The Spectre of Doping
When I placed that syringe in my bookcase I thought I’d closed the book on my dalliance with performing enhancing drugs. The haunting symmetry between the phrase '‘closing the book” and hiding the syringe in the bookcase wasn’t lost on me. I weeped at its beauty.
When I was caught doping, the first face I saw when I was released from Biarittz-south Police station’s cell – known to be the worlds toughest – the first face that greeted me was that of Dave Brailsford. The late August sunshine gleaming off his lovely bald head. I can’t overstate how important to me Dave was during those first few awful weeks. He put me in touch with Steve Peters who suggested I lie on his couch. Steve touched my gently on my cheek. Tears pooled in my eyes before cascading down my cheek running across Steve’s gentle hands. I let it all out…
I realised that I became an institutionalised doper from an early age. Once, aged about 6, some bigger boys pushed me over in a playground. My foppish hair had angered them. Lying in that playground sand-pit, I felt that I’d reached rock bottom. My sister Fran was there to pick me up and we went home for tea. Whilst at home, I succumbed to my injuries and had a grizzle. The mental anguish was worse though. I cried so much, my mum suggested some Calpol. I’d never had any more and had always prided myself as being the ‘cleanest’ kid in my Primary School. Now, I thought, “Bugger It David. Those dastardly older boys have probably had Junior Paracetomol”. I looked at my mother and nodded. Yes, I would have some Calpol. The routine of my sitting back, watching my mum pour a measure of the liquid into the spoon and then pointing it towards my mouth was strangely unemotional. I swallowed the spoonful. It was done. I was now doped. After that, I hit the Calpol hard, whenever I felt slightly under the weather or needed a pick-me-up.
I’m glad I had that special time with Steve Peters. It helped me fit together many parts of the crazy, scary, beautiful jigsaw that is my life.
