SAILING HANNAH

After writing about Jazz and celebrating what belief and support can unlock, I found myself thinking about something else too; what it means to stand in someone’s corner, and who stands in yours.

Supporting athletes, backing colleagues, championing ideas – that part comes naturally to me. I believe in showing up for people. I believe in using whatever platform or influence I have to create space for others to thrive. But it also makes you reflect, quietly and honestly, on what support looks like when you’re the one carrying the weight.

It made me think about what it actually takes to create those moments in the first place.

The applause is visible. The breakthrough results are visible. The podium photos, the smiles, the confidence; all visible. What isn’t visible is the work underneath. The early mornings. The planning calls no one sees. The governance drafts rewritten at midnight. The travel. The problem-solving. The quiet responsibility of holding something steady while others only see the outcome.

Last week reminded me just how much of that invisible work sits beneath everything we celebrate.

Over the past few years, I’ve built, rebuilt and carried programmes, events and strategies that didn’t exist in their current form before. Not by accident. Not by inheriting a finished model. But by designing structures, forming partnerships, coaching on the ground, navigating governance, and staying close enough to the detail to know what actually works.

I’ve stood on docks at 0700 and in boardrooms at 2000 UTC on the same day. I’ve coached sailors directly and then written policy that shapes the environment they compete in. I’ve delivered camps, chaired meetings, negotiated agreements, handled criticism and kept showing up the next morning regardless.

I’m proud of that work ethic. I’m proud of the fact that when something matters, I don’t just talk about it – I build it.

By the end of last week, I was tired.

Tired in a way that comes from carrying responsibility consistently. Tired of having to re‑explain foundations that were laid carefully and deliberately. Tired of proving that structure, preparation and inclusion are not “nice to have” but essential.

But tired doesn’t mean uncertain.

If anything, it has clarified where my boundaries need to be. I welcome thoughtful challenge. I welcome people who want to strengthen what we’re building. What I won’t absorb anymore is noise for the sake of noise, or criticism without contribution. Energy is finite. This year, I intend to protect it so I can keep doing the work that matters most.

The programmes, the governance frameworks, the events; they are built to withstand scrutiny. They are grounded in evidence, lived experience and impact. They are not fragile. And neither am I.

There have also been quiet moments recently that reminded me why the long game is worth it. Conversations that signal alignment. Subtle shifts in tone. Doors that once felt firmly closed now opening just enough to show what’s possible.

Those signals matter more than public commentary ever will.

They tell me that the direction of travel is right. That the foundations are strong. That the work, even when unseen or underappreciated, is landing where it counts.

I am trying my best. I am human. I care deeply about this sport and the people in it. And I’m committed to building something that lasts, not something that looks good for a moment and collapses under pressure.

So the focus now is simple: steadiness over noise. Structure over spectacle. Impact over opinion.

If we want real inclusion, real credibility and real change, it has to be built properly – and it has to be protected.

Happy sailing,
Hannah