10

‘Who deserves to be the gold medal favourite for the 100m hurdles?’

I was seated at a table inside the dining room of the Hong Kong University with a bunch of Australian journalists around me.

‘Me,’ I said.

They all started laughing, but I was only half-joking.

‘Whoever wins it, they deserve it, obviously, because they did it on the day,’ I continued. ‘Hopefully it’s me. I’ll be happy with anything for the final. I wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t make the final.’

The 100m hurdles was more open than normal, and I was now the fifth fastest in the world in 2008. Athens champion Joanna Hayes didn’t make the US team, nor did Michelle Perry, the two-time world champion. Another top American, Virginia Powell, was injured, as was Perdita Felicien, the Canadian who won the 2003 world title. And Susanna Kallur from Sweden, the silver medallist behind Perry in Osaka 12 months ago, was running injured.

‘It’s going to be a very tight race,’ I again emphasised to the media contingent.

We were all in Hong Kong because the Athletics Australia officials, in their wisdom, had decided this was the venue for the Olympic team’s camp on the eve of the Games.

It was a dump.

I wasn’t as upset as many of the others because I just thought it was normal for teams to stay in small dormitories with hard beds and flat pillows. Pole vaulters Steve Hooker and Paul Burgess left because they deemed it unfit to stay in and went to a friend’s apartment elsewhere in Hong Kong. I didn’t know Hooker at this stage and initially I thought it was prima donna behaviour, but I soon appreciated why he’d done it. To become the best in the world you had to look after yourself the best way possible. And this was far from the best.

What had infuriated many was the fact that the distance runners got to stay in a five-star hotel in another section of Hong Kong because the university didn’t have any running trails for them to train on.

I was too excited to be overly concerned, although what had me upset was the fact that we’d been banned from going into Beijing for the opening ceremony. The reasoning was the expected high levels of pollution – which didn’t eventuate – were going to harm our preparation and affect our ability to perform at our best.

It was a joke, and to make matters worse, they made us attend a function in Hong Kong with some businesspeople where they had the opening ceremony being shown on a big screen. As I watched the other athletes walk into the incredible ‘Bird’s Nest’ stadium, I suddenly burst into tears.

Why wasn’t I there?

Instead, I was stuck at the back of the function room by myself until 400m runner Joel Milburn came and sat with me.

Olympic team manager Geoff Rowe had told us the people at the dinner were potential sponsors and that we were to be nice and speak to them, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I don’t know if it was nerves about what was coming up, but I was very emotional and, unfortunately, what should have been a memorable evening became truly forgettable.

* * *

The laundry service blew my mind.

While there were so many things that had my head spinning about the Beijing athletes’ village, simple things like someone doing your washing made me so happy. The fact that you could put your washing in a bag, drop it into the laundromat and then come back in a couple of hours to pick up the finished product was the highlight.

That was closely followed by the size of the cafeteria, which was the biggest room I’d ever seen in my life. To walk from one end of the Olympic Village to the other took half an hour, which shows how big it had to be to house the 16,000 competitors during the Games.

Playing the waiting game was never much fun, and I decided not to go and watch any other sports, preferring to wait for the track and field to start. Plus I didn’t want to take any risks with my back, which had played up in Hong Kong. Because I had strapping all the way round my waist, which made me walk funny, I’d actually been smuggled past the waiting media at the airport when we arrived in China. They got Tamsyn Lewis to go out ahead of me and keep the cameras amused while I quietly slid past and got on the team bus. It worked a treat.

The back issue meant I was certainly on edge at training. Sharon and I had our regulation little spats as the tension mounted, because I wanted every session to be perfect, given the biggest event of my life was just days away.

My roommate in the village was heptathlete Kylie Wheeler, which turned out to be a problem. While she was a lovely girl, Kylie was a serious snorer. I’d noticed it at the start but it hadn’t really annoyed me, but the night before my first race, that changed. Naturally your senses are a bit wired on the eve of a race at the Olympic Games, so the snoring became a major issue. Early in the morning, it got to the point where I had to leave the room and sleep on the couch in the lounge room.

Tamsyn, who was running both the 400m and 800m at the Games, found me. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m sleeping here because Kylie is snoring.’

Without another word, Tamsyn burst into the room and told Kylie to get out.

‘Sally is sleeping in the lounge because of you,’ she said. ‘You have to leave so she can go back to bed.’

I didn’t want to make a scene, but Tamsyn was on a mission. My roommate was very apologetic as she crept out, and I managed to get a couple more hours after she’d left.

The hurdles competition was spread out over three days instead of two, which was a bit unusual, and meant extra tickets had to be bought by my support crew.

Mum and her friend Vicky – I had done Little A’s with her daughter Sonia and they’d become good friends – plus Kieran were there for my first Olympic Games.

All the controversy in the build-up to the Games about the pollution turned out to be unfounded, given the conditions inside the incredible stadium were ideal for sprinting. We knew the track would be fast, and Usain Bolt showed that on the second night of competition when he smashed the 100m world record, running the unbelievable time of 9.69 seconds.

