To be a successful athlete, perhaps the most imperative characteristic of all is obtaining a winning mentality. Many, you’d think, are conditioned from a young age to think triumphantly, driven by a lifestyle that revolves around them achieving the goals laid out in front of them. This natural inclination for prosperity, however, was not a foundation that Oliver Lam-Watson found set before him.

No, the two-time Paralympic medalist has taken the long route towards career success and self-acceptance, and as he sits down with me in Soho for a refreshingly honest conversation, it’s clear that he still battles for these objectives every day.

Born with Klippel-Trenaunay syndrome, a condition that sees the development of blood vessels, soft tissues and bones affected, Lam-Watson has used a forearm crutch since the age of eight. This catapulted his life into abjection and difficulty, often bullied during his school years, as he struggled to accept the brevity of his condition and found himself lying about it even as he rose into the higher echelons of education to study architecture. Towards the end of his six year university stint, Oliver discovered the life-altering extent of his syndrome, with no treatment short of amputation even a distant possibility.

True strength is shown in the darkest of times, and the following period of his life saw Lam-Watson shine through as a truly outstanding individual. When before he was tepidly hiding his disability from the world around him, he, with the help of counselling, forced himself to look his condition dead in the eye. He began competing in mud run events around the world, working extraneously in the gym, and documenting his progression – and perhaps more importantly his failures – on a YouTube channel, hoping that if other young people with disabilities could witness both his success and strife, his wins and losses, they too could find the courage and tenacity to exceed the expectations set upon them due to their disability.

From here, the 31 year old found one of his life’s callings; he began training extensively in the sport of wheelchair fencing, an activity that he dedicated himself to on a (somewhat focused) whim, finding an unwavering passion for the sport. Diving head first into the discipline, Lam-Watson devoted himself to success, hoping to prove those around him, and himself, wrong. Within a remarkably short space of time, the athlete found himself boasting two Paralympic medals and a Word Champion medal, a dazzling testament to the will and belief that Oliver had adopted. He’s since augmented his online presence, been invited to give a TED talk, and has designed a specialist shoe for Nike; a multi-faceted prowess emerging from the embers of insecurity and struggle.

I find Oliver now training for the forthcoming Paris games. Despite his accolades and an outward demeanour of resolution and vitality, he still at times struggles with his situation, vying to continue to prove himself. In a provoking and emotional interview, we discuss the adversity he suffered as a boy and young man, dissecting how he acquired the inner strength to pursue a career as an athlete against all odds in the process.

Finding him proud yet somewhat unsettled, eager to push himself further, we talk about his future aspirations, and re-centring on what is really important to him.

Read the exclusive interview…

Taking it back to your childhood, how was it dealing with the news of your condition?
When I was younger, I couldn’t associate with my disability. I didn’t see myself as disabled – but not in a way that’s empowering. I completely lied to myself, I didn’t acknowledge it because at the time I didn’t want to. When I became disabled and went on crutches for the first time, I was at school and I remember no one would talk about it. Even the mention of the word disability was really scary to me. When people asked me about it I’d just say it’s an injury and that it would get better soon. The only people that really knew were my family. I remember being 12 or 13 and everyone’s hitting puberty and are boasting about having the deepest voice, running fast, being strong, I realised I can’t do that. Having a disability is seen as not as strong, not as able. No one wanted to hang out with me, I was seen as the token disabled kid. It was really difficult.

What was the changing point when you faced up to it and accepted it?
You see all these stories of people reinventing themselves when they go to university. I was sick of being the disabled kid at school, so I decided that I was just going to be Oliver who had a skiing accident, just a normal guy. When I was at school I was seeing a lot of doctors, having a lot of operations and missing a lot of social events, which when you’re a kid really feel like they matter.

So when I reached uni I decided I was done with that, I’d focused 18 years of my life on my leg and now I need to enjoy myself. It was great, until six years later everyone realised it wasn’t a skiing accident. I think it built up, lying to everyone everyday. You’d be surprised how many people ask why I’m on crutches, I guess because it looks like I could just have injured myself. I go to get petrol and the cashier will ask. I’ve made up some really elaborate lies. It became really horrible – it’s hard to describe, when you’re lying about yourself everyday. I know it’s a lie, but I’m lying to myself more than anyone.

It got too much, I began speaking to a counsellor about it and eventually I got to the point when I was comfortable telling people about my disability. Having the courage to say that… It took 24 years of my life essentially. Around that time the doctors told me – you either amputate it or you live with it. Either way, it’s not going to be fixed. I always thought that if I didn’t address the problem, it’d sort itself out. There’s no handbook to being young and disabled. Everyone sees their crutches before they see you. Everyone assumes what you can’t do before they think about what you can.

From there, how did you find yourself getting into competitive sport?
When I found out the extent of the injury, it kind of stuck in my head that I was never going to be an athlete. I hated sports as a kid, they were a great way of highlighting my differences from the other kids. So from that point, I felt like if I was going to live my life on crutches, what does that look like? Can I go to the gym? I basically decided that I’d try. I started going to the gym and trying to exercise. I was crap at it, but I kept going and eventually I got to a place where I wanted to attempt to run a mud run.

