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This past weekend was supposed to be another big Hyrox moment. A mixed doubles event I’d signed up for, trained for, and genuinely looked forward to. But I didn’t compete. And while part of me still feels disappointed that I wasn’t on the start line, I also know that sometimes not doing the thing is its own kind of strength.
It was the running that had been putting me off.
After Madrid last October, I came away buzzing with pride, not because I was the fastest or strongest, but because I had challenged my mindset. I’d faced down perfectionism, leaned into pacing and fun, and proved to myself that I could do hard things. But I also came away knowing exactly where I needed to focus if I wanted to grow — and for me, that was the running.
I told myself I’d work on it. I meant to. But I didn’t, not until last month. And by then, it was too late to build the strength and confidence I would have needed to feel good going into another race.
And to be completely honest, I knew, deep down, that if I had pushed through and raced anyway, I would have flared my pelvic pain.
It’s taken years to learn how to listen to my body. Years of navigating chronic pain, recovering from birth, and slowly rebuilding trust with myself. So choosing not to race wasn’t weakness. It was a powerful decision grounded in self reflection. One that honoured my body instead of overriding it.
Even though I didn’t compete, putting that Hyrox date in my diary still led to something valuable.
In the lead-up, I started walking more. 45-minute walks, 3 to 4 times a week, sometimes adding in gentle jogs. And to my surprise, I began to enjoy it. That low-pressure, steady movement felt manageable. Supportive. Even fun.
If I hadn’t signed up for this event, I wouldn’t have found this new rhythm, and right now, when I’m still navigating a few ongoing health issues, this kind of movement feels exactly right.
I did discover a new habit. And I’m proud of that.
Instead of racing, I rested. I reflected. I moved in a way that felt good. And that decision didn’t come from fear or failure, it came from knowing myself better than I used to.
So this isn’t a race recap. It’s a gentle reminder that progress doesn’t always look like performance. Sometimes it looks like long walks, new habits, and the kind of strength that says ‘not now.’
To the women I work with, especially those navigating pelvic pain, hormonal shifts, or healing after trauma. Please know this: strength isn’t about pushing harder. It’s about knowing when to pause. When to adapt.
I’ll be back on the start line when it’s right.
Until then, I’m building something more sustainable — step by step, jog by jog,breath by breath.