“You won’t be able to return to sport in the capacity you are used to. Do you understand? You won’t be able to handle competitive sport with the level of fusion and degradation present.”

I was 17 when I heard those words. A somewhat capable athlete sitting in a doctors office after nearly a year of trying to secure a diagnosis. I remember sitting there thinking, to myself, “F**k that. The only person who is going to tell me what I can and can’t do is me.” There began the last 9 years.

I am currently 26 and the last 9 years has been a journey which has had some spectacular highs, and some spectacular lows. The last few years have been predominantly triathlon focused with last season being my first full season, and me securing my pro license. That’s right, 26 year old me secured my professional license 9 years after being told I wouldn’t be able to do anything REMOTELY close to that. Yet, I am sitting here in tears seriously debating how much longer my body can handle this & how much longer I am willing to self inflict the level of pain I put myself through. I have spent thousands of hours over the last 2 years, and even more over the proceeding 9 years, isolated on my own, training, grinding away at chasing some objective that I was told I couldn’t have and I am really wondering…for what?

These are the first doubts I’ve ever had.

I think it is easy to forget that I am ill. I am not injured, I am not tired, I am ill. I am constantly ill; this is what a chronic health condition is. I have better days and bad days, but every day is still a day where I am not healthy. My body rebels against nearly everything I try to get it to do. I have not had more than 3 ‘healthy’ weeks in the last year and a bit. Sciatica, IBD, lumbar joint issues all constantly being managed. Training 20+ hours a week as a healthy person is a lot, as an ill person it is even more. I am exhausted. I am sore. I am tired. I am so, so, tired of constantly fighting with my body trying to get it to cooperate with what my mind and heart want me to achieve. Unfortunately, the reality is I will never be able to achieve the consistency that being a professional athlete requires. Not because I don’t want to, but I just can’t – the fleeting nature of arthritic flares scuppers that.

I really don’t know where to go from here. It will never be enough for me to just ‘do’ triathlon. It doesn’t sit well with me, but I am not sure I am destined to be a competitive athlete. Some people are and I am truly jealous. I am not meant for that world; much like an imposter I have managed to beg, lie and steal from the powers that be to get me here. Yet, everything has a price and a debt has to be paid at some point. Is that point now? Before I have even achieved anything? Oh, how cruel that would be.

I am not sure regret is the right word to describe how I am feeling, because my biggest regret would have been being left with ‘what if?’. I am not left with that question. 17 year old me, I hope, would be so, so, proud to see where I managed to get to, and I hope this potential end of the road was higher and better than he could have ever imagined. I don’t know if stopping now will be the beginning of ‘what if?’. Do I keep going until I spend more time in hospitals than swimming pools? Or more time trying to get ready for a run than actually running? Where do I draw the line that enough is enough?

I just wish I had a fair chance at finding out.