When resistance becomes the reason

This weekend, Hayden Wilde will toe the line at T100 London. If you've been following triathlon this year, you know this is somewhat of a miracle.

Three months ago, the Kiwi was struck by a truck while training in Japan, the day after running a 10km fast enough to end any hope of seeing a competitive race from anyone else this year (27:39min if you’re wondering). Like so often, life has other plans. A car took him out the next day.  Punctured lung, six broken ribs, smashed scapula. The kind of medical report that shatters any hope of recovering any insurance premium this year. Also one that puts just about everything else on hold. One minute he's flying high from wins in Abu Dhabi and Singapore, the next he's learning that breathing without wincing is apparently a luxury, not a given.

But here's the thing about resistance- it has this strange ability to instantly drive your attention to what matters. Strip away the schedule, the momentum, the illusion that everything is going according to plan, and you're left with a simple question: how badly do you actually want this?

Disclaimer: this is yet another reflection I can only make with distance. Tragedy plus time equals comedy. While you're in it- lying in a hospital bed wondering how on earth you’ll ever get fit again, or taking three minutes to put on a t-shirt because lifting your arms feels like someone's playing Jenga with your ribcage. You’re not thinking profound thoughts about resistance being a gift. You're mostly thinking that resistance can go f*ck right off. Yet this morning it occurred to me, that there are few things that give you a more urgent sense of purpose than being injured. The resistance isn't the enemy; it's the invitation. Life's way of asking: "So, what are you actually made of?"

Looking back through memories and watching various humans navigate their personal disasters ,the easy narrative is that setbacks are pure loss- time stolen, momentum killed and dreams that seemed so achievable moving into the distance. I´ll be honest in saying this was much of the grind that eventually lead me to believe I couldn’t keep being competitive.

But here's what becomes visible only with the cruel gift of hindsight: resistance doesn't just reveal character, it creates it. Every day spent rebuilding- whether from broken ribs or broken plans or just broken faith in your ability to figure things out- isn’t just about getting back to where you were. It's about becoming someone capable of handling what you couldn't handle before. The resistance gives weight to the effort, makes the ordinary extraordinary.

The process at the time feels about as enjoyable as assembling IKEA furniture while hungover, but somehow equally necessary.

When I think about moments of genuine satisfaction, they never came from being easy- when your biggest decision was whether to celebrate with champagne or prosecco. They were the Tuesday mornings when you showed up despite every molecule in your body voting to stay in bed. The conversations had when staying silent would have been safer. The extra rep when your muscles said enough 2 reps ago.

Resistance for me seems to be the universe's entrance exam for anything worth having. This may well be what separates those who thrive from those who merely survive their setbacks. And there’s little point of quantifying the setback- at the time it feels like the worst thing to happen in your world. But over time, I’ve learned to find something almost perverse in the joy of the fight itself. I discovered that the obstacles aren't blocking the path—they are the path (ok @ Ryan Holiday), just wearing a very convincing disguise. You draw a new line in the sand and all of a sudden progress is not looking for tiniest of gains, progress when you compare to your yesterday comes in much bigger steps.

I met with Billy Monger earlier today- the double leg amputee racing car driver turned Ironman record holder. To me he really personifies that the breakdown becomes the breakthrough. The setback becomes the setup. The thing that nearly broke you becomes the thing that made you unbreakable. His story has given me plenty of perspective over the years but his attitude is one I admire.

The breakdown becomes the breakthrough. The setback becomes the setup. The resistance becomes the reason.

Maybe that's one of life's existential joys—not despite the resistance, but because of it. The knowledge that every time we push back against something pushing us down, we're participating in something ancient and essential. We're proving that we're not just passengers in our own lives.

Jan.

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