One sunny afternoon back in October 2011 I was trying a backflip on a trampoline, landed on my head and straight away I knew something was very wrong.
I couldn’t move my legs and feared the worst. I was taken to Stoke Mandeville Hospital, near my home in Aylesbury, Bucks, where scans showed I’d lost 85 per cent of my body movement.
Unicycling and circus skills were everything to me, the only thing I wanted to do, and almost straight away I felt my life as I knew it was over.
Of course, I wanted to be told this paralysis was reversible, that I could walk, run and even unicycle again. But the doctors only told me: “You never know what can happen.”
Following traction treatment to realign my spine, then surgery and physio work, I still had absolutely no use of my legs or arms.
I then had a choice – accept that I’d be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life and give up, or find a way forward.
It was during my nine months in hospital that I first saw how electronic stimulation devices could make otherwise dead muscles work.
There was a machine used by the nurses to maintain muscle mass and avoid bed sores for spinal injury patients who were confined to bed for long periods. That sowed a seed in my head.
After being discharged, my parents researched cutting-edge physio centres and came across Neurokinex, a not-for-profit specialist spinal injury rehab clinic in Hemel Hempstead, Herts.
For two hours a week I had two physios working on me at once, with the aim of getting me upright.
Regular exercises and weights were combined with specialist Functional Electronic System – or FES – machines, which send messages into the muscles in the same way as the brain to make them move.
This would encourage new nerve and muscle growth, boost blood flow and bone density.
It was the first time I felt there was light at the end of the tunnel, that anything was possible.
Later that year I was contacted by the Dutch company Berkel, which was pioneering the production of new FES bikes for spinal injury patients like me.
Stimulation pads attached to my legs and a special computer would make them turn the crank so I could cycle a bike, albeit from a sitting position.
They loaned me a prototype of their Berkelbike and soon I was out cycling every day, my legs getting stronger, my confidence soaring. The feeling of independence was incredible.
In 2016 I entered Cybathlon, the world’s first bionic Olympics, in Zurich. Coming a surprise second against 11 other countries, I realised there were no limits – I could be the best in the world.
With my sights set on the 2018 Cyberbike, the first international competition for “cybathletes” like me riding FES bikes, I trained for up to five hours a day, knowing I wasn’t just representing GB but pushing the boundaries of what could be achieved for those confined to wheelchairs.
So, in Lyon earlier this month, I competed against teams from across the globe and won the 500 metres – a first for a Brit – and came second in the 100 metres. In my world this is just as good as any Olympic gold.
But it’s not just about me. This sport is like F1, with a whole team of physios and engineers tweaking and refining the bike and pushing me harder than I ever thought possible.
It’s a privilege to be doing this, pushing the boundaries of neuroscience and neurorehabilitation, helping us understand the way the body works. And this new knowledge, these developments, could be just as useful for fully-able athletes wanting to get fitter and stronger, quicker.
To be at the forefront of all of this, pushing for a cure for spinal injuries, is amazing. And I still won’t accept the idea that the rest of my life will be confined to a wheelchair.
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