Why we choose the hard way, and why it’s not for everyone — just the ones who need it.
There’s a quiet moment before every race where I wonder what I’m doing. Again.
Why I’m standing here, body aching before it’s even started, in weather that would make most people crawl back into bed — rain, wind, cold, or worse.
Why I’ve carved out hours in the week to train, to eat for fuel instead of comfort, to push my body and my mind through the limits of what’s reasonable.
And still, I keep showing up.
Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s expected.
And definitely not because people around me always understand.
(Are you still doing that? Isn’t it time to stop? Haven’t you done enough?)
The truth is: this isn’t for them. It never was.
I do hard things and you do hard things because they remind us what we're made of and what we have the power the achieve. Because they create clarity. Because they strip away the noise.
Because somewhere in the hurt is a kind of joy, accomplishment and pride I can’t find anywhere else.
And no, that doesn’t make me special. But it makes me me.
Triathlon attracts a certain kind of person. Someone who thrives in the margins — where the discipline is brutal, but the reward is unmatched.
We’re not all fast, or young, or sponsored. But we all carry something similar: a need to test ourselves, a hunger for growth, a willingness to trade comfort for meaning.
We don’t do this for applause. We do it because something inside us needs it.
So yes, I’ll keep showing up. As long as I can. And that’s all the reason I need.