How Triathlon Unwrecked Me: From Survival to Strength

Ever have one of those moments in the car where your thought is so clear, true, and kind of soul-shaking, and you swear you’ll hold onto it forever?

And then by the time you get home… it’s gone. Poof. Replaced by groceries, emails, need to nosh on a snack, the to-do list keeps getting longer, whatever life throws at you, oh look, Squirrel!

Recently, I was driving. Thinking. Feeling everything and nothing all at once. And then, out of nowhere, this thought landed, so sharp and true it practically echoed:

“This sport gave me a life I never knew I was worthy of, or even knew existed.”

Not a life back.
A life forward.
One I hadn’t imagined was mine to live. Until I did.

Even when I couldn’t quite get the whole thought back right away, I remember standing in my kitchen thinking, Wait… that was big.
My brain scrambled to recall the summary, the point, because it mattered.
It wasn’t just a passing thought. It was a truth. One of those rare ones that comes not just from your head, but from your whole body.

Because here’s the thing: this sport, triathlon, multisport, endurance, whatever your version of it is, does something to us. Sometimes we don’t even notice it happening. But it starts to shape us in the background, beneath all the training plans and gear lists and early morning alarms.

It starts to ask things of us.
Not just physically. But emotionally. Mentally. Soul-level stuff.

We all have our why, how we ended up in this sport.

And lately on social, I’ve noticed a theme that pops up every now and again: a lot of us didn’t arrive here because life was perfect. We showed up with scars. We found this sport in the middle of grief, change, burnout, or trauma we hadn't fully named yet.

Some of us found it when we had nothing else to hold on to. When life was loud and broken and quiet all at once. When the only thing we could do was lace up our shoes and go… somewhere. Anywhere. Forward.

I didn’t start this sport because I was in a good place. I started at 43, in the thick of healing old wounds, childhood wounds, adulthood wounds, the kind that make you realize no one’s coming to rescue you.

And so, you learn to rescue yourself.

And in doing that, something unexpected happens.

This sport didn’t just challenge me. It changed me.

It gave me structure when everything felt chaotic.
It gave me purpose when I was lost.
It gave me a mirror, one that showed me not just where I was strong, but where I was hiding.

It didn’t all click right away. But little by little, as I showed up to the workouts, the races, the successes, the setbacks, the learning, I started showing up to myself too.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It helped me stop managing life just to survive, and start living it with intention. Because survival mode? That had been my baseline for... a long time. Like, Olympic-level survival skills, hyper-vigilance, over-functioning, emotionally white-knuckling my way through life with a smile.

But this sport started to shift that. It turned survival from something reactive and draining into something intentional and resilient. The kind that doesn’t burn you out, but builds you up.

Even in the worst parts of it, when you’re out there embracing the suck, questioning your choices, wondering how you’re simultaneously dehydrated and somehow need to pee, it’s still teaching you how to survive for the right reasons. Not because you’re bracing for impact, but because you’re leaning into growth, purpose, and strength you didn’t know you had.

It taught me that becoming the best version of yourself isn’t some finish line you cross, it’s a practice. And honestly? It’s hard. Beautiful. Inconvenient. Sacred. Slightly unhinged. And yeah… absolutely magical.

What I didn’t expect was this: the more I embraced the mess, the growth, the grind… the more I fell in love with the person I was becoming. Not in a flashy, look-at-me way. In a quietly proud way. Like, “Hey… I know her. I know where she’s been. I know her story. And not only do I like her, I love her. She’s earned every single mile.”

This sport doesn’t just help you become the best version of yourself.

It requires you to.

It invites you to let go of the things that don’t serve you.
It asks you to believe in yourself before you’re ready.
It reminds you, gently or not, that you are capable of more than you’ve been led to believe.

So no, this isn’t just swim, bike, run.

It’s the space where we remember who we are, and discover who we never knew we could be.
It’s where we start to peel back all the layers we’ve worn to survive… and begin choosing the ones we actually want to live in.

This sport is sneaky like that.
You sign up to “get moving” or “try something new”, and somewhere along the way, it becomes your mirror, your forge, your anchor.
It becomes a place where you're allowed to struggle, grow, and still laugh at yourself for applying chamois cream in your crotch in transition like it’s a completely normal thing (because… it is).

It’s where grit meets grace.
Where you stop managing life to just get through it, and start living it, fully.
Where you learn to do hard things, and realize you’re someone who already can.

This sport doesn’t just teach us how to keep going.
It reminds us we’re worth the effort.

And somehow, I keep showing up. Not to escape my life, but to meet it fully.

Thanks for being here.

Keep SHINING!