GRANT Patterson is running five minutes late.

His navy blue Commodore rumbles with the menace expected of a Holden V6 as he drives into a gated community at Kewarra Beach.

Pictures: Grant "Scooter" Patterson

Muted doof-doof beats boom from the car before he parks in the driveway of the unit he shares with his parents and younger brother.

Poking his face out the driver’s side window, Patterson looks like he belongs behind the wheel of a Commodore.

His sun-bleached, shoulder-length hair complements a rusty Van Dyke beard covering his chin and upper lip.

He would not look out of place standing on Mt Panorama with a VB in hand, screaming abuse at Ford drivers and their fans during Bathurst.

But Patterson does not fit stereotypes – he shatters them.

When he opens the car door, Patterson reveals a body that would fit comfortably in a child’s restraining seat.

On his right foot is a custom-made boot, which allows him to reach the car’s brake and accelerator pedals.

"With my special boot, I can drive any car that’s automatic," Patterson later reveals.

"I started off with just a broom stick, holding it in one hand.

"I took her for a spin at Crystals down in Redlynch with a mate once when it was nice and quiet because I didn’t want to run anyone over.

"That’s when my old man saw I was serious about getting my licence."

It should not have been a surprise that Patterson wanted to drive because he has spent most of his life on wheels.

Before he gets out of the car, Patterson grabs a beaten, black scooter from inside and lowers it to the ground.

"No prizes for guessing why everyone calls me ‘Scooter’," he says while manoeuvring himself on the seat.

"I got a flasher one than this that some mates of mine from St Augustine’s made for me.

"It’s my white Ferrari but I only take it out for special occasions."

Patterson was born with diastrophic dysplasia, a rare form of dwarfism that affects about one-in-100,000 births.

The condition hinders cartilage and bone
development, leaving affected individuals with short arms and legs, as well as inward-turning feet.

Patterson displays all the symptoms but while diastrophic dysplasia is classed as a disability, it seems to have trouble stopping him doing what he wants.

As well as driving a car, Patterson owns a boat, can ride a jet ski and quad bike, holds down a part-time job, wants to go to university next year and is a self-proclaimed demon on the dance floor.

"You know what I’d like to do? I want to put all the stuff I can do on YouTube,’’ Patterson says.

"Get someone to film me on my jet ski, quad bike, in my boat bumping up and down on the waves.

"With my body, I shouldn’t be doing half the things I do but I don’t listen to all those rules and that’s why I get so far in life.

"I’m just like everyone else."

But unlike 99.99 per cent of the able-bodied population, Patterson is a champion swimmer.

The 20-year-old is in heavy training for the national titles in Sydney this month and wants to qualify for the International Paralympic Committee Swimming World Championships in the Netherlands in August.

To achieve that goal, Patterson is in the water seven times a week, covering up to 3km a session.

He started swimming when he was 11 at his parents’ insistence but stopped after two years because of constant ear infections and shoulder problems.

The weight piled on during his teenage years, ballooning his small frame to 65kg. By 2007, Patterson was ready to reclaim his health.

"I was sick of being a fatty," Patterson says.

"I did a couple of sessions a week to lose the weight and that happened quick smart.

"Swimming is a very good sport for me. It strengthens my muscles and helps the joints to move and keeps me fit and healthy."

During a session at Toobruk Memorial Pool, Patterson ran into one of his old swimming coaches, Andrew ‘Herbie’ Howard.

The two knew each other from the time Patterson was a junior swimmer.

"He saw me and he convinced me to come back to do some competition stuff," he says.

"I remembered all the hours I put in when I was a little fella and I wasn’t too keen at first.

"But I think it was at TAS in 2007 when I got a few PBs that I thought I might have something.

"I decided to finish a goal I set when I was a little fella to make an Olympic team.

"In 2008, I went to the Beijing Olympic trials. I basically missed out on the team by a couple of seconds and I realised I’d only been swimming for six months.

"I thought if I gave myself another four years I’d be ready to rock ’n’ roll."

There are no half measures in Patterson’s world. Something drives him from the inside, hidden beneath his skin and imperfect bones, programmed into the strands of his DNA.

Patterson broke three world records in his disability class at the Australian Short Course Championships in Melbourne in September 2008 and has grown stronger in the water since.

He won a gold medal in the 100m backstroke for swimmers with a disability at last year’s national titles and his compulsion to improve borders on an addiction.

