BY THE TIME I was twelve years old (and twelve stone) I was actually in quite a good place for a change. I was doing well at school, I’d cut down on my cannabis intake and was even having fewer fights. This would have been the same time that peace broke out between me and my brothers and to top it all off, my swimming career was coming along very nicely.
That supply teacher’s lecture had had a very strange snowball effect on my mindset because the confidence I’d gained from working hard at school, and creating a safety net for if the swimming went tits up, actually gave me even more confidence in the pool. This allowed me to relax more and helped me to perform better. It was a proper paradox all right, but one that I gratefully accepted.
The only people who were suffering on my behalf now were my parents – but just for a change it was down to something I was doing right, as opposed to any misdemeanours. I was now completely dedicated to swimming, which meant they were having to take me training at all hours, and because they had such punishing jobs I could tell that it was killing them. Neither of them ever complained but I remember glancing over at them sometimes as we drove towards the swimming pool and they looked exhausted. The most punishing of these sessions started at 5.30 a.m., which meant we had to be up and out by 5 a.m. I wasn’t especially happy about this either but it was purgatory to Mum and Dad.
The dedication required by young competitive swimmers is obviously significant but the same could also be said for the parents. Fancy giving up almost every bloody weekend just so your kid can go swimming. You can’t really get pissed the night before a competition because the chances are you’ll have to drive to God knows where at silly o’clock in the morning and then once you’re there you’ll be sat on your arse twiddling your thumbs for hours on end. It’s a seriously hard life and because the sport’s so popular and competitive, only a tiny, tiny fraction of young hopefuls make it to the Nationals, which is short for the National Age Group Championships. At the time that was my own personal ambition and even though I stood a good chance of qualifying there was no way it was going to be at the expense of my parents’ sanity. I’d caused them enough grief over the years and it was about time I started paying back some of their love and dedication.
I think I’d just finished watching The Terminator again for what must have been about the fifteenth time and, feeling pumped-up and inspired as I always did by the end, I found Mum and Dad and told them I had an announcement to make. God only knows what they thought I was going to say. I’d already nearly given Mum a heart attack by borrowing Dad’s hair clippers and giving myself a Mohican (school were not happy!) and I think she thought I’d had something pierced or, worse, had a tattoo done. Me, have a tattoo or get something pierced? What a ridiculous suggestion.
Once I’d got Mum and Dad together I informed them of my plans.
‘From now on I’m going to make my own way to training in the morning and I’ll do the same for the evening session. Oh yes. And I’m going to win every single freestyle event at the 2001 Nationals.’
As statements go this was bold to say the least but Mum and Dad hardly batted an eyelid. They knew exactly how good I was and, in my own self-assured little mind, attaining the required qualifying times would be a mere formality.
Sure enough, I managed to qualify for every single race – the 50m, 100m, 200m, 400m and the 1500m – and my God, did I train for it. The regime was three and a half hours a day, five days a week, with competitions at weekends. As fit and driven as I undoubtedly was, it was damn hard work.
After getting up at 5 a.m. I’d cycle into Newcastle town centre, which was about two miles, and do a full-on ninety-minute session. Then, in the evening, I’d make the same journey again and do another two hours. My coach was a man called Arnold Faulkner who was the Head Coach at Newcastle Swimming Club. He must have been in his fifties when I first got to know him and he had short grey hair and wore glasses. The best way of describing Arnold back then in terms of personality was firm but fair and he was the person who taught me the importance of consistency. He didn’t get through to everyone though and I remember there were two other swimmers in the group who, for whatever reason, only used to turn up to the morning sessions once or maybe twice a week. While this understandably exasperated Arnold it used to infuriate me, as even though I cycled in I never missed a session. So to try and teach them a lesson, and to make them feel inadequate, I began playing games with them. Whenever they did turn up for the morning session I’d allow them to beat me, which obviously lulled them into a false sense of superiority. Then, come the weekend and the competitions, I’d completely annihilate them. They were obviously a bit miffed by this but as opposed to doing something about it they just stood there looking like dickheads week after week and carried on turning up when they wanted.
I think Arnold was secretly pleased that these lads didn’t always turn up because if ever I needed an illustration of the rewards that consistency brings, that was it. Being a budding alpha male also meant that I was forever looking for opportunities to prove myself over the next man, and in that respect, it was manna from heaven. But by far the best part of training for the Nationals, or just training in general really, was feeling myself improve. What a fucking thrill that was, and still is! Back then I obviously had fewer distractions so the feelings of euphoria it gave me were very, very pure and in the run-up to the 2001 Nationals they were my lifeblood. These days it’s slightly different because there are so many different factors to consider, such is the pressure of being a professional sportsman, but it still gives me a massive high. If I hadn’t been so driven and confident it wouldn’t have felt nearly as good because it wouldn’t have meant as much, so discovering what was at the end of the rainbow was a very, very nice surprise. The ultimate reward, I suppose.
Arnold was actually the one who put the idea in my head about making my own way to training. The reason he suggested it was because one morning neither Mum or Dad had been able to take me in for some reason and, instead of getting on my bike or catching a bus, I skipped the session. The next time I saw him, Arnold said to me, ‘You could make that problem go away if you cycled in. What do you think, Eddie?’ This immediately got me thinking about what it was doing to Mum and Dad and a week or so later I made my announcement.
As well as being a very shrewd motivator, Arnold inspired absolute trust in me. If he said swim 100 metres in fifty-five seconds, I would swim 100 metres in fifty-five seconds, and then, if he said swim it in a minute, I’d swim it in a minute. In different circumstances, I might have questioned somebody for asking me to post a slower time, but because it was Arnold I never did. At the end of every training session he’d get us all together for a chat and whatever instructions he gave us became gospel to me. If he said we weren’t drinking enough fluids, I’d start drinking more immediately and then turn up to the next session with a two-litre bottle of water in my hand; partly because I wanted to impress him, if I’m being honest, but mainly because I trusted him and relied on him to help me improve.
This might sound slightly conceited to some but because I was Arnold’s star pupil, certainly with regards to commitment, but also ability and potential (OK, that does sound conceited!), I’m pretty sure he started building the training sessions around me, for the simple reason he thought I stood the best chance of success. I don’t know if any of the other kids noticed it but I did. He knew he was backing a winner.