ABOUT THE BOOK
In 2018 Antonio Iozzo, the CEO and visionary leader of IUM, Africa’s leading independently owned Cell Captive MGA, has a near-death accident when he comes off his Ducati Panigale superbike at breakneck speed, racing around Cape Town’s notoriously dangerous Killarney Motor Raceway.
Despite sustaining significant injuries — including a shattered T7 vertebra, 14 broken ribs and punctured lungs — medical professionals are amazed Antonio has not been left paralysed.
Iozzo undergoes a series of operations in South Africa and the US. Throughout his ordeal, he’s prescribed an opioid painkiller which has been linked to millions of overdose-related deaths in the US. No one in the medical fraternity warns Iozzo of its highly addictive nature, and his five-year addiction nightmare unfolds.
While managing a R600m building project, launching a cutting-edge 5,000m² health and wellness facility, and overseeing his billion-rand insurance enterprise, the highly driven businessman grapples with a dual existence. His once magnificent life, built from rags to riches, begins to unravel. He consumes copious amounts of the painkiller to manage his debilitating back pain, alternating it with more addictive Suboxone to withdraw.
As he expands his multibillion-rand business empire, Iozzo finds it increasingly challenging to conceal his inner turmoil. He becomes fixated on the clock, obsessed with when he can take his next fix.
Finally, in a mammoth surge of determination and willpower, Iozzo goes to battle with the opioid dragon, resolved to wean himself off every last milligram of the drug.
CHAPTER ONE: THE CRASH
As I lean into the corner at a speed of 150km/h, I realise I am coming in far too hot. The barrier looms large. A feeling of inevitability engulfs me. I know I am going to crash. I lift my bike, aiming to run off the track, and I squeeze the front brake in a desperate attempt to slow down and wash the bike out. Then my body hits the gravel, but at this stage it’s too late. I can’t avoid sliding into the barrier.
In a freak accident, my 200kg Ducati Panigale roars in behind me and crashes into my back. In a split second, everything changes. I know I’m not dead, but I am well and truly fucked.
The fifth stage of the Battle of the Twins superbike series took place at Killarney International Raceway in Cape Town between 22 and 24 March 2018. On my first practice lap, I already had a sinking feeling — if not quite a premonition. I’d never ridden on this track before, never mind competed on it. It’s renowned for its hairpin bends and super-high-speed straights. As the only competitor from Johannesburg, I was at a disadvantage competing against all these Capetonian racers who were used to the layout of their home track. But that wasn’t going to discourage — let alone deter — me. In fact, it made me even more determined to compete. I’d always been an adrenaline junkie, a lover of taking risks, so I was up for the challenge.
I’d started racing superbikes seriously only three years earlier at the ripe “old” age of 38. I loved the feeling of power and freedom that these machines gave me. Years earlier, I’d bought my first superbike at the age of 21 — a Kawasaki ZX-6R that I’d only ever ridden on the road. But as soon as I got married to my wife, Nicole, at the tender age of 23, I traded my bike for a pram. Once our son, Dino, arrived just a month after we’d tied the knot, there was no money for bikes and messing around.
My life had changed a lot since then, and my insurance and property businesses were flourishing. I was the CEO of IUM, the largest independently owned underwriting management agency in southern Africa. For kicks, I’d become serious about bikes again. Over the previous two years, I’d been racing competitively and was doing quite well. I’d won a few races and come second in the championship the year before. Dino, who was 16 years old back in 2018, had inherited my need for speed — and just like me, he’d also developed a passion for bikes. The weekend in Cape Town was going to be special bonding time for the two of us, as we were competing in separate races at the notorious Killarney racetrack.
In the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being slightly worried. I’d only had a couple of practice sessions and was struggling to learn the track in time for the race.
