Swimmer Libby Trickett’s country childhood
CHRISTMASES SPENT ON HER GRANDPARENTS’ FARM IN NORTH QUEENSLAND MADE LASTING MEMORIES FOR OLYMPIC SWIMMER LIBBY TRICKETT.
ASK ANY SERIOUS Australian swimmer about their early years, and you can guarantee a rhapsody about splashing around outside. “It’s just so special, feeling the sun and the breeze on your skin,” agrees Libby Trickett, OAM, winner of four Olympic golds and Sport Australia Hall of Fame luminary. “Swimming outdoors is one of the best things about being from this part of the world.”
Libby was a year old when she learned to swim, and joined her first club at four, following in the wet footsteps of her siblings Justine, then 12 years old, Victoria, nine, and Stewart, eight. Growing up in Townsville, Queensland, she vividly remembers the searing heat and the relief of plunging into the pool in their back garden. That everyday occurrence led on to podiums in packed stadiums all over the world, but one of her most precious swimming memories is far more rustic.
Each Christmas, Libby and her family would spend a week or two on the sugarcane farm in Ingham, just north of Townsville, where Libby’s mum grew up. “It was lovely, because we got to run free among nature, and get filthy!” she says. “The humidity was insane. I remember when Grandma got air conditioning — it was a really big deal!”
Happily, there was a river on the property too. “We’d take the tractor out and go swimming in the river,” says Libby. “I remember this enormous tree that we’d make a rope swing to hang from. We had so much more freedom than at home. I have 19 cousins, so there was always someone to play with.”
That trip to Ingham was small compared with the distances Libby would travel for competitions, the whole family piling into the car for swim carnivals all over the region. “We’d go to Mount Isa, Rockhampton, Charters Towers, Innisfail… Being the youngest of four, I was often shoved in the back with the luggage, but I’m grateful I got to see so much of North Queensland. I think I’ll always have a real connection to that part of the country.”
Now 34 and living in Brisbane, Libby and her husband Luke Trickett are keen to relive those road trips with their own children — daughters Poppy, four, and one-year-old Eddie. But that plan may need to wait a few months as the couple welcomed their third daughter Bronte on November 7th. “We’ve talked about hiring a campervan and driving around Queensland, all the way up. I’m excited about exploring the country with my children,” she says.
Since retiring from competitive swimming in 2013, Libby has been candid about her struggles with mental health, particularly with post-natal depression. The silver lining is that it’s led to her becoming a passionate mental health advocate: she is currently the Mental Health Ambassador for Workplace Health and Safety Queensland and works with charities such as Beyond Blue and RU OK?. “I’d also like to do some study,” she says. “It’s one thing to have a story to tell, but I’d love some tangible qualifications, too.”
Until then, swimming still helps with her own state of mind. “That’s a love that will last forever. I’m not a land-based mammal!” she says, laughing. “When I get in the water now, it’s not about being the best. It’s almost like a meditation.” Beneath the Surface by Libby Trickett, Allen & Unwin, $32.99, is out now.
ONE OF MY EARLIEST memories of swimming was at a carnival in Charters Towers, North Queensland, where we lived when I was a kid. I had broken my wrist a week earlier and I insisted on having a waterproof cast. It was designed to let me have showers or have a bath while I was healing, but in my mind it was all about swimming. I just wanted to get back in the pool.
There weren’t many opportunities to compete in that part of the world, so my family travelled quite a bit to attend such carnivals. My brother and sisters were going to swim but I wasn’t registered. Mum had decided, pretty reasonably, that a little girl with a broken wrist probably couldn’t swim in a race. I disagreed. I badgered her until she finally gave in, signing me up for the 50-metre freestyle the day before the competition.
Poor Mum spent the morning fending off questions about why her daughter was registered to swim when she was wearing a cast, but they didn’t understand how single-minded I was, even as a young child. There was no stopping me. ‘When can I swim?’ I’d whine. ‘When can I swim, Mum? Why won’t you let me? Is it my turn yet? I want to get in the water!’
Mum always said I was a bit of a nightmare until it was my time to race. I would fidget and run around the pool >
while she was trying to wrangle four kids. After my race, I was an angel, placid as a doll — maybe the only time I’ve been placid in my life. I was a headstrong little thing, extremely stubborn, and my mum, Marilyn, was the gentlest, most accommodating person imaginable. She always bent over backwards for her children, but at Charters Towers she was probably just picking her battles. I don’t know if jumping into the water was the best idea — I doubt the waterproof cast was really designed for a chlorinated pool — but I wasn’t going to have it any other way.
I won my heat that day, broken wrist and all. I was so proud of myself; I knew I’d done really well against the odds. After I swam, I ate hot chips and red frogs. I remember thinking it had been the best day ever.
I am the baby of the family. I have two sisters, Justine and Victoria, and a brother, Stewart, who was closest to me in age but still almost four years older. We lived in Townsville but would often visit the cane farm up north where my mother grew up. We’d spend the weekend riding quad bikes and climbing trees, exploring cane fields and swimming in the river. We had a pool in our backyard in Townsville —crucial in that tropical climate. We loved the heat, loved the outdoors and spent endless hours in the water. There was something magical about diving through the muggy air and into the crisp, cool water of a pool. That’s where my love of swimming started.
My first-ever race was a 25-metre breaststroke. I hated breaststroke, but boy did I love competing! I just fell in love with it, even as a four year old. ‘Cool, I can see how fast I go!’ I thought. What could be more exciting than being fast? Usually parents would jump in the water to help the very little kids through the race, and my dad was next to me trying to help keep me afloat, but
I wasn’t having it — I was annoyed that he was getting in the way. The four-yearold age group wasn’t exactly teeming with competitors, but I wasn’t thinking about the other kids in the pool. From the beginning, I just wanted to speed through the water. I loved, loved, loved how it felt to kick as hard as I could and churn my arms until I touched the wall. I remember that thrill so well. I’ve been chasing it ever since.
Oddly, that first race is one of the only memories I have of my father. He was a successful ophthalmologist and worked long hours. For various reasons, he wasn’t much of a presence in my life.
As an eight year old in 1994, I was swimming in the under-10s category, so some of the kids were a year or two older than me, though not necessarily much faster. I qualified for the 100-metre butterfly final at the State Championships for the first time that year. I was crazy nervous. I always needed Mum’s help to get my swimming cap on, and this time I asked her to put my goggles on for me too, to make sure they were perfect. I wore them from the moment I left the grandstand until I was on the starting block, so by the time I got to the block, they were completely fogged up. I couldn’t see a thing. I had swum a personal best in my heat but I finished dead last in the final. I was determined to do better next time.
We went to the State Championships in Brisbane every year after that, at what is now the Brisbane Aquatic Centre. They were held in January, during the school holidays, and it was always a huge event for our family. We’d drive down from Townsville and stay at the Dockside Apartments, near Kangaroo Point — small-town kids in the big city for the biggest swimming event of my year. We often drove a couple of hours to attend swimming carnivals, but this was something else: 15 hours down the Bruce Highway for a couple of days of competition. I don’t know how Mum did it! I think she enjoyed it because it made us happy.
For me it was always a joyful time — an eager, hungry kind of happiness. It wasn’t about winning. I didn’t want to be better than other people; I was just very focused on doing better than I had before. I wanted to improve on my best time, every time. If that meant I won a medal, great — but the medal wasn’t the point. I just wanted to go faster.