BREAKING BARRIERS
Triathlon isn’t exactly the easiest sport to get into, but some face greater barriers than others. Through five remarkable stories, we explore what it takes to achieve the unexpected and, vitally, how such an act can impact the lives of others…
Through the stories of five remarkable people, we explore what it takes to achieve the unexpected and how our actions can impact the lives of others
Few regret taking up triathlon. So often a catalyst for transforming our lives in a positive way, swim, bike and run can improve our physical, mental and emotional health, bringing movement, fun, camaraderie and competition whatever our age or ability.
It also sets an example to those close to us, encouraging loved ones to become that little bit more active. For some though, the message stretches even further. There are those for whom tri has become a vehicle to break down barriers – often in unassuming ways – and show thousands that what seemed impossible, is achievable.
Over the next four pages we’ll learn from five of these inspiring individuals. It’ll take us from North Devon and mum-of-two Caroline Bramwell, who took up triathlon after having a stoma bag fitted, to Sam Holness, an autistic triathlete from London trying to make a career from swim, bike and run.
We’ll also drop in with Haseeb Ahmad, a British-Pakistani who set the world record for the fastest Ironman time by a blind athlete, and Sika Henry of the USA, the first African-American triathlete to earn her pro card. But we’ll start with a young woman whose shock of blonde hair seems as unconstrained as her enthusiasm, as she battles back from a life-changing bike crash to focus on a future in paratri...
Defining what’s possible
“Never in life are you excited about putting your own socks on, but I get ecstatic about such mundane things.” For triathlete Claire Danson, every day has been a breakthrough after suffering a bike crash two years ago when she collided with a tractor.
It left the 32-year-old from Southampton paralysed from the chest down, but even from the earliest days of rehab, Danson relayed a life-affirming and crazy-haired message to a fast-growing number of followers inspired by her journey. It’s been heartrending at times, with the raw emotion contributing to why her story has gained such traction, but Danson was a triathlete before the crash and remains one today. “In lockdown, I’ve not been able to swim and getting hold of a race chair has been difficult,” she explains, reflecting on the previous weekend’s paratriathlon at Eton Dorney. “But I still managed to get a PB despite going the wrong way.”
It’s not just flying around a racecourse where progress has been rapid – the first time Danson dressed herself post-injury it took an hour-and-a-half. But the demons, understandably, still creep in. “There are times when I seek assurance.
Will I be able to do X, Y and Z? It’s where my friends and family are really helpful. They tell me that I’ve asked that about everything since day one. Could I dress myself? Transfer myself from the chair to the car? I can do those things now.”
Perhaps unwittingly, others can plant seeds of doubt too. How does she handle it when told she might never be able to swim crawl again? “I remind myself that they don’t know me or what I’m capable of.
“It sounds silly, but when I’m exercising I don’t feel as if I have a disability at all” – Claire Danson
People have said I won’t be able to do triathlon again. Well actually I’ve found a way – and I see so many others who have had accidents and find a way too.”
Many have been in touch saying her Instagram posts have really helped, but a favourite recent message wasn’t to do with her disability at all. “This lady had a 12-year-old daughter who has crazy hair she can’t tame and gets picked on. She showed her my account explaining how I’d gone out of my way to make it my identity – and that it was okay that she didn’t look like everyone else. That was lovely… although I haven’t gone out of my way, I just don’t bother to do anything with it!”
Claire would love to target the Paris Paralympics in 2024, but even if that goal isn’t realised, the process of trying will be fun. “I might not be good enough, but I’m alright with that because everything I’ll do along the way will be amazing.”
She also wants to see more girls and women taking part in paratri because sport holds the key to a beautiful world. “It sounds silly, but when I’m exercising I don’t feel as if I have a disability at all. For that reason alone, I’d say get into it.”
A leap of faith
“The low points were day-to-day,” explains Caroline Bramwell, a mum-oftwo who moved to Ilfracombe on the north Devon coast 17 years ago, before being diagnosed with autoimmune disorder ulcerative colitis.
“It meant a complete lack of bowel control,” she says. “I’d leave the house and suddenly need the loo and have to dash behind a bush. We took the kids to Butlin’s for a weekend and I stayed in the chalet while they did activities. Those were my darkest times.”
The mum-of-two opted for surgery in 2009, an ileostomy that would leave her with a stoma bag. “I’d had time to consider it,” she explains. “If having this bag meant I could leave the house, it would mean a higher quality of life. It gave me back freedom and time with my kids.”
