A Walking Miracle - Robert Heffernan Interview

In 2013 race walker Robert Heffernan did what no other Irish male had done in 33-years, which is win a World Athletics Championship gold medal in Moscow. Unless there’s somebody on the island we don’t know about who’s running sub-9 second 100 metres in their very long garden, the Corkman is our best chance of leaving the competition for dead at Rio 2016, which will be his fifth consecutive Olympics – a record only bettered here by javelin and bobsleigh man Terry McHugh, who went to six summer and winter games.

A straight talker who’s not afraid of ruffling bureaucratic feathers, Rob’s berated Athletics Ireland for not giving him the support he thinks he warrants; successive governments for failing to provide often the most basic of facilities and the World Anti-Doping Agency for not pursuing drugs cheats aggressively enough.
Heffernan has been just as critical of what he considers to be his own shortcomings. He went into hiding after his disqualification from the 20k at the 2004 Athens Olympics because he felt such a failure, and issued an emotional Facebook apology after pulling out of August’s European Championships in Zurich with just over a fifth of his 50k walk to go.
“This is the first race I have ever dropped out of,” he rued. “I am bitterly disappointed to have let myself, country and team down. I went out with the goal of winning and it fell apart.”
Extreme reactions, which Rob admits have lead to bouts of severe self-doubt and depression.
Today as he kicks back at home in Cork though, the crop-haired 36-year-old couldn’t be in better form. The “wounds from Zurich”, he confides, “are healing” and he’s loving spending quality Dad time with his nine-month old daughter whose birth in January coincided with an intense period of training. His fourth-place in the 20km at the 2010 Barcelona Europeans became third-place last year when Russian gold medal winner Stanislav Emelyanov was stripped of his title due to “irregularities in his biological passport” – which is one of the finest doping euphemisms we’ve heard. Now with the Italian, Alex Schwazer, who came second failing an out-of-competition blood test, Heffernan may have to find room on his bulging mantelpiece for a silver.

HOT PRESS: Does it feel strange retrospectively winning a medal because one, possibly two, of the people who finished ahead of you have been found guilty of doping offences?
ROBERT HEFFERNAN: It does a bit, yeah. 18 of that Russian group have been done for (banned performance-enhancing drug) EPO... 18! It’s incredible. It seems to have been systemic within that group of athletes. They didn’t all individually decide to go on drugs. They have a whole centre where all their needs are taken care of. That’s the hard thing about coming fourth in the 50k at London 2012. Sergey Kirdyapkin, another Russian, won the race and you have to ask: is he on the same system as the lads? Are they going to put 18 other fellas on it and not him? So maybe I should have an Olympic medal as well.
The Russian Anti-Doping Agency announced in August that they're investigating a top official from the elite race walking centre, so there could me more developments on that front. Can you more or less look at a competitor and go, “They’re cheating”?
With Emelyanov it was obvious. I know how many years it took for me to move up the ladder mentally and physically and this fella comes along at 19-years of age, blows the whole lot of us away and wasn’t even breathing heavily.
You’re from Togher in Cork, which it’s fair to say is a pretty tough area. What was it like growing up there?
I lived in Togher till I was 9 and then I moved out to Turner’s Cross. When I was growing up, if the Guards stopped us I was from Turner’s Cross, but if I was chatting to the boys I was from Togher for the street creed! It has its good and bad like anywhere else, but most of the people out there are salt of the earth. I went back last year when I won my medal and it gave the area a massive lift.
Was yours a sporting household?
No. My father was a plasterer and my mam was a housewife. I got into sport nearly by default, like. When I went to Turner’s Cross School there was a massive tradition of GAA, so I started playing football there and later also for Nemo Rangers. Then you just become competitive. I had no interest really in school when I was younger but I was mad into sport. Even then, I was what my wife refers to insultingly as a “petite man.” At 11, I won the mile at Chríost Rí and got a plaque that was nearly bigger than me. Winning that day gave me so much self-respect. It opened doors. You start growing and grasping opportunities; that’s the way it’s been all my life.
Did it help having someone from down the road like Roy Keane as a role model?
