www.silverguide.site –

Born in Billericay, Essex, in 1970, Mark Foster is a former competitive swimmer and winner of 51 major international medals, including six world titles, two Commonwealth Games golds and 11 European titles. He represented the UK at five Olympic Games, and broke eight world records. He works as a commentator for the BBC during major sporting events. Foster’s memoir, My Double Life, is out now.

This was taken in a park in Southend, presumably – as the trunks suggest – near a swimming pool. I would have been with both of my big sisters and my mum. I was always stupidly smiley and never took life seriously.

My house growing up was calm and organised. Mum was the one who did everything at home and Dad went to work. My love of sport comes from Mum – she was the motivation behind my early ambition. Every morning she would get up at 5am, make me breakfast at 5.15am, put me in the car at 5.30am and take me to the pool. Once training was done, she would shuttle me off to school.

It wasn’t until I was six and first saw Jaws that I learned I was fast. Even though I knew Jaws was a fake shark, my imagination went into overdrive every time I got into the pool. I would imagine a series of large pipes linked to the sea and felt it was perfectly feasible for a gigantic killer shark to push through a grate in the bottom of the pool and chase me. While it was traumatic, it did make me a sprinter, and shaped my life as an elite sportsman.

Aside from being hugely energetic and competitive, I was very naughty – the kid who was always in trouble. It only got worse as I got older. For a long time I thought: if I’m the naughty boy, people aren’t going to notice that I’m also gay. This led to my brief pyromaniac phase. I saw Dad strike a match and thought: that looks like fun. My intention was never to destroy anything; I was just curious and impulsive. But I knew I’d gone too far when I was 10 and set light to a toilet roll at my junior school. The wall caught fire. Thankfully, I could deny that I was responsible. But I realised then it was probably time to stop.

Growing up, every subliminal message I received about being gay was that it was bad. There were no role models who looked or acted like me, and whatever I heard on the TV, or in the playground, was an insult, or negative in some way. I was watching Thunderball with my sisters when I first saw Sean Connery in his trunks. Without really realising it, I said: “He’s good-looking.” My sisters were shocked and told me not to say that. They weren’t being mean, but even as a young kid I realised that the way I felt wasn’t going to be easy to navigate.

When I was 13 I got a scholarship for Millfield – a boarding school in Somerset with a reputation for producing world-class sportsmen and women. All of a sudden I didn’t have the support or the structure that my mum had placed around me. I had to start taking responsibility for my schedule, while also dealing with the sadness of being taken away from my sisters. My parents were also breaking up during this time. All of which meant I was low on confidence for a lot of my teen years.

Eventually I got asked to leave Millfield, as I fell out with the coach. Then I got kicked out of Kelly College, my next school, because I was naughty – I didn’t do anything horrible, and I’ve never been in a fight in my life, but I was a ball of energy and always messing around.

In spite of my behaviour, I was still succeeding – at 15, I swam in the British Championships and won, and broke the British 50m freestyle record. My rebellious nature was even picked up by the press, when I was called The Punk Upstart by one newspaper. Why? Well, I had two earrings (I wanted to look like Matt Goss from Bros) and a tattoo of an English rose and the Olympic rings. I was essentially a bit of a lad.

After my first Olympics in Seoul in 1988, I found myself at a crossroads. I had left school and was working as a courier, a groundsman, a lifeguard, and fitting double glazing. I’d still swim every morning, but I thought my career had gone as far as it could. Swimming is a young person’s game, and unless you’ve got rich parents it’s not easy to stick to as you don’t get paid a lot.

Then, when I was 21, I met my first boyfriend, a man called Vince. After a couple of months of being together, he said to me: “I’ll support you for a year. You focus on swimming – let’s see where it takes you.” That safety net put my career back on track, gave me opportunity and stability, and love. It was a massive turning point.

In 2008, I was asked to do Strictly. I had just retired and knew I should take the opportunity to be on a primetime TV show. I threw myself into every dance and loved it, but the problem with being on a juggernaut show like Strictly is the press was suddenly at my door, wanting to know about my private life. It was scary. I didn’t want to be forced out; I wanted it to be my choice. It also brought up all of the fear I had growing up. I was worried that if a story came out, my mates might disown me, or sponsors might drop me.

I had already come out to my mum back in the 90s. She was the hardest person to tell, as I didn’t want her to be ashamed of me. I understood why she would have been afraid – she was 30 years older than me and grew up in a time when being gay was illegal. I knew she would worry about what the neighbours might think. Her first reaction was: “What did I do wrong?” Then: “You won’t be able to have grandkids.” Then, 10 minutes later, she was fine.

As I got older, the constant vigilance that having a secret life required became too draining. I was always trying to remember what I’d told one person so I didn’t contradict my story and get called a liar. My double life reached a tipping point when I was approaching 50. I thought: am I still contemplating living in secret when I am 80? When I did talk to the press in 2017, no one dropped me; no one turned their back on me. It was a huge relief – as I was finally free to have an open, normal conversation about my life.

I am 56 now, and my main vice is sweets and chocolate. My nickname when I go away on a golf trip with my mates is Shandy Pants, as everyone else has beers but I can only handle one shandy. I still work out, but I don’t beat myself up like I used to. When I was competing I would train to the extreme – always aiming to go faster and stronger. These days, I exercise because I enjoy it, plus I won’t get any work if I let myself go. Life in general is less chaotic than it used to be. All that’s the same is that I still don’t take life seriously. Hopefully, I never will.