Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Marc Woods is a five-time Paralympian. He has won 12 Paralympic medals as well as 21 other medals from championships around the world. He was a member of the British Olympic Athletes Commission and a founding member of the British Athletes Council. He works extensively with individuals, teams and global businesses, encouraging them to develop best practice within their given areas of interest. Approximately 25,000 people each year watch him deliver his motivational presentations.

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Personal Best

John Wiley & Sons

Chapter One

Don't let life happen to you

"The will to do, the soul to dare." Sir Walter Scott

"Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of." Benjamin Franklin

THOUGHTS ON DIAGNOSIS

We arrived back home at around 1.30am, way past my parents' bedtime, if not mine. The Parent–Teacher Association's annual Christmas fundraiser at my school had been a real success. Not least, because I won six out of the ten raffle prizes – a large ham from the local butcher, a bottle of Liebfraumilch, a Christmas pudding, two boxes of chocolates and, of course, the obligatory gift box set of Old Spice aftershave and deodorant.

The note from Dr Watkins was scribbled on a piece of paper and had been pushed through the letterbox:

Maurice, Give me a call on 875419 whatever time you get in.

Dr Watkins

'Do you think that it's too late?' Mum said, as much to herself as to Dad. But he was already punching in the number.

'No, he knows we want to know the score as soon as possible.'

'Hello, Dr Watkins? Maurice Woods here. Right ... OK ... OK ... we'll see you in five minutes, then.' He put the phone down and crossed the kitchen. 'He told me that I should have a stiff drink and make him a cup of tea. He's on his way round.'

Mum put the kettle on and put out the best cups and saucers on a tray. I glanced at my brother Ian, Ian at my Mum. My Dad was staring into thin air, his mind working at a million miles an hour as it always did.

Dr Watkins arrived, looking somehow older than when I had last seen him two weeks earlier. He took a seat and launched straight into what he had to tell us. 'I know you are all eager to find out the results from the biopsy. I have been chasing Mr Evans for news, but he was keen to get a second opinion.' His hands holding the cup and saucer shook. Not just a little tremble: it was so pronounced, it looked like a hammy actor trying to do 'nervous'. 'But it has been confirmed now. You have an oesteosarcoma, or bone cancer. You will have to have your leg amputated below the knee and six sessions of chemotherapy.'

Tears welled up in Dad's eyes.

'What if I don't want to have my leg amputated?' I asked.

'Then you'll die,' was the instant reply. 'Bone cancer is a very virulent type of cancer and this course of treatment has been proven to give the best prognosis. You will have one course of chemotherapy first, then your amputation, and then the other five bouts of chemotherapy.'

I left the room. In the kitchen I leant against the units and began to cry.

'Don't cry, mate,' my brother said as he came in.

'Why me?'

'You'll be all right.'

And then I thought about it. What would my friends and peers think? What would I think if it was one of them that had cancer? I'd probably be mildly concerned, but it wouldn't stop me from living. It wouldn't stop me deliberating over what I would have for my tea.

'You're right, I will be all right,' I said. 'People aren't going to be that upset for me, so I won't let it upset me. What happens to me isn't going to stop them living, so I won't let it stop me from living.'

I'm not sure how much logic there was in that thought, especially given the circumstances, but at the time it seemed to make me feel a whole lot better. I didn't know if I had six months, six years or sixty years left to live – but I did know that, from this moment on, I was going to live my life to the full.

Until that moment, I had been the typical teenager, just happy to let life wash over me. But this was a pivotal moment in my life. It was the proverbial 'kick up the arse' and it made me realize that I no longer wanted life to just happen to me. From that point on, I wanted to take control of my own destiny as best I could.

DON'T LET LIFE HAPPEN TO YOU

Before I was catapulted into the world of cancer, I was like most of the people I meet – I let life happen to me. From day to day, life impacted on me and I did very little to affect it.

As humans, we have a predisposition to die. Every cell, from the moment it forms, is programmed to die. Every skin cell, every hair cell, every blood cell has a spell of life that is planned, before it self-destructs. Scientists call it 'apoptosis': programmed cell death.

But sometimes, something goes wrong within the cell. Somehow the DNA gets damaged and the cell changes its attitude. A cancer cell is born and, given the chance, a cancer cell loves to live. It stops doing the tasks that its mother cell performed and then begins to divide, replicating itself with a view to hanging around for as long as possible. It doesn't self-destruct. Cancer cells are strong – they have character. All cancer cells are trying to do is live. The only way you can get rid of them is by poisoning (or irradiating) them into submission. That's what the chemotherapy does. Chemotherapy encourages the cancer cell to commit suicide.

People talk of cancer being sinister. They whisper about it under their breath as if the cells are listening. All cancer is trying to do is live, but it is life at all costs, life until its host is dead.

It was only when I came face to face with these cells and their passion for life, so to speak, that I decided to be passionate about life myself. I was going to have an effect on my life and not just let life happen to me. It is amazing what it takes for some people, and I am including myself in this, to realize that life is a do-it-yourself thing.

Many people need a push in life before they actually start living. They cite near-death experiences or the loss of a loved one as events that have made them reevaluate their life and how they want to live it. Such things can force a period of self-reflection so thorough that it affects the very nature of how an individual wants to spend the rest of their days. They make a decision about how they want to actively approach life. But what about the people who haven't suddenly been faced with their own mortality, or suffered a terrible loss or shock? Those people who are living life passively? I certainly don't recommend searching out such experiences; instead, let's try and learn from those who have been there.

Extraordinary lives

History is full of examples of people who have grasped life with both hands; people who have got up off their backsides, got on and achieved great things; people who have been proactive rather than reactive.

We all know about the great leaders, for example Sir Winston Churchill, or humanitarians such as Mother Teresa. Their achievements are world famous. But these are not the only people who have seized the day and attacked life with vigour. Root around a little in the archives of history and it doesn't take long to discover that there are countless less well-known tales of ordinary people living extraordinary lives.

The problem for most of us is that doing things at 90% of maximum effort is easy. The extra 10% may be disproportionately difficult, but it is that little bit extra that makes us exceptional. The first step is to decide that this is a journey that you want to take. It is not a quick or easy process: it may well take far longer then getting the first 90% right. It fact, it may even take you the rest of your life.

Just my luck

I was lucky: something happened to me to make me reevaluate my life. I am...