We Don’t Have Time to Stand Still

The last week has been relentless.

London, every day. Early starts, late finishes, and a room full of some of the most experienced classifiers in the world. Experts in their field, people who understand the detail, the complexity, and the responsibility that comes with getting this right. And we are trying, properly trying to build something credible, something that stands up, something that can underpin the future of Para sailing.

But this is where the tension sits.

Because while we are pushing forward – hard, there is a constant pull in the opposite direction. A desire to slow things down, to revisit, to rework, to wait. And normally, that caution has its place. Classification matters. It has to be right. But the reality we cannot ignore is that the IPC waits for no one. At some point, caution stops being quality control and starts becoming risk. Because if we don’t move, if we don’t deliver, if we don’t show progress at the pace required, then classification won’t be the strength of this sport it is – it will be the reason we fail.

So yes, we are pushing timelines. Because we have to. Because standing still is not neutral in this process; it’s a step backwards. That means holding the line, taking the pushback, and sitting in the discomfort of competing priorities. It means balancing expertise with urgency, knowing neither can fully win, but both have to be respected.

And while that is happening, everything else keeps moving.

Alongside classification, we are also pulling together the next Inclusive Development Programme in Antigua. Another piece of the puzzle that doesn’t happen on its own. Athletes, coaches, logistics, funding, coordination; building opportunities in parts of the world that need it most, creating pathways where there were none. And what’s becoming increasingly clear is that this work is landing. We are seeing athletes who came through previous editions now actively pushing to attend again and again, to step up, to progress. That doesn’t happen by accident. That’s what a pathway looks like when it works.

And more broadly, the growth is there to see. Participation is up. Engagement is up. New nations are stepping forward. Events are evolving, pathways are forming, and there is visible traction in a space that, not long ago, was struggling to find direction.

Since 2022, we’ve gone from 57 events to 175. From 29 nations engaged to 39 and growing. Through the Inclusive Development Programme alone, we’ve reached 45 nations, many of whom had little to no structured access before. And alongside that, we’ve built a new platform championship to bring it all together, to give it visibility, credibility, and a clear pathway forward.

That hasn’t happened by chance. It’s come from sustained effort, from showing up consistently, from pushing forward even when it would have been easier to let it stall. This programme is moving and it’s being driven, not drifting.

The commentary. The opinions. The constant background noise from people who aren’t in the room but somehow always have something to say about what’s happening inside it. It’s easy to sit off the racecourse, calling laylines and critiquing decisions when you’re not the one on the helm, not the one feeling the pressure, not the one responsible for whether it all holds together. It’s easy to watch the battle. It’s a lot harder to be in it.

Because the reality is this doesn’t move unless someone carries it. And right now, that load is heavy.

At the same time, life doesn’t slow down to make space for any of it. This week marked the Bertie’s birthday, another heavenly one for him, another one for me without him. There’s no big moment anymore, no clear pause, just that quiet, constant weight that sits there while you’re trying to function, lead, and keep everything moving as if nothing has shifted.

Outside of work, I’m writing a book; something personal, something honest, something I started for myself but am now choosing to share. I’m also realising that not everyone around me shows up with the same heart that I do, which is a harder lesson than I expected. And as I’m making decisions about having to sell my house, trying to reshape what stability looks like while everything else feels anything but stable, it hits me.

It’s a lot to carry alongside everything else. And still, every single day, I show up and give this everything I have.

So when the question comes – why isn’t sailing back in the Paralympics yet, why isn’t it moving faster, let’s be clear. It is not for lack of effort. It is not for lack of care. And it is absolutely not because the people doing the work are holding anything back. I am ALL IN on this. The visible work, the invisible work, the conversations no one sees, the pressure that never quite switches off.

You don’t get to question the outcome without understanding what it takes to even get us this far.

Because right now, too many people are comfortable sitting off the course, watching the fleet, calling the laylines, analysing every move without ever stepping onboard to help drive the boat forward. And this doesn’t move on observation. It moves on contribution. It moves when people step in, take responsibility, and actually help carry the load.

The opportunity is there. For sailors who haven’t had access. For nations who are ready to show up. For a sport that deserves to be back on the Paralympic stage. But opportunity without action is just more noise, and we don’t need more noise.

We need entries. We need commitment. We need people willing to back this with more than words.

The World Sailing Inclusion Championships are not just another event. They are part of the pathway, part of the proof, part of what shows the world and the IPC that this sport is ready, that it’s growing, that it matters. So if you’ve been watching from the outside, wondering where this is all going, now is the moment to step in. Enter. Support your sailors. Push your MNA. Be part of building this, not just commenting on it.

Because I’ll be honest right now, I’m struggling. Not loudly, not visibly, but it’s there. The kind of tired that doesn’t go away. The kind that comes from carrying something for a long time, from caring deeply in spaces that don’t always give that energy back, from pushing forward when it would be easier to step away.