I cannot wait for the Olympics. Though they are still two years away, London is gearing up for them and the excitement is genuinely palpable. In 2012, London will be transformed: the influx of tourists and interest from around the world will re-energise the city and create a sense of pride amongst jaded and lethargic Londoners. I am not ashamed to admit that I shed a few tears as I watched London win the bid - it was that M People song, it gets me every time. As David Beckham beamed, I glowed inside. As Kelly Holmes punched the air in delight, so, too, did I quietly clench my fist in triumph.
I had long since given up hope of ever competing in the Olympics myself. I remember being all of five years old and watching the womens' gymnastics in awe; as those tiny, lycra-clad nymphs swung, jumped, tossed and tumbled in and around the apparatus I thought to myself, that could be me, one day - taking gold for my country because I could jump in the air the best. At 23, and with no gymnastic training whatsoever, my chances of making the 2012 team seem...well, slim. Perhaps it was going into kidney failure that scuppered my Olympic dream...or perhaps it is my chronic laziness and laissez faire attitude towards physical exertion. No..."Pretty Olympic heroine's dreams dashed by cruel illness" sounds better - a lot more tragic.
Wait. Hang on a minute. There may be a way for me to achieve Olympic glory after all. All this time I've thought of my illness as a barrier to having that gold hung around my neck, when in fact it's my ticket in! How could I have forgotten? Forget the Olympics: I am going to enter myself into...The Transplant Games.
That's right. People who have had transplants have their OWN OLYMPICS. The four day event is held annually and has been hosted in such prestigious locations as Portsmouth, and Norwich. The website informs me that The British Transplant Games incorporates "a wide variety of sporting and leisure activities for all age groups". Note the "leisure activities". Presumably, this means that in addition to the high jump and the swimming and cycling, there is also competitive sitting down and some intense crochet tournaments. Easy. Waste of my time.
The bumpf goes on to say: "Some of our Members come to win medals, training well in advance of the Event and with an eye to being chosen for the World Games [this is me] - others come to renew old friendships, do their sport at their own pace and generally enjoy a few days of fun and sharing amongst so many who had debilitating illnesses but who are now fit and well as a result of a successful transplant". I.e. some people - like myself - are WINNERS, and the rest are SUCKERS whom I am going to beat and then taunt until they wish they'd never even had a transplant. "Do their sport at their own pace"? While some mug is jogging along the 100 m track "at his own pace" I will be running all the way to the gold-medal podium.
I am going to train, and train hard. Running, cycling, swimming in all weathers, I shall eat 6 small meals a day, primarily of chicken, pasta and egg whites. I will be Rocky. I am going to enter myself into every event - I'm no sprinter, but how hard can it be when you're competing against people waiting for new lungs? I'm a shoe-in! My lungs work fine! After 10 m, those suckers will be panting for breath and begging for oxygen as they choke on my dust. Surely anyone waiting for a new heart is going to be easy to beat - they could go at any time. I'm going to end up with more gold around my neck than Mr. T.
Of course, it'll be the ones who have just had a transplant who I will have to watch out for. In fact, surely it will work as an advantage if a Granddad has just received the heart of some 25 year-old rock-climbing nut (who probably died in some freak rock climbing accident). It's basically cheating. They better have some classifications, otherwise its seriously unfair to me.
One of the most common problems kidney patients encounter is low haemaglobin, or red blood cells. To rectify this, most patients take regular injections of a medication known as EPO. You may have heard of EPO...because it is a drug athletes use - illegally - to improve their performance. There was a huge scandal a few years back when numerous Tour de France riders were discovered to be using it and consequently disqualified from the sport. This, too, will work in my favour. Surely, The Transplant Games officials won't be able to ban use of EPO - at least 3/4 of the field will be on it. I'll simply up my dosage; I'll have so much oxygen in my blood I'll be able to run for a week and barely feel it. Yet again, renal failure comes up trumps.