I signed up to one on a whim, and a lot of people told me I couldn’t. I remember waking up on the day being really scared. I was nervous about getting injured, but really more about proving everyone right. Long story short, I did it. Then I started doing loads of them, travelling the world. I put architecture aside and started a YouTube, I really wanted to show young disabled people what they could be capable of. I wanted to show me being imperfect.

I wanted to push myself further, so I sat down with my laptop and I googled Paralympic sport, opening a tab for every sport on the list. It didn’t matter what the sport was, it was about proving everyone wrong, to prove it to my younger self. I found fencing, it was quite niche, but I felt like I could throw myself at it.

From finding the sport, talk me through your swift rise from amateur to medal winner?
I typed in fencing clubs in London and called about 12 the following day. I’m really intense sometimes, people close to me will tell you, when I want to do something. I do everything I can to do it, and I want it to happen immediately. I found one that would offer wheelchair fencing, they were closed for summer and said they can see me in two months, but I said can you see me this weekend for a taster session. I wanted to try it once to find out if it was something I wanted to do. I twisted their arm and went in, sat on a chair with a sword and a mask and had my first lesson. Immediately I thought – this is it. I went from googling it to two days later training full time, having three or four lessons a week.

Everyone questioned what I was doing. When I left university I gave myself a gap year to push my disability advocacy, the gym, the YouTube channel, and if it didn’t work out I was going to get a job as an architect. Before long, I did a few camps, and was selected for my first World Cup in February 2018. I extended my gap year, and wanted to push it as far as I could with the Paralympics round the corner. If I did that, there was no way anyone could tell me I’m not an athlete. I set my sights on Tokyo and pushed it as hard as I could.

From hiding your condition and not facing up to reality, was being in a wheelchair finally being honest and proud of your achievements?
When I was younger, I refused to do anything that highlighted my differences. I always saw it as if I was undercover. It went from that to being able to sit in a wheelchair in a club full of able-bodied fencers and being proud of being the only guy in a wheelchair there. I was able to reach my potential, to explore what my body was capable of; the chair gave me that freedom.

Five years later, you’re an olympic medalist – is that surreal?
I have a real disassociation with myself. I see photos of me at the Paralympics but I don’t see myself in those photos. I don’t feel like it was me. On paper, there’s this guy, Oliver Lam-Watson who went to Tokyo and won two medals and he’s ranked 10th in the world, but I don’t feel like that. It’s really strange to me. I post photos and videos of myself and think that that guy looks confident, that he looks strong, but I still don’t feel like that. I still often feel like the young guy with a disability who’s not very sure of himself.

But I still push myself to do it, because the things I regret in life are the things that I didn’t do, not the things I’ve done. I feel grateful for what I’ve been able to achieve and I’ve made a lot of sacrifices over the last few years, and it does feel unreal. I don’t think it changes you, there’s no difference. I’m not saying that to sound humble. Yes, I’m very lucky to have those two pieces of metal at home, but I’m still the same person. I set out to prove something, and I did so, but I’m not a different guy. That’s the thing that I really want to drive home to people – anyone can do what I did. I’m not special. I felt as though I didn’t want to be Oliver on crutches. I always felt like I had to be better than other people to be seen as equal, so I wasn’t seen as less.

Do you still feel like that’s the case, that you have to be better than people to be seen as equal?
Yeah, I do feel like that. I don’t know if that’s me or if it’s just a chip on my shoulder. For me, it’s always about the next thing. I rarely celebrate these kinds of things. You don’t own your achievements, you don’t own your success. It doesn’t matter what you did yesterday, last week or last year, you can’t rely on that. Everyday you wake up, work hard and pay the man. The most important thing to me is adding value to your own and other people’s lives.

My mum passed away recently, it gives you a perspective on things. A lot of the reasons why people do things anymore, the thing that really gives meaning to me is adding value to other people’s lives. I want to live my mum’s dreams, she loved what I do and she was really proud of me, and that for me that has value. It’s not about the achievements for me, more so living in a way that makes others proud.

What are your future ambitions? What do you want to do with your life?
To be honest, I don’t know. My mum passed really suddenly, and it just reinforced with me that you just never know where you’re going to be. People have all these plans, but life is really fragile. I don’t know where I’m going to be in five years, so everything that I want to do, I do it now. I feel that, if I want to do something, the best time to do it was yesterday. Do it now or don’t do it. I have a rule – if it takes less than five minutes, you have to do it now.

As long as I’m creating meaningful material that makes people think, I’ll be happy. I’m going to be 32 by the time Paris comes around, and I don’t want to be an athlete ever. Whatever it is I’m doing, I want to give everything to it. My goal was always to change the face of disability. When people hear the word disabled, you think of old, decrepit people, of hospitals, those grey plastic crutches… I’m young, fit, strong, and much more comfortable with my disability. I’m not what people normally think of when they think about disability. I want to show people that whatever you think about disability is wrong.

What would you say to your nine year old self?
I’d say that you’re enough as you are…[pauses] no I wouldn’t, I would say thank you. I would say thank you for going through all the shit for me. Thank you for going through all the appointments, the operations, the abuse, the difficult nights. I would say thank you because I feel like that’s given me the energy and the drive that I have now. It’s easier for me now, but my younger self went through it a lot more.

Then I would say – get to work, you’ve got lots to do.