It’s a sunny autumn afternoon and I’m standing in the sun-drenched northern foyer of the Sydney Opera House. I’m one of about 300 people who have gathered here, all of us dressed to the nines, making small talk, looking at our watches, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot.
We’re in a kind of reception line, snaking its way from one end of the foyer to the other. A seemingly random collection of sports stars, charity workers, school kids, media personalities and me.
A cheer rises up from outside – a large crowd has gathered on the Opera House forecourt. They’re waving flags and craning necks to get a glimpse of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge – otherwise known as William and Kate.
I’m not a royalist by any measure – which is to say, I’m kind of indifferent to the whole monarchy thing. But when I received an invitation to join the official reception welcoming the royal couple to Sydney, I figured why not.
I see Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge, as she enters the foyer. She knows my story before she gets to me. She’s clearly done her homework. As she gets closer, speaking earnestly to the group of people to my right, I can’t help but stare. So many magazine photo shoots, so many appearances on the TV: does she really look in real-life as flawless as she appears in the media? Pretty much. Every movement is considered. Not contrived or forced: just graceful and elegant. Her hair is long and luxuriant, her skin has a sort of English rose translucence. (Though I do notice that she has pimples underneath her make-up, which reassures me – after all, these royals are just like the rest of us.)
She’s wearing a bright yellow dress – and she looks good in it. For some strange reason, I am feeling nervous. I feel my heart beating as she moves in front of me, takes my hand and shakes it.
An aide introduces us. Do I curtsey? Do I bow? What is the appropriate royal protocol? Is it hello? G’day? How do you do? In the end I cock it up royally and do a stumbled curtsey, before she holds out her hand to shake mine. I manage to spit out, ‘Hi, nice to meet you.’
We talk for what seems like a split second, and little of which I can remember afterwards. She is engaged, she is nodding politely. She’s either the most sincere stranger I have ever met, or she’s just very well-practised at appearing to be interested.
As she goes to move on, she takes my hand in both of hers, looks me in the eye and says, ‘You have tremendous spirit!’
One of the stranger by-products of the fire – the injuries I sustained and the very public manner in which I undertook my recovery – has been the funny sort of celebrity I now have.
It’s rare these days that I can walk through an airport or go to a restaurant and not be approached by someone who recognises me. Do I mind? It depends. Mostly it depends on what people say when they recognise me. ‘You’re the chick that got burned in the fire’ – I hate that. ‘You’re the chick from the TV’ – that’s not so good either. But when people come up and tell me I’ve inspired them to actually do something – whether it be to run a marathon, quit smoking or leave an abusive partner – I’m really proud and pleased I can have that influence. I went into Concord Hospital the other day and saw a nurse who had looked after me. She told me I had inspired her (actually, I think ‘given her a kick up the ass’ were her actual words) to start her Master’s degree. I was stoked.
So for the most part, I appreciate the celebrity status I have, use it for as much good as I can, and – at the end of the day – am grateful I am famous for having rebuilt my life after a terrible tragedy, rather than for making a sex tape or embezzled lots of money!
The only bad thing about it all is that I am rarely ‘off’. Every time I step out the front door, I feel obliged to be on show. But I normalise it – we all run into someone at the shops when we’re not feeling sociable, and we just have to fake it. I also remind myself: I don’t have to be a public figure – I have chosen to be a public figure. This is a path I have actively pursued. This, for the time being, is my job. And besides, every job, no matter what it is, has its pros and cons.
The pros are that I can get a lot more done in a shorter space of time than most people. Doors open more readily, meetings are taken more willingly. And that usually means funds can be raised for the charities I choose so much more easily. Working with Interplast and undertaking the various charity events and overseas challenges, I’m really proud of the money I’ve raised.
One thing I have learned is that the media can be fickle. When you are the new item, everyone wants a piece of you. At first, I was simply really pleased that anyone was interested in my story. But then, once it got out there and my profile took off, I started to realise I was as much use to these media outfits – and indeed the various charities, companies and organisations who would soon start to line up to seek my involvement in their activities or endorsement of their products – as they were to me. Far from being a one-way street, the benefits whenever I did a story for a media outlet flowed in both directions. And the more media I did, the more I came to appreciate that fact.
