Heart of a Champion by Patrick Lindsay Page A

its best. At that stage, he had ten Hawaiian Ironman races under his belt, including wins in 1982 and 1985, three second places, two thirds and some top ten finishes. He was also one of the sport’s genuine characters—part athlete, part surfer dude. He shared Greg’s sense of humour and was a legendary practical joker. He also admired Greg’s spirit and indomitable optimism. Scott generously organised a house where Greg and Brad could board until they found their own lodgings. He even sponsored them, through his company.
    Everything augured well for Greg’s first steps as a pro. Five days after they arrived in San Diego, Greg and Simon Skillicorn flew to Arizona to compete in the first race of the newly formed United States Triathlon Series—a collection of races in venues across the States, with excellent prize money and an attractive bonus system at the end of the season for the best performers.
    At the race hotel, Greg ran into Simon and Stephen Foster, who had also come from Australia to compete. They were about to head off in a rental car to drive the bike and run courses and then have a swim. Greg jumped at the chance to join them. They headed off, with Skillo in the back seat behind Steve, who was driving, and Greg in the passenger seat. Halfway across town, they reached a two-way stop sign. The car stopped opposite them had the right of way but wasn’t moving.
    â€˜Steve looked right and just went. He didn’t look left. As we moved into the intersection, travelling at about 5 km (3.1 miles) an hour, a car T-boned us from the left at about 80 km (50 miles) an hour. I remember spinning around, so fast, and then, boom! I came down on the gear stick, broke two ribs and damaged my back. Simon was speared into the roof and then fell back down. He broke some vertebrae. He was a fraction away from ending up a quadriplegic. Steve was just sitting there totally stunned. I looked around, and Simon was lying there. I thought he was dead. Blood was coming out of his ears, over his head, everywhere. We were all covered by a huge shower of broken glass.’
    Greg was the first to move. He struggled out of his seat belt and moved around to the back seat to help Skillo. He was about to move him when his surf club training kicked in: don’t touch any patient with neck problems. He gently felt for a pulse. His heart sank. At first, he felt nothing. Skillo’s eyes were closed; he was completely silent and still. Greg tried again and found a weak pulse. By this time some bystanders had rung the ambulance. Greg comforted Skillo until an ambulance and then a helicopter arrived. The paramedics stabilised Skillo and flew him to the Good Samaritan Hospital in nearby Phoenix. Greg and Steve were taken by ambulance to a local hospital and checked out. Greg’s X-rays revealed he had two broken ribs. Steve was badly bruised. Some hours later they were released, but they were not out of the woods. ‘We walked out the front of the hospital and found we were 20 km (12.4 miles) from our hotel. Our rental car was a write-off and had been towed away. We had no money, so we hitchhiked back into town.’
    At their hotel they found out where Skillo had been taken and hitchhiked over to the Good Samaritan Hospital. By then Greg could hardly breathe. The shock was wearing off and the pain from his strapped broken ribs kicked in. They spent most of the night waiting with Skillo as the doctors assessed his injuries. Their mate was lucky. He would have months in a halo brace and many more months of rehab, but he wasn’t expected to suffer any permanent impairment.
    â€˜They kept Skillo in Phoenix for about a week and they put this terrible halo brace on him. His Mum and Dad came over and drove him to San Francisco, where they looked after him for a couple of weeks. He wasn’t allowed to fly for at least three months because of the pressure on the bolts supporting his brace, so they brought him