SAILING HANNAH

The laptop is shut.
The inbox is silenced.
And honestly? The world hasn’t ended… as far as I know!

There’s a film playing in the background. My work phone is face down for once. The World Sailing laptop is finally asleep instead of glowing at me from across the room like some angry corporate lighthouse demanding “just one more email.” And somewhere in the middle of all that noise finally stopping, I realised just how tired I actually am.

Not dramatic tired. Not “inspirational LinkedIn burnout” tired. Just deeply, consistently run down in the way I think a lot of people in sport quietly become.

The last few weeks have been relentless.

Committees, Virtual Reality testing, Weymouth for the World Sailing Scholarship Programme delivering Para Inclusive Sailing modules. Then straight into Stansted, flights to Bonn for the IPC Open Days, days of meetings, evenings of debriefs, classification workshops, governance papers, strategic planning, WSIC work, endless logistics and the constant movement that comes with trying to build something while simultaneously delivering it.

Then back through trains, delays, airport parking disasters and late-night drives wondering if your body is running on caffeine, adrenaline or pure stubbornness.

This is the part people don’t really see.

They see the polished presentations. The panel photos. The conference rooms. The smiling updates online. What they don’t see is the work underneath it all. The late evening hotel lobby debriefs. The emails answered from airport floors. The constant balancing act of trying to move ten critical workstreams forward at once with limited resource and no luxury of slowing down because momentum in Para Sailing is still fragile enough that if you stop pushing, things can stall very quickly.

And honestly? Sometimes it is exhausting carrying that reality while still trying to lead positively.

But despite all of that, something about the last few weeks has felt different in the best possible way.

For the first time in a long time, sitting in those IPC rooms, it genuinely felt like the work was being recognised properly. Not tolerated. Not politely acknowledged. Recognised.

And honestly, there was one moment that nearly broke me in the funniest possible way.

We were sitting with the IPC Sports team during one of the sessions when somebody casually joked, “So… have you had many emails from us recently?”

I think my soul actually left my body for a second.

My immediate thought was that I had somehow missed a catastrophic compliance email buried somewhere between airport lounges, classification drafts and the 400 other moving pieces currently orbiting my life. I was already mentally drafting apology responses in my head.

Then they laughed and clarified that actually, no news from them was a good thing. The programme was solid. The work was progressing well. There were no major concerns being raised.

And then they casually mentioned that they had counted 40 active countries involved in Para Sailing activity now… not the 39 Leo and I had submitted.

I nearly cried right there in the meeting.

Because people see numbers on a spreadsheet. But I see sailors. Coaches. Volunteers. Tiny programmes fighting to survive. Countries trying to build something from nothing. Individuals dragging boats up slipways with barely enough funding to exist.

So hearing that growth recognised externally, and realising that somehow the movement is now bigger than even the numbers we were tracking internally… that hit harder than I expected.

The Inclusive Development Programme.
WSIC.
The classification reform work.
The education pathways.
The development structures.
The growth in participation.
The refusal to quietly let this sport fade into the background.

People need to understand that none of this happened by accident.

The World Sailing Inclusion Championships did not magically appear out of thin air.

It started as a bold idea. A belief that Para sailing could genuinely look different. Inclusive classes alongside Para classes. All disabilities coming together as a community. Shared spaces. Shared stories. Fewer barriers. More opportunities. An event designed from the beginning around inclusion rather than trying to awkwardly bolt it on afterwards.

There were easier options. Smaller options. Safer options.

Instead, a very very small group of us kept pushing.

And now those same projects are being discussed internationally as examples of innovation, collaboration and strategic direction inside the Paralympic Movement.

That matters.

Because for a long time Para Sailing has existed in survival mode. Fighting for relevance. Fighting for visibility. Fighting for consistency. Fighting for space inside systems that often struggled to fully understand it.

Now, slowly, it feels like we are starting to build something instead.

Not perfectly. Not quickly. Not without setbacks. But genuinely building.

Over the last month alone we have held the Classification Rules Workshop at World Sailing HQ, submitted the first draft of the updated Classification Rules framework to the IPC, continued building towards WSIC 2026 in Portimão, expanded development planning for Antigua and ongoing IDP activity scheduled over the next 2 years, delivered the Scholarship Programme modules and hosted the Para VR testing day with MarineVerse exploring how technology and accessibility can work together to open new doors for sailors.

And honestly, the VR day might have been one of my favourite moments; watching sailors test systems, challenge assumptions, laugh, problem solve and help shape accessibility in real time reminded me exactly why this work matters. Innovation does not have to sit separately from inclusion. The future of the sport should include both.

One thing I will never apologise for is staying hands-on through all of this.

I did not help build the Inclusive Development Programme so it could become another disconnected strategy document or programme with no soul and no understanding of the people it is meant to serve.

The programme works because it was built in the mud.

Standing on docks.
Launching boats.
Teaching sessions.
Listening to sailors.
Problem solving in real time.
Actually being present.

I will never believe inclusive sport can be led from a distance.

You cannot understand accessibility through spreadsheets alone.
You cannot build trust from boardrooms alone.
And you cannot create meaningful pathways if you are unwilling to stand beside the people trying to fight their way into the sport.

That is why I still coach.
Why I still try to get to events.
Why I still get directly involved.

Because the best leaders in sport should still be willing to get in the mud with their people.

And despite how tired I am tonight, despite the Sunday scaries lurking somewhere around tomorrow morning, despite the unread emails and the constant pressure, I also feel proud.

Proud that the work is landing.
Proud that the sport is moving forward.
Proud that the ideas are growing.
And proud that when things got difficult, we kept showing up anyway.

But support now has to become more than words.

Enter the events.
Bring sailors.
Train coaches.
Host programmes.
Share expertise.
Build pathways.
Turn up consistently when things get difficult, not just when there is a medal or a photo opportunity attached.

Because this next phase matters.

We are no longer trying to prove this sport deserves to survive.

We are trying to prove just how far it can go.

And despite the exhaustion, despite the pressure and despite how relentless this all feels at times, I still believe completely in what we are building.

The laptop is shut tonight. The movie is playing. For a few hours at least, the world can spin without me answering it immediately.

That’s probably healthy.

But tomorrow?
Foot back on the throttle.

Happy Sailing,
Hannah