These mopes, who have up until now been competing in "leisure activities...at their own pace", are not going to know what's hit them. Whilst they are all chugging along on their last legs with their oxygen tanks and their failing hearts, I'll be up on that winners podium with my fistula pumping, strong and true, and my gold medals glinting in the Coventry sunshine. Today, the British Transplant Games, tomorrow, I'll go international...just call me Rosy, Champion of the (transplant) World.
I had long since given up hope of ever competing in the Olympics myself. I remember being all of five years old and watching the womens' gymnastics in awe; as those tiny, lycra-clad nymphs swung, jumped, tossed and tumbled in and around the apparatus I thought to myself, that could be me, one day - taking gold for my country because I could jump in the air the best. At 23, and with no gymnastic training whatsoever, my chances of making the 2012 team seem...well, slim. Perhaps it was going into kidney failure that scuppered my Olympic dream...or perhaps it is my chronic laziness and laissez faire attitude towards physical exertion. No..."Pretty Olympic heroine's dreams dashed by cruel illness" sounds better - a lot more tragic.
Wait. Hang on a minute. There may be a way for me to achieve Olympic glory after all. All this time I've thought of my illness as a barrier to having that gold hung around my neck, when in fact it's my ticket in! How could I have forgotten? Forget the Olympics: I am going to enter myself into...The Transplant Games.
That's right. People who have had transplants have their OWN OLYMPICS. The four day event is held annually and has been hosted in such prestigious locations as Portsmouth, and Norwich. The website informs me that The British Transplant Games incorporates "a wide variety of sporting and leisure activities for all age groups". Note the "leisure activities". Presumably, this means that in addition to the high jump and the swimming and cycling, there is also competitive sitting down and some intense crochet tournaments. Easy. Waste of my time.
The bumpf goes on to say: "Some of our Members come to win medals, training well in advance of the Event and with an eye to being chosen for the World Games [this is me] - others come to renew old friendships, do their sport at their own pace and generally enjoy a few days of fun and sharing amongst so many who had debilitating illnesses but who are now fit and well as a result of a successful transplant". I.e. some people - like myself - are WINNERS, and the rest are SUCKERS whom I am going to beat and then taunt until they wish they'd never even had a transplant. "Do their sport at their own pace"? While some mug is jogging along the 100 m track "at his own pace" I will be running all the way to the gold-medal podium.
I am going to train, and train hard. Running, cycling, swimming in all weathers, I shall eat 6 small meals a day, primarily of chicken, pasta and egg whites. I will be Rocky. I am going to enter myself into every event - I'm no sprinter, but how hard can it be when you're competing against people waiting for new lungs? I'm a shoe-in! My lungs work fine! After 10 m, those suckers will be panting for breath and begging for oxygen as they choke on my dust. Surely anyone waiting for a new heart is going to be easy to beat - they could go at any time. I'm going to end up with more gold around my neck than Mr. T.
Of course, it'll be the ones who have just had a transplant who I will have to watch out for. In fact, surely it will work as an advantage if a Granddad has just received the heart of some 25 year-old rock-climbing nut (who probably died in some freak rock climbing accident). It's basically cheating. They better have some classifications, otherwise its seriously unfair to me.
One of the most common problems kidney patients encounter is low haemaglobin, or red blood cells. To rectify this, most patients take regular injections of a medication known as EPO. You may have heard of EPO...because it is a drug athletes use - illegally - to improve their performance. There was a huge scandal a few years back when numerous Tour de France riders were discovered to be using it and consequently disqualified from the sport. This, too, will work in my favour. Surely, The Transplant Games officials won't be able to ban use of EPO - at least 3/4 of the field will be on it. I'll simply up my dosage; I'll have so much oxygen in my blood I'll be able to run for a week and barely feel it. Yet again, renal failure comes up trumps.
These mopes, who have up until now been competing in "leisure activities...at their own pace", are not going to know what's hit them. Whilst they are all chugging along on their last legs with their oxygen tanks and their failing hearts, I'll be up on that winners podium with my fistula pumping, strong and true, and my gold medals glinting in the Coventry sunshine. Today, the British Transplant Games, tomorrow, I'll go international...just call me Rosy, Champion of the (transplant) World.
Comments
Post a Comment