Born in Dewsbury, West Yorkshire, in 2001, Jodie Ounsley is an athlete, television personality and author. A former England rugby sevens player, she is the first deaf female rugby player for a senior England side. In 2024, she joined the BBC revival of the series Gladiators, in which she competes as Fury; the same year, she was one of the presenters for the 2024 Paralympics. Her second book, Strong Girls, co-written with Becky Grey, is out on 9 April.
I was six and had just got back from karate practice when Mum said, “Right, let’s take a picture!” Most kids would have stood politely and smiled, but my first instinct was to do the deadliest pose.
This photo sums up my mentality as a little kid. I was the tough girl who loved contact sports. I was determined, fiery, fearless and wanted to get stuck into everything. Usain Bolt was my hero and I wanted to be fast just like him. There was a running joke in my family when it came to sports day – I treated it like it was the Olympics, taking it so seriously that it became borderline ridiculous. All the other kids would compete in shorts and a T-shirt – your traditional PE kit – whereas I would turn up to school in a blue muscle vest, track shorts and actual running shoes.
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Having the family I do keeps me humble. They’d give me a right telling-off if I ever got above my station
It was important that I was the best, especially when it came to racing against the boys. At first they were faster than me, but when I was about 12, I decided I’d train hard and make it my goal to be the fastest person in my year. When the day came I was nervous, but as I crossed the finish line I realised I’d won and it was the best day ever. It felt amazing knowing my body could do that if I put in the work.
No matter how ambitious I was, my family made my dedication to sport feel normal. My mum is the kindest person ever and gave me so much emotional support, while my grandparents were my biggest fans – any time I won a race they would take me out for a carvery afterwards. My weekends would be spent with my dad, training, then eating chicken nuggets and watching Britain’s Got Talent together.
Dad was my favourite training partner and a total inspiration. He was even on the original series of Gladiators as a contestant. He did mixed martial arts, Brazilian jiu-jitsu and the World Coal Carrying Championships – this bizarre Yorkshire event where you run a kilometre with a sack of coal on your shoulders. Dad said the first moment he realised my future would be in sport was when he saw me pick up a sack of carrots and run around the kitchen with it on my back. I was trying to copy him, and I kept going and going. I was totally determined.
Even though it was quite unusual for a little girl to be so into male-dominated sports, dad never made me feel strange for it. He always celebrated me for being strong. When I went to high school, I started to realise that there weren’t many girls like me. Most played hockey or netball, whereas I always liked bashing into people. There were definitely times when I doubted myself or felt different. I tried out some other sports I was less good at, like football. I quickly realised I was too aggressive for it. I even tried ballet and tap. But everything changed when I found rugby.
At first I wasn’t allowed to play. I was born profoundly deaf and had a cochlear implant when I was 14 months old. The advice from doctors was that I couldn’t do contact sports because of the risks related to having a magnet in your head and the danger of dislodging it. But then my younger brother started playing rugby and I went to all his games and realised I loved it, too. Eventually my parents got sick of me nagging them and Dad found a solution: I could play if I wore a scrum cap. Once I started, my career took off and I’m so proud that, as a deaf person, I was able to navigate those barriers and break through. One of my proudest moments was getting my first England cap in rugby. It had been my goal, and I had reached it.
When I saw that they were looking for new Gladiators, I applied thinking nothing would come of it. I got invited to a trial, then had to meet some producers and talk about what I’m really passionate about. I told them I wanted to help other kids – that it’s really important to me to make the world a better place for disabled people. I just want to make sure young people know that nothing should hold you back, no matter who you are. Obviously I did something right, because I became Fury.
My Gladiator name comes from my competitive spirit – I switch into game mode when I have a job to do. As soon as I’m not in that environment, I’m far from angry or up for a fight. I’m actually very shy, warm and chilled, and I really need the comfort of my own home. I have to push myself to be that confident person – it’s a fake-it-till-you-make-it situation.
The first time I got recognised, I had popped out to get some milk. I’d injured my shoulder so I was in a sling, and I didn’t look like a Gladiator – my hair was in a right state and I was dressed in pyjamas. I walked into the corner shop and heard these kids screaming, “It’s you! It’s Fury!” It was a lovely moment, but being on TV would never change me. Having the family I do keeps me humble. They’d give me a right telling-off if I ever got above my station.
My dad died suddenly last year. We are all coping with it differently – Mum needs her own space, and my brother is 19 and back at uni surrounded by friends. What helps me with grief is having a goal and a focus, whether it’s training or work, and also talking about him. But I have to be careful that I don’t throw myself into being too preoccupied and not give myself any time to process everything.
During times like this, I really rely on the people around me. My mum has always felt like home, and now my girlfriend Ellen feels like home, too. We met when I was 16 and playing rugby, so we’ve been friends for most of my life. Now that friendship has blossomed into a relationship. It’s quite overwhelming trying to be an extrovert when I’m actually an introvert, but Ellen grounds me – we were always each other’s safe space and she brings me comfort in a lot of chaotic situations. Recently I forgot the battery for my implant before I had a presenting job at the weekend. Ellen went straight into care mode: “Don’t worry – we can sign with each other and I can explain to the people at the job what’s going on.” Like my dad, she comes up with solutions which I couldn’t think of in the moment.
If that kid in the photo could see me now, she’d probably say, “Are you joking me?” She’d be shocked and proud of everything I’ve accomplished; completely mind-blown. Even in the last couple of years my confidence has grown, in the nicest way possible. But aside from that, she’d be reassured that I am still the same person – I still get nerves and anxiety, like everyone else, and I still love being strong.
Source:
www.theguardian.com