Ultimately it would also lead her to triathlon, although the popular 24-hour ride from London to Paris came first as steroid-induced bloating made her determined to become more active.
“I couldn’t even look in the mirror without crying,” she says. “I wanted to get back to being me again.” That was the summer of 2010, and her group arrived just in time to see Mark Cavendish charging down the Champs Elysees to win the final stage of the Tour de France. “It was the best thing ever.”
Swimming came next. A self-confessed “flounderer”, Caroline booked lessons before having the courage to join North Devon Tri Club. “They were brilliant. I’m big on having people around me who I aspire to be like,” she says.
From there, tri life blossomed to organising swims, runs, or rides, particularly for others who have stomas.
“When you have a stoma bag, you’re conscious it can be seen through your swimming costume,” she says. “Many people worry about aesthetics, but I realised quickly that nobody knows unless I tell them. Anyone can do it, they just need a little support. I’m not your skinny-minnie, super-speedy triathlete. I’m a middleaged-mum triathlete.”
Numerous half-Ironmans have followed. “The more I talked, the more people wanted to ask,” she explains. “How do I get on while running? Do I wear a support garment under my kit? (The answer is no). Many worry about the need to change the bag while racing, but I explain how their body will work, that you don’t pee a lot and your stoma becomes less active. A lot need that reassurance.”
Now an inspirational speaker, author of Loo Rolls to Lycra and communications manager for the charity, Ileostomy & Internal Pouch Association, Caroline doesn’t believe she’d even have found triathlon had it not been for the surgery. “It changed my mindset,” she explains. “Having a serious illness makes you reassess what life’s about. At the time I didn’t recognise I was breaking down barriers for others. I was breaking down my own barrier and wanted to prove I could.”
The asset of autism
Triathlon wasn’t on Tony Holness’s radar either. When his autistic son Sam finished a sports science degree at St Mary’s University in London, options seemed limited. “The employment rate of graduates with autism is 7%, the lowest number among all grads with disability,” Tony explains.
But Sam showed an aptitude for endurance. His parents had taught him to swim aged three, they’d persevered when he struggled to ride a bike, and at 18 he’d joined a running club. Living on the edge of London’s Richmond Park, Tony and Marilyn decided to “throw him into duathlon – because that’s the sort of parents we are!”
It was a closed circuit, Sam knew the route, and it worked. “We took the risk, as we’ve done with a lot of things,” explains Tony. The next success came with a triathlon at Dorney Lake in Buckinghamshire, another venue where they could keep an eye on Sam, and by the time the family headed to Cascais on the outskirts of Lisbon for an Ironman 70.3, Sam was a bona fide triathlete.
Yet it wasn’t just the events that Sam enjoyed. “Training is repetitive and structured. It’s everything that people on the spectrum like,” explains Tony, who has recently completed his own coaching certificate. “He gets up in the morning, runs 10km, cycles at this power, swims so many lengths at this pace... it’s perfect for him. And he likes medals!”
The Holness family has always bucked trends. Sam is a black triathlete, his mum Marilyn, an OBE, is one of only 40 black female professors in the UK out of 20,000, and Tony has now retired from his sales role where he says: “Not many others look like me!”
They see Sam’s situation as a chance to change hearts and minds about what autistic children can achieve. Plus, Sam really likes tri. “If you’re a coach, you’d love him. He never complains, is always on time, does what he’s asked and eats what you tell him,” Tony says. “The structure, attention to detail, persistence, resilience and ability to take pain are all things great athletes have, but he has oodles of it because of the autism.”
Sam’s story is breaking through. He recently completed Ironman Staffs 70.3, where Tony was approached by other parents of autistic children to say how it’s given them hope. They’ve talked to schools in the UK, Canada, Jamaica and South Africa, with a lot of questions on nutrition for children who are autistic.
“We’re increasingly doing more,” Tony says. “The life expectancy for someone on the spectrum is 54 years, so there’s a big disparity because of diet and health – curable things. Sam has a message to share about raising the awareness of autism. Parents are afraid. Should I put my autistic child in a swimming pool? Will they drown? If you don’t teach them to swim, they will drown. There are lots of barriers you can put up.
“Sport has given Sam purpose, a reason to get up every morning. We didn’t plan any of it, it’s just where we are and he’s already influencing people more than we realise.”
“If you’re a coach, you’d love Sam. He never complains, is always on time, does what he’s asked and eats what you tell him” – Tony Holness