News for November 30, 1996

Kelly's Hell - Diary of a devastated Olympian

The introduction reads "Of all the heartbreaks at the Atlanta Olympics, none matched that of cyclist Shane Kelly. Many thought he was an automatic gold medallist in the 1km time trial but he slipped out of his pedal strap, and it was all over. His agony is recalled in a book, released today, which contains this diary he kept at the time....."

Wednesday

It's early on the morning of July 24, a day I have been awaiting for what seems like forever. Departure time for the track is 8 a.m. I just have to finish packing and make sure everything I'll need for the day is in my bag - shoes, hlemet, cycle clothing.

Breakfast was cereal, yoghurt, and a cup of coffee. I chatted to a few different people. They were wishing me all the best which was good. It took my mind off things.

I'll write more after the race - hopefully I'll have some good news to write about.

Thursday

This is a pretty hard time for me. I don't what to write - my dream has just gone. I'm devastated. Pulling a foot in a race like that is just unbelievable, something that's rarely happened and hopefully will never happen to me again. I feel totally crushed.

I don't know what to think - if you could only see my face. This is probably the worst thing I've experienced, the disbelief, shock and disappointment. I really am shattered.

When I got on the track and warmed up I felt really good. I had a few hours until my race after the warm-up had finished, so I lay down and rested and made sure everything was right. We worked out that with me being the last competitor, I would be on about midday. My final warm-up was 40 minutes on the rollers - the stationary set-up. I felt the best I've ever felt - absolutely awesome.

By the time I got off and towelled myself down, I had about 15-20 minutes before I was due to get on the line. I got myself ready, put on my race clothing, attached No.4, put my shoes on nice and tight, pulled my lycra covers over the shoes - all aerodynamics - slid the gloves on and got on my road cycle, just to keep the legs rolling over and the blood flowing. I knew what times had been ridden because of the loud PA system. They were fast times, so I knew the track was quick and I was in for a good time.

I knew Florian Rousseau has ridden 1min 2.712s. I know I can say "would've" and "could've" as much as I want, but I really believed that time was within my reach. My bike was placed into the start gate and I had 50 seconds until the start. I climbed on my bike and made sure it was positioned correctly. I put my feet in the pedals and strapped up as tight as I normally would.

While I was doing this, Charlie [Walsh] was standing beside me, running through my focus on the start: really hit out hard and as fast as possible and just hold on. I was fairly calm and feeling good about myself. At 20 seconds there is a beep, 10 seconds a beep, five seconds a beep, and then a beep every second down to zero. When the clock clicks zero there is a long beep and that's when the start gate releases.

I may have possibly jumped it a little bit or perhaps the hydraulics were on a bit longer than they should have, but either way I exploded from the gate and a metre or two down the track is where the tragedy happened. I could not believe it, it was such a shock - do I keep going, do I stop?

I wasn't really sure, so I did still try to get my foot back in as best as possible. This all happened in a split-second, but once I had tried to get my foot back in I realised that I'd lost too much time. I would have had to be superhuman to make up the time that I'd lost at the start, so there was basically no point - the race was finished.

I circled a lap, actually two laps. During the first lap, I don't know who they were - they may have been French - but they gave me a bit of a jeer. That's when I put my fist in the air. I was feeling the disappointment and frustration and that's the reaction I gave. When I circled the second lap there was a big cheer, which was a bit hard to take, but I did appreciate it.

Charlie pulled me up off my bike and said "That's it, its finished isn't it?" I still couldn't beleive it. He said "Well, mate, that's it, she's all over." His first words after that were "Put it all behing you and go on to bigger and better things. That's what you've got to look forward to."

I made my way down to the middle of the track and, in probably my only show of anger, I punched a chair. The chair went flying, but that was it. I had about 20 minutes to myself and, as you'd expect, tears flowed. There were probably a lot more flowing around the world as well.

I then realised I had to go out and face the world, face the people who have supported me - my coach Charlie Walsh, assistant coach Shane Bannon, mechanic Jockey Bullen, my manager Mike Turtur, masseur Mal Morris, assistant manager Mike Kewely, Dr Peter Barnes and sprint coach Gary West. The disappointment I could see on their faces was tough for me to handle, but I knew I had to deal with the situation as best way I possibly could. The most painful experience was watching the medal ceremony. I listened to the anthem, applauded and then congratulated the riders - that was very hard to deal with.

Media officer, Dave Culbert informed me that there were a lot of media wanting to talk to me. I thought, I've got to face it sometime, and there's no better time than the present. So I spoke to a couple of television stations - most of the Australian media were there. They wanted to know what had actually happened, shy and how. I was pretty choked up and trying to get some of the words out was near impossible. I have clear memories of these hours and I think they will be etched in my mind forever.

I started to make my way to the grandstand, where my family was sitting. I actually ran into my mum on the way. She was the first one I saw, along with Gary Neiwand's father, Ron, and his mum, Barb. I had all the film crews following me, getting what they could on tape. I wanted to spend some time alone with my parents but I knew they had a story to follow so I just went on as best I could.

I gave mum a big hug and her words were "We're still proud of you son, you didn't get the chance to do what you wanted to do, but we're still proud of you." We then made our way to the grandstand, where I was the rest of my family and friends. It was a difficult moment but I tried to give them a big smile. They were very good, a great comfort. it might seem odd, but I probably took it better than the rest of them - especially my dad, who was choked up and very upset.

At least I'm able to live to tell another story. It's not as if I was badly injured or it was last chance at the Olympics. I've got 2000 in my sights. That's a definite, and maybe even beyond that 2004, and who knows, possibly 2008, anything can happen.

Friday

I didn't stay in the village last night, I stayed with my parents. It was probably the best thing I could have done. Once I got out to where my parents were staying it was great. I met their neighbours, who were really terrific people and made me feel very welcome. I didn't actually plan on having a drink - you normally have a drink to celebrate - but had a beer or two and ended up having the most fun and laughter that I've experienced in quite a long time. It was definitely the right thing to do: if I had gone back to the village I would have spent the night by myself. Being with my family and close friends was very comforting.

So the night went on, singalongs and all sorts of things happening with the karaoke stereo set up. I didn't get to bed until after 2.00 am - the latest night I've had for quite a few months and the first drink I've had for at least five months.

I had to get back to the village really early for an interview. I was supposed to be picked up in front of the village. I waited and waited by they never showed. I was a bit angry about that as getting up early was the last thing I wanted to do. I've spend the rest of the day at the village, sorting through a lot of faxes. I really was surprised. The support I have received has been incredible.

Saturday

I had a quiet night last night and actually got some sleep for a change. I ran over some more letters and faxes that had come for me, so that was nice. Some of them really hurt to read but what people have written is pretty awesome. This one was sent to me by Leslie O'Grady, the sister of Stuart O'Grady:

"Many people can win an Olympic Gold Medal, and be claimed as a champion, but nobody can go through what you have and still hold their head with such dignity. Shane, you are the only champion of the kilo. My respect for you has grown to hero status. On TV you said that you hoped you hadn't disappointed too many people, well, we are all so proud of you and disappointment is only something we are feeling for you. You are an amazing individual and, in my mind, I know who truly won that medal. You don't need that medal to be the champion. Manchester is yours, Shane, and then Sydney. You are going to shine with determination. The Minute Man is soon going to be the man who smashed the minute. My faith is entirely in you."

This is another one:

 The flag has not been raised,
 The medal has not been won.
 Your foot has slipped.
 But you're not alone.
 The noise has died.
 The cheers are not so loud.
 But rest assured.
 You have done us proud.