From sporting glory to the deepest grief: Lisa Curry’s book is a raw, honest account of an extraordinary life

Lisa Curry shares a raw and honest account of her deepest grief in her forthcoming memoir. Read the extracts.

From the highs and lows of top-level international sport, to finding romance and grappling with devastating grief. Australian swimming legend LISA CURRY has finally told her own story, in new book Lisa: A memoir – 60 years of life, love & loss. These edited extracts are part of that journey.

Pain and gain … Lisa Curry hamming it up with strength coach Ian King at the Barcelona trials in 1992. Photo courtesy Lisa Curry, from her memoir Lisa.

Brisbane Commonwealth Games, 1982

I had done it. I had won gold in my three main events – the 100m butterfly, and the 200m and 400m individual medleys. I was determined to savour this magic moment.

I walked down the side of the pool and the crowd went nuts again. I waved to everyone I could see. People were calling out, ‘Lisa! Lisa!’ and I waved and smiled so much my cheeks were hurting.

Queen Elizabeth II and her husband Prince Philip attended the Games, and a couple of days later, I had lunch with Her Majesty in the athletes’ village. She joined eight athletes for lunch and we talked about the weather, our sport and our training, and what we liked about it all. No mobile phones back then, so no selfies – I don’t have a photo of that lunch.

I met Princess Diana after the Games at a meet and greet. I gave her some white plastic earrings shaped like Australia … geeeezzzz what was I thinking? She said kindly, ‘Oh, I’ve been looking for a pair of these everywhere, thank you.’ (Or perhaps it was sarcasm.) She was beautiful and I was thrilled to have these brushes with royalty.

Starting out … a young Lisa Curry with her friend Rosie Brown in Brisbane, in a photo from her memoir Lisa.

The media began to refer to me as swimming royalty after the Games, and I got a kick out of that, too.

On the last night of the swimming in Brisbane, I was sitting at the end of the pool up near the diving tank with sports photographer Paul Sargeant, who was photographing me with my medals, when Grant Kenny walked past. I knew who he was because, I mean, who didn’t? He was Grant Kenny, Ironman. He’d been a big deal in Australia since 1980, when he won the junior and senior Ironman Championships on the same day – as a 16 year old! He was Australia’s best-known surf lifesaving competitor and a household name due to his endorsement deal with Kellogg’s, promoting the breakfast cereal Nutri-Grain.

He was at the Games as a guest and was being escorted by an official to meet the Queen. Paul knew him, and introduced us. We said ‘Hi,’ and he continued on his way. He’s cute, I thought.

Gold standard … Lisa Curry with coach Joe King and her first gold medal at the 1982 Brisbane Commonwealth Games. Photo courtesy Lisa Curry, from her memoir Lisa.

The night before the closing ceremony, many of the athletes went out to the Springwood Hotel. In those days, I barely drank, although I would occasionally have a few after a major competition. But this was different – now everyone knew who I was, and they wanted to buy me drinks. I was drinking gin and lemonade, which I now hate with a passion and I haven’t drunk gin since.

At about 2am, with the gin kicking in, I was standing there basically holding up the door, when Grant walked in. I don’t know how he ended up there but he stayed chatting with me until 5am. He doesn’t drink and was completely sober, so I can’t imagine what he thought of me, by then a babbling mess. He left to drive back to the Sunshine Coast (north of Brisbane) to go to training, with no sleep.

‘I’m going to marry that guy,’ I said to one of my friends as he walked away.

I just knew.

Winning at love … Lisa Curry did Grant Kenny. Here they announce their first pregnancy, in a photo from her memoir Lisa.

I left the pub, staggered back to the athletes’ village and tried to grab a quick sleep.

Then I had to get dressed and be ready for the closing ceremony. I had an important role to play. The team manager had come to see me a few days before to tell me I’d been given the honour of being the Australian flag-bearer.

I had to keep it a secret, which was hard. It’s one of the most exciting moments of your life, when an official advises you that you’ve been chosen to carry the flag. I shouldn’t have got myself so plastered but, as a virtual non-drinker, I wasn’t fully aware of the consequences.

