I was so excited about the London Olympics. I just wanted to be a part of it – I didn’t care if I was outside the venues dancing. A year before the Games, I thought, they’re going to need lifeguards, and Googled “London 2012 volunteers”.
At the time, I was a lifeguard at the Telford and Wrekin leisure centre in Shropshire. I’d worked for a few years in reception and the soft-play area when my manager suggested I train as a lifeguard. I took the National Pool Lifeguard Qualification and passed.
I figured there’d be thousands of applicants for the Olympic lifeguard role, so I didn’t expect to hear back. But, a few weeks later, I was invited to a two-day exam at the London Aquatics Centre. It was the end of April – I remember because it was my birthday and I’d just turned 37.
It was intense. There were knockout stages and you only got one chance. The first thing they did was throw a mannequin to the bottom of the 5-metre-deep pool. The ones who couldn’t make it to the bottom were cut. Then there were other tasks and theory tests. When I passed, I felt disbelief. I remember sitting on the floor in the showers – it had just hit me that I could be lifeguarding the top athletes in the whole world.
I’ve heard people say, “Who needs lifeguards at the Olympics?” And some take the mick out of us online. Every Olympics, I see memes saying “It’s the easiest job in the world.” It’s belittling. When you’re a lifeguard, you learn how to handle everything from a suspected spinal injury to an asthma attack. You’re not a doctor, but you have the equipment and must be prepared. Besides, you could be a top surgeon but if you don’t know how to pull somebody out of the water correctly, you’ve done the damage before they even get treatment.
Not all the 2012 pool events were shown on TV, and accidents did happen. A diver hit the water stomach first, and was taken off with suspected internal injuries. A synchronised swimmer hyperventilated in the water and fainted. Thankfully, she was pulled to the side immediately.
I was working on different pools when those incidents took place, so I was lucky.
During my time at the Olympics, I assisted a few athletes who were so exhausted they had nothing left. We helped them out of the pool, made sure they were OK. I also treated a couple of suspected broken noses in the water polo.
Once, I saw a Paralympian swim headfirst into the wall while training. He was fine, but I wasn’t happy; I’d seen the force of the collision. He looked dazed, so I radioed the medic. At the end of the day, I make the call.
The Paralympians and Olympians valued us; they knew we were there to support them. They’d sign autographs or give us things. I’ve got a Team Korea jacket, a German T-shirt and a Team GB swimming cap.
I don’t get starstruck, but you’d be crazy not to think it’s surreal when you’re standing next to someone like Michael Phelps.
One day I was in a corridor waiting to start my shift when Phelps and Ryan Lochte walked passed. They gave us all high fives. When you see athletes celebrate, you celebrate with them. When they fail, your heart breaks for them.
That said, it’s very professional when you’re in the chair. You don’t remember the race because you’re so focused on checking each athlete’s movements to see if anything doesn’t look right. Why is his arm doing that? What’s happening with his foot? Is he getting cramp?
Even now, I still get nervous while lifeguarding. You’re doing a constant risk assessment in your head. You could have a pool full of the fittest-looking people, but they could have underlying heart conditions or a history of seizures. At the Paris Olympics, the Slovakian swimmer Tamara Potocká collapsed poolside after her event – she had had an asthma attack. She was given oxygen and taken off on a stretcher. Not all medical issues are visible.
I now work as a lifeguard at a pool near Telford. Whenever I watch the Olympics, I always look out for the lifeguards. There’s stuff going on behind the scenes that no one realises. We blend in and keep calm. But if there’s a problem, we’re there.
• As told to Charis McGowan
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