'He's the world's oldest strongman'
Sunday 17th May 2009
Huge steel contraptions clanked and whirred, red-faced people gasped, and the smell of sweat lingered in the air. To me, the room looked like a torture chamber. To everyone else, it was simply a gym. 'I really don't know about this,' I said to my friend, Bill McFadyen, then 67, as I nervously watched muscly men pumping iron. 'You've come this far,' he said, shoving me forwards. I'd first met Bill, a lollipop man, on the school run when my kids, Lian, now 22, Emma, 18, Terry, 17, and Michael, 15, were little. Bill was my opposite in almost every way. He's 28 years older than me, confident and cheerful, and an award-winning weightlifter. You wouldn't believe the muscles that rippled under his DayGlo tabard. I was a 13st, out-of-condition housewife, so shy it as a struggle to take the kids to school. I'd hurry along, my eyes on the floor, too timid to say hello to anyone. But for some reason, I could always stop and talk to Bill. Even when the kids got too old to need me to walk with them, Bill and I would have our daily chats.
Gradually, he became my best mate. Soon, he was round my house all the time. He was good with the kids, teaching them to arm wrestle and persuading them to eat their greens. 'It gives you muscles like me,' he'd say, flexing his biceps. You've never seen a plate of cabbage disappear so fast. He was into powerlifting, and had been competing in strongman competitions since he was 20. 'I got really serious about it in my 50s, though,' he explained. I was so impressed. At an age where most people were slowing down, he was stepping things up. He'd travelled the world competing and always had a story to tell. I felt so dull in comparison. Here he was telling me about winning gold medals, while the best story I had was the time the Spar ran out of semi-skimmed and I had to buy full-fat. 'I'm fed up,' I admitted to Bill. After my divorce from the kids' dad in 2001, I was even more down in the dumps. Bill's solution was always the same. 'Why don't you go to the gym?' He wouldn't take no for an answer. 'Go on,' he'd say. 'It'll do you the world of good.'
After umpteen refusals, something inside me snapped. 'OK,' I finally agreed. For once, the smile on Bill's face was bigger than his muscles. So here I was. Nervously, I went over to a rowing machine. 'What on earth do I do with this?' I asked Bill, holding the plastic handle in my hands. 'Pretend you're rowing,' he said, patient as ever. 'Like this, look.' I did what he told me. It wasn't half hard work on my arms, but the more strokes I did, the more I started to get into it. By the time I finished 20 minutes later, I was sweating like mad, but I felt full of energy. An hour later, I limped off the exercise bike, exhausted but smiling. 'You were right,' I gasped to Bill. OK, I was the colour of a tomato, but I felt more alive than I had done in years. That night, when I climbed into bed, I slept like a log. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a few aches and pains the next day, but as they say, no pain, no gain. After a few weeks, I was a different woman. 'Would you like to come to a weightlifting competition with me?' Bill asked. 'I'd love to,' I grinned.
As soon as I stepped into the competition room, I could see why Bill loved weightlifting. The atmosphere was electric. 'Good luck,' I told Bill. I was so excited as I took my seat. Cheering him on, I almost forgot I was supposed to be shy. 'Well done!' I yelled. I felt like I was going to burst with pride. I was smiling so hard, my cheeks hurt, my heart was rattling, my palms were sweaty… Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. Was there more to my feelings for Bill than just friendship? Surely not, he was old enough to be my dad. Over the next few weeks, though, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bill was perfect for me. Funny, fit, thoughtful, he loved the kids… In the end, I decided the cliché was true, age was just a number. Night after night, I lay in bed trying to work out how to tell him. Then it all went to pot when we were having dinner a week later. 'I adore you,' I blurted out. Bill patted my hand. 'I adore you too, pet,' he smiled. 'No Bill,' I said. 'I love you.' 'You're a… you're a beautiful young woman,' he stuttered. I leaned in and gave him a kiss. Thankfully, his ticker was just as strong as his muscles and his heart didn't give way with excitement!
We've been together ever since. Going out with the world's oldest strongman has its perks. In the past few years, I've been to the Czech Republic, Germany and Miami to watch him compete. We've yet to come home without a medal. Despite his age, Bill is one of the leading British powerlifters after winning a gold in the 2008 British Masters at the age of 73. A film about him called Ma Bar even won a Scottish BAFTA. Believe it or not, no one has commented on my relationship with Bill except to say that they're happy for us. The kids love having him around, and my friends all saw it coming before we did. People have probably whispered behind our backs, and years ago, I would have worried about what they thought. But thanks to Bill, I have the confidence not to care. He's one of the strongest men in the world, not just physically, but emotionally, too. Over the years, he's shared some of his strength with me. I'm not the same woman who wouldn't stay boo to a goose. Don't believe me? Come down to Bill's next competition and see for yourself. I'll be the one shouting and screaming with my arms in the air!