Which is not to say the media I engaged with most regularly were only involved for purely cynical reasons. I’ve become friends with many of the journalists I’ve got to know along the way. The vast majority of them are empathetic and considerate. But there are always those who just don’t get it. They’re too interested in the cheap laugh or want to push and prod you until you give them something new or fresh. I remember one radio journalist interviewing me purely for the purpose of provoking me.
I understand they want the best story, but that’s not necessarily what I want. And besides, I have to be careful, for my own sanity if nothing else, of only giving away as much of myself as I want to. So after an initial burst of saying yes to everything, I’ve now scaled it back.
But of course it’s been far from all bad. I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for the interest 60 Minutes took in my story at the outset. And appearing on the cover of the Australian Women’s Weekly was one of the proudest moments of my little celebrity life.
Sometimes I think it’s weird – the fact I am well known because of a random accident. A few seconds of my life that have changed everything. But then I don’t think I am famous because I was burned but rather because of what I have done since. I am famous because of my resilience, my optimism and my attitude.
As bright as my little star might be shining on the national scene – as many appearances as I might make on TV or shoots I might do for magazines – the one, wonderful, vital constant is the indifference with which it is largely treated by my home town of Mollymook. It’s my safe place. It’s also the place I retreat to when the speed and whir of this new world I have suddenly found myself in proves too much.
As much as I have carved out an independent existence now – I travel all over Australia and all over the world by myself – I can still manage to feel vulnerable when I am out in the big wide world. I read a National Geographic article recently about a killer whale that was injured after a run-in with a boat. And the other killer whales in the pod would kill fish for it and bring them back for the injured whale to eat. How beautiful is that? And sometimes I feel like that injured killer whale – with Mollymook as my pod.
One time when I was out surfing recently, the waves were really big and I was struggling to get my flippers on, and one of the boys put them on for me and held my hand to get me out to the back. Another time I was surfing out at the Bombie and it was seriously massive – even Michael was a bit scared. I got smashed by a set and my leash got ripped off, and I was just getting hammered by these waves. One of the local boys saw me copping a beating, paddled over to me, wrapped me in a big bear hug, talked me through the waves and helped me get washed back to shore. We ending up drifting in to another beach entirely.
People here have my back – and that’s reassuring. And it doesn’t matter how many princesses or movie stars I meet. To everyone in town, I am plain old Turia, or Pitty to my friends.
I remember standing in a reception line at the State Theatre in Sydney for the premiere of Angelina Jolie’s film Unbroken. I had been invited to attend and meet Ange and Brad. I was pretty excited (more about Ange than Brad, to be honest). Michael was about as excited as Michael gets – half an hour before we were due at the theatre, he was online in our hotel room checking the next day’s surf.
‘The world needs more powerful women like you,’ Angelina said as she shook my hand. For my part, I couldn’t stop staring at her face. That complexion. Those eyes. And Brad. Kind of scruffy but oozing charisma, ridiculously handsome. I wasn’t star-struck so much as bemused: a tiny voice in my head wondering how the hell I’d found myself here.
I was, however, star-struck when I met Kurt Fearnley – wheelchair racer, three-time Olympic gold medallist and all-round amazing human being. He’s as close to a hero as I have. I read his book when I was training for Ironman – it’s still one of my favourite books, and Kurt is one of my favourite people. To me, he epitomises strength of spirit. He inspires me. The man has three Paralympic gold medals and has won thirty-five marathons in five different continents. He’s achieved more in a wheelchair – and with his two remarkable arms – than most able-bodied people will achieve in their lifetime.
One of the things that really resonated in his book was a fear that he used to think only he felt, but has since realised is universal: a fear that when the test comes, you won’t have enough. It’s as if, no matter the training and preparation, you’ll never completely eliminate that little glimmer of doubt about your capabilities. As I spent lonely days riding the backroads of Ulladulla training, to know that it wasn’t only me who felt that way was an enormous comfort.
People tell me I am inspiring. I feel like a minnow next to Kurt Fearnley. So when I showed up for a gala dinner in Sydney and was seated next to him, I turned to jelly – I’ve never been as star-struck. I was so excited to meet him, I think I may have come on a bit strong. I can’t be sure because I was in such a state of high excitement, but I vaguely recall him looking hopefully around the table for someone else to talk to as I babbled at him for two straight hours. I sent him an email the next day, apologising. I thought maybe I had overdone it! So unlike me …