Roy was a huge hero, especially when I was younger, like. He came from a rough area, Mayfield, which is similar to Togher and it kind of gives you hope. If someone like him can do it, then I can as well. I met Roy last year and we sat down and had a coffee. We didn’t talk about sport because it was like speaking to the converted. He knows and I know. It was the same when I met Sonia O’Sullivan last week; you start talking about something else.
What’s your first major sporting memory?
Italia ’90. The whole nation went bananas, didn’t it? I can remember being in bars and drinking fucking Raza because it was the cheapest thing to have.
Was there a lot of sneaking into pubs when you were 12?
Because I look so young I couldn’t get into many of them when I was a teenager, which was good for my sporting career but bad for my social life! I managed to bluff my way into Sir Henry’s a few nights. I didn’t fully understand the scene, like, but it was unbelievable. It was one of the best clubs in Europe and if I could have walked in whenever I wanted the temptation would have been too much!
Not being able to con the bouncers obviously helped, but there must have been quite a bit of self-discipline too.
All the boys would be getting cans and drinking them in the park, and I’d wear a pair of shorts underneath my shorts so I could strip off and do a load of laps while they were getting stuck into their cider. It was totally off the wall! It’s only when you’re older and look back that you go, “I just had a massive hunger for it.”
What did your mates make of your abstemious adolescent behaviour?
They just accepted it, like. There’s a time and a place for everything. When I’m on a month off as I am now, I’ll enjoy myself at every opportunity I can. There’s got to be a bit of fun in your life. When I’m coaching young fellas, I think back to when I was their age. You can’t just say, “Don’t drink.” If it’s explained to you – “Rob, you can’t go to Henry’s tonight because you’ve got this session and you want to qualify for the Olympics” – you kind of go, “Hmmm, that makes sense.” Then again, I did make a lot of mistakes when I was 22, 23. I was after going to a European Championships, a World Championships and an Olympics. I’d had a massive rise and you nearly think you’re invincible. I had all the Irish records so who could tell me what to do? I had a bad year when I got injured, and to make up I went out, got hammered and could stay in bed the next day until two or three o’clock. I had nobody directing me. We had no professional coaches in Ireland and I was the best – or so I thought. The repercussions of that were four more years of injuries and no finishes. I’m lucky I came out the other end because for a while I was going off the rails.
You’re very hard on yourself when you don’t achieve your objectives. What exactly happened after you were disqualified in Athens?
I was so, so upset, like. I stayed in a caravan park in Youghal where my sister had a mobile home. I was on my own and completely depressed. I’d go for a walk on the beach and I’d be crying. It was just so heartbreaking. I wasn’t able to control it, I was devastated. I got back on an even keel, had a good run-up to the 2005 World Championships in Helsinki and then got disqualified from that with 2.5k to go while in 8th position. I was in a financial hole, and that would have put me back in the black, so again I was at a very, very low point. I was living in an apartment in town and thinking, “What’s the point in doing anything?” I wouldn’t be able to get out of the bed. I’d have no motivation and no contact from the federation. You were totally left to your own devices. It got very, very dark. I was too stubborn or stupid to go to the doctor, but if I had I’m sure he’d have told me I was clinically depressed.
Just to clarify: nobody from Athletics Ireland got in contact with you after either Athens or Helsinki?
No, no. Nothing. No, no. You’re given your grant and you go away. I look back at the young Rob Heffernan who obviously had a massive talent and think, “He should have been educated better.” I was totally misdirected. I’m not making excuses, but it doesn’t take long to look into a fella’s life holistically and go: “He’s X, Y and Z – we need to do this, this and this." After Athens I remember feeling distraught. You nearly feel ashamed of yourself afterwards walking around the village, like. You feel like you’ve let everyone down.
Are things better these days in terms of the support network?
I’ve had no contact really with anyone after Zurich. I’ve my family and a lot more experience now, but the feeling coming back from Switzerland was as bad, if not worse, than before. Me and my wife Marian were at loggerheads because we’d both put so much into it. At one stage I said to her, “You just need to leave; this isn’t to do with sport anymore.” I didn’t mean it, like. I just felt so, so bad. I had to say to my daughter Megan, “I’m not going to be able to do anything with you this weekend, I’m just in really bad form, love.” And she said, “Dad, that’s no problem.” I’m lucky; she’s only 11 but she understands.
