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When I signed up for my first T100 Sprint, I was filled with excitement… at least at first. But as the race approached, that excitement began to waver. Doubts crept in, and I found myself asking, “Why am I doing this? Can I even finish?”
People who know me well know that I love the beach. I love swimming. But I’ve never been a strong swimmer. I mean, I can float, but I knew I couldn’t swim 50 meters straight without struggling. And that’s why, in a triathlon, swimming would be my kryptonite.
Every time I step into the water, I’m reminded of my limits. Every training session humbles me, exposing weaknesses and fears I can’t ignore. I’m not afraid of the water itself. I’m not afraid of the deep ocean. What scares me is drowning, just like I’m not afraid of heights, but I am afraid of falling.
I couldn’t forget the Aquathlon where I hyperventilated and panicked. It’s a memory I dreaded repeating. The thought of the swim course made my heart race long before the gun went off.
Equipment was another challenge.
How could I even train for cycling when I didn’t have a bike? I didn’t even get a helmet until two months before the race. I had only trained with cleats twice. Equipment was missing, challenges were mounting, and yet… I refused to let fear dictate my story.
What carried me forward wasn’t talent, and it wasn’t sheer confidence, it was people. Friends who believed in me, lent me gear, cheered me on, and reminded me why I started this journey in the first place. Their support became my fuel; their encouragement, my anchor.
My friends Ate Lou and Stephane from WildBeasts DXB lent me their bike and cleats. Mother Jocelyn from UniTri graciously lent me her trisuit. Friends who constantly reminded me that I could survive the swim. My family, Ate Esmer (cousin) and Ate Tin (older sister), who have been there since Day 1 of my swimming lessons, believing I could do it. They supported me during training, taking over chores at home so I could find time to practice. They ran night sessions with me, woke up early to accompany me to races, and cheered me on at every step.
They were the ones who reminded me to keep going when my own doubts whispered to stop. Without them, this journey would have been far harder—and far less meaningful.
A week before the race, I found myself losing excitement. Anxiety was creeping in, and I couldn’t ignore it. I even told a friend, “I just really want to get this over with.” I was crying to a friend, tears in my eyes, as I said, “I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. I have so much going on outside of training, and I’m not sure I can keep going.” And she reminded me why I started this in the first place, what made me decide to take it on, and told me to hold onto that. To remember the people who believed in me.
This race didn’t just challenge my body, it humbled me. It reminded me that growth begins where comfort ends, that perseverance is stronger than doubt, and that sometimes, the support of others turns a personal battle into a triumph. That is exactly what happened to me.
Crossing the finish line, I realized something profound: the race wasn’t about winning. It was about reconnecting with my “why,” confronting my fears, and discovering a strength I didn’t know I had.
The T100 Sprint taught me that fear is not the enemy, it’s a signal.
A signal to rise.
A signal to push.
To fight.
And to uncover the version of myself that refuses to stay small.
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