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NZ Herald
13-07-2025
- Sport
- NZ Herald
Mountain biking: Rotorua's Tuhoto-Ariki Pene bags season-best at UCI MTB World Cup Downhill in Andorra
Rotorua mountain biker Tuhoto-Ariki Pene bagged a season-best performance in the elite downhill finals at the latest round of the UCI MTB World Cup Downhill at Pal Arinsal in Andorra. The earlier start and cancellation of the junior finals enabled organisers to avoid predicted electrical storms, a Cycling New Zealand
Newsroom
22-06-2025
- Sport
- Newsroom
On a fast track from cyclist to world champ coach
Nicole Murray remembers the panic when she realised she'd forgotten her prosthetic before the 3000m individual pursuit qualifying ride at the 2024 Paralympic Games in Paris. It was a mistake that could have mentally unravelled the Para cyclist before one of the biggest races in her career. But instead, the level-headed approach of her coach, Elyse Fraser, put Murray straight back on track. 'Elyse just laid it out: 'Here's our Plan A, here's Plan B; we'll just deal with it and move on'. And that was exactly what I needed. And it's exactly what I did,' says Murray, who went out and rode a personal best time on her way to winning the bronze medal (this time with her prosthetic hand retrieved from the athletes' village). 'With her life experience outside sport, Fraser has a great perspective on what is a terrible situation. Yes, it means a lot to us, but it's still sport at the end of the day. She's still so supportive, and she will do everything to help us win.' A former police officer, Fraser took that day at the Vélodrome de Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines in her stride. Much like she has with her rapid rise in the world of high performance coaching. Since joining Cycling New Zealand in 2023, through a Women in High Performance Sport residency experience as an endurance development coach, Fraser has been given unexpected opportunities as lead coach on two of sport's largest stages. Soon after the Paralympics, she coached Bryony Botha and Ally Wollaston, who won four medals between them at the UCI Track Cycling World Championships in Denmark (including Wollaston's two world champion titles). Fraser had the full support of Cycling NZ's lead women's endurance coach, Paul Manning, who 'stepped back to thrust her forward to lead'. 'I've done so much personal development, courses and classroom learning, but then to get hands-on experience like this was incredible,' Fraser says. A 'people person' in a highly technical sport, Fraser has brought her distinctive skillset of empathy, honesty and equanimity to cycling, and a broader understanding of the issues female athletes face. Elyse Fraser took up cycling at 25 after a successful rowing career. Photo: Thomas Hamill Photography Her story follows an extraordinary three-year path from a place in High Performance Sport NZ's Te Hāpaitanga coaching development programme, to a residency at Cycling NZ, then onto a fulltime role developing the next generation of high performance cyclists. But it hasn't been without its personal challenges. Fraser was a 'hyperactive kid' who played multiple sports, but her true passion was rowing. But after rowing for the NZ university team while studying psychology and PE at Otago, Fraser couldn't see herself taking the sport further, so at 25, she tried cycling – and made an immediate impression on the sport. Making the national women's endurance track squad, she took a year's leave from her job with the Police to be part of the high performance programme in Cambridge. But it was a difficult time. 'I had big demands placed on me and I didn't feel I was well looked after,' says Fraser. After racing in Europe, she returned to Christchurch. Then a promising young road rider approached Fraser to coach her. 'I was blindsided, because I'd never considered myself as a coach,' she says. 'But her story really aligned with mine.' Encouraged by Fraser's partner, Andrew Williams – also a cycling coach – she took the challenge on. Other young female riders then approached Fraser, who built to a team of 12 athletes. Cycling NZ invited her to a national training camp as a 'very junior assistant coach' – her first insight into the high performance coaching landscape. Fraser was then invited to work with Richard Smith, who was running a pilot supporting sports organisations with early-stage coach development. There she met Amy Taylor, the interim high performance director at Cycling NZ. 'Amy gave me a lot of time, and I was able to safely share my story and goals with her,' Fraser says. 'She was very encouraging, pushing me in the right direction and putting opportunities in front of me. She was helping navigate Cycling NZ through a tumultuous time, and she was a pioneer for women in cycling, for coaching and leadership. 'I remember sitting with Amy at the top of the velodrome, looking down on the Cycling NZ pit and she asked, 'Do you actually see yourself there?' and I said 'No'. 'At the time, there were athletes and all-male coaching staff; there may have been a female physio. And I said: 'I really don't understand how a female can fit into this landscape and be accepted and supported along that journey'. That visibility piece was really missing.' Amy put Fraser forward for Te Hāpaitanga Cohort 2, which started a 'fast-track series of events'. Coaches Tessa Jenkins (left) and Elyse Fraser (centre) working at the Velodrome in Cambridge. Photo: Thomas Hamill Photography At the first residential workshop, Fraser struggled to answer the question: What's your philosophy and your values? Eighteen months later, she'd found the answers. 'I know who I am so much better now. My values guide what I do. Especially when things get tough, and I want to go into my passive mode,' she says. 'My first value is honesty. Another is being empathetic; being tough on issues but gentle on people. And then equanimity – being really balanced and trying not to let my emotions override things.' Fraser also discovered the power of gaining a network of women coaches from multiple sports. 'The connection and the community you gain is indescribable,' she says. 'We had a full spectrum of experience in our cohort. There were a few women at my end, who were new to an HP or pre-HP landscape, and really finding our feet and our confidence. So having that support and those tough conversations was life changing. 'You really have to lean in. You don't know what you don't know, so you have to jump in with both feet.' Fraser's mentor was Richard Smith. 'It was great as I already had a connection with him,' she says. 'We made gains quickly. We still meet for coffee, and I know I can always approach him.' Two other cycling coaches have since joined the Te Hāpaitanga sisterhood – Rushlee Buchanan and Tessa Jenkins. 'We're building our own network directly for our cycling environment,' Fraser says. When Fraser finished her Te Hāpaitanga programme mid-2022, she saw the residency experience advertised. 'I wanted learning in action experience on the ground,' she says. With Cycling NZ's commitment to women coaching and wanting to give them the opportunity to work in an HP environment, it was a priority to support Fraser to keep her in the sport. Fraser successfully secured a one-year residency at Cycling NZ's headquarters in Cambridge, but there were snags. 'My life and my job were still in Christchurch,' Fraser says. 'The Police gave me 18 months of unpaid leave, and my supportive partner said, 'Go! You can't lose this opportunity'.' She'd worked through the apprehension of returning to Cycling NZ after her testing years there as an athlete. 'But I felt I could make an impact from the inside, rather than looking in and being frustrated. I was proud of what I'd achieved with the athletes I was coaching, and I thought I had something to offer more people,' she says. 'Cycling NZ was going through changes. And I felt ready, I'd done the work.' In June 2023, Fraser became the Cycling NZ development endurance coach, for both male and female riders – a revolution for the sport. 'At that point we didn't have a pathway. There were high performance athletes at the top, then people doing their bit in the regions. I worked with Fionn Cullinane, the sprint development coach, and we took the HPSNZ framework and made it work for bike riders – developing athletes in the pre-HP space ready to shift into HP,' she says. 'As a cyclist, I'd stepped straight into high performance from rowing. If I'd had that middle ground where I could feel out the system and the system could get to understand me as well, I think it would have gone better for me. But it just didn't exist at the time.' Then other opportunities arose. Nicole Murray enjoyed working with a female cycling coach. Photo: Thomas Hamill Photography Five months out from the 2024 Paralympics, Brendon Cameron – the lead Para cycling coach – asked Fraser if she would work with Murray, who was looking for additional support in coaching. 'Nicole wanted someone who understood the more human side – someone rich in empathy, who could deliver clear and concise information trackside,' Fraser says. She worked in a coaching team with Murray's long-time coach, Damian Wiseman, who continued to write her training programme. 'I was leading the coach interaction space outside of that, and as a unit we sat down and fleshed out what it would look like and how it would play out. We got the communication to a really good place, and everyone was happy,' Fraser says. 'Nicole was amazing at the Games. She narrowed in on performance and was so professional.' And Fraser was everything Murray needed from a coach at the Games. 'She was level-headed in the moments where I was panicking. She picked up on it, without us having to speak about it,' the Paris bronze medallist says. 'She has such great energy all the time. She bounces stuff off us and keeps us all in good spaces. She recognises what role to play for each person – she can easily be a friend, but she's not afraid to lay down the law. 