Heart of a Champion (15 page)

Dr Roger Thornton agreed it was possible Greg's asthma was kicking in. Then he had another thought. ‘He said he thought it may have been respiratory problems triggered by Hawaii's volcanic fog, or what the locals call “vog”. It's well known that it's very bad for people with any respiratory problems.'

As he headed off again, Greg felt somewhat reassured. He felt the vog was a real possibility as a trigger to his attacks. He tried to focus his mind on getting back into a reasonable cadence for the run. ‘I wasn't thinking clearly at the time but the mention of vog made some sense. I started to feel a bit better and I didn't have any attacks for quite some time.'

He started making progress through the field ahead of him. As he gained confidence, Greg slowly edged up his pace and began passing fading runners.

Watching from race headquarters, Paula had grown more concerned as she watched Greg's times on the bike. She didn't see any of his attacks but she knew something was odd from his irregular times. Then she was completely confused when she saw him in the run. ‘I was thinking, “OK, the bike was up and down, something's happening.” Then I remember standing on the corner and watching him run by and he was flying, he was absolutely flying.'

Greg suffered three attacks on the run but they were milder than the earlier ones, and he was able to handle them by slowing down to a walk or bending over and controlling his breathing until they passed. He powered home over the last 10 km (6.2 miles) and surprised himself by crossing the line in 11th place. Astonishingly, despite the attacks, Greg had run his fastest ever marathon at Kona—2 hours 46 minutes 51 seconds! When he realised how close he was to a top-10 finish, he was downcast. ‘My first reaction was disappointment at being only one place out of the top-10 money winners. All I wanted to do was get on the podium and get a pay cheque. Anyway, I thought, “How ironic—probably the hardest race I've ever run, worked my arse off, nearly collapsed so many times and I didn't get a pay cheque. This sucks.”'

Once he'd crossed the finish line, Greg allowed himself to be led away by the volunteers. ‘I said, “Oh, I think I need to visit the medical tent.” They asked me why and how was I feeling and I said, “Well, I'm a little dehydrated, plus I'm having some respiratory problems.”'

The attendants knew Greg and saw through his bravado. They whisked him through to the main medical tent, where two veteran Hawaiian Ironman race medicos cared for him: Nurse Adrian Kalil, from Portland, Oregon, and Ironman Medical Director Dr Bob Laird. ‘The doc said, “What's going on?” So I told him, and I asked him whether they could give me an ECG. I had a feeling and I said, “I think there might be something wrong with my ticker, I don't know. Just don't know.”'

Dr Laird put Greg on an IV drip and ran a range of tests, including an ECG. He came back with the results: he could see no problems, everything seemed fine. If it was asthma, there was nothing he could do. He suggested Greg have it checked out later.

Triathlete Joanna Zeiger's father, a pulmonary specialist, was in the medical area, and Greg mentioned his attacks to him. Dr Zeiger doubted it could have been asthma. He thought it was possible it was more complicated and he offered to check him out. Greg's father-in-law Vince Williams came in and joined the conversation. He suggested it may have been an anaphylactic reaction.

A litre and a half (52.5 fl oz) of IV fluid later, Greg was feeling much better and he headed back to the finish line to wait for Sian. He was delighted when she came through in 10th place.

When Paula saw Greg she was filled with concern. She knew she would have handled the situation differently. ‘I would have been out. But, hey listen, if you look at the signs in his career, God tried a million times to slow Welchy down. He always chose to ignore it—getting hit by the car, breaking his wrist. And he kept going because Greg didn't want to stop. He didn't want to stop because he was unsure. He knew something was going on. It's like everybody, when you slow down, you know you're going to have to face yourself. It was easier to deal with himself out on the racecourse.'

Paula's approach to the challenges of sport is at odds with that of many observers. Where they see inspirational courage, she sees folly and miscalculation. In the 1995 Ironman, with her eighth victory at her mercy, she took a huge lead into the run. But she blew up after 30 km (18.6 miles) and ‘bonked' near the finish line to crawl across the line in what others saw as a heroic fourth place.

‘Greg's effort in finishing was beyond amazing but it's also beyond stupid. People put sport into some realm. In 1995, when I collapsed at the finish line, everybody was saying, “Oh my God, that was so inspirational, so heart-wrenching, blah, blah, blah.” You know what, that wasn't heart-wrenching or inspirational. Let's be honest, I was dehydrated because of complete idiocy and stupidity. I'm a professional athlete—how could I not have been drinking enough? I've done a zillion ironman races, but everybody sees it as heroic. I see it as stupidity. Everyone thinks that Greg's thing is amazing but the fact that he continued was sheer stupidity.'

