12. Showing Up Looks Different

For as long as I can remember, every event has had a goal.

Run a little faster.

Lift a little heavier.

Swim a little smoother. (Finish the swim!)

Finish a little stronger.

As an athlete, I’ve always measured success by improvement. Every finish line simply became the starting line for the next challenge. There was always another personal best to

chase, another goal to set, another version of myself to become.

That’s always been part of what I love about sport.

The pursuit of becoming better.

So when Sydney HYROX appeared on the calendar, I naturally had expectations.

I wanted to improve on my last race.

I wanted to train hard.

I wanted to see what I was capable of.

But life had other plans.

A Different Kind of Preparation

If someone had told me six months ago that I would be standing on another start line after everything that’s happened, I don’t think I would have believed them.

There have been surgeries.

A cancer diagnosis.

Recovery.

Medication.

Blood tests.

Extreme fatigue.

Days where simply getting through everyday life felt harder than any training session I’d ever completed.

For a long time, I wasn’t asking, “How can I get fitter?”

I was asking, “Will I ever feel like myself again?”

That wasn’t a question I ever expected to ask.

My Body Changed the Rules

One of the hardest lessons through this journey has been accepting that my body has changed.

Not forever, perhaps.

But certainly for now.

I’ve always believed that if I worked hard enough, I could overcome almost anything.

Train smarter.

Recover better.

Push a little harder.

But this season has taught me that determination doesn’t always change the outcome.

Sometimes your body simply asks you to slow down.

To listen.

To rest.

To trust.

And for someone who has always found confidence in movement, that has been an incredibly humbling lesson.

Success Looks Different Now

If you’d asked me before all of this what success in Sydney looked like, my answer would have included a finish time.

Maybe a personal best.

Maybe beating my previous result.

Today, success looks completely different.

Success is arriving at the start line healthy enough to compete.

Success is listening to my body instead of ignoring it.

Success is enjoying the experience rather than chasing the clock.

Success is crossing the finish line knowing I respected everything my body has carried me through over the past few months.

For the first time in a very long time, success won’t be measured in minutes and seconds.

It will be measured in gratitude.

Trust

Recently I wrote about learning to trust my body again.

This weekend feels like the first opportunity to put that into practice.

Not by pushing it beyond its limits.

But by working with it.

Listening when it whispers.

Respecting when it says enough.

Celebrating what it can do today instead of mourning what it can’t do yet.

That’s a very different kind of strength.

The Athlete I’m Becoming

One thing I’ve realised through all of this is that illness hasn’t taken away the athlete in me.

It’s simply changing what that athlete looks like.

She is more patient.

More grateful.

More aware.

She understands that progress isn’t always measured by pace.

Sometimes it’s measured by courage.

Sometimes by resilience.

Sometimes by simply having the confidence to stand on the start line when you don’t know exactly how your body will respond.

And maybe that’s an even greater achievement.

The Finish Line

For years, the finish line has represented something special to me.

Of course, I’ve always loved chasing a personal best. Seeing what I’m capable of. Improving on my last race.

But if I’m honest, many of my endurance events have been about something much bigger than the clock.

Sometimes they’ve simply been about getting to the finish line.

About overcoming the fear of the swim.

About refusing to give up when things got hard.

And, if I’m lucky, about inspiring someone else to believe they can do something they never thought possible.

I’ve always hoped that by sharing my journey, someone watching from the sidelines might think,

“Maybe I could do that too.”

This time, though, something feels different.

This time…

I think I’m inspiring myself.

Not because of how fast I’ll be.

Not because of the result I’ll achieve.

But because I know what it has taken just to stand on this start line.

I used to think the finish line was where strength was proven.

Where all the hard work finally paid off.

Where success was measured.

But this journey has taught me something very different.

The finish line isn’t what makes you strong.

It’s everything you become on the journey to get there.

It’s the setbacks you never expected.

The plans that change.

The moments your body asks you to slow down instead of speed up.

The courage to redefine success when life rewrites your goals.

The determination to keep showing up, even when you don’t recognise the person staring back at you in the mirror.

That’s where strength is built.

Not in a medal.

Not in a personal best.

Not in a finish time.

But in the person you’re becoming along the way.

Looking Ahead

I don’t know exactly how Sydney will unfold.

Maybe I’ll surprise myself.

Maybe I’ll need to slow down.

Maybe I’ll walk more than I planned.

Maybe I’ll cross the finish line with the slowest time I’ve ever recorded.

Maybe I’ll have to listen to my body shouting at me to stop.

And do you know what?

That’s okay.

Because this weekend isn’t about proving anything.

It’s about celebrating something.

Celebrating healing.

Celebrating progress.

Celebrating the privilege of moving again.

Celebrating a body that has been through so much and is still willing to carry me forward.

One step at a time.

One station at a time.

One finish line at a time.

What I’m Learning

I’m learning that showing up is enough.

I’m learning that comparison steals joy.

I’m learning that gratitude is a far greater motivator than pressure.

I’m learning that strength has many different faces.

And I’m learning that sometimes the bravest thing an athlete can do isn’t chasing a personal best.

It’s standing on the start line with a completely different definition of success.