'I've worked with a lot of coaches through my career and I enjoyed having a female coach. It's also about having a balanced workplace – everyone bringing different strengths. But it helps when you're working with a female coach – there's less that needs to be said.' Four weeks later, Fraser was coaching New Zealand's two female riders at the world track championships. Earlier that year, she'd spoken to Cycling NZ about the next step in her development, and they backed her bid to attend the pinnacle event. That's when lead women's endurance coach Paul Manning presented Fraser with a game-changing opportunity. 'I don't know if many other coaches would have done this, but he said, 'You're the coach, you're leading. I'll be in the background managing if you need me',' Fraser says. Manning saw it as the ideal next step in her high performance journey. 'I took a step back and thrust her forward to lead. It was a fulfilment of her journey to that point and a good test at that level,' he says. 'It was a huge opportunity, but nothing to be afraid of. We talked about how she just needed to impose herself a little and own the trackside. She's done very well, and she's certainly crammed a lot in, in a short space of time'. At the end of Fraser's year-long residency, Cycling NZ made her role permanent. And she's continued working with Helene Wilson, the Women in High Performance Sport lead. 'We know women are relational,' Wilson says. 'And if we don't keep those connections up, then we won't be successful at what we're doing. The learning that happens personally is just as powerful as the learning you get from being around other high performance coaches.' The NZ endurance track coaching team. Photo: Thomas Hamill Photography Fraser's new role entails developing athletes, coaching other coaches, 'supporting up' by helping the high performance coaches, and special projects, like the Paralympics opportunity. 'To do everything really well is a lot. And I set myself high standards,' she says. Surrounded by an all-male coaching team brings its own set of challenges, but there are positives, too. 'Female coaches have a different skillset, a different approach and a broader understanding of some of the issues affecting female athletes. The wider life stuff that's going on doesn't always come out with a male coach – opening up to a female coach can make a difference,' Fraser says. In her personal development, Fraser has honed her leadership style, embracing 'courageous authenticity'. 'It's about stepping into your voice, your truth, having conversations that are meaningful to you. Not sitting back and saying nothing when things don't sit right with you. I'm now able to speak to people about what needs to happen,' she says. 'I'm more comfortable working in smaller groups, or one-on-one. I still have to learn to deliver to a whole team. 'But I've learned to be vulnerable and honest about how I'm finding things and the gaps I see. Cycling NZ as a whole is shifting. Sending me to worlds showed they're willing to invest in their people and make positive change for the future.' One area Cycling NZ could continue exploring, Fraser says, is coach development. She's now pushing up-and-coming female coaches forward for opportunities like she's had. She's now a mentor to Tessa Jenkins, who travelled with Fraser to development camps for young Kiwi riders in Malaysia and Melbourne. 'Elyse is awesome. She's super approachable, no matter how busy she is. But I think that's what makes her such a good coach – her ability to manage people and assess priorities,' says Jenkins, a school cycling coach encouraged to do Te Hāpaitanga by Fraser. 'Her experience and knowledge is really critical in helping the development of the young coaches. Attending world champs and planning the development of our riders is pretty inspiring – especially for females, because she's really the first female coach we've seen come through. 'She inspires me to keep seeing what's out there.' This story originally appeared on the High Performance Sport New Zealand website and is published with permission
Otago Daily Times
29-04-2025
- Otago Daily Times
The women who waived suppression for Olivia Podmore
By Dana Johannsen of RNZ Once adversaries, Nicholle Bailey and Jess Massey found themselves united in a shared goal following the suspected suicide of a Olympic cyclist Olivia Podmore: To tell the truth for their friend. Dana Johannsen reports. Nicholle Bailey rounded the corner of the grocery aisle at Cambridge Countdown and stopped in her tracks. She thought about reversing course, but she had already been spotted. Inwardly, she cursed the poor timing of her evening supermarket run. Soon she was cursing out loud. The woman before her offered a polite "hello", which was enough to tip an incensed Bailey over the edge. "I told her to 'stay the f*** away from me' and said she was just a trouble-making bitch," Bailey says, cringing at the memory. To athletes within Cycling New Zealand's elite programmes, Jess Massey was who you wanted by your side in a crisis - she was the problem-solver, the fixer, the rock. She knew her way around a spreadsheet too, managing the eye-watering logistics of getting 30 athletes and staff, 60 bike boxes and 100 cubic metres of equipment around the world for any given event. To Bailey however, the Cycling NZ campaign manager was overly officious, meddlesome, vindictive, even dangerous. This was the woman who, in Bailey's mind, had been spreading wild rumours about her husband, a top cycling coach, and appeared hellbent on destroying his career. "She was poison, in my opinion," says Bailey. Massey stood frozen to the spot. "I didn't react," Massey says of the confrontation in late 2016. "I basically just stood there and took it. Because I totally knew at that point the depth of the lies and manipulation." "I think I just said, 'one day, you'll see the truth'." Eight years on, the two women sit side-by-side in the cramped public gallery of courtroom seven of the Hamilton District Court, at the 2024 inquest into the death of Olympic cyclist Olivia Podmore, together reliving the pain, anger, grief and competing narratives of the past decade. Earlier that week - as New Zealand sport was still basking in the afterglow of the triumphant Paris Olympic campaign - Massey and Bailey had each taken the stand, and turned the spotlight on some of the darker elements of high performance sport. Together, their testimony was crucial in exposing what two major inquiries into Cycling New Zealand and the wider high performance sports system had failed to reveal - the horrifying extent of what Podmore endured in a programme that was utterly dysfunctional. "People tried [to expose it] before, but the circumstances meant that not all the facts were brought forward and the realities were watered down and minimised or hidden," Bailey says. "For me, it's been really critical this time that all of those things can be brought out into the open and addressed fully and properly, and hopefully understood. "It's just really f***ing sad that it's taken this to get there." Red flags A track bike has no brakes. The sleek carbon-fibre machines used by the elite cyclists are a fixed gear without a freewheel. To slow down, riders ease off the pedals and let gravity and the steep banks of the velodrome do its work. But there is no way to come to an immediate stop. Not without crashing. Jess Massey was worried things were happening too fast for Olivia Podmore. Massey had known the prodigiously talented young rider since she was 14, when Podmore was invited to attend a national age-grade camp in Invercargill. The Canterbury teen, still relatively new to the sport, had caught the eye of the selectors after her audacious performances at national championships that year. As Massey describes, Podmore was a cycling "unicorn" who excelled in both sprint and endurance events on the track. It wasn't until a few years later, at the 2015 junior world championships in Kazakhstan, that Massey got to observe Podmore up close in a pressure environment. The young rider's performances in Kazakhstan, where she won silver in the team sprint and bronze in the 500m time trial, put her on the radar of the national coaches, who saw her as a strong prospect for the Olympics. But it was what was happening off the track in Kazakhstan that concerned Massey. Massey, who worked at Cycling New Zealand for 10 years, says she saw red flags in the way the usually gregarious Podmore shut down "socially and emotionally" after being told she would not ride the scratch race - an event she believed she was capable of winning. Team officials had reasoned Podmore had already had strong success at the meet, and made the decision to give the start to another athlete who had yet to compete, given the cyclists' families had shelled out a lot of money for the athletes to be there. Massey believed Podmore's inability to cope with the disappointment of missing the event was a sign of a lack of emotional maturity. In a "hotwash" debrief with fellow team officials, Massey flagged her concerns that the then-17 year-old was not ready to be taken away from her family and support network in Christchurch and thrust into the cut-throat environment of Cycling New Zealand's elite track programme. High performance sport is challenging enough for any young athlete, but Massey was also acutely aware that the culture within the centralised training environment in Cambridge was deeply unhealthy. For much of the previous year she had been documenting concerns about the repeated misconduct of one of the coaches, including her unease about an "inappropriately close relationship" the coach had formed with one of the female athletes. Ultimately, Massey's concerns about Podmore's emotional readiness for the high performance environment were ignored. She was fast-tracked into the national sprint team, following a tug of war between Cycling New Zealand's sprint and endurance coaches for her talents. Initially it appeared to be going well for Podmore. Just months after joining the squad she was selected for the 2016 Rio Olympics, where she was the second youngest athlete in the 199-strong New Zealand Olympic team. But weeks out from those Games, Massey's fears for Podmore's wellbeing