My Story Read online

  Brought to you by KeVkRaY

  Tom Daley

  My Story

  MICHAEL JOSEPH

  an imprint of

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  DIVING IN

  MASTERING THE BASICS

  GOING INTERNATIONAL

  CLIMBING HIGHER AND HIGHER

  LEARNING TO FACE MY FEARS

  QUALIFYING FOR BEIJING

  IN THE PUBLIC EYE

  THE 2008 OLYMPICS

  FLYING THE GB FLAG

  COMING HOME

  A DIFFERENT KIND OF CHALLENGE

  BEING CROWNED WORLD CHAMP

  SETBACKS AND TRIUMPHS

  THE CANCER BATTLE

  LOSING DAD

  LOOKING TO 2012

  EPILOGUE

  Born in 1994, Tom Daley started diving at the age of seven. Specializing in the 10-metre platform event, he became the youngest British athlete in any sport to come first in the FINA World Championships. He represented Great Britain at the 2008 Summer Olympics, where he was Britain’s youngest competitor. Tom won two gold medals for England at the 2010 Commonwealth Games in the 10-metre synchro diving and the 10-metre individual platform competition. In 2007, 2009 and 2010, he was named BBC Young Sports Personality of the Year. Tom lives with his family in Plymouth and is currently training for the 2012 London Olympics.

  ‘Courage is the thing. All goes if courage goes.’

  J. M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan

  Prologue

  Standing on top of the 10m board I have butterflies and feel a rush of adrenalin. No matter how many times I’ve dived from this platform, it scares me. It’s like taking a leap into the unknown because every dive is different.

  The 10m platform at the pool in Plymouth where I train every day is considered one of the hardest boards to dive off in the world. The domed, concrete ceiling is low, so it feels like it is caving in on you, and the board is almost half the size of ordinary 10m platforms and wobbles when you stand on it.

  Looking out, I can see miniature people doing front crawl up and down the regular pool, women bobbing up and down at aqua-aerobics or mothers making their way to a baby session with their youngsters in tow. A dozen sunken hair-bands sit lifeless on the bottom of the pool beneath me, along with a white, human-sized dummy, for the life-saving classes. I am immune to the sweet and sticky smell of chlorine; to me, the pool smells as familiar as home.

  There are always echoing noises – children laughing, music playing and people talking, but when I stand up there, I am in my own bubble of silence. There is so much space around me it’s almost like I am standing on a concrete block that is suspended in mid-air.

  By the time I have reached the top, via a chain of worn wooden ladders, I have already visualized the dive in my head a number of times. I go through every movement in my mind and the way my body will coil, tuck, whirl and twist, like elastic. I don’t think about the landing, I concentrate on the process. I am totally focused. I dry myself with my soft chamois cloth so my hands do not slip when I bend into a tuck or pike position. It’s also very, very hot and clammy and moisture starts to seep back into your skin so you have to wipe it away. Before I start a training session or competition, I also rub Palmolive soap on my arms and legs because it helps me grip. If you slip out of a dive, it’s a disaster.

  I try to breathe slowly and steadily and not think too hard about what I’m about to do. If you think too much the demons start crawling into your head and you imagine all the things that could go wrong: What if I land badly? What if I lose myself in the air? What if I miss my hands? I have to focus on each step at a time.

  The hardest dive on my list is the front four and a half somersaults with tuck – sometimes called ‘The Big Front’ – and it is so technically and physically challenging that people in the sport once thought it was impossible. But with a difficulty rating of 3.7, it will be key to me doing well at the Olympics. It’s a make-or-break dive: do it well and the competition could be yours, perform it badly and you may end up throwing a medal away.

  I think about 2012 every day, and often I look at the clock when it says 20.12 – it feels symbolic in some way. Recently I was filming an advert and it was on the twelfth take that it was perfect. It’s really freaky. Every day when I train, I wonder what it will be like, standing on the top board at the London Aquatics Centre. It’s good to imagine how it will be because it puts added pressure on me and gets the adrenalin pumping around my body.

