Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.
Draven's the name, but you can call him the next Muhammad Ali.
"For me, it's not enough to just be a spectator," the 17-year-old says.
"Muhammad Ali put boxing on the map — I want to do the same for wheelchair boxing."
In the seaside town of Mandurah, WA, about an hour south of Perth, Draven is determined to leave his mark in the ring, just like his old man.
A boxing state champ in his heyday, his dad, David, is his "hero" — ever since he was a kid, it's been his "dream to follow his path and fight".
But despite his grit, it was a goal that once seemed out of reach.
"When Dad took me to a local boxing club I was ready to train with everyone. But they set us up with a boxing bag and walked away to coach the other class," says Draven, who was born with cerebral palsy.
"I was disappointed that they didn't give me a go because I'm a wheelchair user.
"I didn't go back there, but I'm not one to back down."
From the boxing ring to athletics tracks, it's a sentiment that rings true across the country.
In the face of limited opportunities to participate in sport, young Australians with disability are making their own.
Breaking down barriers
Almost 20 per cent of Australians live with a disability, but only one in four of those participate in sport — and it's not for a lack of trying.
With issues including cost barriers and a lack of facilities, surveys show some 75 per cent of Australians with disability want to take part, but don't always feel like it's an option.
Ayden Shaw, the general manager of programs and partnerships at Disability Sports Australia, says each state and territory "looks different in the disability sports space", which can make trying to access sport "even more challenging for the individual".
"There's a bit of a disconnect we see where if someone wants to get active, they don't really know where to go," he says.
"One of the primary reasons for that is accessibility of facilities, program availability. And we know regional areas in particular often do struggle, because there isn't always the same infrastructure that's in metropolitan areas."
In regional WA, it's a reality playing out for Draven. In order to get in the ring and compete, he has to be part of a club.
But he's still searching for the right home.
"I watch boxing every day and it actually it gets heartbreaking sometimes, because as soon as a boxing match is over I instantly want to box," he says.
From watching matches with his dad as a baby, to training together in his teens, if there's one thing he's learnt from the sport, it's that "you just keep fighting".
Determined to raise the profile of wheelchair boxing in Australia, the 17-year-old now hosts a podcast that features interviews with local athletes, and has dreams of starting a wheelchair boxing charity event to raise money for the Starlight Foundation, which helped him meet his favourite boxer, Tim Tszyu.
"It would be awesome to see after my fight a kid in wheelchair, sitting in the same seat as me, letting them know that you can do it too," he says.
'I was told I'd never take a step in my life'
Growing up, the concept of running never felt "humanly possible" to Amy Tobin.
"I can run 100 metres in under 30 seconds, and I was told I would never take a step in my life," she says. "That's pretty awesome."
Amy, who was born with cerebral palsy, is a Paralympian and the founder of Now I Can Run, a not-for-profit sports club on the Gold Coast, which provides training and social sessions for people living with a disability.
Specialising in race running — an innovative sport for those with impaired balance, or who cannot functionally run — the program is creating pathways for participation not only in athletics, but wider society.
"Race runners give people the ability to go walk around the block, or walk your dog, or go to the local shops and grab the bare necessities they need," Amy says.
"We have one boy who's 17 who just started coaching our junior athletes. He has cerebral palsy himself and he's never held a job before and now he's got something he can do and he can do it well."
Developed in Denmark in 1991, race runners are a three-wheeled frame with a saddle and body supports, which allows the runner to steer with their hands.
Introduced to the device at a cerebral palsy camp in 2019, Amy found her passion and "never looked back on that freedom".
"Cerebral palsy is the most common physical disability in childhood, and I was just sick of seeing people in the same generic places," she says.
"Living on the Gold Coast, it's not the most accessible place in the world — we've got loads of theme parks, but there's not a lot of recreation you can do."
'I think our biggest barrier is that cost point'
Each afternoon at a sporting complex in Pimpama, you'll find people of all ages and abilities building confidence and honing their skills on the track.
But with each device costing thousands of dollars, more opportunities doesn't always mean greater accessibility.
"Some of us are lucky to get them funded on NDIS, but not all of us have that opportunity," Amy says.
"I think our biggest barrier is that cost point."
It's a sentiment echoed by Ayden, who points to the lack of consistency in funding for sports through the NDIS.
Equipment is a "huge barrier", he says, and if a local area coordinator "doesn't understand the importance of sport and recreation, two people could submit the exact same plan, the exact same strategy and get funded disproportionately".
"There often isn't funding levers to pull to get [adaptive equipment] outside of NDIS, and so many organisations are fundraising these days," he says.
"So then you become really heavily reliant on grants, which is a really difficult sustainability model for sports to grow."
It's symptomatic of a wider problem: from transport and equipment, to registration fees and extra services, the price of playing sport for those with a disability means participation is sometimes out of reach.
In the absence of alternatives, Amy has taken matters into her own hands.
What began as a fundraiser to purchase six frames for local people in her area has grown into a grassroots movement, that now sees her sponsoring athletes in rural and remote areas to attend race running camps, workshops and competitions.
But she points to the potential to manufacture the devices in Australia — something that would not only reduce the current price point, but create employment opportunities for people living with disabilities.
"Before I started Now I Can Run, it was just so hard to get a job," she says. "We've all applied for that job in fast food or wherever, and it's kind of like, that doesn't fit the box with someone in a wheelchair or with a high physical disability.
"If we can have a factory manufacturing the race runner, we can have people with disabilities doing the logistics and helping us design the frame, and being a part of the bigger picture."
It's part of a wider goal to raise the profile of the sport in Australia, so that it becomes a staple in athletics carnivals and clubs, "not just an exhibition event".
"Freedom shouldn't come at a cost," she says. "The option to run or go out and hang out with your mate shouldn't come at a cost.
"So if we can lower that price point as much as we possibly can, instead of 200 [people], we might see 2,000, in the coming years."
'I want to help others realise their dreams'
Reflecting on her journey, Amy doesn't mince words: "I honestly thought it would just be me and my mates doing it."
"Now they're my family, they're what I know, they're my tribe, they're my people," she says.
"It's phenomenal to think all these people can't walk, but yet they can run."
According to Draven's dad, when he was just a baby, he stopped crying when he saw Danny Green on the telly.
Now, through the 17-year-old's determination to raise the profile of wheelchair boxing in Australia, he's even had the chance to train with him.
From once being made to feel like he didn't belong in the ring, to paving the path for other young people with disabilities, he hopes his experience will inspire others to "keep fighting for your dreams".
"If you're really passionate about something, and you really love something... keep going. Don't take no for an answer," he says.
"I want to help others realise their dreams," he adds. "I'm just getting started with mine."
The ABC's Heywire competition is open to all regional Australians aged between 16 and 22.
The annual competition provides a platform for the younger generation, in pockets of Australia that rarely see the spotlight, to "tell it like it is".
If you are aged between 16 and 22 and would like to find out more about the ABC Heywire Competition, go to the ABC Heywire website.
