Held by Motion

Often, during the Q&A after my TransAus talk on resilience, I’m asked if I had a mantra, something I’d say to get me through… I do.

Sixteen hours a day is a long time to spend on a bike saddle, and not every moment was glorious. There were times when even the smallest rise loomed like a mountain. My legs were so fatigued I didn’t think I could push another pedal stroke. My whole body was weary. I longed to park up the bike, lie down in the shade of a bush, and just rest.

These were the quiet moments. Alone for hours. Where I’d repeat with each pedal revolution:
Yes. I. Can.
Yes, I can.
Simple. Steady. Moving me forward.

Sixteen hours a day might sound intense. But I had an advantage: it was only 21 days across both attempts. Just three weeks. And I had support. Nic and others. Rallying around me. Nurturing my needs so all I had to do was focus on moving forward. It was a collective effort, anchored in the same resilience principles I speak and coach on in Planning & Preparation: Team, and Structure.

People often ask if I draw on those same principles now, in my everyday life.
Yes. I do.
They help me show up, especially as I try to be two parents in one body, raising my girls.
But sometimes the contrast is sharp.

Yesterday, I sat alone in a full school gymnasium for a concert. Parents. Couples. Families. The hum of togetherness. I offered for others to sit next to me, but they were with their people.
There was an empty seat beside me.

And this time, there was no one bringing me coffee. No one rallying around me to help me move forward.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

A friend. Behind me.
Sitting between her beaming parents.
“It’s their 60th wedding anniversary today,” she said.
“They’re so lucky,” I said.
“Yes,” they smiled, “we are.”

And it was in that moment. Biting back tears. Trying to hold it together. That my old record spun back in my head:
Yes, I can. Yes, I can.
I smiled. I turned back toward the stage. My daughter was up there.

And I moved forward.

That’s what resilience is.
A habit.
A practice. Not something you’re born with, something you build. Something you can learn.