Between the Lines: My Autobiography by Pendleton Victoria

Author:Pendleton, Victoria
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

I had three minutes before the focus shifted. Three minutes to accept a Union flag and hold it above my head in a ritual gesture of victory while I looked briefly tearful at the release of winning. Three minutes to stand in front of the snappers, arms above my head, fingers clutching the flag, as I stared dazedly at the clicking and popping cameras. Three minutes to smile and try to look euphoric as a whirl of feeling tore through me. Three minutes to compose myself and savour the pure relief of winning.

And then they were gone. The eyes and the lenses turned elsewhere. They moved away from me to the giant shadow of Chris Hoy. At the start of his second race in the men’s sprint final against Jason Kenny, everyone edged closer to the track, willing him to make history. I sat down on a chair in my designated corner of the pits in the centre of the velodrome. There was no doubt in my mind. I knew Chris Hoy would win again. He would secure his hat-trick of gold medals five minutes after I won my only Olympic final.

I might have won three myself but for the ruling that women should have only a third of the opportunities available to men in Olympic sprinting. Without the team sprint and the keirin my ordeal had been one of waiting; Chris’s task had been more physically gruelling. On his fifth straight day of competition he needed just one more big ride to become the first British sportsman, since the swimmer Henry Taylor 100 years earlier, to win three golds at the same Olympic Games.

Another few minutes later and Chris Hoy had done it. His mental fortitude and indestructible power were too much for Kenny, twelve years his junior at the age of twenty, and the final was settled by a two-race sweep for Hoy. It seemed as if everyone around me, from British Cycling to the media crews running after him, moved helplessly towards the king of the track. I was the queen, apparently, but I felt strangely lost and solitary. The switch away from me was painless; I only felt stricken when I thought how much I needed to see Scott. I wanted to get away from the track and be with him. I wanted to be normal again.

There is nothing ordinary about waiting to step on to the winner’s podium after you have won a gold medal at the Olympic Games. It is, rather, such an abnormal experience that I felt myself turn numb at the prospect. My mind reeled before the surreal mystery of it all. I had seen the convention played out on television hundreds of times before. A delirious and tearful Olympic winner waves blissfully to an exultant or appreciative crowd before bowing low so that the heavy disc of gold can be draped around his or her neck. They then stand straight, gazing into a faraway place, heads swarming with thoughts of triumph and vindication, as the national anthem echoes around a respectful arena.

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