"I just love it when I’m in the pool, training and flogging it hard," Patterson says.

"You get that feeling that you can’t do any more and then you get that burst of adrenaline come through and then you’re on fire.

"When you’re an elite athlete, you have to go harder than 100 per cent."

Patterson plans to compete in at least six races at the national titles, mainly in backstroke and breaststroke, and wants to qualify for as many events as possible for the world championships.

"I want to get over there because it would be good to see all these other little critters like me," Patterson says.

"There are some fast ones out there and I want to go against them.

"Imagine having a whole lane of us and the first one to the wall wins. That’d be pretty good, I reckon."

IT is 5.30am and the sun is still on the sleepy side of the eastern horizon.

A line of idling cars sit out front of Trinity Bay High School in Manunda, mimicking the grumbling of reluctant children and teenagers being dropped off for swimming practice.

Patterson is already inside the gates, roaming the school’s undercover assembly area on his white scooter.

"A bearing came off my other scooter," Patterson explains.

"So I had to take this one. I’ve already got it a bit dirty but I’ll clean it up later."

Patterson is soon surrounded by the other swimmers. They organise themselves for a routine of stretching between yawns and bursts of school-age gossip.

Patterson joins in, flexing limbs and juggling different conversations in a master class of multi-tasking.

He is lucid and firing on all synapses, free of the pre-dawn blear clouding the brains of most of his younger squad mates.

"I’m never tired when I get here," he says.

"When I drive here I pump the music, the techno beats, and that wakes me up pretty good.

"When I get here most people tell me to shut up because I talk too much."

As if to prove his point, Patterson starts a conversation about his "flash-looking" scooter with one of his mates.

Squad coach Howard blocks out the chatter while he writes the morning’s training session on a whiteboard.

It is an intimidating formula of multiplication signs, time intervals and distance.

In bold red marker on the top left of the whiteboard is a list of upcoming swimming carnivals, including the Australian titles.

When Howard decides to talk, the swimmers quieten to a respectful hush and listen to his instructions.

He directs everybody to the school’s 25m pool, which is bath-water warm after an uncomfortably humid night, and wheels the whiteboard along behind them.

Patterson disappears into the male toilets to change into his Speedos before heading to a lane on the far side of the pool.

He hauls himself off his seat when he is next to the starting block, balancing precariously on his inward-turning feet for a moment, before pushing his scooter away towards the nearby stands.

Then, with the anonymous plop of a pebble falling into a lake, Patterson rolls into the water. He draws himself to the edge of the pool and drapes his arms over the side so he can see the whiteboard.

Patterson reads what he has to do and talks to Howard about the goals of the session.

And then he is off. Quietly and with no fuss, Patterson lowers his goggles and pushes off for a set of backstroke.

Patterson looks comfortable in motion. The weightlessness of the water offers him an ease of movement denied to him on land.

His tiny arms rotate with a smooth rhythm, propelling him down the lane with surprising speed.

Patterson swims hard for 30 minutes before stopping for a gulp of energy drink.

"Got to keep my electrolytes up," he says.

"I’m feeling pretty good. My shoulders take a bit to warm up usually but they’re going good."

Howard, who has spent the majority of the session with the rest of the squad, moves in for a brief consultation with Patterson before setting his swimmer off on a set of breaststroke.

"Scooter will do really well at the championships," Howard says later on.

"He’s got a few little shoulder injuries at the moment but his work ethic is brilliant in training.

"Once he gets into the competition he switches on, particularly at the big meets.

"When he gets down there I hope to get him all fired up to get his head around it."

When asked about the challenges of coaching an athlete with a disability, Howard makes clear his admiration for Patterson.

"With the disability and the problems he’s got, it’s quite amazing what he can do," he says.

"He’s always cracking jokes and he always seems to be happy.

"We’ve got to do a lot more recovery stuff because of the problems with his ligaments and tendons.

"He’s swimming up to 3km a session but he’s always handling the workload."

By 7.15am the sun is up and the morning light is perfect for photographs.

Patterson is posing for pictures at the far end of the pool when Howard yells to him the session is finished.

The information is ignored. There is no chance of Patterson leaving the water yet.

"I’ve still got some sprints left after I’ve done this and I’m not getting out until I’m finished," Patterson says.

"I actually feel pretty good considering it’s the end of the week. Normally, I’m pretty smashed.

"Dunno what it is. Seems I got a bit more energy today.

"Might as well not waste it."

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