Race day arrived on Saturday 24 March, and we were allocated one last warm-up session before the main race began. I wasn’t feeling confident that I had mastered the track with my brake markers and turning-in points, and so I asked my friend Morne to come out with me. He knew the course like the back of his hand and had raced in the elite GP series. I wanted to ride behind him and follow his lines as he took the corners. (In racing, it’s called a tow.) So, off we went.
After about five corners on the first warm-up lap, Morne was already about fifteen to twenty bike lengths ahead of me. I decided to go all out to try to catch up to him before I got to the double right-hand turn onto the high-speed main straight. I made up some of the distance, but I soon realised I had left my braking far too late. As much as I tried, I couldn’t brake hard enough.
As I leaned into the corner at a helluva speed, I knew I was going to crash. I came off my bike and hit the barrier, and then I felt the weight of my beloved Ducati crashing into me. Seconds later, a burning pain pierced my chest.
At first, I thought I’d broken a couple of ribs when I hit the barrier, but almost immediately the pain moved from my chest into my back. It was like something sliced right through me. In retrospect, what probably saved me from being completely paralysed for life was that I didn’t lose consciousness when I crashed. As the marshals rushed towards me to move me off the track so that the main race could start, I remember saying, “Don’t move me. Call the ambulance and bring a back brace.”
I don’t remember how long the medics took to get there, but it felt like forever. When they finally arrived, they cut off my race suit, carefully rolled me onto the stretcher and lifted me into the ambulance. Even though I was in severe pain and had almost literally killed myself, all I could think about was my son, Dino. His race was about to start. Leaving the track to go to the hospital before watching his race was not an option. So I asked the paramedics to wait. They probably thought I was crazy as I lay in the back of the ambulance, watching the live timing app on my phone as Dino’s race started. Only after he won his race did I give the guys the go-ahead to take me to the nearby Mediclinic Milnerton Hospital.
I didn’t think that there was anything seriously wrong with me, so I called my wife, Nicole, to tell her that I had crashed and to reassure her that I was okay. I really thought I was.
Extract provided by Flyleaf Publishing
EXTRACT | ‘Slaying the Dragon’ by Antonio Iozzo
ABOUT THE BOOK
In 2018 Antonio Iozzo, the CEO and visionary leader of IUM, Africa’s leading independently owned Cell Captive MGA, has a near-death accident when he comes off his Ducati Panigale superbike at breakneck speed, racing around Cape Town’s notoriously dangerous Killarney Motor Raceway.
Despite sustaining significant injuries — including a shattered T7 vertebra, 14 broken ribs and punctured lungs — medical professionals are amazed Antonio has not been left paralysed.
Iozzo undergoes a series of operations in South Africa and the US. Throughout his ordeal, he’s prescribed an opioid painkiller which has been linked to millions of overdose-related deaths in the US. No one in the medical fraternity warns Iozzo of its highly addictive nature, and his five-year addiction nightmare unfolds.
While managing a R600m building project, launching a cutting-edge 5,000m² health and wellness facility, and overseeing his billion-rand insurance enterprise, the highly driven businessman grapples with a dual existence. His once magnificent life, built from rags to riches, begins to unravel. He consumes copious amounts of the painkiller to manage his debilitating back pain, alternating it with more addictive Suboxone to withdraw.
As he expands his multibillion-rand business empire, Iozzo finds it increasingly challenging to conceal his inner turmoil. He becomes fixated on the clock, obsessed with when he can take his next fix.
Finally, in a mammoth surge of determination and willpower, Iozzo goes to battle with the opioid dragon, resolved to wean himself off every last milligram of the drug.
CHAPTER ONE: THE CRASH
As I lean into the corner at a speed of 150km/h, I realise I am coming in far too hot. The barrier looms large. A feeling of inevitability engulfs me. I know I am going to crash. I lift my bike, aiming to run off the track, and I squeeze the front brake in a desperate attempt to slow down and wash the bike out. Then my body hits the gravel, but at this stage it’s too late. I can’t avoid sliding into the barrier.
