I’m going on an adventure

This year, I did something I’ve been dreaming about since I first started CrossFit back in 2013: I qualified for the CrossFit Semifinals.

If you had told 2013-me that this would happen, I would have laughed you out of the gym. Back then, my medical chart read less like an athlete’s bio and more like a car crash report. I’ve had four knee surgeries (including three ACL reconstructions), a broken jaw, torn ankle ligaments, and fractured wrists. The medical experts gave me the standard, well-meaning advice: Don't play rugby again. Don't play high-level sports. Don't lift heavy. Don't run long distances. Basically, sit on the couch and try not to break.

Instead, I found CrossFit.

Fast forward to today, and CrossFit hasn't just given me a foundation for life—it’s allowed me to complete an Ironman, finish an ultra-marathon, and now, stand on a Semifinals floor. I am fitter today than I was over a decade ago.

Turns out, the human body doesn’t come with an expiration date.

I’d love to tell you I walked into the arena looking like Rich Froning, oozing confidence. I didn't. From the second I arrived, Imposter Syndrome hit me like a 150kg barbell.

I felt completely out of my depth. Looking around at the other athletes, I was convinced I wasn't in good enough shape and that my goal for the weekend wasn't to "thrive," but simply to "survive."

But two things got me through.

First, my partner, Maja. To say she led the experience is an understatement. Maja is the definition of selfless. Throughout the entire weekend, she completely put her own life on hold to put me first. She was my physio, my mentalist, my nutritionist, my friend, and my coach. Find yourself a partner who can patch up your joints, your sanity and give you a bit of sass at the same time.

Second, on Friday morning, I received a message from Coach Becca. It was a nine-minute video from my amazing friends, family, and the whole Workshop community wishing me luck. I teared up several times. Seeing the community show up for me like that was incredibly grounding. I felt a powerful wave, crashing into me, a wave of proudness. If I could sup myself up in that moment I was the happy sad emoji. With that said I can’t but feel like I let the people in that video down, and myself down.

Let’s talk about the ugly part: I failed specifically on the last two workouts.

Standing in the arena knowing you are about to fail is a terrifying feeling. For one workout, the weight was just too heavy. For the other, it was a sequence I hadn't even managed to beat in training.

Both workouts went exactly as I feared they would. It was gut-wrenching. I failed right in front of everyone I knew, missing the cap by just one single rep on both events. It is a weird, uncomfortable feeling to put yourself in a situation where failure is guaranteed deliberately. I don’t know if I would recommend it to a friend, but it definitely stirs something up inside.  But in those moments, all you can do is stand tall, finish the work, and carry yourself with integrity.

I’m still finding it tough to play it back in my head. The power of vulnerability is something so daunting. It’s a scary thing to do. But it’s also a skill that needs to be practised like any other. You have to put yourself in those positions in order to grow from it. Easier said than done. We are programmed to view life as win or lose. By practicing vulnerability we can slowly start to condition ourselves to viewing life as showing up, and being seen.

(One of my favourite people to watch is Brene Brown. One of my go-to talks is her ted talk, power of vulnerability , give it a listen)

Despite the heartbreak of those final reps, the most amazing part of the entire trip to Alabama was witnessing the sheer longevity of this sport.

Finn enough, at my age, I was actually one of the youngest competitors in my field. The arena was filled with athletes ranging from 35 to 75 years old.

I saw three generations of families screaming at the top of their lungs. I saw grandkids in tears hugging their grandparents after an event. I watched a 75-year-old man get interviewed after smashing 100 burpee box-overs and a 2-mile bike ride. He looked into the camera and said his goal was to keep doing CrossFit until he was 100. He casually added, "I've still got 25% of my life left, and I’m not going to be another statistic. I’m going to be active."

If that doesn't give you goosebumps, I don’t know what will!

Our mission statement at The Workshop is “To help build healthier and longer lives.” In Alabama, that wasn't just a corporate slogan; it was on full display. It was a masterclass in what CrossFit is actually about.

With a rock-solid training foundation, there is no upper limit.

• Who says you shouldn’t do handstand push-ups when you’re 60?

• Who decided that we have to stop sprinting after we hit 30?

• Who says women can't do pull-ups? (Because I watched the 45+ women's division absolutely demolish ring muscle-ups).

The core of CrossFit methodology is about building a concrete base. It’s about pushing the needle away from sickness and firmly toward wellness. It’s about keeping our bones strong so we can avoid osteoporosis.

In the conventional medical world, a 75-year-old falling down and breaking a hip is a tragedy. In the CrossFit world, we just call that a burpee.

Imagine being a grandkid and watching your grandmother scale a 15-foot rope. Imagine being a kid trying out for the local sports team after spending the summer training alongside your dad in the garage.

That is the legacy. The Semifinals were an incredible milestone for me, but the real prize is knowing that we are building bodies that last a lifetime. It cemented that the real sport is ageing, and that we are all on the same playing field for this one.

Now, excuse me while I go overthink those last few failed reps, another 1000 times for the next 10 months