Read Online Jessica Ennis: Unbelievable - From My Childhood Dreams to Winning Olympic Gold by Jessica Ennis - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Ennis
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Sports
Ads: Link
replied, but every step hurt. ‘It’s really sore.’
I went into the physio room under the grey stand and my ankle was encased in ice. Not for one minute did I think the Olympics were in doubt, but I was gutted. I could see training schedules and plans being thrown up in the air. I could see sessions being lost and, for someone who thrives on a plan, it was an awful prospect.
Chell was being upbeat and said: ‘It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.’
The press guys came in and did an interview. That was the hardest thing. I just wanted to cry my eyes out, but I didn’t want to be secretive. I was given an old pair of bright yellow crutches that someone had found at the back of the stand and went back to the hotel.
I put on a brave face. I was sure it was nothing, I said. Chell said it was just a precaution. Dave Collins, the UK Athletics performance director said he hoped people would not go all Chicken Licken and suggest the sky was falling down. He had reason to be concerned, with Paula Radcliffe still on crutches too after being diagnosed with a stress fracture to the femur just two weeks before.
That night, back at the hotel, it began to sink in how serious this might be and I was distraught. I’d never pulled out of a heptathlon and I was anxious, not knowing what was wrong. I went to my hotel room and cried. My grandparents were over that weekend. There had been a story in one of the papers saying how, when I was young and wavering, my grandad gave me a pound for every personal best. I spoke to him and he said: ‘A pound! It was a fiver. Everyone in the village thinks I’m tight.’ I said, ‘All right, Grandad, I’ve got other things to worry about.’
Neil sorted me a flight and I flew back early on Sunday. I rang Andy, who was awaiting my call and drove down. I was in floods of tears when I saw him because my mindset had darkened.
‘I’m not going to the Olympics, I’m not going to the Olympics.’
I took a call from Chell who tried to lift my spirits.
‘I’m not going to the Olympics, am I?’
‘Yes, of course you are, everything’s fine.’
Neil had told me to get ice on it and try to do some rotating exercises before he picked me up and drove me back to the hospital the next day. I think the potential outcomes were getting more depressing with each person who told me that there was nothing to worry about.
The MRI scan took forty minutes and the CT one took five. I hobbled from the hospital to the Olympic Medical Institute to see Paul Dijkstra, the UK Athletics doctor, who explained that if there was a lot of white on the scan then that showed the inflamed area. When we looked at the scans it was like snow. There was a lot of white.
‘You have a stress fracture in your navicular and a stress fracture in your metatarsal,’ he said. In total I actually had three fractures. I couldn’t believe it.
‘How bad are they?’
His look told me everything and Doc, being a clinician, was not one to sugar-coat the truth. ‘You’re not going to the Olympics,’ he said. It blew me away. All my family had been telling me it would be OK and, deep down, I’d been convincing myself of the same. Neil gave me a hug and had to leave to get me some tissues, but there was more to come. ‘It’s a serious injury,’ Doc said. Then he told me my career might be over. I was twenty-two years old and potentially finished. I cried some more.
I went back to my cell-like room and felt like a condemned woman. I rang my parents and Chell. I could tell from his voice that he was really upset. Derry Suter later told me just how bad Chell had been and that he was really cut up.
I had to stay down in London because I needed a bone density scan. That was horrible because the OMI rooms are like student accommodation. I sat in my room and mulled it over. Neil took me out to a restaurant that night. It was a blur. I don’t know how he coped. I was crying all the time and my face was puffy and red. I don’t know what
I went into the physio room under the grey stand and my ankle was encased in ice. Not for one minute did I think the Olympics were in doubt, but I was gutted. I could see training schedules and plans being thrown up in the air. I could see sessions being lost and, for someone who thrives on a plan, it was an awful prospect.
Chell was being upbeat and said: ‘It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.’
The press guys came in and did an interview. That was the hardest thing. I just wanted to cry my eyes out, but I didn’t want to be secretive. I was given an old pair of bright yellow crutches that someone had found at the back of the stand and went back to the hotel.
I put on a brave face. I was sure it was nothing, I said. Chell said it was just a precaution. Dave Collins, the UK Athletics performance director said he hoped people would not go all Chicken Licken and suggest the sky was falling down. He had reason to be concerned, with Paula Radcliffe still on crutches too after being diagnosed with a stress fracture to the femur just two weeks before.
That night, back at the hotel, it began to sink in how serious this might be and I was distraught. I’d never pulled out of a heptathlon and I was anxious, not knowing what was wrong. I went to my hotel room and cried. My grandparents were over that weekend. There had been a story in one of the papers saying how, when I was young and wavering, my grandad gave me a pound for every personal best. I spoke to him and he said: ‘A pound! It was a fiver. Everyone in the village thinks I’m tight.’ I said, ‘All right, Grandad, I’ve got other things to worry about.’
Neil sorted me a flight and I flew back early on Sunday. I rang Andy, who was awaiting my call and drove down. I was in floods of tears when I saw him because my mindset had darkened.
‘I’m not going to the Olympics, I’m not going to the Olympics.’
I took a call from Chell who tried to lift my spirits.
‘I’m not going to the Olympics, am I?’
‘Yes, of course you are, everything’s fine.’
Neil had told me to get ice on it and try to do some rotating exercises before he picked me up and drove me back to the hospital the next day. I think the potential outcomes were getting more depressing with each person who told me that there was nothing to worry about.
The MRI scan took forty minutes and the CT one took five. I hobbled from the hospital to the Olympic Medical Institute to see Paul Dijkstra, the UK Athletics doctor, who explained that if there was a lot of white on the scan then that showed the inflamed area. When we looked at the scans it was like snow. There was a lot of white.
‘You have a stress fracture in your navicular and a stress fracture in your metatarsal,’ he said. In total I actually had three fractures. I couldn’t believe it.
‘How bad are they?’
His look told me everything and Doc, being a clinician, was not one to sugar-coat the truth. ‘You’re not going to the Olympics,’ he said. It blew me away. All my family had been telling me it would be OK and, deep down, I’d been convincing myself of the same. Neil gave me a hug and had to leave to get me some tissues, but there was more to come. ‘It’s a serious injury,’ Doc said. Then he told me my career might be over. I was twenty-two years old and potentially finished. I cried some more.
I went back to my cell-like room and felt like a condemned woman. I rang my parents and Chell. I could tell from his voice that he was really upset. Derry Suter later told me just how bad Chell had been and that he was really cut up.
I had to stay down in London because I needed a bone density scan. That was horrible because the OMI rooms are like student accommodation. I sat in my room and mulled it over. Neil took me out to a restaurant that night. It was a blur. I don’t know how he coped. I was crying all the time and my face was puffy and red. I don’t know what
Similar Books