In a freak accident, my 200kg Ducati Panigale roars in behind me and crashes into my back. In a split second, everything changes. I know I’m not dead, but I am well and truly fucked.
The fifth stage of the Battle of the Twins superbike series took place at Killarney International Raceway in Cape Town between 22 and 24 March 2018. On my first practice lap, I already had a sinking feeling — if not quite a premonition. I’d never ridden on this track before, never mind competed on it. It’s renowned for its hairpin bends and super-high-speed straights. As the only competitor from Johannesburg, I was at a disadvantage competing against all these Capetonian racers who were used to the layout of their home track. But that wasn’t going to discourage — let alone deter — me. In fact, it made me even more determined to compete. I’d always been an adrenaline junkie, a lover of taking risks, so I was up for the challenge.
I’d started racing superbikes seriously only three years earlier at the ripe “old” age of 38. I loved the feeling of power and freedom that these machines gave me. Years earlier, I’d bought my first superbike at the age of 21 — a Kawasaki ZX-6R that I’d only ever ridden on the road. But as soon as I got married to my wife, Nicole, at the tender age of 23, I traded my bike for a pram. Once our son, Dino, arrived just a month after we’d tied the knot, there was no money for bikes and messing around.
My life had changed a lot since then, and my insurance and property businesses were flourishing. I was the CEO of IUM, the largest independently owned underwriting management agency in southern Africa. For kicks, I’d become serious about bikes again. Over the previous two years, I’d been racing competitively and was doing quite well. I’d won a few races and come second in the championship the year before. Dino, who was 16 years old back in 2018, had inherited my need for speed — and just like me, he’d also developed a passion for bikes. The weekend in Cape Town was going to be special bonding time for the two of us, as we were competing in separate races at the notorious Killarney racetrack.
In the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being slightly worried. I’d only had a couple of practice sessions and was struggling to learn the track in time for the race.
Race day arrived on Saturday 24 March, and we were allocated one last warm-up session before the main race began. I wasn’t feeling confident that I had mastered the track with my brake markers and turning-in points, and so I asked my friend Morne to come out with me. He knew the course like the back of his hand and had raced in the elite GP series. I wanted to ride behind him and follow his lines as he took the corners. (In racing, it’s called a tow.) So, off we went.
After about five corners on the first warm-up lap, Morne was already about fifteen to twenty bike lengths ahead of me. I decided to go all out to try to catch up to him before I got to the double right-hand turn onto the high-speed main straight. I made up some of the distance, but I soon realised I had left my braking far too late. As much as I tried, I couldn’t brake hard enough.
As I leaned into the corner at a helluva speed, I knew I was going to crash. I came off my bike and hit the barrier, and then I felt the weight of my beloved Ducati crashing into me. Seconds later, a burning pain pierced my chest.
At first, I thought I’d broken a couple of ribs when I hit the barrier, but almost immediately the pain moved from my chest into my back. It was like something sliced right through me. In retrospect, what probably saved me from being completely paralysed for life was that I didn’t lose consciousness when I crashed. As the marshals rushed towards me to move me off the track so that the main race could start, I remember saying, “Don’t move me. Call the ambulance and bring a back brace.”
I don’t remember how long the medics took to get there, but it felt like forever. When they finally arrived, they cut off my race suit, carefully rolled me onto the stretcher and lifted me into the ambulance. Even though I was in severe pain and had almost literally killed myself, all I could think about was my son, Dino. His race was about to start. Leaving the track to go to the hospital before watching his race was not an option. So I asked the paramedics to wait. They probably thought I was crazy as I lay in the back of the ambulance, watching the live timing app on my phone as Dino’s race started. Only after he won his race did I give the guys the go-ahead to take me to the nearby Mediclinic Milnerton Hospital.
I didn’t think that there was anything seriously wrong with me, so I called my wife, Nicole, to tell her that I had crashed and to reassure her that I was okay. I really thought I was.
Extract provided by Flyleaf Publishing
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