I’d had very little sleep. I was totally hungover and had the worst headache. I still had last night’s mascara on.

But I bounced back to life as soon as I walked into the Queen Elizabeth II Stadium, to the cheers of 80,000 people. It felt incredible – the noise was deafening, and I relaxed and soaked it all in.

Proud duty … Lisa Curry carrying the Australian flag at the 1982 Commonwealth Games.

Barcelona Olympics, 1992

After years and years of racing, winning and losing, I’d learned there are some races that are easier to let go of than others, depending on their importance and priority. Some races go over and over in your head all night. If you haven’t reached your potential, and you know there was more you could have done, you obsess about what you could and should have done differently.

In Moscow, I was 18. I was young and able to let things go. Now, I was truly at the end of my career and I had no more chances. Swimming internationally has an expiry date, and I’d reached mine. When I failed to make that 50m final, I was really down and there were a lot of tears.

I was 30, I had two kids, I’d now been to three Olympics, I was a Commonwealth record holder, I’d won gold at two Commonwealth Games. But I just wanted to win an Olympic medal, and I didn’t. So many opportunities. So many close races. So many disappointments. How and why was I continuing to do this to myself?

Fun before the slump … Lisa Curry (right) with fellow Australians Julie McDonald, Leigh Habler, Jacqueline McKenzie and Linley Frame in Barcelona, 1992.

I tried to remind myself that it was okay to lose if you didn’t lose the lesson. Take what you can from the lesson, go back, fix the mistakes, and train harder or smarter. I loved training, I loved racing, but I just couldn’t crack a medal.

Mr King came and sat with me at the edge of the warm-down pool after I missed that final.

‘If this is the worst thing that ever happens to you, then your life is pretty good,’ he said, once again bringing everything back into perspective for me.

There’s a photograph taken of us at that moment, sitting talking on a bench at the end of the pool, and in the background is a guy putting out the rubbish bins. He couldn’t give a hoot whether I won or lost.

And that’s the thing: in the end, it doesn’t really matter. You think your whole world is ending because you missed out on a medal but, actually, no-one cares. Your coach cares, your mum cares, your best friend cares, for a short while, then life goes on. They pat you on the back and say, ‘Don’t worry about it, let’s go and have lunch.’

Don’t trash-talk yourself … Lisa Curry being reassured by Joe King at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, as a cleaner takes the rubbish out. Photo courtesy Lisa Curry, from her memoir Lisa.

It’s the same when you win. People say, ‘That was amazing!’ Pat, pat on the back, and then: ‘Let’s go and have some lunch.’

I had to remember that life goes on. I’d learned that so many people didn’t challenge themselves because of the risk they could lose. I never let fear of failure stop me. How amazing that a 30-year-old mum of two came fifth at the Olympics, and swam faster than she ever had before … hardly a failure! I needed to keep perspective. I had my beautiful little family at home and no time to dwell on what could have been.

Mr King used to say to me: ‘What are you trying to do, Lisa? You’ve trained your whole life. You deserve to have an easier life; stop pushing yourself so hard.’

‘I just want to stand on the Olympic dais,’ I’d tell him.

I was so close so many times. I just wanted that photograph of me on the Olympic dais with my arms in the air. First, second, third – I didn’t care. I just wanted to be there. But obviously, it wasn’t meant to be.

First try … Lisa Curry at the 1980 Summer Olympics Games held in Moscow.

Meeting second husband Mark

It was June 2015, and I had been invited to walk from Melbourne to Portland, a distance of 400 kilometres, to raise money for a children’s charity.

After our walk on day four, we arrived at our accommodation, and out walked a dishevelled-looking man with sleepy head, saying ‘Hi.’

As I plonked into a comfy lounge to rest my weary body, I replied, ‘Oh, hello, who are you?’

Mark Tabone had been invited to come along to do the entertainment at Port Fairy during the walk.

In a noisy pub on the first night of the entertainment, I was selling my Coach Curry hats for $20 and kisses for $50 (the things you do for charity and only kisses on the cheek!) when the stage show started.