In hindsight, Greg concedes he should have stopped, but during the race neither he nor anyone else knew what was happening to him. In his mind, the worst case scenario was that he'd have to race with an inhaler in future. He just had no concept of his problem. Still, in Paula's eyes, if Greg had been able to think clearly, he should have pulled out. ‘It wasn't an Olympic qualifier. It was his last Ironman. His thing was to have a great last Ironman, go to the Olympics and then be done. If you're writing the great movie script, isn't that the perfect ending? But, you know what, reality never ends the way the movies do. What he was looking for was the perfect movie. He gambled. But he almost gambled his life away.'

Chapter 11
Heart of a Champion

A
FEW DAYS AFTER THE
I
RONMAN
, G
REG WAS FEELING
much better. His test results had come back normal, so he and Sian decided to continue with their usual routine and compete in the X-terra Triathlon, held each year on the Hawaiian Island of Maui the week after Ironman.

They flew to Maui a couple of days before the race. Sian was still worried by Greg's attacks, but she was placated by the test results and by the way he'd recovered. Asthma still seemed to be the logical culprit, although both Greg and Sian individually harboured secret doubts. Neither of them was planning to take the X-terra race too seriously. In fact, it was their idea of fun. It was an off-road triathlon, about two and a half hours of racing, and Greg had no doubt he could handle it easily.

Greg started the race full of his usual bounce and enthusiasm but early in the swim the attacks struck again. ‘I had two or three episodes in the swim. I just slowed down. I still got out in the lead, it was a good swim, and then took off on my bike and the attacks seemed to have disappeared. Everything seemed OK. I had no problems on the bike— well, I had three flat tyres—but no attacks. Then, on the run, I had two really, really decent episodes. But I still ran the fastest time ever.'

In fact, the irrepressible Plucky managed to set the run record for the event, despite stopping twice to recover from his attacks and briefly detouring to fit in a little side show he'd always wanted to accomplish. ‘At one stage in the run you run along the beach. I'd always wanted to jump in and have a swim during that race. I thought I couldn't win the race so, on the spur of the moment, I ran to the water, dived in, swam a few strokes, came out and continued running. I still got the run record.'

With his Ironman historian perspective, Bob Babbitt was there to witness yet another one of Greg's antics. ‘It was typical Welch, ever the effervescent imp, ever the calculating athlete. While he did it, he cunningly ran at the water's edge, on the hard sand, while his American counterparts elected to charge down the beach in the heavy soft sand.'

Nevertheless, after a post-race chat, Bob felt very concerned about Greg. ‘We talked about his attacks in Kona and he said, “Mate, I thought I was going to die.” The alarm bells were ringing loudly.'

Two days later, Sian and Greg travelled to Australia for the last leg of the World Cup Series for 1999. Greg was still ranked number one in the world. All he needed was a top-10 finish at the final race in Noosa to secure that ranking going into the Sydney Olympics. Being number one would have given him the right to choose his starting position on the pontoon for the swim, a tangible advantage because it provided the shortest straight-line journey around the triangular swim course.

Midway through the week leading up to the Noosa race, Greg and Sian were relaxing on a couch, watching TV, when Greg was hit with another attack. ‘I said, “Sian, can you check my pulse?” I felt as if I was doing a very hard track session where you can hardly breathe—a tremendous thumping in my chest and palpitations. It wasn't painful, I just felt light-headed.'

Sian tried to take Greg's pulse but it was so high that at first she couldn't count it. She tried again, counting for 10 seconds and multiplying it by 6. The closest she could get was between 260 and 280 beats a minute. Greg was stunned. ‘I said, “That's just what it feels like. But the attack eased off again and I went back to normal as soon as it happened. Still, I realised something was odd, something was happening.'

The next morning, Greg met Olympic swimming legend Dawn Fraser for breakfast at Café Le Monde, one of Noosa's beachfront cafes. During a long chat, Greg mentioned his attacks. Dawn was adamant. ‘She said, “You've got to get yourself checked out. It's not worth it to risk your health. Just give up your number one ranking, it doesn't matter. You've been there, so what? You're going to start the race—does it matter what side of the pontoon you get? It's not worth the risk. Check it out.”'