were realised. At a pre-Olympic training camp in Bordeaux, Podmore, in her youthful naivety, inadvertently exposed an affair between a coach and athlete. The young rider had reported her teammate missing late one night after she failed to return to the team hotel after going for a ride into town. Just as team officials were gathering in the lobby to go and search for the athlete, she returned in a taxi alongside the coach. The "highly inebriated" pair were seen kissing. "And yeah, it all unravelled pretty quickly after that," says Massey. "That was the start of her being targeted and bullied, and told to keep her trap shut. It was horrendous. And it didn't let up for two years." Following the incident, Massey had strongly advocated for the coach to be sent home. Instead, Massey herself was sent back to New Zealand, when the coaching and high performance staff closed ranks. Massey says she was told it would be a "conflict of interest" for her to remain with the team for the Rio Games. Meanwhile, Podmore would head off to her first Olympics, an alien, unpredictable landscape, facing intolerable bullying from within her own team. Alternative reality The coach's wife, Nicholle Bailey, was oblivious to most of this. Her insight into what was happening within the Cycling New Zealand environment was largely filtered through her husband and what she describes as "an old boys' network" of coaching and support staff. She became even more removed from what was happening in the sport after separating from her husband in 2017, and returning to her hometown in Australia while the coach "worked on himself". By early 2018, after five months away, Bailey came to the decision that she couldn't keep her life on hold any longer. She enrolled in further study at the University of Waikato and returned home. Back in the Cambridge bubble, Bailey soon began to see signs that things were amiss, but it wasn't until the team were away at the Commonwealth Games in April that she finally learned the truth. A friend who was connected to the squad called Bailey to tell her of the escalating tensions on the Gold Coast amid another dysfunctional campaign. The cause of the disquiet: an ongoing relationship between her estranged husband and one of the athletes. Bailey immediately got in touch with Cycling New Zealand chief executive Andrew Matheson. She says he told her he had been aware of the relationship "for quite some time", but said he was unable to do anything unless Podmore stepped forward and made a formal complaint. (In his evidence to the inquest, Matheson told the court he did not recall this conversation with Bailey.) What happened next remains one of Bailey's biggest regrets. She becomes emotional as she tells how she texted Podmore and asked if she would be willing to catch up for a coffee. "I just have so much guilt for dragging her further into this," she says, wiping away tears. "There's so many times I've gone back and thought about that decision and I regret it so much, because that then brought a whole other shitstorm onto her. I just wish I'd found another way." The young cyclist, who was at that point just a few weeks shy of her 21st birthday, readily agreed to meet with Bailey. She went to the Cambridge home Bailey had spent two years painstakingly renovating. "I loved that house. I spent some of the worst years of my life there, but I absolutely loved that house," says Bailey. Sitting in the large open-plan living room, the light gleaming off the newly polished concrete floors, Podmore would spend the next two hours shattering what was left of the facade of perfect order. Podmore recounted the events in Bordeaux and the bullying and intimidation that followed. She told Bailey how she had been blamed for the disruption in the camp in the lead-up to Rio and pressured to lie to protect the coach and athlete. How, even after complying and "covering up" for the pair, she remained the target of ridicule in the team. How she was berated about her haircut, what she ate, the size of her bottom, the men she was dating, and how many people she had slept with on an almost daily basis. How her attempts to talk to support staff about the impact the environment was having on her would get back to the coach and the information used against her. "Don't let the crazy out," the coach would taunt her. And how she had been systematically disadvantaged in the programme, being denied access to the same top-of-the-line equipment that her teammates were. "I remember sitting opposite her and just being so stunned by how brave she was, and how actually low key she was. Because I had been fed this story that she was this crazy person, you know, she was young and silly - a pain in the arse, basically," Bailey says. For so long, her view of events had been seen through the prism of her husband. But the more Podmore spoke the more things clicked into place, and the walls of alternate reality Bailey had been living came crumbling down. Then she remembered Jess Massey's words to her at the supermarket that evening back in late 2016 - "one day you'll see the truth". Bailey reckons it took about three days for her to summon up the right words that could convey to Massey her deep sense of remorse. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever written," says Bailey. Massey knew little of what was going on in the cycling bubble at that time, having made a concerted effort to leave the toxicity behind when she went on maternity leave in early 2018. She was in Samoa on holiday with her partner and four-month old baby when a message from Bailey popped up on her phone. "It must have been 300 words long," laughs Massey, sitting next to Bailey on the terrace of her rural home. "She said 'I'm so sorry, I treated you so badly and you never deserved any of it. It has taken me two years to see through the bullshit'. "From that moment we were reconnected again." 'Crazy women' Bailey wasn't the only one to be deeply affected by the conversation at her house that day. Shortly afterwards, Podmore made an arrangement to meet with Matheson and make a formal complaint about the coach. Things moved quickly after that. The coach resigned and in the public fallout that followed as details of the dysfunction in the sport were reported in the media, HPSNZ launched a major inquiry into Cycling New Zealand. The investigation - headed up by former solicitor general Mike Heron KC - revealed "sinister and distressing examples of bullying", poor leadership, a lack of accountability and a culture where poor behaviour was accepted by those deemed critical to the success of the programme. Those same narratives Bailey had bought into not so long ago, she was now experiencing from the other side. She had officially joined the ranks of "crazy women". "I was painted as the jaded, bitter ex-wife who was out to screw over her cheating husband," recalls Bailey. "Even if that were true, which it couldn't be further from the truth - it doesn't change the facts of what was brought forward. An independent investigator found clear failures by a number of people. "If people want to minimise what went on, then they should question their own motivations, not mine." During the final days of the protracted inquest last week, forensic psychiatrist Dr Erik Monasterio zeroed in on the psychological impact of speaking out about an organisation. Monasterio, who is assisting coroner Louella Dunn as an independent expert witness, told the court that the research shows whistleblowers inevitably "don't do well". "What happens when people release information about a person or organisation, they're often sidelined, harassed, ostracised and treated unfairly," he said. "We know that people who are whistleblowers carry a significant burden, and there are considerable risks of serious psychological distress thereafter." Those words hit home for Massey, who says she has also paid the price for speaking up. "For both Liv and I for the three years post the reviews, we definitely felt tarnished by this whistleblower thing, whether we were named in reports or not, it was pretty easy to work out where the information had come from," says Massey. "I think professionally I got pushed sideways the moment I started speaking up around anyone in senior leadership positions. If I had a differing view to the coaching network or the way [HPSNZ] was handling something I wasn't heard or listened to. I was marginalised and made to think I was the one with the problem." For Massey, the psychological scars of that period did not fully become evident until early 2021 when she returned to work after the birth of her second child. She says she found certain conversations around the office, particularly among staff who seemed to lack an understanding of what it was like to live through the dark era of the sport, to be "triggering". "One day, I flipped out. I did not act rationally." Massey sought out help through Cycling New Zealand's employee assistance programme and was soon diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder stemming from her repeated attempts to get officials to act, leading to her being sidelined and ostracized. "At that point, I thought Liv was in a much better place than me," she says. "But she was very good at hiding and deflecting what was going on." Liv's Legacy After the day at her house, Bailey and Podmore became fast friends, spending days at the beach "getting way too burnt" and the odd night "probably drinking way too much". "We obviously got to know each other through quite unusual circumstances, but I think it kind of bonded us. She was like my little sister," says Bailey. "She was just the most vivacious, amazing, beautiful, loud, funny, magnetic person that you could possibly imagine. Anyone she came across just adored her." Over 2020 and 2021, however, Bailey could see Podmore's spark beginning to fade as she dealt with the crushing disappointment of missing selection for the Tokyo Olympics. In April 2021, Podmore once again sat down in Bailey's living room and made another confronting disclosure. "She was sitting right there," Bailey says, somberly nodding to the couch in the living room of the rural home