do it, I want to do the triathlons, I want to be fit, I don't want to sit around and get fat.”'

Richie's doctors reluctantly allowed him to resume training but warned him to take it gradually. They put limits on his distances. He had no further problems during the off-season and he, Greg and Peter set themselves to compete in the Nowra Triathlon, on 6 November 1986, one of the first races for the new season. Their plan was then to compete in the upcoming Forster Ironman, a qualifying event for the Hawaiian Ironman.