Greg was struck by the force of Dawn's argument. He went back to Sian, and they agreed to forget the race the following day and instead return to Sydney to see Greg's old friend Dr Ian Mackie, who had treated Richie Walker, and have all the tests he could suggest. By that stage, Greg had concluded he wasn't dealing with asthma attacks. He was shaken by the previous day's episode—it was the first time he'd experienced an attack outside the stress of a race.

Back at home in Sydney, Greg rang Dr Mackie and arranged to go in straight away for some tests. But, no matter what test he attempted, the doctor could not induce an attack. ‘We got nothing. We couldn't do a thing to get it going. We exhausted every avenue—treadmill, ECG, the lot. Finally, he said, “Well, it looks OK to me.”'

Sure enough, Greg showed no signs of the problem after the tests. His normal resting heart rate continued to be around 40 beats a minute.

Relieved but still concerned, Greg and Sian returned to San Diego where he resumed light training. The attacks soon began to come back sporadically, often on bike rides. Fellow triathlete Joanna Zeiger was one of Sian's training partners. She noticed that Greg was still suffering the attacks and urged him to have more tests. Greg stalled for a few days because he felt he'd undergone all the testing he could. But during a swim session in early December, he was shocked into action.

‘I'd already swum about 4000 m (2.5 miles) and I thought, “I'll do five 200s on short rest.” They're the best kick-arse sets. I did my first two, no problem—short rest, swimming just over 2 minutes on the 200 m (218.7 yd), which is really fast, and then leaving on 2 minutes 15 seconds, so basically putting myself in a race simulation.'

It struck during the third set, about 75 m (82 yd) into the distance. ‘I got out of the pool and went to the pool coach and said, “I'm just going to lie down. Can you keep an eye on me?” I was there for about 3 to 5 minutes, looking straight up into the sky. But I couldn't see anything, it was just a white blanket. I thought I was going to die.'

The attack subsided and Greg's heart returned to normal. One of Greg's training partners, Dr Ken Carr, a cardiologist, came over to see what was wrong. ‘Ken said, “I noticed that you stopped a few times and you were checking your pulse.” I didn't even recall that I'd done it. He told me to come to his surgery and he'd do some more tests.'

Ken Carr put Greg through another treadmill test, which was inconclusive and failed to induce an attack. Then he sent Greg off for a Sestamibi exercise test. This is a sophisticated nuclear medicine procedure, where a tiny amount of radioactive tracer is injected into the body. A special camera detects the radiation and produces a computer image of the heart—first, while the patient is at rest, and then while he exercises on a treadmill. The test can help determine if there is adequate blood flow to the heart at rest compared with when it's under strain. It can also detect any coronary abnormalities.

The initial computer image scan came back normal. Greg embarked on a 20-minute exercise set on the treadmill, with the exercise levels increasing in intensity every one and a half minutes. Greg went through the stages without difficulty and without provoking an attack. The doctor was satisfied and told Greg to ease down. But Greg was starting to get a by now strange but familiar feeling. ‘I said, “Can you make the machine go faster? I feel as though I'm pretty close to an attack.“ I'd had a few preventricular contractions and I asked whether he'd seen them on the echocardiogram. He hadn't. I said, “Let's keep going.” The machine was going as fast as it could, and sure enough, after about 2 minutes it hit me.'

Ken Carr did a huge double take when he saw the readings. Greg's heart was racing out of control at 320 beats a minute. The doctor instantly went into emergency mode and pressed his distress button. Paramedics answered his call within minutes, and Greg was whisked off to Cedars-Sinai Hospital, hospital of choice for the stars. But two heart traumas had beaten Greg to Cedars, so he was diverted to UCLA Medical Centre. He spent about 7 hours in emergency with his heart in what he would soon come to know as full ventricular tachycardia, or v-tach.

When Greg came out of the v-tach, Sian was by his side. ‘I just prayed. I kept my faith that God was going to look after Greg.'

Sian stayed with Greg in the hospital for five days. She saw the doubt and fear in his eyes, despite an outward show of bravado and good humour. ‘After only a day, Greg had endeared himself to all the nurses and doctors. Greg's room-mate was waiting for a heart transplant. He was the biggest movie buff I have ever met. He kept us entertained with his library of movies from morning till night. One thing about being little is that you can both fit comfortably in one hospital bed.'

Over the succeeding days, frightened, frustrated and helpless, Sian stood by as Greg underwent three heart procedures and countless tests. Eventually, on 11 December, Dr Eli Gang came in to talk to them. He explained that Greg's condition was extremely serious—ventricular tachycardia was the kind of problem that could prove fatal. At the very least, Greg's days as an athlete were over. Sian and Greg looked at each other and burst into tears.

