Summer is wrapping up. Racing season is winding down. And I find myself sitting with a lot of feelings — and a lot of lessons.
This season meant more to me than most people probably realize. After years of living abroad, moving back to Canada has been a longer adjustment than I expected. Finding my footing again — personally, professionally, athletically — has taken time. But this summer, something clicked. For the first time in a long time, I got back to the things I used to love. The sport. The training. The community. The version of myself that does hard things on purpose.
I also did Ironman 70.3 for the first time. As an older athlete. In a new country. With a completely different perspective than the one I had the last time I lined up at a start line.
And wow, did I ever learn some things.
So here it is — my summer in three lessons. Not highlights in the shiny sense. Real ones. The kind that stick because they cost you something.
The first lesson of the season: the noise inside your head — and on your phone — will sabotage you if you let it.
Let me paint you a picture.
I am a movement professional. I tell my clients — regularly, confidently, with great conviction — that rest is not weakness. Rest is where the magic happens. Rest is training. LISTEN TO YOUR BODY!
I believe this. I teach this. I have said these exact words out loud approximately one thousand times.
And then I looked at Instagram, saw my friends absolutely crushing their training, and thought: yeah but I should probably go for a run.
I should not have gone for a run.
I’m training for the Calgary 70.3. I know my body well — I need more recovery than most. Physical job, older than I used to be, sensitive to inflammation, the whole package. My rest days aren’t optional; they’re literally part of the plan.
This was all going great until the race started creeping closer and my brain started doing math.
Weeks until race day… sessions completed… oh god. So many missed session due to work, travel, life etc.
And then — fatal mistake — I opened my phone. Friends and colleagues training every single day. Running, cycling, swimming, crushing it. All of them. Every day.
Meanwhile I was… resting. As planned.
Suddenly “as planned” felt a lot like “falling behind.”
I did more. I ran when I shouldn’t have. I biked. I swam. Not because my body asked for it — but because other people’s bodies were doing it and my brain had completely lost the plot.
My legs are now a disaster. Swollen, inflamed, heavy. The lactic acid is just… living there now. We’ve practically become roommates. Load and behold my old hamstring issue flared with vengeance!!!! #@!@#!!!
I am less ready for my race than if I had done absolutely nothing. The FOMO training didn’t build fitness. It just made me puffy and humbled.
Here’s the thing — FOMO is loud, but it’s not the only voice in the room. THE NOISES , THE CHATTER …whether it is new job, diet, new goal…
There’s also the voice that says you’re not good enough. The one that shows up before a race, or a workout, or honestly just on a random Tuesday. The one that compares your behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel and finds you lacking.
There’s food noise — the constant mental chatter about what you ate, what you shouldn’t have eaten, whether you earned it, whether it matters. Exhausting. Relentless. And so normalized we barely notice it anymore.
There’s the noise that tells you to push when you should rest. The noise that tells you to rest when you should push. The noise that says everyone else has it figured out and you’re the only one winging it.
Spoiler: everyone is winging it.
That person you’re comparing yourself to? Different body. Different history. Different recovery needs. Different everything. Their training is not your training. Their Instagram is not your training plan.
This applies whether you’re doing a walk twice a week, training for your first 5K, or apparently — preparing for a triathlon while knowing better and doing it anyway.
Stop looking sideways. Your body is talking to you. It knows things.
Rest when it says rest. Even when everyone else is running.