Sharon wasn’t part of the Australian team management so she was staying away from the village, which meant she had a daily battle with the Chinese transport system. That was an adventure I knew she could have done without.

She was able to get access to a personal coach accreditation, which got her into the warm-up track. Team management gave her an ill-fitting Australian uniform so she would look the part.

I was calmer than I’d imagined for my first race at an Olympic Games – mainly because I think I was relieved that it had finally arrived. But all the waiting around in the village was draining, and it seemed like ages since I’d raced in Monaco. Despite this, I felt more than ready to get underway as I lined up in the third heat of the 100m hurdles.

That changed the moment the gun was fired.

Everything felt weird, and I was all over the place throughout the race. It was almost like I’d forgotten how to hurdle. It was the worst I’d run for months and I finished second in 12.83, a whisker behind Jamaican Delloreen Ennis-London (12.82).

I was a bit shocked, but at the same time I knew the heats were all about getting through to the semifinals. I’d done that, so I had to move on and forget about it. That was easier said than done, and I woke up the following morning like a bear with a sore head. Everything was frustrating me as the nerves hit about the semifinal.

‘Are you okay?’ discus thrower Dani Samuels asked as we sat in the lounge room of the apartment.

‘Not really,’ I answered carefully through gritted teeth. ‘I’m not really in a good mood.’

Dani’s response was perfect. She started laughing, which helped break the ice.

By the afternoon I’d started to feel better. I now had a sense that everything was going to work out. It wasn’t as clear as my previous premonitions, such as when I broke the Australian record, but all of a sudden I was a lot more positive.

My goal was to make the Olympic final, and to achieve that I had to qualify in this race. I’d warmed up brilliantly, which helped the situation, but I was more serious than usual as we gathered behind the blocks.

I could hear people in the crowd yelling, ‘Go Sally. Go Sally.’ I had no idea who they were and barely acknowledged them as I attempted to zone in. I had to get this right.

My job was made a lot harder by the fact I was out in lane nine. That meant I wouldn’t have much of an idea what the rest of the field were doing, which was a problem, given only the first four progressed through to the final.

I started well, but again my technique felt rusty. Approaching the final hurdle I sensed I was up there, but when I dipped and looked across there were too many in my line of sight for my liking.

A sense of dread came over me. I’d blown it.

Lolo Jones had won in a personal best time of 12.43, but there were a bunch of us together over the line next. The scoreboard was taking forever to figure out the placings and finally it was there: ‘Sally McLellan 12.70 q’.

That little letter ‘q’ was all I needed to see, and instantly I felt a massive weight lift off my shoulders.

‘Thank God,’ I said aloud to no-one in particular. I was into the Olympic final. I’d finished fourth, with Ennis-London second in 12.67 and Priscilla Lopes-Schliep third (12.68).

As I passed through the mixed zone, I was informed that I was only the third Australian to make the Olympic final, joining Pam Ryan (fourth in 1972) and Glynis Nunn (fifth in 1984).

That was nice to know, but there was more history to be made.

* * *

‘How do you do this? What do I do?’

I’d plonked myself down next to Bronwyn Thompson, who was having lunch in the village cafeteria. My fellow Queenslander had been in my position four years earlier when she made the long jump final at the Athens Games. She’d finished fourth, and what she said to me hit home.

‘At least you’re not Cathy Freeman at the Sydney Olympics on the starting blocks,’ Bronwyn said. ‘You don’t have that sort of pressure on you, so you can just go out and enjoy yourself. Relax, because you can only control what you can control. Do what you normally do, remember what it’s been like in Europe and do the same thing. You’ve beaten these girls before; you’ve done this a million times. You know how to hurdle; just go out and do it again.’

I felt like jumping the table and giving her a big hug. Everything she said made sense, and from that moment on I was a different person. I’d been lost and pacing the room in the morning; now I was excited about competing again.

Sharon also seemed relaxed – or at least she was doing a good job of hiding her nerves – when we met up to go to the warm-up track.

It was chaotic in there, with people regularly wandering across the track where we’d set up three hurdles to practice.

Craig Hilliard, one of the Australian team coaches, and Sharon had to get help from some British and Canadian officials to build a human wall around the hurdles so I could do my reps without the danger of cleaning someone up.

Ennis-London was next to me, and she looked to be really flying.

‘That’s so fast,’ I said to Sharon.

‘You’re faster than that.’

I stopped and looked at my coach. ‘No, I’m not.’

Sharon was adamant. ‘Yes, you are.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve just seen it with my own eyes.’

These momentary doubts regularly kicked in at this stage, and I went over to Craig for a second opinion. He was just as positive, and when I went back for my final run-through, I was telling myself not to be scared of the hurdles. Over and over I said that as I pushed hard.

When I’d finished I went back over to them and stated my intentions.

‘I just have to really gun it.’

We all walked together over to the call room with Craig talking about the TV show The Simpsons for some reason to try to keep all of our minds relaxed.