It hit Sian particularly hard. ‘It was more than I could handle. I cried and ran out of the room. It broke my heart. Ever since Greg has been a part of my life, his dreams have been my dreams, and vice versa.

‘When I regained my composure I came back into the room. The doctor was still there with Greg. Greg put his arm around me and said, “Sian, it's OK, I'm going to be fine. I've had it all, and now it's your turn this year. I want to coach you and help you to reach all your goals.” I still felt extremely empty, sad and somewhat guilty. I didn't know what was in the future. I was just really scared.'

Greg was deluged with thoughts and emotions. ‘At one stage I was thinking they'd be able to fix me and I'd go back to racing. Then reality hit me. I'd always thought that it would be hard for me to get out of triathlon anyway, so maybe this was the perfect way to go out. I was already turning a negative into a positive. I knew that I would miss out on my Olympic dream but I really didn't care at that stage.

‘I didn't want to lose my life. I wanted children with Sian, and I wanted us to do many different things in life. I just made an executive decision and bang, it was done. I said, “OK. What do we do now?”'

Not surprisingly, the doctors wanted to do more tests. They needed to determine the exact type and extent of Greg's condition. All they knew for sure was that it was very serious—perhaps even life threatening—if they couldn't properly control and treat it. They needed to find out precisely what caused the abnormal heart rhythm before they could decide the best way to treat it. For Greg and Sian, it was the beginning of years of uncertainty and scores of operations, tests and procedures.

Dr Gang tried to induce an episode of tachycardia by injecting Greg with adrenalin. ‘After the test he said, “I've never injected so much adrenalin to get someone going, and you still didn't go.” It was playing tricks on me. It didn't happen.'

On 29 December 1999, as the millennium drew to a close, Greg had an angiogram, a procedure where an X-ray image of blood vessels filled with dye shows any abnormalities in the coronary artery system. The test came back clear and Greg was released from hospital the next day. He was feeling sorry for himself, and very sore, from his neck to his groin, from all the punctures.

Sian decided they needed a special treat to celebrate the new millennium. ‘I picked Greg up and said, “We're going to Vegas. I've got tickets to Barbra Streisand at the MGM Grand.” So we drove down and we had a fantastic time. And everything just went on as normal. The year 2000 just started off normally.'

Greg was determined to make the best of his new life. He eagerly accepted an offer to commentate for the webcast site ironmanlive.com, created by his friend Ben Fertic, then the company's IT director and subsequently its CEO, and to join Paula Newby-Fraser as host of all the major Ironman race online broadcasts. Greg was delighted at the opportunity. It meant he'd be able to maintain his links with the sport. He'd long been friends with most of the ironmanlive team, and he looked forward to the chance of working with his old friend Paula and bringing his special brand of cheeky humour to the broadcast.

Greg and Sian decided to officially announce his retirement at a press conference on 11 January 2000. It went out live on the Internet and drew wide media coverage, including 350 000 hits from Australia. Besides Sian and her parents, Greg was surrounded by his closest friends in triathlon, including Paula and Paul Huddle, Mickey Morera, Scott Tinley, Roch Frey, Heather Fuhr, Rob and Patty Mackle, Bob Babbitt, Mike Reilly, agent Murphy Reinschreiber and Murphy's wife Shannon. It was a subdued Plucky who read from a statement, his voice trembling as he did so.

‘The bottom line is that the doctors tell me that I'm done as a competitive athlete or I may be dead.'

‘I started in this sport because my friend, Richie Walker, asked me to come watch him compete in a triathlon. After that I was hooked. Richie Walker passed away in 1986 at 21 years and 3 days old. Six months before he died he suffered a cardiac arrest and was hospitalised for some time. He then had a pacemaker inserted and continued the sport slowly. Four days before he died, it was his 21st birthday and I wanted to do something special for him. I said to him, “Richie what can I do for you for your birthday?” He said, “I just want you to take me to the track and teach me how to run better.” Four days later he died doing what he loved.

‘Richard died of heart complications. I started the sport because of Richard.

‘Now, I have a life-threatening problem. Having lost my best friend at such a young age bothers me no end. I have no choice other than to step aside while I can. Although I have not realised my Olympic goal, my involvement in triathlon has been a dream come true—a fairy tale—and I leave it with pride.'