she shares with her new husband. "She told me she was having suicidal thoughts. It was just so heartbreaking to hear. "I was really concerned and I remember asking if she was getting any professional help [which she was], what sort of things she was talking to them about, what advice they were giving her. "She was open, but she also turned the page on the conversation quite quickly." Bailey says she was comforted that Podmore had been referred to an external psychologist and was getting professional support outside of the high performance system. She was also comforted that despite lows Podmore was experiencing, there were moments when she was her old mischievous self, as well. In May 2021, while she was in hospital following another episode of a heart arrhythmia, Podmore entertained herself by causing chaos on a local community Facebook group. Under the alias "Karen Smith", Podmore posted on the Cambridge Grapevine an urgent plea to residents to keep an eye out for her miniature donkey, Mavis, who had mysteriously disappeared from her pen overnight. She speculated that Mavis may have been stolen. The story of Mavis' disappearance seemed to capture the whole town. A few days later Podmore posted the good news that Mavis had been found safe and well, and was happily back in her pen. The post attracted more than 500 reactions from the relieved townsfolk. The saga kept Podmore's friends entertained for days. "She was just so funny," says Bailey. What Bailey and Podmore's other close friends did not know was the repeated episodes of heart arrhythmia in 2021 were likely a physical manifestation of her mental distress, according to Dr Monasterio. Medical evidence presented at the inquest revealed Podmore had disclosed to three health practitioners that she was experiencing suicidal ideation. But the events of 9 August 2021 were a shock to everyone. Just hours after the closing ceremony of the Tokyo Olympic Games, Podmore was found dead in her Cambridge flat. That afternoon, Bailey received a bewildering phone call from a mutual friend who had seen a post on Podmore's Instagram page and was worried "she might have done something". Bailey began frantically trying to call Podmore. When she didn't get an answer she jumped in her car and raced to the young athlete's flat. There she joined a shellshocked group of Podmore's other close friends at the front of the home. "When we got confirmation that she was gone, I can't even tell you what that did to me," Bailey sobs. Massey was helpless. She was laid up on the couch recovering from surgery and could only "tag team" with other friends making attempts to phone Podmore. A couple of agonising hours passed, before a neighbour who worked in the emergency services knocked on Massey's door and told her the devastating news. Massey did not attend Podmore's funeral in Christchurch. She says she was wrongly told by her bosses that Podmore's family had requested that no one from Cycling New Zealand be there. She instead watched a livestream of the funeral at Cycling New Zealand's offices at the Cambridge velodrome that had for so long been the scene of Podmore's torment. "I don't think I set foot in that building again [after the funeral]." A few weeks later, Massey says she met with chief executive Jacques Landry and handed in her resignation. She would see out her notice working remotely. Massey's final piece of work for the organisation she had worked for for more than a decade was compiling the information and documentation required for a second major inquiry into Cycling New Zealand. The review, which had been prompted by allegations in the wake of Podmore's death that the sport still did not take athlete welfare seriously, was also led by Mike Heron. Massey sent her final notes off to Heron, then she closed her laptop and walked away. Into the light Massey was the first witness to be called in the inquest before coroner Louella Dunn. In the three years since Podmore's death, which captured headlines in New Zealand and around the world, the then-teen's role in the Bordeaux scandal and subsequent inquiry had been widely reported. But Massey offered a gripping play-by-play account of the chaos and confusion playing out behind the scenes. The former team manager methodically outlined the events in Bordeaux and the aftermath, offering searing insights into the actions, or inactions, of Cycling New Zealand's leadership. Despite being at the coal face of the issues during the critical 2016-2018 period, Massey only became involved in the investigation by the coroner's office after Bailey recommended they speak with her. "When the coroner's office finally got in touch they said, 'Jess your name does not come up in anything we've been given'," she says. "I find that really strange given the number of reports I have compiled for Cycling New Zealand over the years, that none of this reached the coroner until someone else mentioned me." Bailey followed with her evidence on day two. In an emotional morning of testimony, she delved deeper into the details of the bullying Podmore experienced, including the devastating revelation that she was taunted by her coach just minutes before she made her Olympic debut. Bailey chose to have her name made public, even though her ex-husband has been granted permanent name suppression. "Previously, I didn't speak out publicly because I would have been written off as 'oh that's just the bitter ex-wife talking'. It's not the case. It was never the case," Bailey says. "But also I think of Liv's last message [on social media]. I feel like she was saying 'I'm passing over the baton - someone has to do this, because I can't do it any more'. So I feel like this time I had to do it for her." Massey too elected to forgo name suppression, making her identity public for the first time after a decade of trying to drive change behind the scenes. She reasoned that stepping forward into the light would ensure the full story could be told, without the need to launder crucial details that may have identified her. "What Liv experienced, people needed to face up to that." Where to get help: Need to Talk? Free call or text 1737 any time to speak to a trained counsellor, for any reason Lifeline: 0800 543 354 or text HELP to 4357 Suicide Crisis Helpline: 0508 828 865 / 0508 TAUTOKO. This is a service for people who may be thinking about suicide, or those who are concerned about family or friends Depression Helpline: 0800 111 757 or text 4202 Samaritans: 0800 726 666 Youthline: 0800 376 633 or text 234 or email talk@ What's Up: 0800 WHATSUP / 0800 9428 787. This is free counselling for 5 to 19-year-olds Asian Family Services: 0800 862 342 or text 832. Languages spoken: Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, Vietnamese, Thai, Japanese, Hindi, Gujarati, Marathi, and English. Rural Support Trust Helpline: 0800 787 254 Healthline: 0800 611 116 Rainbow Youth: (09) 376 4155 OUTLine: 0800 688 5463 Aoake te Rā bereaved by suicide service: or call 0800 000 053 If it is an emergency and you feel like you or someone else is at risk, call 111.
Otago Daily Times
29-04-2025
- Otago Daily Times
The women who told the truth about Olivia Podmore's tragic death
By Dana Johannsen Once adversaries, Nicholle Bailey and Jess Massey found themselves united in a shared goal following the suspected suicide of a Olympic cyclist Olivia Podmore: To tell the truth for their friend. Dana Johannsen reports. Nicholle Bailey rounded the corner of the grocery aisle at Cambridge Countdown and stopped in her tracks. She thought about reversing course, but she had already been spotted. Inwardly, she cursed the poor timing of her evening supermarket run. Soon she was cursing out loud. The woman before her offered a polite "hello", which was enough to tip an incensed Bailey over the edge. "I told her to 'stay the f*** away from me' and said she was just a trouble-making bitch," Bailey says, cringing at the memory. To athletes within Cycling New Zealand's elite programmes, Jess Massey was who you wanted by your side in a crisis - she was the problem-solver, the fixer, the rock. She knew her way around a spreadsheet too, managing the eye-watering logistics of getting 30 athletes and staff, 60 bike boxes and 100 cubic metres of equipment around the world for any given event. To Bailey however, the Cycling NZ campaign manager was overly officious, meddlesome, vindictive, even dangerous. This was the woman who, in Bailey's mind, had been spreading wild rumours about her husband, a top cycling coach, and appeared hellbent on destroying his career. "She was poison, in my opinion," says Bailey. Massey stood frozen to the spot. "I didn't react," Massey says of the confrontation in late 2016. "I basically just stood there and took it. Because I totally knew at that point the depth of the lies and manipulation." "I think I just said, 'one day, you'll see the truth'." Eight years on, the two women sit side-by-side in the cramped public gallery of courtroom seven of the Hamilton District Court, at the 2024 inquest into the death of Olympic cyclist Olivia Podmore, together reliving the pain, anger, grief and competing narratives of the past decade. Earlier that week - as New Zealand sport was still basking in the afterglow of the triumphant Paris Olympic campaign - Massey and Bailey had each taken the stand, and turned the spotlight on some of the darker elements of high performance sport. Together, their testimony was crucial in exposing what two major inquiries into Cycling New Zealand and the wider high performance sports system had failed to reveal - the horrifying extent of what Podmore endured in a programme that was utterly dysfunctional. "People tried [to expose it] before, but the circumstances meant that not all the facts were brought forward and the realities were watered down and minimised or hidden," Bailey says. "For me, it's been really critical this time that all of those things can be brought out into the open and addressed fully and properly, and hopefully understood. "It's just really f***ing sad that it's taken this to get there." Red flags A track bike has no brakes. The sleek carbon-fibre machines used by the elite