  For ‘The Big Front’, I take a run-up from the back of the board. I make sure my shoulders are relaxed, so I don’t look anxious, but every other muscle is tense and feels solid and strong. I count myself in, to urge myself to run, saying aloud, ‘One, two, three…’, take a deep breath and go. I run on my toes – it’s almost like a hop, skip and a jump – four steps to give me power and momentum as I take off and launch myself into the air.

  Immediately I snap into a tuck, clutching my knees to my chest. I don’t know how I do it, it’s like my brain just knows. There are memory patterns in the brain called ‘schemas’ – these are the movement patterns that are ingrained into your mind through hours and hours of repetitive practice on dry land and in the pool. I get into the correct shape at the right time and make decisions in split seconds. It’s like I have an internal compass – I know where my body is at any time when I am in the air, which direction it needs to go or if I need to slow my rotation or speed it up. A tiny movement can make a dive, or completely ruin it.

  As I spin round, it feels like I am going in slow motion and on some occasions, it even feels like I have lots of time. I have to use my eyes. If I close them I could land flat on the water. The force is so hard, it’s like a car crash. You bruise immediately, and can split skin open or cough up blood.

  I have to see every single detail – or ‘spot’ – even though I am falling at up to 34 miles per hour. You get used to feeling queasy, like you’re whirling on a rollercoaster. I look for the pool water, which is a snatch of bright blue. I count it five times so quickly I don’t even register that I am doing it and at the very last millisecond, at the height of the 3m board, I stretch out as far and as sharply and as hard as I can, reaching for the water with my strongest hand – my left hand first, then clasp my right hand on top. Every muscle from my hands, through my arms, torso and legs to my pointed toes is squeezed tight so when I punch the water it does not hurt. It helps that I have big hands, which give me a larger surface area on entry, lessening the crashing impact. It takes 1.9 seconds from takeoff and, after dropping the height of two double decker buses, I hit the water at over 34 miles per hour.

  I can tell if I’ve done a good dive because as I strike the water and split my hands apart it creates a vacuum, so I immediately get sucked under – in a ‘rip’ entry – and water pulls me down, perfectly straight, like an arrow. The immediate feeling is a sense of relief that I haven’t hurt myself. If I’m at a competition and I’ve done a good dive, I race as fast as I can towards the surface of the water through the muffled cheers and whistles. I can’t wait to see the electronic board with the name ‘Thomas Daley’ in shiny neon letters, next to a row of high scores, and to look up to see my family cheering and the GB team on their feet, clapping and hollering words of encouragement.

  I strive every time for a complete set of perfect 10s. When the points are high or I know I’ve won a medal, I feel I have so much energy I could leap out of the water like a dolphin.

  As I climb out of the water, picking up my chamois cloth on the way, I always think about Dad. He was at almost every training session and competition that I did, until he died in May 2011, and every time I train I expect to see him sitting by the poolside, grinning and cracking jokes, making everyone around him laugh.r />
  HE WAS NOT ONLY MY DAD; HE WAS MY BEST FRIEND, SOUNDING BOARD, TAXI DRIVER AND BIGGEST CHAMPION. WHEN I JUMP FROM THE BOARD AT LONDON 2012, IT WILL BE FOR HIM.

  Diving In

  ‘I LOVE THE FEELING OF WEIGHTLESSNESS. I ALWAYS LOVE BEING IN THE WATER AND TO COMBINE JUMPING OFF THE SIDE INTO THE WATER FEELS LIKE A DIFFERENT AND FUN WAY TO BE ABLE TO SWIM. I FEEL FREE, LIKE I COULD DO ANYTHING.’

  Just moments after I was born, the midwife dunked me in a bath of water and I made this funny ‘oooooohhhh’ noise through pursed lips.

  ‘THIS ONE’S A WATER BABY,’ SHE EXCLAIMED. ‘AND LOOK AT HIS BIG HANDS!’ LITTLE DID SHE KNOW THAT THOSE TWO ATTRIBUTES WOULD HELP DEFINE MY LIFE SO FAR.