And what about members of the public?
By the time I got the courage to go to the pub, it opened up a whole new avenue of people coming up and sympathising with me. I felt very, very uncomfortable with it. It was way bigger than anything I’d ever experienced because I’ve a profile now. I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. Everybody was lovely, but I just wanted to get away from it and move on.
Did you go to Zurich in August thinking, “I’m not sure my head’s where it needs to be?”
Yeah, and I was afraid to say it directly afterwards, because I don’t like making excuses. I had a back injury in December and my physio can only get down to see me once a week or once every two weeks. She’s brilliant but it’s not enough; I need physio every day, so that dragged on a bit. Then going to a race in Switzerland I hurt my back coming off the flight. I had to go and knock on another team’s physio’s door and ask him would he work on me. I’m the World Champion over in Lugano – and I’ve no physio or coach with me.
And obviously no sports psychologist?
No, nothing, like, and that frustrates you. I did well in the race, then hurt my back again and flew off to an altitude camp in Africa and we had no physio out there either. So I spent the first ten days of the camp trying to source a good physio. I hurt my hip then before Zurich, the day after my Irish physio left. All of these things prey on your mind, and the pressure becomes massive.
Shouldn’t it be Athletic Ireland’s job to provide one of their World Champions with a physiotherapist?
No, not if you’re a walker. The boxers have an institute where they’ve their coaches and all their support. They just get on and train. I get a forty grand grant and ten grand coaching money. I have to look after all my camps, my races and support personnel. Marian has to work with me, so there’s only one wage coming in. I have a mortgage and kids, so if the year doesn’t go right, I’m back in that financial black hole. There’s no security. It’s a massive, massive gamble.
Is it actually costing you money to compete for your country?
At the moment, yeah. If I’d had a good result in Zurich, that would have covered the two training camps before it, but I’m down a lot of money.
You’ve told me what it’s like when things go wrong, but what about when they go spectacularly right as they did when you won gold in Moscow?
It’s like euphoria – you’re so happy and relaxed. My memories of it are perfect. Mentally everything was very, very calm. Nothing fazed me. Yohann (Diniz, French walker who came 10th) threw a couple of ‘fuck yous’ at me in the middle of the race and I just smiled thinking, “He’s after losing the plot." I didn’t react at all.
Is there much verbal sledging during races?
Yeah, if you’re in a group and you bump off a fella and they’re highly strung that happens. The fellas who react more are the ones that are less confident in themselves. When I was younger, being from a GAA background, I thought you had to fuck people out of it, but if you’re confident and relaxed and your head’s in the right place you just roll with the punches, it doesn’t bother you. I vomited in Moscow before I warmed up but I talked myself down. I had no obsession about finishing first. It was just the process – “5k, 10k, control, technique, you’re ahead.” Everything was positive. If you get over-ambitious and put too much pressure on yourself – like I did in Zurich – it can push you over the edge.
Are there any fellow athletes you go to for advice?
The week after Zurich I met Sonia O’Sullivan – who’s had her ups and downs too – and she said, “Rob, don’t worry, people always remember the good days.” And then Derval O’Rourke sent me a message: “You’re wounded but you’re not slain. Lick your wounds and come back.” She’s right; you’re not fucking dead. You recover. You have to recover.
I saw you getting to grips the other day – metaphorically, I hasten to add – with Roz Purcell at the launch of Centra’s Let’s Walk initiative, which hopes to add to the €1.4 million they’ve already raised for the Irish Cancer Society. You seem to enjoy the grassroots side of things.
I do, I genuinely love it. Last year all of my breaks were consumed with going to schools and getting the message across that just because you’re not a top sportsman, it doesn’t mean you’re a lesser person. What matters is taking part and getting exercise. The Cork walk’s happening on Sunday October 19 and I’m hoping to have 30 or 40 of my extended family going out with me for a bit of craic. Who knows, there could be another 11-year-old on it, who’s destined to become World Champion!