Living The Dream (Again)

Living the Dream (Again)

Six years. That’s how long it’s been since my last Ironman. In that time, life has shifted, bodies have aged, and perspectives have changed. I’ve raced other events, coached others, stayed involved – but not like this. Not in it. Not like now.

Now I’m back. Back in the rhythm of long training blocks, early mornings, sore legs and strange aches. Back chasing the finish line of the most demanding one-day endurance event in sport. But this time, it feels different.

This time, I’m 52. This time, I’m managing a run injury that’s required patience, creativity, and a whole new approach to training. This time, I’m not chasing a time. I’m chasing a feeling.

This time, I’m living the dream – and not just the version with the finish line and the finisher’s medal, but the quieter, deeper dream: the one where just being out there is enough.

“I just wanna be thinking thoughts that I think, dreaming my dreams and drifting within.”

“I don’t know where I’m goin’
But I know where I’ve been
Come on, live your dream”

— Cast, Living the Dream

That lyric hits differently now. Because after time away from Ironman, you realise what a gift this pursuit really is. You remember how many people would give anything just to be able to swim, bike, or run pain-free. You remember the months you spent on the sidelines, watching others toe the line, wondering if you’d ever do it again.

So when you do get back out there – when your body lets you, even just a little – you don’t take it for granted.

You savour it.

You don’t obsess over perfect splits or power numbers. You obsess over how it feels to move again. You find joy in the ordinary. A fun group ride. A strong session in the pool. A short run with no pain. These things become tiny victories – and they stack up.

That’s not to say it’s been easy. Training while managing a run injury is a puzzle. I’ve had to be smarter. More cautious. More strategic. There’s less bravado now, more listening. More respect for recovery. More honesty with myself about what I can do – and what I can’t. And in many ways, that’s made me a better athlete.

It’s certainly made me a better coach.

Because alongside my own return, I’ve had the privilege of guiding other athletes through their own journeys. Some are experienced, others new to the sport. Some are training around full-time jobs and family commitments. Some are battling their own injuries or self-doubt. And every one of them teaches me something.

I’ve seen courage in their decisions to go for their goals. I’ve seen grit in their training, joy in their breakthroughs, perspective in their setbacks. And those lessons come with me on every session.

They inspire me.

They remind me that this sport isn’t about perfection – it’s about persistence. It’s not about who crosses the line first – it’s about who shows up, again and again, with heart.

“Someone will always be more than I’ll ever be. So then I’ll be myself”

That line, simple as it is, captures the way I feel now. I’m not trying to recapture who I was six, eight, ten, twelve years ago. I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone – not even to myself. I’m just grateful. Grateful to be here. Grateful to still be able to do this. Grateful to wake up with a plan, to put on my shoes, to clip into the pedals, to pull on the wetsuit and dive into cold water (that one is still a work in progress!)

Grateful to dream again.

The road to Ironman is long. Gruelling. At times, unforgiving. But it’s also profoundly rewarding. It reveals things to you – about who you are, what you’re made of, and what you value most. It teaches you to endure. To adapt. To let go of ego and embrace humility.

And it teaches you to hope.

I don’t know exactly how race day will unfold. I’ve stopped pretending I can control that part. But what I do know is this: I will be there, smiling on the start line, carrying with me six years of waiting, learning, recovering, and remembering.

I’ll be standing there, ready – not because I’m the fastest or the fittest, but because I chose to come back. Because something in me still believes in chasing after dreams left in the storm.

Because this – this is living the dream.

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