Mark was onstage and he was singing an Elvis song and while he was singing, he looked at me for what seemed like a long time. Just a bit too long. It felt as if his eyes almost pierced my brain; they were looking straight through me, and I didn’t know where to look.

Hunk of burning love … Mark Tabone met Lisa Curry in his role as an Elvis impersonator.

‘That’s awkward!’ I thought. I was sure I wasn’t the only one who saw it! But no-one else seemed to notice – well, no-one commented on it. Mark said months later he didn’t do it for any reason, he was just singing, but I told him I felt like he was singing only to me.

Either way, it didn’t mean anything, and we walked together on and off the next day again for hours, chatting about inconsequential stuff. Then we finished the walk, and I didn’t see or hear of him again for a while.

Two months later, Mark came to Maroochydore to do his Legends tribute show, so I got my friends together and we went along. The next morning, we went out for breakfast and he told me he had some sad news; he’d separated from his wife.

While I felt for him, I did a little internal happy dance because he was single, and there was something about Mark that intrigued me.

Then one day, he messaged me to say, ‘Can I call you?’

‘No, not at the moment, I’m crying,’ I replied.

‘Why are you crying?’ he asked.

I told Mark: ‘Just give me ten minutes.’

He messaged me back to ask, ‘Has it been ten minutes yet?’

Two hearts Kombined … Lisa Curry and Mark Tabone share a love of Kombis. Photo courtesy Lisa Curry, from her memoir Lisa.

Finally, I gave him my phone number and he called. We chatted for ages – and we haven’t stopped chatting since.

‘If we’re together, the press will hound us and you have to be okay with that. If you’re not okay with that then we can’t be together,’ I warned Mark, when we first started going out. He was okay with it. We tried to hide it in the first few months and not show affection in public, but it didn’t last long. Jaimi came with me to a New Year’s Eve party at Mark’s place in Melbourne.

When she spotted the painting that a friend of hers had done of our two Kombis, she grabbed my phone, saying, ‘Hey guys, just stand in front of your painting for me.’ She said she wanted to send the photo to the artist.

But while she had my phone, Jaimi also put the photo on my Instagram page, so all of a sudden, our relationship was revealed by Jaimi. She didn’t mean to, but she threw us right into the public spotlight.

And just like that, it was on. Another media frenzy.

Love me tender … a portrait of Lisa Curry and husband Mark Tabone at their property on the Sunshine Coast.

Losing Jaimi

‘Mum, I actually don’t want to live.’

I was shocked to hear this statement from my beloved daughter. When she said it, Jaimi and I were at the dog park with Morgan’s dog.

She went on, ‘If I could kill myself I would, but I’m not strong enough to do it.’

Thinking it was a cry for help, I called an ambulance. When the paramedics arrived, Jaimi was so cranky with me that she started yelling, ‘What did you do that for?’ Then she told the ambulance crew there was nothing wrong with her – she was fine.

‘I’m concerned that you’re going to take your life,’ I told her.

‘Mum, I’m not going to do that. I just told you I couldn’t do it,’ she replied.

Big adventure … Jaimi visiting her sister Morgan in Paris, in a photo from Lisa Curry’s memoir Lisa. Photo courtesy Morgan Gruell.

I kept saying to her that what she was doing to herself every day was killing her … just slowly.

I was trying to find a reason to get her into hospital, for her to stay in hospital and, this time, stay in long enough to help her change and recover. I even got to the point where I asked a friend in the police, ‘What minor crime can I commit with Jaimi to get us both locked up for about six months?’ I was looking for a circuit-breaker, something to get Jaimi away from the alcohol long enough to get better.

My friend said, ‘You don’t want to do that; you don’t want to be in jail.’

‘I have to break the pattern somehow, and I’ll be with her, so if anyone tries anything with her, they’ll have to come through me first,’ I replied.

He convinced me this was not a good option. I told Jaimi that one day and she said, ‘Mum, what would you want to do that for?’

‘I’m just trying everything, everything,’ I replied through tears.

