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Gold standard
What does it take to be the world’s best for one memorable moment? Minty Clinch asks four British Olympic gold medallists from four decades. Portraits by Rory Carnegie
Tessa Sanderson,
52 Javelin. Gold, Los Angeles 1984
Fifty-two? You cannot be serious. That’s my first thought when Tessa Sanderson sweeps into her offices in Stratford, East London. Bouncy cleavage, hoop earrings, a mane of hair, no wrinkles. She represented the glamour end of field athletics, a girly girl among Amazonians with suspect muscles. Eleven years later, nothing has changed. Her eyes gleam as she recalls that day in Los Angeles when she took on the Finnish world record holder, Tina Lillak, and the old enemy, Fatima Whitbread, who’d beaten her in the World Championships the year before. “By then, we pretty much hated each other, but the rivalry brought out the best in both of us.
“The stadium was a beehive, buzzing with expectation, hot as hell. Fats – God, she’d have knocked my block off if I’d called her that – went first, then Tina, good throws, but I knew I could do better. I selected a javelin from the rack, visualised my run-up and floated it out. Please God let it stick.”
It didn’t, but the gouge was an Olympic record. So there it was, gold on the first throw, though agonising hours passed as Tessa’s rivals strained to overtake her.
Tessa always steered clear of chemicals. “I don’t know 100 per cent who took drugs, but a lot of the girls had a very masculine shape. What I do know 100 per cent is that anyone who does take them is a loser and a fool. I was much smaller than my rivals, yet I won clean.”
Tessa’s parents, a sheet-metal worker and a hairdresser, moved from Jamaica to Wolverhampton when she was six. She began throwing the javelin at Wardsbridge High in 1969 and competed in six consecutive Olympics between Montreal in 1976 and Atlanta 20 years later. Leaving school with no O or A–levels, she studied business at night so she wouldn’t be “an idiot who didn’t know how the world worked”.
She had six jobs, the first as a tea girl, to fund the long road to Los Angeles. “Sponsors gave me £6,000, pocket money today. My family were my rock, but I couldn’t afford to take them to America. Even my coach, Wilf Paish, had to pay his own way.”
Since her retirement, Tessa has built up a media career and is vice-chairman of Sport England. She has an OBE and a CBE for charity work in addition to the MBE in 1985. She was invited to dinner with the Queen, Prince Philip, Prince Charles and Princess Anne. “Just 12 of us round a table and I was the only athlete. The Queen’s a bit of a cutie, very tiny, but she knows a lot.”
She laughs and looks around her new kingdom, the HQ of the Newham Sports Academy, a charitable organisation she set up to provide coaching and support for locals, able and disabled, for the London Olympics. “My heart is in the East End. I was in Stratford to hear Jacques Rogge announce the winner of the Olympic bid. On that magical night, I was lifted on to people’s shoulders in a spontaneous wave of delight.”
Tessa’s squad of 62 children are on the blocks, eager to put Newham among the Olympic medals. Neighbourhood Renewal funding ran out in March, and Tessa needs £200,000 a year. Read about the Newham Academy on www.sportengland.org.
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