When we got there, Sharon stopped and gave me a big hug and said, ‘This is it, Sal. No guts, no glory.’

I started to act strangely while we waited underneath the stadium. I was talking to myself – a lot. I’d never done that before, and now, bizarrely, I wasn’t even scared to say things out loud.

‘C’mon,’ I said in my best Lleyton Hewitt impersonation as I stepped out onto the track.

For some reason as I took off my top after my final practice run, I was convinced I was going to be on the dais. I wasn’t thinking about winning, and for some reason bronze wasn’t hitting a chord in my psyche either.

As the starter called for us to get into our blocks, there was a calmness about me. I was in lane three, on the inside of Lolo.

All year I’d nailed my start and I was clearly the best at it in this field.

Attack the first hurdle. Focus on your own lane.

I went almost simultaneously with the gun – the official reaction time was 0.138.

That is the best start of my life.

I was clearly in front over the first hurdle and was still there over the second and third.

Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going.

Over the fourth hurdle it dawned on me.

Shit, I’m winning the Olympic Games!

I knew something special was going to happen when I was still in front over the fifth hurdle, but as I approached the sixth I felt something.

Oh crap, here we go. They’re going to come over the top of me.

By the seventh Lolo had clearly headed me.

Just run your own race. Run your own race.

Then it happened. Lolo hit the eighth hurdle and almost fell.

Oh my God. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I didn’t want to be distracted by what had happened, because previously I’d lost concentration during races and it had cost me.

Don’t look at her.

As I got over the final hurdle I realised I had no idea where anyone else was.

It’s the Olympic final; have a look.

I turned my head to the right as I started to dip for the line and couldn’t believe what I saw. There was only one ahead of me. The rest were just behind. I’d done it.

SILVER!

Instead of slowing down I kept running towards the big screen.

Where’s my name?

Dawn Harper had won the gold medal in 12.54, but there still wasn’t anyone else’s name up there.

I’m going to run up there and do it myself if you don’t hurry up!

It was the longest 90 seconds of my life. Then the screen flickered: 2 – Sally McLellan AUS 12.64.

I am an Olympic silver medallist!

I started squealing and jumping up in the air. I grabbed hold of Priscilla Lopes-Schliep and we just screamed at each other.

Priscilla Lopes Schliep of Canada, who won bronze, celebrates with me after I won silver in the women’s 100m hurdles held at the National Stadium on day eleven of the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games. (Photo by Jeff Gross/Getty Images)

The reason for the delay was the fact that she had the same time as me and they had to go to 1/1000th of a second to split us – 12.632 to 12.633. Only two hundredths of a second separated second and sixth. Lolo had finished seventh.

I saw Dawn take off on her lap of honour and realised I needed an Australian flag. There certainly hadn’t been any prior arrangement regarding a flag, given no-one thought I was going to be needing one.

All of my teammates were seated back at the start of the 100m, so they couldn’t help, but luckily a random person out of the crowd threw one down onto the track.

I draped it over my shoulders and bounced around the Bird’s Nest. It was an amazing feeling to see the crowd standing and clapping. At the 200m mark it hit me. The tears started to flow, and they were still going when I saw Mum, Vicky and Kieran waving frantically at me.

I went over and gave them a big hug.

‘It was magic,’ I kept saying over and over again.

By the time I made it back to the finish line I also had a green-and-gold pompom to go with my flag.

I was still in shock when Pat Welsh from Channel 7 grabbed me for an interview.

‘Oh my God, you have got to be kidding me, right?’ I said. ‘Is this real? It’s amazing, I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say … Can you believe it? Did you see me at the start, did you see how pumped I was? I was more pumped than I have ever been in my life. I wanted it that bad.’

I was babbling as I tried to comprehend what had just happened. I’d barely made it through the mixed zone when officials ushered the winners into a small room where we waited before going back out into the stadium for the medal ceremony.

The three of us were laughing and giggling the whole time as we tried to put our tracksuits on, but it was so hot and sweaty, which made it almost impossible to do. Priscilla had forgotten her pants and she was supposed to wear black, but ended up borrowing her team manager’s, even though they were red.

When I walked out to the dais and got the silver medal around my neck, I thought about a book swimmer Brooke Hanson had written called When Silver Is Gold. That was exactly how I felt. I felt like I’d won.

It was rare to see all three medallists so excited together, and as we posed for a photo the announcer was moved to say, ‘And look how happy all of them are.’

That was certainly the case, although when we were on our way to the press conference, for the first time I felt something different. Dawn was showing us her gold medal and I was envious. I suddenly felt like I really wanted that medal.

After clearing all my media commitments I finally made it back to the village, where my celebration was a cheeseburger from McDonald’s.

I then ran into Bronwyn, who again seemed to know what I was thinking.

‘Did you feel slightly funny towards Dawn and her gold medal?’ she asked. She’d been the only person who’d thought of that.

‘Yes,’ I said slowly, ‘yes, I did.’

She knew I could have been an Olympic gold medallist – and I knew, the next time, I would be.