You may expect the new Daley Thompson documentary to focus on his two Olympic golds in 1980 and 1984, world records and heroic performances under immense pressure. Those do feature, but the deeper takeaways are about father-son relationships, turning points in our lives and the transformative impact of key figures who shape us.
Airing on Tuesday on BBC Two, Daley: Olympic Superstar includes previously unshared insights from Thompson about his life and, poignantly, his tough childhood. We see Thompson look back on finding out that his father, whom he hardly knew, had been shot. He reflects on the fact that his mother never came to see him race with a puzzlement moulded through hindsight and his own experiences of fatherhood.
The need for independence and self-reliance at an early age – he was sent to boarding school at the age of seven – translates directly into the grit we see later as an athlete able to perform under the greatest pressure.
Sporting peers including Sharron Davies and Caitlyn Jenner add their perspectives alongside journalists who pounced on his indiscreet provocations but it is the interviews with Thompson’s long-term West German rival Jürgen Hingsen that captivate. Almost cloned to be an Olympic decathlon champion, Thompson defeats him every time.
But it’s their close friendship and lasting bond, and the support they have shown each other through hardships in life since, that shows a completely different and beautiful angle to their rivalry.
The motif of father-son relationships, and the profound effects of absent fathers, is a theme throughout. It’s a subject close to the heart of the film’s director and Thompson’s close friend, Vadim Jean, which perhaps explains why it transmits so authentically. The moment that left most members of the audience blinking at the London premiere was when Thompson tells his first coach, Bob Mortimer, that he’s the closest he’s ever had to a father. It’s a squirmingly awkward exchange as Mortimer sits in the stands and Thompson paces around on the track below. But it’s where the film starts to make sense, as a powerful vulnerability and deep-seated need for love add human depth to this once-in-a-century sportsman.
It also reminds us of the formative role that coaches play in an athlete’s life with an impact that goes way beyond the scoreline. This theme grows as it becomes clear that navigating his own path to fatherhood has taken Thompson as much out of his comfort zone as any sporting competition.
Reliving Thompson’s pursuit of a historic third Olympic gold that falls short at the Seoul Olympics – he finished fourth – is perhaps the performance that inspires the most. The eventual inevitable fallibility of his physical body feels devastating, but brings no deterioration in Thompson’s relentlessly upbeat worldview: “As long as you’ve given your absolute best, you’ve won.” It’s a timely reminder that some of the most stirring stories to come in Paris won’t only be about the winners.
I met Thompson a decade later. Our paths crossed at a Spanish sports complex where I’d gone with a friend to train for a rare few days away from the gaze of rowing coaches over the new year break; Thompson was out there training a footballer and hanging out with some friends. Within no time, he was quizzing us about our training regime and rowing machine scores over various distances. Having only used it for sprint work, he was bemused by how and why we would sit rowing for an hour or more, holding a steady split for 20km. He encouraged us to do more sprint work and was keen to test himself against some Olympic rowers, always up for a fresh challenge and new, feisty friends to compete with.
That’s what sport was always about for Thompson, training with friends and pushing each other out of their comfort zones. Asked about the message of the film he wants to come across, Thompson said it’s simply that most of us can all do a bit better than we think we can and if we try to be a bit better today than we were yesterday, whether that’s in running or relationships, then that’s a good life.
Many of those who feature within training groups in the film remain close friends, some still meet to train at Battersea Park track on Saturday mornings. Not all of the Battersea group are former athletes, Johnny was a musician, Barry a physiotherapist and Vadim a film director and now the architect of this compelling documentary. All competed as fiercely as any Olympian I’ve trained alongside.
I remember someone asking Thompson why he still went to train there when he was no longer able to compete and win at the Olympics. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would ask that question – why would he stop doing something he loved with the people he was closest to?
After a poor result for me at the Sydney Olympics, I found him intriguing to chat to as I waded through my mental turmoil.
At a point of crisis, smashed confidence and shattered self-worth, his psyche was irritatingly helpful: “If you’re doing something you love, then it can’t be that bad can it? If you think you can do better, why don’t you have another go? Sport’s got to be fun.”
Then, typically Daleyesque: “Of course, I don’t really know how it feels to come ninth at an Olympics but I’m pretty sure all these things still apply.”
Unable to recover my self-belief and rebuild my performances, I quit the rowing team the next year. Without constant weekend commitments, I joined Thompson and his friends at the track.
What a different experience of sport I had. How we laughed then groaned as we sweated and strived for PBs each week. They challenged me mentally and physically and after a few months, I felt stronger in mind and body. They would tease me, asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Athens?” I waved their question away but inside I was really starting to think about it more and more. I was growing as an athlete and a person again and rethinking my approach to sport. I was loving training once more and despite not being a full-time athlete within the Olympic system, found myself in better shape than ever.
Thompson and Jean followed my return to rowing and got tickets in Athens to see my Olympic final and urge me on, just as we’d urged each other through those Saturday morning 200m reps on the track. They’d taught me so much – partly about how to keep pushing yourself when you think there’s nothing left, but mostly about the importance of joy and friendship in sport.