cyclists are a fixed gear without a freewheel. To slow down, riders ease off the pedals and let gravity and the steep banks of the velodrome do its work. But there is no way to come to an immediate stop. Not without crashing. Jess Massey was worried things were happening too fast for Olivia Podmore. Massey had known the prodigiously talented young rider since she was 14, when Podmore was invited to attend a national age-grade camp in Invercargill. The Canterbury teen, still relatively new to the sport, had caught the eye of the selectors after her audacious performances at national championships that year. As Massey describes, Podmore was a cycling "unicorn" who excelled in both sprint and endurance events on the track. It wasn't until a few years later, at the 2015 junior world championships in Kazakhstan, that Massey got to observe Podmore up close in a pressure environment. The young rider's performances in Kazakhstan, where she won silver in the team sprint and bronze in the 500m time trial, put her on the radar of the national coaches, who saw her as a strong prospect for the Olympics. But it was what was happening off the track in Kazakhstan that concerned Massey. Massey, who worked at Cycling New Zealand for 10 years, says she saw red flags in the way the usually gregarious Podmore shut down "socially and emotionally" after being told she would not ride the scratch race - an event she believed she was capable of winning. Team officials had reasoned Podmore had already had strong success at the meet, and made the decision to give the start to another athlete who had yet to compete, given the cyclists' families had shelled out a lot of money for the athletes to be there. Massey believed Podmore's inability to cope with the disappointment of missing the event was a sign of a lack of emotional maturity. In a "hotwash" debrief with fellow team officials, Massey flagged her concerns that the then-17 year-old was not ready to be taken away from her family and support network in Christchurch and thrust into the cut-throat environment of Cycling New Zealand's elite track programme. High performance sport is challenging enough for any young athlete, but Massey was also acutely aware that the culture within the centralised training environment in Cambridge was deeply unhealthy. For much of the previous year she had been documenting concerns about the repeated misconduct of one of the coaches, including her unease about an "inappropriately close relationship" the coach had formed with one of the female athletes. Ultimately, Massey's concerns about Podmore's emotional readiness for the high performance environment were ignored. She was fast-tracked into the national sprint team, following a tug of war between Cycling New Zealand's sprint and endurance coaches for her talents. Initially it appeared to be going well for Podmore. Just months after joining the squad she was selected for the 2016 Rio Olympics, where she was the second youngest athlete in the 199-strong New Zealand Olympic team. But weeks out from those Games, Massey's fears for Podmore's wellbeing were realised. At a pre-Olympic training camp in Bordeaux, Podmore, in her youthful naivety, inadvertently exposed an affair between a coach and athlete. The young rider had reported her teammate missing late one night after she failed to return to the team hotel after going for a ride into town. Just as team officials were gathering in the lobby to go and search for the athlete, she returned in a taxi alongside the coach. The "highly inebriated" pair were seen kissing. "And yeah, it all unravelled pretty quickly after that," says Massey. "That was the start of her being targeted and bullied, and told to keep her trap shut. It was horrendous. And it didn't let up for two years." Following the incident, Massey had strongly advocated for the coach to be sent home. Instead, Massey herself was sent back to New Zealand, when the coaching and high performance staff closed ranks. Massey says she was told it would be a "conflict of interest" for her to remain with the team for the Rio Games. Meanwhile, Podmore would head off to her first Olympics, an alien, unpredictable landscape, facing intolerable bullying from within her own team. Alternative reality The coach's wife, Nicholle Bailey, was oblivious to most of this. Her insight into what was happening within the Cycling New Zealand environment was largely filtered through her husband and what she describes as "an old boys' network" of coaching and support staff. She became even more removed from what was happening in the sport after separating from her husband in 2017, and returning to her hometown in Australia while the coach "worked on himself". By early 2018, after five months away, Bailey came to the decision that she couldn't keep her life on hold any longer. She enrolled in further study at the University of Waikato and returned home. Back in the Cambridge bubble, Bailey soon began to see signs that things were amiss, but it wasn't until the team were away at the Commonwealth Games in April that she finally learned the truth. A friend who was connected to the squad called Bailey to tell her of the escalating tensions on the Gold Coast amid another dysfunctional campaign. The cause of the disquiet: an ongoing relationship between her estranged husband and one of the athletes. Bailey immediately got in touch with Cycling New Zealand chief executive Andrew Matheson. She says he told her he had been aware of the relationship "for quite some time", but said he was unable to do anything unless Podmore stepped forward and made a formal complaint. (In his evidence to the inquest, Matheson told the court he did not recall this conversation with Bailey.) What happened next remains one of Bailey's biggest regrets. She becomes emotional as she tells how she texted Podmore and asked if she would be willing to catch up for a coffee. "I just have so much guilt for dragging her further into this," she says, wiping away tears. "There's so many times I've gone back and thought about that decision and I regret it so much, because that then brought a whole other shitstorm onto her. "I just wish I'd found another way." The young cyclist, who was at that point just a few weeks shy of her 21st birthday, readily agreed to meet with Bailey. She went to the Cambridge home Bailey had spent two years painstakingly renovating. "I loved that house. I spent some of the worst years of my life there, but I absolutely loved that house," says Bailey. Sitting in the large open-plan living room, the light gleaming off the newly polished concrete floors, Podmore would spend the next two hours shattering what was left of the facade of perfect order. Podmore recounted the events in Bordeaux and the bullying and intimidation that followed. She told Bailey how she had been blamed for the disruption in the camp in the lead-up to Rio and pressured to lie to protect the coach and athlete. How, even after complying and "covering up" for the pair, she remained the target of ridicule in the team. How she was berated about her haircut, what she ate, the size of her bottom, the men she was dating, and how many people she had slept with on an almost daily basis. How her attempts to talk to support staff about the impact the environment was having on her would get back to the coach and the information used against her. "Don't let the crazy out," the coach would taunt her. And how she had been systematically disadvantaged in the programme, being denied access to the same top-of-the-line equipment that her teammates were. "I remember sitting opposite her and just being so stunned by how brave she was, and how actually low key she was. Because I had been fed this story that she was this crazy person, you know, she was young and silly - a pain in the arse, basically," Bailey says. For so long, her view of events had been seen through the prism of her husband. But the more Podmore spoke the more things clicked into place, and the walls of alternate reality Bailey had been living came crumbling down. Then she remembered Jess Massey's words to her at the supermarket that evening back in late 2016 - "one day you'll see the truth". Bailey reckons it took about three days for her to summon up the right words that could convey to Massey her deep sense of remorse. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever written," says Bailey. Massey knew little of what was going on in the cycling bubble at that time, having made a concerted effort to leave the toxicity behind when she went on maternity leave in early 2018. She was in Samoa on holiday with her partner and four-month old baby when a message from Bailey popped up on her phone. "It must have been 300 words long," laughs Massey, sitting next to Bailey on the terrace of her rural home. "She said 'I'm so sorry, I treated you so badly and you never deserved any of it. It has taken me two years to see through the bullshit'. "From that moment we were reconnected again." Crazy women Bailey wasn't the only one to be deeply affected by the conversation at her house that day. Shortly afterwards, Podmore made an arrangement to meet with Matheson and make a formal complaint about the coach. Things moved quickly after that. The coach resigned and in the public fallout that followed as details of the dysfunction in the sport were reported in the media, HPSNZ launched a major inquiry into Cycling New Zealand. The investigation - headed up by former solicitor general Mike Heron KC - revealed "sinister and distressing examples of bullying", poor leadership, a lack of accountability and a culture where poor behaviour was accepted by those deemed critical to the success of the programme. Those same narratives Bailey had bought into not so long ago, she was now experiencing from the other side. She had officially joined the ranks of "crazy women". "I was painted as the jaded, bitter ex-wife who was out to screw over her cheating husband," recalls Bailey. "Even if that were true, which it couldn't be further from the truth - it doesn't change the facts of what was brought forward. An independent investigator found clear failures by a number of