I fought for golds and now I want to fight for change "Yeah, I've been giving my parents grief from the start," she says, giggling. Her head moves involuntarily, but her face continually breaks into a huge grin. Basically, my brain was oxygen starved because the umbilical cord wasn't doing what it should have been doing. So I got my brain damage. Being induced two months early is nothing these days, really, but 25 years ago it caused serious issues. My parents were called into the baby unit three times to be told I wouldn't make it and they should start arranging the funeral. They always tell the story that they were standing by my incubator hand in hand and trying to work out what they would do for my funeral when I opened one eye and looked at them as if to say 'what are you two doing - of course I'm going to make it out of here."" And how she has made it: we are sitting in her kitchen-diner at her two-bedroom apartment in a care home in Maidenhead, surrounded by the signs of her success. Hundreds of rosettes from her Pony Club days are stacked together like a set of double curtains on a wall; a large cabinet is filled with the trophies; a picture of her being presented with her MBE by the Queen. This is a horsewoman whose human frailty is left behind when she is lifted onto Janeiro, her mount. Her imperious control of a huge beast is mesmerising, and Christiansen brought the house down at this summer's Games with her three gold medals. They are in their cases, on the table. Living in her own flat is the logical progression for someone whose family were determined that disability should not hold her back. "When I first came here I thought 'oh my God, it's an old people's home" but when my friends come here it's like having my own flat," she says. Christiansen's parents Karl and Caroline are both teachers and her younger brother, Alex, a formidable sportsman himself, has played county hockey for Surrey. "To my parents I am just me," explains Christiansen, who graduated with a masters in mathematics from the University of London's Royal Holloway college two years ago. I always felt like a normal toddler. I couldn't run around, so I had a push frame with wheels. Then I went onto crutches when I was a little older, but I broke so many of them because I was never still. Today I have splints for my ankles and that's it. My parents decided that obviously I should live a normal life but were aware I'd need extra support. They put me into mainstream schools with special units attached. It was the best situation for me because it meant I was integrated but I wasn't just left by myself because I do need help. "What's very interesting is that these days, because they've made me the independent young woman that every parent wants, when I call up and say 'look I'm struggling a bit, I need some help" it's almost like they don't realise that I'm disabled." She went to Charters School, a renowned state secondary school in Surrey. Was she bullied? Not so much bullied. People would just say spastic and there was all sorts of name-calling. It wasn't really that bad. I think every kid goes through a bit of that but I was very shy and quiet and quite self-conscious so I wasn't really bullied. I just didn't have many friends because I wasn't that outgoing. I can remember Alex getting into one fight over me but I can't really remember what happened. He remains a rock. Alex is very protective. I think having a brother really helped. He was a volunteer in the equestrian event at the Paralympic Games. I could even hear him shouting for me when I was competing. That was great. He has now graduated and is a physiotherapist. At home, she has care in the mornings to help put her shoes on, put her hair up, and assistance to cook, and clean. I end up burning myself when I cook. It would take me a whole day to prepare a meal, and about a morning to slice an onion. Believe me, I've tried," she says, holding out her hand to show how it shakes and curves. It is only one of the challenges she faces. Christiansen can walk, but she tires quickly. When she stands, she is 6ft tall. To combat fatigue, she uses a motorised scooter - "it only goes 4 miles per hour" - and a wheelchair. Both are literally stuffed into the back of her car. Driving is her joy, and gives her freedom, yet both scooter and wheelchair need to be lifted in and out of the car by someone else. Speaking takes special concentration. I have to think about it a lot more. I had physical therapy when I was younger just to strengthen the muscles, and I had speech therapy. When I'm really tired it's more difficult to speak. It is also more difficult for me in certain situations like in a nightclub. I can't be heard over the noise. But I gave up in the end of speech therapy because the impact isn't a lot. Life experience helps so much more. My main weakness is boys, I suppose, how I can't go out and meet boys. When I think that it's down to my disability, I have to turn it around and think a lot of people my age haven't had a boyfriend. But it's because I'm a perfectionist, and I'm looking for the right guy. Christiansen believes that what happened to her at birth has made her, in a sense, feel like a special human being. "It's strange because some people would say the Paralympics is all about sport but it isn't," she says. It's different from the Olympics because we're disabled and you shouldn't shy away from that. I've lived my whole life as a normal person - and actually I'm not. It's made me 'extra normal" because I'm disabled." Being described as 'courageous" or 'brave, she days, is peculiar for her. I wouldn't call myself that. I was at awards ceremony on Monday for the bravest women and I think every woman there wouldn't call herself brave. You're given your card in life and you just have to get on with it and make the most out of anything you get given. For me, the Paralympics is special because everyone can relate to having problems in their own lives, and they see us and it resonates, whereas the Olympics is like these elite athletes and only a select few will get to that stage. I do get down sometimes. I had dark days earlier in the year when my other horse went lame and had to be put down. I thought my Paralympic dreams were over because I didn't know if Janeiro would be ready. When I'm busy doing things I don't really notice it. Normally I don't care about my disability but if it becomes my main focus, it can get me down. But I love helping to change lives, and perception. I see myself as a fighter, and you know, as a fighter you've got to fight for what you believe in and I am well aware that people like my energy, enthusiasm and smile and that's what I try and give them. I will be honest sometimes, and that's how I cope with my disability, through humour. Faith and religion intrigue her. "My parents aren't religious, I went to a Christian school, and I'm a scientist so it's weird," she says. I feel like I was put here for a purpose to make a difference. Like as if winning these gold medals is a platform to do good. I don't feel I've been given a raw deal. I don't believe in God but I believe I am here for a reason. I do actually enjoy changing people. The next phase of her life will be putting that into action. I've got a part-time job as a statistician and it's great and everything and I want to use my maths degree but part of me sits there and thinks I could be so much more. I could change people's attitudes rather than be sitting at this desk. When I was younger I looked up to Tanni Grey-Thompson, because she is not only a great athlete but a real ambassador for getting disabled sport into the mainstream, and now she's in politics. That's what I want to do. I want to make a difference. I'm having coffee with her at the House of Lords next week. I want to discuss lobbying on disability, making a difference in society. Since those three gold medals in London - they hang heavy at a collective 9lbs around her neck - Sophie gets recognised everywhere. Last week that remarkable mission was on show as she joined Jessica Ennis, the Olympic poster girl, on the dais at the Aviva/Telegraph School Sports Matters Awards at Lord's, and simply stole the show with her passion, courage and humour. It's really weird. I keep getting recognised. When I'm out with my mates they find it really weird because they just see me as normal. I love going to, like, gigs and festivals and out in London. Because of the Paralympics - and how they were viewed as sports entertainment and had an amazing feelgood factor for everyone - it's like the public now want a piece of you. I love that - because if I can change the perception of everyone I come into contact with, I'm then fulfilling what I was born to do. Change people. The huge grin is back.