Back competing after being a caught in a lie which saw him heavily punished by UK Anti-Doping, the Scottish hammer thrower wants nothing more than to finish his athletics career on his own terms

Mark Dry acknowledges it was, and remains, the wrong thing to do. The fib that he had gone fishing when drugs testers turned up at his home in Loughborough on October 15, 2018 (he had in fact returned home to Scotland) somehow became a whopper which saw the two-time Commonwealth Games hammer bronze medallist thrown into the same pool as serial doping cheats and banished from the sport.

He was charged, cleared, but then ultimately convicted of tampering at the close of a lengthy and complex process initiated by UK Anti-Doping, even when he came clean and confessed to a moment of panic at the prospect of a strike from the system. 

The 34-year-old, whose initial four-year-ban was reduced to 28 months, was allowed to resume his throwing career on January 28. Unusually, he was universally welcomed back with his reputation unsullied but he has been deeply scarred by how events spiralled unimaginably out of his control.

“I wouldn’t encourage children to provide the wrong information to anyone but everyone’s told white lies about all kinds of stuff,” he says. “It was beyond clear to anyone with half a brain what was going on. Even if you don’t know me. Anyone who has known me through my entire career knew the score. 

“The most upsetting thing for me was to have to explain to so many people that didn’t understand. Because it’s such a bizarre world of rules in anti-doping. The association is extremely negative and I understand why.” 

The whole episode came with a financial cost. Dry’s career as a sports therapist was decimated by the suspension, the costs of continuing to appeal draining his funds. Mentally, it weighed him down to the ground.

He cuts a sympathetic figure as he recounts the toll the past years have extracted on him and his partner Leah. No matter how little reputational damage this has caused him, there are losses that will never been recouped.

The Highlander now works as a handyman at large, his physical gifts paired with technique with his tools. He is considering joining the fire service.

“I need to commit to it pretty soon but also I want to have a bash at throwing stuff around for a bit,” he adds. The fire still burns ferociously to launch metal into the air, which is why he is back in the cage, targeting this summer’s Commonwealth Games in Birmingham, angling for one more medal and a curious redemption.

January 30, the lowest-key of winter throws meetings in Hull, was officially his comeback. “It was a big deal and not a big deal,” he says, his appearance having brought with it a mark of 64.89m, almost 12 metres below his Scottish record best from 2015.

Dry felt as nervous as he had ever been, but not because of concerns over how he might be received. “Everyone was just really happy to see me,” he recounts. “It wasn’t like people were going to be hissing and booing at me when I turned around.”

Yet the adrenaline felt super-charged, the uncertainty high, especially after catching Covid two weeks earlier which prevented him from training. “I was just happy to get out and compete,” he adds. “I just wanted to show face, get out there and show that I wasn’t afraid to come out. 

“I’m not afraid to throw badly. I’m not bothered what anyone thinks. I just wanted to get back to doing what I do and I wanted to just enjoy it.”

Old friends – including James Bedford and the two Smiths, Peter and Alex – turned up in support and with hammers in tow. The good times, of sorts, rolled again. “We all threw garbage,” Dry laughs. “It was a nice little thing. It was kind of a big event in my head, but also such a non-event, because it just wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t that exciting or anything., but it was just nice to get back to it.”

The acceleration of performance level which followed was speedy. A month later he had Scotland’s Commonwealth qualifying standard of 69.01m in the bag and then quickly hurled through the 70-metre barrier. “I wasn’t expecting to get in those two competitions,” he admits. “I just wanted to blow the cobwebs off because I was still only throwing 67 in training.” 

The technique remains far off where he would wish. Self-coached, he has had to analyse and tweak alone. With pain, too. In between appearing at the Rio 2016 Olympics and his Gold Coast bronze two years on, Dry underwent two surgeries on his left hip, followed by a complete internal resurfacing.

A torn labrum – a ring of cartilage in the joint – was the chief culprit. His right hip now likely has the same issue. And it hurts. “Now and again, when I get too tight, it gets pinchy and grindy and horrible. And there’s a few cracks and pops where I struggle to get out of chairs and stuff. 

“But then, when it cracks, I’m clear. It’s nowhere near how my left one was. I couldn’t function or sleep or do anything for a couple of years, so this is as bad but, in comparison to how it feels, it’s like there’s nothing wrong.”

It seems probable that selection by Scotland for Birmingham in tandem will happen, alongside his old rival Chris Bennett. With Taylor Campbell ruled out of this summer by injury and Tokyo Olympic finalist Nick Miller reportedly battling physical issues of his own, Dry smells a chance. 

Just one. The World Championships standard of 77.50m may be too far at this point, likewise the 77m needed for European Championships selection. “My movement capability is capable of going far,” he says. “But I need that speed-strength, too.”

Motivation is a quality in limitless supply. Always a passionate, driven individual, Dry has more incentive than ever to channel the mix of indignation, anger and regret that stems from his ban.

Not necessarily the healthiest force, he smiles. “But motivation comes in many different forms and, for me, a lot of my motivation in my career has come through stubbornness and proving people wrong. 

“I’ve been told that I’d never be good enough. I’m not the calibre of athlete that would make an Olympics or ‘you’ll never break the Scottish record’ and I’ve been hell-bent on proving people wrong.” 

In this case, the anti-doping guardians who chose to prosecute over opting for a slap on the wrist are very much in his mind. Dry will never stop rallying against that judgement call.

“I’m fundamentally against bullying and the bending of the rules by the authorities and everything else,” he says. “I’ve wanted to quit. I feel like I’m at an age where I probably should have quit by now. But I very much want to show that I was relatively powerless, but I gave as good a fight as I could. 

“I want to finish on my terms. I won’t be defeated and bullied by tyranny and a higher power. I’d rather stand up and fight and if that means if that means failure… well, it doesn’t mean failure. 

“That’s the only bonus here, I can’t lose. Even if I don’t make Commonwealth Games, I’ve still won because I haven’t quit. Even if I do make Commonwealth Games and come last, that’s not a failure after everything I’ve been through. 

“To make that team and walk out there and come last, I’ll do so with my head held high.”