people. "If people want to minimise what went on, then they should question their own motivations, not mine." During the final days of the protracted inquest last week, forensic psychiatrist Dr Erik Monasterio zeroed in on the psychological impact of speaking out about an organisation. Monasterio, who is assisting coroner Louella Dunn as an independent expert witness, told the court that the research shows whistleblowers inevitably "don't do well". "What happens when people release information about a person or organisation, they're often sidelined, harassed, ostracized and treated unfairly," he said. "We know that people who are whistleblowers carry a significant burden, and there are considerable risks of serious psychological distress thereafter." Those words hit home for Massey, who says she has also paid the price for speaking up. "For both Liv and I for the three years post the reviews, we definitely felt tarnished by this whistleblower thing, whether we were named in reports or not, it was pretty easy to work out where the information had come from," says Massey. "I think professionally I got pushed sideways the moment I started speaking up around anyone in senior leadership positions. If I had a differing view to the coaching network or the way [HPSNZ] was handling something I wasn't heard or listened to. I was marginalised and made to think I was the one with the problem." For Massey, the psychological scars of that period did not fully become evident until early 2021 when she returned to work after the birth of her second child. She says she found certain conversations around the office, particularly among staff who seemed to lack an understanding of what it was like to live through the dark era of the sport, to be "triggering". "One day, I flipped out. I did not act rationally." Massey sought out help through Cycling New Zealand's employee assistance programme and was soon diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder stemming from her repeated attempts to get officials to act, leading to her being sidelined and ostracized. "At that point, I thought Liv was in a much better place than me," she says. "But she was very good at hiding and deflecting what was going on." Liv's Legacy After the day at her house, Bailey and Podmore became fast friends, spending days at the beach "getting way too burnt" and the odd night "probably drinking way too much". "We obviously got to know each other through quite unusual circumstances, but I think it kind of bonded us. She was like my little sister," says Bailey. "She was just the most vivacious, amazing, beautiful, loud, funny, magnetic person that you could possibly imagine. Anyone she came across just adored her." Over 2020 and 2021, however, Bailey could see Podmore's spark beginning to fade as she dealt with the crushing disappointment of missing selection for the Tokyo Olympics. In April 2021, Podmore once again sat down in Bailey's living room and made another confronting disclosure. "She was sitting right there," Bailey says, somberly nodding to the couch in the living room of the rural home she shares with her new husband. "She told me she was having suicidal thoughts. It was just so heartbreaking to hear. "I was really concerned and I remember asking if she was getting any professional help [which she was], what sort of things she was talking to them about, what advice they were giving her. "She was open, but she also turned the page on the conversation quite quickly." Bailey says she was comforted that Podmore had been referred to an external psychologist and was getting professional support outside of the high performance system. She was also comforted that despite lows Podmore was experiencing, there were moments when she was her old mischievous self, as well. In May 2021, while she was in hospital following another episode of a heart arrhythmia, Podmore entertained herself by causing chaos on a local community Facebook group. Under the alias "Karen Smith", Podmore posted on the Cambridge Grapevine an urgent plea to residents to keep an eye out for her miniature donkey, Mavis, who had mysteriously disappeared from her pen overnight. She speculated that Mavis may have been stolen. The story of Mavis' disappearance seemed to capture the whole town. A few days later Podmore posted the good news that Mavis had been found safe and well, and was happily back in her pen. The post attracted more than 500 reactions from the relieved townsfolk. The saga kept Podmore's friends entertained for days. "She was just so funny," says Bailey. What Bailey and Podmore's other close friends did not know was the repeated episodes of heart arrhythmia in 2021 were likely a physical manifestation of her mental distress, according to Dr Monasterio. Medical evidence presented at the inquest revealed Podmore had disclosed to three health practitioners that she was experiencing suicidal ideation. But the events of 9 August 2021 were a shock to everyone. Just hours after the closing ceremony of the Tokyo Olympic Games, Podmore was found dead in her Cambridge flat. That afternoon, Bailey received a bewildering phone call from a mutual friend who had seen a post on Podmore's Instagram page and was worried "she might have done something". Bailey began frantically trying to call Podmore. When she didn't get an answer she jumped in her car and raced to the young athlete's flat. There she joined a shellshocked group of Podmore's other close friends at the front of the home. "When we got confirmation that she was gone, I can't even tell you what that did to me," Bailey sobs. Massey was helpless. She was laid up on the couch recovering from surgery and could only "tag team" with other friends making attempts to phone Podmore. A couple of agonising hours passed, before a neighbour who worked in the emergency services knocked on Massey's door and told her the devastating news. Massey did not attend Podmore's funeral in Christchurch. She says she was wrongly told by her bosses that Podmore's family had requested that no one from Cycling New Zealand be there. She instead watched a livestream of the funeral at Cycling New Zealand's offices at the Cambridge velodrome that had for so long been the scene of Podmore's torment. "I don't think I set foot in that building again [after the funeral]." A few weeks later, Massey says she met with chief executive Jacques Landry and handed in her resignation. She would see out her notice working remotely. Massey's final piece of work for the organisation she had worked for for more than a decade was compiling the information and documentation required for a second major inquiry into Cycling New Zealand. The review, which had been prompted by allegations in the wake of Podmore's death that the sport still did not take athlete welfare seriously, was also led by Mike Heron. Massey sent her final notes off to Heron, then she closed her laptop and walked away. Into the light Massey was the first witness to be called in the inquest before coroner Louella Dunn. In the three years since Podmore's death, which captured headlines in New Zealand and around the world, the then-teen's role in the Bordeaux scandal and subsequent inquiry had been widely reported. But Massey offered a gripping play-by-play account of the chaos and confusion playing out behind the scenes. The former team manager methodically outlined the events in Bordeaux and the aftermath, offering searing insights into the actions, or inactions, of Cycling New Zealand's leadership. Despite being at the coal face of the issues during the critical 2016-2018 period, Massey only became involved in the investigation by the coroner's office after Bailey recommended they speak with her. "When the coroner's office finally got in touch they said, 'Jess your name does not come up in anything we've been given'," she says. "I find that really strange given the number of reports I have compiled for Cycling New Zealand over the years, that none of this reached the coroner until someone else mentioned me." Bailey followed with her evidence on day two. In an emotional morning of testimony, she delved deeper into the details of the bullying Podmore experienced, including the devastating revelation that she was taunted by her coach just minutes before she made her Olympic debut. Bailey chose to have her name made public, even though her ex-husband has been granted permanent name suppression. "Previously, I didn't speak out publicly because I would have been written off as 'oh that's just the bitter ex-wife talking'. It's not the case. It was never the case," Bailey says. "But also I think of Liv's last message [on social media]. I feel like she was saying 'I'm passing over the baton - someone has to do this, because I can't do it any more'. So I feel like this time I had to do it for her." Massey too elected to forgo name suppression, making her identity public for the first time after a decade of trying to drive change behind the scenes. She reasoned that stepping forward into the light would ensure the full story could be told, without the need to launder crucial details that may have identified her. "What Liv experienced, people needed to face up to that." Where to get help: Need to Talk? Free call or text 1737 any time to speak to a trained counsellor, for any reason Lifeline: 0800 543 354 or text HELP to 4357 Suicide Crisis Helpline: 0508 828 865 / 0508 TAUTOKO. This is a service for people who may be thinking about suicide, or those who are concerned about family or friends Depression Helpline: 0800 111 757 or text 4202 Samaritans: 0800 726 666 Youthline: 0800 376 633 or text 234 or email talk@ What's Up: 0800 WHATSUP / 0800 9428 787. This is free counselling for 5 to 19-year-olds Asian Family Services: 0800 862 342 or text 832. Languages spoken: Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, Vietnamese, Thai, Japanese, Hindi, Gujarati, Marathi, and English. Rural Support Trust Helpline: 0800 787 254 Healthline: 0800 611 116 Rainbow Youth: (09) 376 4155 OUTLine: 0800 688 5463 Aoake te Rā bereaved by suicide service: or call 0800 000 053 If it is an emergency and you feel like you or someone else is at risk, call 111.