Precious time … Lisa Curry’s children with Grant Kenny: Jaimi, Jett and Morgan, on holiday in Hawaii. Photo courtesy Lisa Curry, from her memoir Lisa.

I would have gone to jail with her, just to keep her safe, just to still have her with me now.

We knew Jaimi was getting really sick; we had known for a long time, and the doctor had told us at about her twenty-eighth birthday that she was on the escalator: ‘When she gets to the top, that’s it, but we don’t know how far up the escalator she is,’ he told us. No-one could ever really tell us how sick she was.

One Wednesday in September, I went over to the big house to see the kids. Jaimi was awake in her room with the door open, so I went in, lay on her bed with her and we chatted, like always.

As I was leaving, she walked out to the car with me to say goodbye. Mark and his daughter Tahlia were waiting in the car, and they had a nice chat and a lovely hug.

I gave her a kiss and hug, told her I loved her and said, ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Okay Mum, love you too,’ she replied.

Together … Lisa with Mark and Jaimi. Photo: Lisa Curry/Instagram.

But I didn’t see her the next day. She rang me on the Friday morning and said she was vomiting blood. We’d been through this situation so many times before, so I told her to ring an ambulance straightaway. She didn’t, but ended up calling one on the Saturday. They took her away and, late on Saturday night, she went into intensive care.

Sunday lunchtime, we got a call from the hospital saying we’d better come in. Grant and I both raced in there, but when we arrived, they said things were okay, she was under sedation and would be staying in overnight at least.

We stayed for a while then both went back home and planned to return in the morning. But as soon as I got home, 40 minutes later, I got another phone call from the hospital saying, ‘You need to come back’. This time, I just knew it was bad. I rang Grant and told him, and he turned straight around and went back to the hospital, too.

Loving family … Jaimi with her parents, Grant Kenny and Lisa Curry.

When we got there, she was unconscious and on a ventilator.

I ran to her and called softly, ‘Jaimi, Jaimi, it’s Mum. Open your eyes, baby, open your eyes. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.’

But there was no response, there was just nothing. I was numb.

While we were there, her kidneys shut down. And that’s when the doctor said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘Jaimi will die tonight.’

And hearing those words, I was sobbing. ‘No, no, no, I’m not ready!’ Even though we’d known for years this time would come, we didn’t want it to be real.

Jaimi had told me several times that, when she got better, she wanted to help people with similar issues. She wanted to write a book about what she’d learned and how she got through it, but unfortunately, she was one of the ones who didn’t get through it.

A beautiful hug with a beautiful daughter … Lisa and Jaimi, in a photo from memoir Lisa, courtesy of Millie Thomas.

I do know that, in my own little way, expressing publicly how I feel and what Jaimi went through has helped people. People have reached out to me and said that even a sentence here or there has made their day a little bit better.

You don’t know what life’s going to throw at you, you don’t know what’s going to happen, so spend time with the people you love.

Get off the phone, get home from work earlier, be with the people that you love the most, because you don’t know what’s in your future. You don’t know what life holds for your newborn baby and, as a parent, you can only do your best.

If this extract raises any issues for you or someone you love, you can contact Lifeline Crisis Support Line (13 11 14) or Beyond Blue Support Service (1300 22 4636).

What next? … Lisa Curry, in this photo from her memoir, finds a moment of simple happiness. Now she wants to help others.

Finding Lisa

No-one lives a life full of sunshine. There are dark days that test us, problems and mistakes that challenge us. The real test is how we deal with them. How are we going to rise to those challenges, and what will we learn?

We have to remember that even the darkest nights end. The sun will rise, and everything will be okay.

My life has been a series of chapters, but losing my baby girl has been the hardest chapter of all.

Who am I now? I was Lisa. Then I was Lisa Curry, golden girl. I was Lisa Curry-Kenny, supermum, then Lisa Curry again.

Now, it’s time to just be me … Lisa. To find a way to live in peace and contentment.

Telling her own story … the cover of Lisa Curry’s book.

Lisa: A memoir – 60 years of life, love & loss by Lisa Curry with Ellen Whinnett will be published by HarperCollins on 2 May 2022 and is available for pre-order from Booktopia now.