  It was 21 May 1994 and I was one of the first babies to make an entrance at the newly opened maternity ward at Derriford hospital in Plymouth. I was my mum and dad’s first baby and they were young parents aged twenty-three and twenty-four.

  I was an easy-going and bright baby with a keen sense of adventure. My first December I gave everyone a scare when I crawled at top speed over to the newly decorated Christmas tree and pulled it over on top of myself. Like most babies, I never wanted to go to sleep – and everyone used to sing Pato Banton’s ‘Baby Come Back’ to me, which apparently had the desired effect of making me drop off into a deep slumber.

  I loved drawing, jigsaws and colouring in and was a total perfectionist – if it wasn’t just how I wanted it, I would cry. I started talking very early, was walking at ten months and by eighteen months I could write my own name. I was obsessed with Big Bird from Sesame Street and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs – or ‘dig digs’ as I called them, after the song.

  When I was two, my brother William was born and I loved him instantly. I was very affectionate and not long after he was brought home from hospital, I climbed into his carrycot to give him a cuddle – not realizing that I almost squashed and suffocated him. Sorry, Will!

  Both my parents, Debbie and Rob, were born and grew up in Plymouth. They had been together since they were fifteen and got married when they were both twenty-one. I am surrounded by family: my dad’s parents Grandma Rose and Granddad Dave, who we call Granddad Dink, and my Aunty Marie, Dad’s sister, who was fifteen when I was born, used to live a few doors up on the road where we lived in Derriford. As soon as I could walk I sometimes let myself out the garden gate and toddled up to their house, sending my mum into a panic, until she realized where I was.

  Mum’s parents Grandma Jenny and Granddad Doug, Dad’s brother Uncle Jamie, and his wife Aunty Debbie and my Aunty Marie, who is now married to Uncle Jason, and loads of cousins are also in Plymouth. There are always people popping in and out of the house. My mum’s two brothers – Kevin and Brian – and their families live in London.

  The Daley Gang …

  Fun in the water with Dad.

  Me striking a pose, Will looking cute for once and Ben looking starstruck.

  I come from a family of hard workers; both Mum and Dad left school at sixteen and went straight into jobs, Dad worked for a company that built special-purpose machinery, a business that he would later run, while Mum worked as a receptionist and later for Toshiba. Granddad Dink was a toolmaker and Granddad Doug a builder.

  Plymouth is a large seaside city on the south-west coast. The city centre is fairly modern, having been rebuilt from the 1940s after being bombed out in the war. It’s the place to be in the summer! It is a great place to grow up, with Dartmoor on one side, Cornwall on the other and the Hoe just a few miles away; much of my early childhood was spent outdoors. We often went camping and as a toddler I loved feeding the ducks at Tavistock Park and going on long walks.

  When I was three, my favourite meals were chicken nuggets and spaghetti on toast but my love affair with food reached new heights when I got into baking with my Aunty Marie. We loved making cupcakes together, mixing the batter and licking the spoons, before decorating the new batch with icing and sweets.

  Mum and Dad were keen for me to be able to handle myself in the water because we lived by the sea, so I started swimming regularly at the pool at Fort Stamford, near my Grandma Rose and Granddad Dink’s house, when I was a toddler. As soon as I was confident in the water, I went on a week-long intensive course for half an hour a day and picked up my five-metre certificate.

  When I was three, we moved to the house I live in now in Eggbuckland, perched on the top of a hill with amazing, panoramic views over the local area, which is made up of mostly post-war, cream-coloured homes. Plymouth is milder and wetter than the rest of the country, so it is often grey and raining. Seagulls provide the constant background soundtrack.

  Ten days before my fifth birthday my youngest brother, Ben, was born. I was equally besotted with him and we shared a room until I was almost sixteen, when we had an extension above the kitchen built so I could have my own space and Ben wasn’t disturbed when I came home late from training.

  On my first day at my local primary school, St Edward’s, there were no tears – I enjoyed every second. I did normal schoolwork and enjoyed sports like judo, squash and tennis. I was also terrible at lots of other sports; Mum took me to football lessons and I was awful. I could not catch a ball either, and when I tried to kick it, it would just go in the opposite direction.