RNZ News
29-04-2025
- RNZ News
Into the light: Why Nicholle Bailey and Jess Massey waived suppression to tell the truth about Olympic cyclist Olivia Podmore's tragic death
Once adversaries, Nicholle Bailey and Jess Massey found themselves united in a shared goal following the suspected suicide of a Olympic cyclist Olivia Podmore: to tell the truth for their friend. Dana Johannsen reports. Nicholle Bailey rounded the corner of the grocery aisle at Cambridge Countdown and stopped in her tracks. She thought about reversing course, but she had already been spotted. Inwardly, she cursed the poor timing of her evening supermarket run. Soon she was cursing out loud. The woman before her offered a polite "hello", which was enough to tip an incensed Bailey over the edge. "I told her to 'stay the f*** away from me' and said she was just a trouble-making bitch," Bailey says, cringing at the memory. To athletes within Cycling New Zealand's elite programmes, Jess Massey was who you wanted by your side in a crisis - she was the problem-solver, the fixer, the rock. She knew her way around a spreadsheet too, managing the eye-watering logistics of getting 30 athletes and staff, 60 bike boxes and 100 cubic metres of equipment around the world for any given event. To Bailey however, the Cycling NZ campaign manager was overly officious, meddlesome, vindictive, even dangerous. This was the woman who, in Bailey's mind, had been spreading wild rumours about her husband, a top cycling coach, and appeared hellbent on destroying his career. "She was poison, in my opinion," says Bailey. Nicholle Bailey pictured at her home on the outskirts of Cambridge. Photo: RNZ / Cole Eastham-Farrelly Massey stood frozen to the spot. "I didn't react," Massey says of the confrontation in late 2016. "I basically just stood there and took it. Because I totally knew at that point the depth of the lies and manipulation." "I think I just said, 'one day, you'll see the truth'." Eight years on, the two women sit side-by-side in the cramped public gallery of courtroom seven of the Hamilton District Court, at the 2024 inquest into the death of Olympic cyclist Olivia Podmore, together reliving the pain, anger, grief and competing narratives of the past decade. Earlier that week - as New Zealand sport was still basking in the afterglow of the triumphant Paris Olympic campaign - Massey and Bailey had each taken the stand, and turned the spotlight on some of the darker elements of high performance sport . Together, their testimony was crucial in exposing what two major inquiries into Cycling New Zealand and the wider high performance sports system had failed to reveal - the horrifying extent of what Podmore endured in a programme that was utterly dysfunctional . "People tried [to expose it] before, but the circumstances meant that not all the facts were brought forward and the realities were watered down and minimised or hidden," Bailey says. "For me, it's been really critical this time that all of those things can be brought out into the open and addressed fully and properly, and hopefully understood. "It's just really f***ing sad that it's taken this to get there." A track bike has no brakes. The sleek carbon-fibre machines used by the elite cyclists are a fixed gear without a freewheel. To slow down, riders ease off the pedals and let gravity and the steep banks of the velodrome do its work. But there is no way to come to an immediate stop. Not without crashing. Jess Massey was worried things were happening too fast for Olivia Podmore. Massey had known the prodigiously talented young rider since she was 14, when Podmore was invited to attend a national age-grade camp in Invercargill. The Canterbury teen, still relatively new to the sport, had caught the eye of the selectors after her audacious performances at national championships that year. As Massey describes, Podmore was a cycling "unicorn" who excelled in both sprint and endurance events on the track. Olivia Podmore competes at the 2015 national championships. Photo: PHOTOSPORT It wasn't until a few years later, at the 2015 junior world championships in Kazakhstan, that Massey got to observe Podmore up close in a pressure environment. The young rider's performances in Kazakhstan, where she won silver in the team sprint and bronze in the 500m time trial, put her on the radar of the national coaches, who saw her as a strong prospect for the Olympics. But it was what was happening off the track in Kazakhstan that concerned Massey. Massey, who worked at Cycling New Zealand for 10 years, says she saw red flags in the way the usually gregarious Podmore shut down "socially and emotionally" after being told she would not ride the points race - an event she believed she was capable of winning. Team officials had reasoned Podmore had already had strong success at the meet, and made the decision to give the start to another athlete who had yet to compete, given the cyclists' families had shelled out a lot of money for the athletes to be there. Massey believed Podmore's inability to cope with the disappointment of missing the event was a sign of a lack of emotional maturity. In a "hotwash" debrief with fellow team officials, Massey flagged her concerns that the then-17 year-old was not ready to be taken away from her family and support network in Christchurch and thrust into the cut-throat environment of Cycling New Zealand's elite track programme. High performance sport is challenging enough for any young athlete, but Massey was also acutely aware that the culture within the centralised training environment in Cambridge was deeply unhealthy. For much of the previous year she had been documenting concerns about the repeated misconduct of one of the coaches, including her unease about an "inappropriately close relationship" the coach had formed with one of the female athletes. Jess Massey worked at Cycling New Zealand from 2011-2021. Photo: RNZ / Cole Eastham-Farrelly Ultimately, Massey's concerns about Podmore's emotional readiness for the high performance environment were ignored. She was fast-tracked into the national sprint team, following a tug of war between Cycling New Zealand's sprint and endurance coaches for her talents. Initially it appeared to be going well for Podmore. Just months after joining the squad she was selected for the 2016 Rio Olympics, where she was the second youngest athlete in the 199-strong New Zealand Olympic team. But weeks out from those Games, Massey's fears for Podmore's wellbeing were realised. At a pre-Olympic training camp in Bordeaux, Podmore, in her youthful naivety, inadvertently exposed an affair between a coach and athlete. The young rider had reported her teammate missing late one night after she failed to return to the team hotel after going for a ride into town. Just as team officials were gathering in the lobby to go and search for the athlete, she returned in a taxi alongside the coach. The "highly inebriated" pair were seen kissing. "And yeah, it all unravelled pretty quickly after that," says Massey. "That was the start of her being targeted and bullied, and told to keep her trap shut. It was horrendous. And it didn't let up for two years." Following the incident, Massey had strongly advocated for the coach to be sent home. Instead, Massey herself was sent back to New Zealand, when the coaching and high performance staff closed ranks. Massey says she was told it would be a "conflict of interest" for her to remain with the team for the Rio Games. Meanwhile, Podmore would head off to her first Olympics, an alien, unpredictable landscape, facing intolerable bullying from within her own team. Olivia Podmore walks off the track after crashing out of the keirin event in her Olympic Games debut. Photo: Photosport Ltd The coach's wife, Nicholle Bailey, was oblivious to most of this. Her insight into what was happening within the Cycling New Zealand environment was largely filtered through her husband and what she describes as "an old boys' network" of coaching and support staff. She became even more removed from what was happening in the sport after separating from her husband in 2017, and returning to her hometown in Australia while the coach "worked on himself". By early 2018, after five months away, Bailey came to the decision that she couldn't keep her life on hold any longer. She enrolled in further study at the University of Waikato and returned home. Back in the Cambridge bubble, Bailey soon began to see signs that things were amiss, but it wasn't until the team were away at the Commonwealth Games in April that she finally learned the truth. A friend who was connected to the squad called Bailey to tell her of the escalating tensions on the Gold Coast amid another dysfunctional campaign. The cause of the disquiet: an ongoing relationship between her estranged husband and one of the athletes. Bailey immediately got in touch with Cycling New Zealand chief executive Andrew Matheson. She says he told her he had been aware of the relationship "for quite some time", but said he was unable to do anything unless Podmore stepped forward and made a formal complaint. ( In his evidence to the inquest , Matheson told the court he did not recall this conversation with Bailey.) What happened next remains one of Bailey's biggest regrets. She becomes emotional as she tells how she texted Podmore and asked if she would be willing to catch up for a coffee. "I just have so much guilt for dragging her further into this," she says, wiping away tears. "There's so many times I've gone back and thought about that decision and I regret it so much, because that then brought a whole other shitstorm onto her. "I just wish I'd found another way." Nicholle Bailey says Olivia Podmore became like a little sister to her. Photo: RNZ / Cole Eastham-Farrelly The young cyclist, who was at that point just a few weeks shy of her 21st birthday, readily agreed to meet with Bailey. She went to the Cambridge home Bailey had spent two years painstakingly renovating. "I loved that house. I spent some of the worst years of my life there, but I absolutely loved that house," says Bailey. Sitting in the large open-plan living room, the light gleaming off the newly polished concrete floors, Podmore would spend the next two hours shattering what was left of the facade of perfect order. Podmore recounted the events in Bordeaux and the bullying and intimidation that followed. She told Bailey how she had been blamed for the disruption in the camp in the lead-up to Rio and pressured to lie to protect the coach and athlete. How, even after complying and "covering up" for the pair, she remained the target of ridicule in the team. How she was berated about her haircut, what she ate, the size of her bottom, the men she was dating, and how many people she had slept with on an almost daily basis. How her attempts to talk to support staff about the impact the environment was having on her would get back to the coach and the information used against her. "Don't let the crazy out," the coach would taunt her. And how she had been systematically disadvantaged in the programme, being denied access to the same top-of-the-line equipment that her teammates were. "I remember sitting opposite her and just being so stunned by how brave she was, and how actually low key she was. Because I had been fed this story that she was this crazy person, you know, she was young and silly - a pain in the arse, basically," Bailey says. For so long, her view of events had been seen through the prism of her husband. But the more Podmore spoke the more things clicked into place, and the walls of alternate reality Bailey had been living came crumbling down. Then she remembered Jess Massey's words to her at the supermarket that evening back in late 2016 - "one day you'll see the truth". Bailey reckons it took about three days for her to summon up the right words that could convey to Massey her deep sense of remorse. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever written," says Bailey. Massey knew little of what was going on in the cycling bubble at that time, having made a concerted effort to leave the toxicity behind when she went on maternity leave in early 2018. She was in Samoa on holiday with her partner and four-month old baby when a message from Bailey popped up on her phone. "It must have been 300 words long," laughs Massey, sitting next to Bailey on the terrace of her rural home. "She said 'I'm so sorry, I treated you so badly and you never deserved any of it. It has taken me two years to see through the bullshit'. "From that moment we were reconnected again." Jess Massey (L) and Nicholle Bailey (R) pictured together at Bailey's home on the outskirts of Cambridge. Photo: RNZ / Cole Eastham-Farrelly Bailey wasn't the only one to be deeply affected by the conversation at her house that day. Shortly afterwards, Podmore made an arrangement to meet with Matheson and make a formal complaint about the coach. Things moved quickly after that. The coach resigned and in the public fallout that followed as details of the dysfunction in the sport were reported in the media, HPSNZ launched a major inquiry into Cycling New Zealand. The investigation - headed up by former solicitor general Mike Heron KC - revealed "sinister and distressing examples of bullying", poor leadership, a lack of accountability and a culture where poor behaviour was accepted by those deemed critical to the success of the programme. Those same narratives Bailey had bought into not so long ago, she was now experiencing from the other side. She had officially joined the ranks of "crazy women". "I was painted as the jaded, bitter ex-wife who was out to screw over her cheating husband," recalls Bailey. "Even if that were true, which it couldn't be further from the truth - it doesn't change the facts of what was brought forward. An independent investigator found clear failures by a number of people. "If people want to minimise what went on, then they should question their own motivations, not mine." During the final days of the protracted inquest last week, forensic psychiatrist Dr Erik Monasterio zeroed in on the psychological impact of speaking out about an organisation . Dr Erik Monasterio takes the stand for the second time at the inquest into the August 2021 death of Olivia Podmore. Photo: NZME/George Heard Monasterio, who is assisting coroner Louella Dunn as an independent expert witness, told the court that the research shows whistleblowers inevitably "don't do well". "What happens when people release information about a person or organisation, they're often sidelined, harassed, ostracized and treated unfairly," he said. "We know that people who are whistleblowers carry a significant burden, and there are considerable risks of serious psychological distress thereafter." Those words hit home for Massey, who says she has also paid the price for speaking up. "For both Liv and I for the three years post the reviews, we definitely felt tarnished by this whistleblower thing, whether we were named in reports or not, it was pretty easy to work out where the information had come from," says Massey. "I think professionally I got pushed sideways the moment I started speaking up around anyone in senior leadership positions. If I had a differing view to the coaching network or the way [HPSNZ] was handling something I wasn't heard or listened to. I was marginalised and made to think I was the one with the problem." For Massey, the psychological scars of that period did not fully become evident until early 2021 when she returned to work after the birth of her second child. She says she found certain conversations around the office, particularly among staff who seemed to lack an understanding of what it was like to live through the dark era of the sport, to be "triggering". "One day, I flipped out. I did not act rationally." Former Cycling New Zealand campaign manager Jess Massey says she also paid the price for speaking up. Photo: RNZ / Cole Eastham-Farrelly Massey sought out help through Cycling New Zealand's employee assistance programme and was soon diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder stemming from her repeated attempts to get officials to act, leading to her being sidelined and ostracized. "At that point, I thought Liv was in a much better place than me," she says. "But she was very good at hiding and deflecting what was going on." After the day at her house, Bailey and Podmore became fast friends, spending days at the beach "getting way too burnt" and the odd night "probably drinking way too much". "We obviously got to know each other through quite unusual circumstances, but I think it kind of bonded us. She was like my little sister," says Bailey. "She was just the most vivacious, amazing, beautiful, loud, funny, magnetic person that you could possibly imagine. Anyone she came across just adored her." Over 2020 and 2021, however, Bailey could see Podmore's spark beginning to fade as she dealt with the crushing disappointment of missing selection for the Tokyo Olympics. In April 2021, Podmore once again sat down in Bailey's living room and made another confronting disclosure. "She was sitting right there," Bailey says, somberly nodding to the couch in the living room of the rural home she shares with her new husband. "She told me she was having suicidal thoughts. It was just so heartbreaking to hear. "I was really concerned and I remember asking if she was getting any professional help [which she was], what sort of things she was talking to them about, what advice they were giving her. "She was open, but she also turned the page on the conversation quite quickly." Bailey says she was comforted that Podmore had been referred to an external psychologist and was getting professional support outside of the high performance system. She was also comforted that despite lows Podmore was experiencing, there were moments when she was her old mischievous self, as well. In May 2021, while she was in hospital following another episode of a heart arrhythmia, Podmore entertained herself by causing chaos on a local community Facebook group. Under the alias "Karen Smith", Podmore posted on the Cambridge Grapevine an urgent plea to residents to keep an eye out for her miniature donkey, Mavis, who had mysteriously disappeared from her pen overnight. She speculated that Mavis may have been stolen. The story of Mavis' disappearance seemed to capture the whole town. A few days later Podmore posted the good news that Mavis had been found safe and well, and was happily back in her pen. The post attracted more than 500 reactions from the relieved townsfolk. The saga kept Podmore's friends entertained for days. "She was just so funny," says Bailey. Olivia Podmore was described by those who knew her as kind, outgoing and mischievous. Photo: Supplied What Bailey and Podmore's other close friends did not know was the repeated episodes of heart arrhythmia in 2021 were likely a physical manifestation of her mental distress, according to Dr Monasterio. Medical evidence presented at the inquest revealed Podmore had disclosed to three health practitioners that she was experiencing suicidal ideation. But the events of 9 August 2021 were a shock to everyone. Just hours after the closing ceremony of the Tokyo Olympic Games, Podmore was found dead in her Cambridge flat. That afternoon, Bailey received a bewildering phone call from a mutual friend who had seen a post on Podmore's Instagram page and was worried "she might have done something". Bailey began frantically trying to call Podmore. When she didn't get an answer she jumped in her car and raced to the young athlete's flat. There she joined a shellshocked group of Podmore's other close friends at the front of the home. "When we got confirmation that she was gone, I can't even tell you what that did to me," Bailey sobs. Nicholle Bailey says she still struggles to process the loss of her close friend. Photo: RNZ / Cole Eastham-Farrelly Massey was helpless. She was laid up on the couch recovering from surgery and could only "tag team" with other friends making attempts to phone Podmore. A couple of agonising hours passed, before a neighbour who worked in the emergency services knocked on Massey's door and told her the devastating news. Massey did not attend Podmore's funeral in Christchurch. She says she was wrongly told by her bosses that Podmore's family had requested that no one from Cycling New Zealand be there. She instead watched a livestream of the funeral at Cycling New Zealand's offices at the Cambridge velodrome that had for so long been the scene of Podmore's torment. "I don't think I set foot in that building again [after the funeral]." A few weeks later, Massey says she met with chief executive Jacques Landry and handed in her resignation. She would see out her notice working remotely. Massey's final piece of work for the organisation she had worked for for more than a decade was compiling the information and documentation required for a second major inquiry into Cycling New Zealand. The review, which had been prompted by allegations in the wake of Podmore's death that the sport still did not take athlete welfare seriously, was also led by Mike Heron. Massey sent her final notes off to Heron, then she closed her laptop and walked away. Massey was the first witness to be called in the inquest before coroner Louella Dunn. In the three years since Podmore's death, which captured headlines in New Zealand and around the world, the then-teen's role in the Bordeaux scandal and subsequent inquiry had been widely reported. But Massey offered a gripping play-by-play account of the chaos and confusion playing out behind the scenes. The former team manager methodically outlined the events in Bordeaux and the aftermath, offering searing insights into the actions, or inactions, of Cycling New Zealand's leadership. Despite being at the coal face of the issues during the critical 2016-2018 period, Massey only became involved in the investigation by the coroner's office after Bailey recommended they speak with her. "When the coroner's office finally got in touch they said, 'Jess your name does not come up in anything we've been given'," she says. "I find that really strange given the number of reports I have compiled for Cycling New Zealand over the years, that none of this reached the coroner until someone else mentioned me." Jess Massey took the stand on day one of the coronial inquest into the death of Olivia Podmore. Photo: Pool / RNZ, Cole Eastham-Farrelly Bailey followed with her evidence on day two. In an emotional morning of testimony, she delved deeper into the details of the bullying Podmore experienced, including the devastating revelation that she was taunted by her coach just minutes before she made her Olympic debut. Bailey chose to have her name made public, even though her ex-husband has been granted permanent name suppression. "Previously, I didn't speak out publicly because I would have been written off as 'oh that's just the bitter ex-wife talking'. It's not the case. It was never the case," Bailey says. "But also I think of Liv's last message [on social media]. I feel like she was saying 'I'm passing over the baton - someone has to do this, because I can't do it any more'. So I feel like this time I had to do it for her." Massey too elected to forgo name suppression, making her identity public for the first time after a decade of trying to drive change behind the scenes. She reasoned that stepping forward into the light would ensure the full story could be told, without the need to launder crucial details that may have identified her. "What Liv experienced, people needed to face up to that." If it is an emergency and you feel like you or someone else is at risk, call 111.
