My sister is a runner.

She then picked up cycling and swimming, so now she’s a triathlete. And a doctor. And a wonderful, wonderful soul. I had the privilege of witnessing her first ‘big one’; rising before the sun, she swambikeran for 14 and a bit hours, on a mildly stormy Saturday in the Eastern Pyrenees. I was heartachingly proud (and also very tired, takes it out of you being that proud). I told her before the race, that this is just the beginning, because no matter if she finished or not; I knew she would not be defeated. In a similar vein, the penny dropped for me about six months ago, when I discovered that I needn’t look at my Olympic goal as any sort of pinnacle, but simply another potential opportunity in my life to learn and witness your own perseverance and epicness. Not long after this, my brain picked up the dropped penny and chucked it back in with the other dropped pennies so that the wholesome, satisfying eureka moment was hastily absorbed back into the grey fuggy matter that comprise my messy thoughts.

If ever there is any logical message to these ramblings, I suppose this one is about keeping hold of the joy and excitement of the experiences we are lucky enough to create for ourselves and holding on to hope that we can forever carry on learning. For my sister, then, her phenomenal race in the mountains was the culmination of months and years of putting one foot in front of the other (and then latterly, turning those pedals and donning those swim goggles). She could perhaps take pleasure in knowing that by taking part in that race, she was placing a foundation stone at the start of a future potentially filled with similarly brilliant experiences.