  ‘THE ULTIMATE HIGHLIGHT WAS OUR ELECTRIC CAR, WHICH WE USED TO DRIVE AROUND THE SITE.’

  Trophy time – my favourite throw was a ‘Tomoe nage’ because it had my name in it.

  I was also a fan of a soft-play area called Jump nearby, where I clambered into ballpits, threw myself down slides and crawled up huge climbing frames. I was naturally athletic and during one wedding that all the family was at I shocked the other guests when I walked from one side of the dancefloor to the other on my hands.

  We were definitely a household of boys; Granddad Dink had a speedboat and Dad had a jet-ski which we used to ride on and I loved the exhilarating feeling of speeding along in the water as the salt spray blew around us. Our days out fell into a familiar routine with Mum organizing us all with spare clothes, any kit we needed, food and drink and making sure we made it on time, while Dad packed the car with all the ‘fun’ stuff. He was always joking and mostly acted like a big kid, while Mum battled to keep us all in line!

  In our summer holidays before I started diving, we would go to the South of France with our family in a trailer tent, sometimes for three weeks at a time. Mum, Dad, William, Ben and I and my Uncle Steve and Aunty Kerry – Steve is Dad’s cousin – and their two children, Joe and Sam, would take the ferry from Plymouth across the Channel to Roscoff and motor down through France to stay on a caravan site. I remember being outdoors from morning until we went to bed, learning to ride a bike there, playing endless games of rounders, splashing about in the pool and Sam over-stretching our Stretch Armstrong gel-filled toy and all the green goo coming out. The ultimate highlight was our electric car, which we used to drive around the site. Sam and I were the eldest, so we were in the front, with one of us steering and one accelerating, and William and Joe would sit in the back. We used to think we were so cool – but it only went at 4 mph!

  One day when I was seven we decided to go for a family day out at the Central Park Pool, which is about ten minutes from our house. They were putting on a fun session with giant, colourful inflatables, where you can go down slides and hang off mats.

  As I ran out of the changing room, in front of me was the main pool, which was so big it felt like a giant arena. I was bowled over.

  Music was playing in the background and people were laughing and talking by the poolside. It felt so exciting.

  Next to the main area was a diving pool. People were jumping off the high 5m and 7m platforms and the 3m and 1m springboards.

  BUT IT WAS THE 10M PLATFORM THAT REALLY GOT MY EYES POPPING OUT OF MY HEAD. IT WAS SO HIGH UP AND I HELD MY BREATH EVERY TIME SOMEONE WALKED TO THE EDGE OF THE BOARD AND JUMPED. I WAS CAPTIVATED.

  Dad’s attack with lemon juice had an effect on my hair –
it wasn’t highlights, I promise!

  I didn’t even want to swim and Dad had to virtually drag me away.

  ‘That looks like fun, can I learn?’ I asked Mum.

  We picked up a leaflet and my parents booked William and me in for five lessons, starting the following weekend. Dad used to joke that it was the best £25 he ever spent.

  On the day of my first lesson one Saturday morning, I left the changing room and walked out towards the diving pool, but at the entrance there was a ‘Pool Closed’ sign. I legged it back to the changing room and sat on one of the benches, deflated. I felt so disappointed. Dad reassured me that it was just because I was so early and when I went back out, thankfully someone saw me looking upset and opened the gate. As I entered the poolside, I looked up and saw Dad waving down at me from the balcony and giving me a huge grin and a big thumbs-up. He barely missed a single session after that.

  In our first lesson, we jumped off the side of the pool and off the 1m springboard. I love the feeling of weightlessness. I always love being in the water and to combine jumping off the side into the water feels like a different and fun way to be able to swim. I felt free, like I could do anything.

  William was a better diver than me. However hard I tried to pick up the dives immediately, he always seemed to get them quicker. Like most brothers, I loved the fun sense of competition between us. There were other kids there too, but from the beginning we were always chasing each other.

  The family caravan. My dad would say, ‘Don’t come knocking when the caravan is rocking!’

  Me as Elvis!