One day, while he was walking into the library in Trinity College, Ronan Grimes was stopped by a stranger.
He noticed a difference in Grimes’s gait. By then his club foot was no longer a conversation piece, or a source of ridicule, or an amber light in his life. It was blended into everyday living: not fixed, not broken, not perfect, not a drag.
“This man was a mature student and a father,” Grimes says now. “His son had been born with a club foot. He obviously spotted straight away that I had this atypical walk. He was really worried – asking about my quality of life, and ‘Can you do this and that?’
“That kind of hit home. When your child is small and you’re the parent of somebody with a club foot, it’s huge. To me, at that stage, it wasn’t impacting me at all. Grand, you’re not running anywhere, or I wasn’t playing any sports but in terms of getting around, day to day, I wouldn’t have thought that anybody would notice I was walking differently to other people.
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“After years of never even talking about it – nobody in college had ever mentioned it or anything – that was an eye-opener.”
When Grimes was a child his club foot commanded a different status in his life. It was too obtrusive to be hidden or brushed off. Grimes says they will only perform surgery on a club foot if it is “severe”. By the age of three, he had been operated on twice. Neither surgery produced the desired outcome.
After that, they couldn’t operate again until his foot had grown to a certain size, and he would be 11 by then. In the meantime, he was busy being a child. Hurling is the biggest sport in Athenry, and he grew up next to the club’s training pitches. Every child wants to fit in, and hurling was the simplest way to be part of the gang. But playing hurling didn’t make him look like the other kids; it magnified the difference.
“I was kind of big enough for a child. I was well able to throw myself around. When you look back on it, I wasn’t really able to run, I’d be tripping over my leg. I kind of always wanted to do it because I didn’t want to miss out, but I don’t think I ever enjoyed it because I was just so self-conscious.
“When you’re a young child, and you’re different in any way, it’s huge. It’s something other children can see very easily. I always nearly wanted to prove myself that I was as good as people, but sure I couldn’t run around a pitch.”
Cruelty has many digital trampolines now, but among children it has a different take-off and landing. His Mam and Dad used to confront the parents of the children who mocked him or bullied him, but that kind of policing has a double-edged quality.
He was going into his final year in primary school when his foot was operated on for the last time. In secondary school everything was better. Most of the kids from his primary school class went elsewhere and Grimes landed in a co-ed school. The operation was a success. It was a fresh start.
“Instead of being in an all-boys school you’re with girls. I think that just changed the whole dynamic. I can’t remember now what the foot looked like before. I imagine it would have been growing downwards as opposed to forwards. I can’t even remember if I used to have pain walking around or not. After the operation my gait pattern was a bit more normal. I got more confident I think as I got older.
“I played no sport through secondary school. Even if there were lads kicking a ball I’d be so frightened of breaking my ankle or something in my left leg that I steered away from it. But I really focused on studying. That was nearly my competitive outlet. In college it was similar enough. I loved going out but when it came to exams, I was hyper-focused for a three-month block to try to get good results. I was always channelling a competitive edge into other parts of my life I think.”
Fifteen years ago Grimes bought a bike. He was living in student accommodation in Dublin and grew tired of waiting for the Luas. His relationship with the bike was platonic at first, but those feelings changed.
As part of his undergraduate degree in pharmacy he spent time at a plant in Ballymacarbry on the Waterford-Tipperary border and during that time he lived in Dungarvan. For months he didn’t know many people. Then he noticed a cycling club taking off from the square in Dungarvan at weekends and he mustered the courage to introduce himself.
“It’s funny, at that age – 21, 22 – I was more looking forward to weekends where I would go out cycling with the club than weekends where I would go out drinking with the lads. Really quickly it became something that was my big passion.”
When Grimes returned to Dublin to start a PhD he joined Orwell Wheelers. Before long he was competing in “able-bodied races”. He still hadn’t been fitted properly for a racing bike. One of his feet was size nine and the other was size five. His legs were a different length.
“When I was in Dungarvan a lad said to me: ‘You have to set your cleat up a bit differently,’ but I nearly got a bit thick with him. Saying like, ‘Mind your own business, I’ll do what I want with it’. I would have done that first year of racing without going to a bike fitter.”
Ten years ago Grimes entered the world of para cycling. Just two years later he represented Ireland for the first time. Without a coach, or even a power meter on his bike, he finished in the top 10 at a World Cup race in Bilbao. His potential was obvious.
Neill Delahaye was one of the leading para cycling coaches in the country and Grimes emailed him for advice. In truth, he was casting a line into the water. Delahaye bit down on the hook. From there, his career went into orbit.
By 2018 he had qualified for funding on the carding scheme; a year later he won his first world championship medal; a year after that he won his second.
“Every year I had this small step and progression that kept me going back for more. In 2019 I got a world championship medal on the track and I was like, ‘The Games are next year and I’m only going one way’.
“I medalled at the track worlds again in January 2020 and then Covid came. But then, you’re like, ‘I might actually be on the top step [of the medals podium] if I keep going’.”
The Tokyo Paralympics were delayed by a year; his form held up. In the training camp in Portugal before the Games he was clocking times that would have won at least silver at every world championships. In Tokyo he lined up in four events, expecting at least one medal. He finished fourth, sixth, 11th,15th. In the backwash he thought about stepping away. He was in a funk.
“When it’s the first time that you go through such a major upset in your mind you’re instantly just trying to distance yourself from everything. As soon as the Games were over I was kind of going, ‘That’s me done. I’m going to finish’. I was kind of thick, I think, really.”
When his emotions returned to room temperature he started to analyse what happened. In the time trial he was seeded to go last and there was a psychological component to that he hadn’t reckoned with.
“I just saw the times going in front of me and I was like, ‘Oh God, I won’t be able’. It was a weird experience. I think on the day I got the best out of me that I could have. I went faster than in training. If you go faster than you’ve ever gone before and as fast as you’re expected to go, there’s not much more you can do. But I think I was just too focused on what other people were doing.
“Looking back on it now, I should have been really proud of it. But when you’re chasing medals that can be an issue. You can’t appreciate a good performance – or I suppose it’s hard to do that.”
In the time trial he finished sixth; in the individual pursuit on the track, he reached a ride off for the bronze medal and ended up finishing fourth. In defeat, nothing is right.
“In that moment I was thinking, ‘Maybe you spread yourself too thin. If I focused on one thing I would have been better’. I wondered if I had spent the previous six months not working would I have found a second or two in that ride off?”
A month after the Games he was back in training. A year later he won gold at the road race world championships in Canada. In the same season he was European champion. At the end of the year he was shortlisted for RTÉ Sports Person of the Year. It was better not to stop.
So, what events will he be contesting at the Paris Paralympics?
“I’m doing the same [as last time],” he says, laughing. “I don’t think I’ve learned any lessons.”
That claim doesn’t hold up. At the end of last year, Grimes left the place where he has worked for the last eight years. Since January he has trained full-time. With his partner they did the sums. His funding has been at the top rate of €40,000 a year since he started winning medals at the world championships. Their mortgage was young and manageable. They had enough to get by. Everything was poured into this; one last spin on the carousel.
“I’m a bit older [35] and I had a career developed before I got into this, so it’s hard to justify giving something up. It’s just kind of more for yourself to look back on. Whatever happens this time I’m happy enough to finish and say, ‘There’s not much more I could have given.’”
His family will be in Paris. His parents have never seen him compete in the flesh. Last chance. Allez.
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