In the middle of an otherwise glorious Olympics for British rowing, I stuck my dictaphone under the nose of Graeme Thomas – a stalwart of the British team who has been pulling ergos for at least 15 years.
The ensuing minute or two will stick with me. Thomas – who had just finished fourth for the second time in as many Games – tugged his cap down over his eyes as his voice quavered, and then the two huge oarsmen on his left began welling up as well.
It is hardly news that sport can be cruel, but the sight of these gigantic men trying – and failing – to control their grief was almost unbearably moving.
Even by Olympic standards, rowing must rank as one of the most unforgiving sports. Matthew Aldridge – a bronze medallist in the men’s four – told me that “There’s three of us on the team at the moment that haven’t had some form of cortisone injection yet.”
Wilson said she was ‘done with this sport’
In many cases, these athletes retire with bones as creaky as Sir Andy Murray’s – and yet their career earnings would barely cover the transport budget for a second-tier tennis event.
So why do they do it? “You turn up every day knowing that you’re going to push yourself in some capacity,” said Freddie Davidson, one of Aldridge’s crew-mates. “That’s addictive. But it’s really, really brutal in other ways. Even on a day-to-day basis, you go through such mental highs and lows in the space of days or hours.”
Brutal. Savage. Gutting. These words have dominated the mixed zones where post-event interviews take place. Since the Olympic cauldron first took flight, British athletes have suffered a whole album’s worth of agonising photo finishes.
Among those whose voices cracked with emotion were Max Whitlock, the greatest gymnast this country has ever produced, and 19-year-old diver Andrea Spendolini-Sirieix. In the windsurfing, Emma Wilson – who suffered an injustice to rank alongside Amber Rutter’s in the skeet shooting – wept and pronounced herself “done with this sport”.
