SAILING HANNAH

On Sunday night, not particularly elegantly, I asked the sailing community for help.

There was frustration in it. Quite a lot of frustration, actually. There was considerably more swearing than there is in this version, and an image which, with the benefit of Monday morning, I wouldn’t use again.

But underneath all of that was something I meant: we cannot build the future of Para Inclusive Sailing by assuming somebody else will do the work.

And then something rather brilliant happened.

People started helping.

My messages filled with people asking what they could do. People commented publicly offering to step in. Sailors started contacting other sailors. Fundraising conversations started. People began asking what the actual barriers were and whether they could help solve them.

And I thought: yes. That’s it. That’s what I was trying to say.

Because the frustration on Sunday night didn’t come from believing that the World Sailing Inclusion Championships are failing. Quite the opposite. It came from knowing just how extraordinary what we are building in Portimão actually is – and desperately wanting to protect it.

We got 43 countries to the table.

Forty-three countries.

For a sport that isn’t currently in the Paralympic Games, that isn’t just a nice number for a press release. That’s evidence.

It’s evidence that this sport is global, that sailors want it, that nations are participating, that development is working and that there is an international community that believes in this sport and its future.

In a few weeks, around 40 nations will come together in Portugal for the World Sailing Inclusion Championships, across an extraordinary range of Para Inclusive disciplines.

That’s something we should be incredibly proud of.

But those entries didn’t simply appear when we published the Notice of Race. Behind those flags are sailors, and behind those sailors are months, sometimes years of work.

Development programmes. Coaches. Classification. Boats. Charters. Flights. Accommodation. Visas. Funding. Federations. Volunteers. Families. Clubs. National programmes.

And a lot of people quietly refusing to accept that a barrier necessarily means somebody can’t participate.

That’s certainly been my approach. No boat? Let’s see if we can find one. Can’t afford it? Let’s see what support exists. Need coaching? Come to the IDP. Need classification? We’ll organise it. Federation not supporting you? Give me the contact. Visa problem? I’ll write the letter.

Again and again, the question has been: what is stopping you, and can we solve it?

That’s how 43 countries got to the table.

Over the last few days, some of that work has become particularly urgent. Entries change. Injuries happen. Circumstances change. Funding falls through. Travel becomes difficult. Things happen that neither sailors nor organisers can control.

Some sailors who desperately want to be in Portimao are still trying to overcome the final barriers that will get them there. And on Sunday night, after another weekend of trying to solve those problems I was frustrated.

Because I care. Probably too much sometimes.

I’ve thrown absolutely everything I’ve got at this Championship.. I’ve chased boats at ridiculous hours, searched for funding, begged favours, connected sailors with coaches, pushed federations, written letters, built development programmes and spent more hours than I care to calculate trying to turn “we can’t” into “we’re coming”.

And I will keep doing it.

But here’s the thing I was trying- somewhat loudly- to say on Sunday: World Sailing cannot do this alone.

Nor should it.

A genuinely global, sustainable power inclusive sailing community isn’t built by 1 organisation, one federation, one class, one club or one slightly frazzled sports manager answering emails on a Sunday night.

It is built by all of us.

If you’re an MNA, back your sailors. If you’re an NPC, help them get there. If you’re a class and you’ve got equipment, offer it. If you’re a club with a boat sitting ashore, ask whether somebody could use it. If you’re a coach, share what you know.

And if you’re a sponsor who talks about inclusion, there are real athletes and real opportunities where your support could make a tangible difference.

You don’t have to solve everything.

Maybe you can contribute towards a flight. Maybe you know somebody who can. Maybe you can help someone fundraise. Maybe you have a relationship with the federation that somebody else doesn’t. Maybe you can make one phone call that opens the door someone has been knocking on for months.

Maybe you can simply ask: “what do you need?”

Because that’s what started happening after Sunday night’s post.

One group started talking about sailors leading their own fundraising efforts to make the trip possible. Elsewhere, somewhere from within the sailing community offered practical financial support towards another sailor’s significant funding gap.

Sailors started challenging other sailors- kindly, but directly- about what was actually preventing them from coming and whether they’d explored the support already available.

People who couldn’t solve an entire problem offered to solve one small piece of it.

And suddenly more people were pulling the ropes.

That is what inclusion looks like to me.

Not simply saying everybody is welcome, but doing the practical work that helps make it possible for them to be there.

And that’s also why, despite the occasional Sunday night meltdown, I remain so fiercely optimistic about this sport.

The story isn’t that there are barriers. Of course there are barriers. Para athletes in developing sailing nations could probably write a book about barriers.

The story is what happens when a community decides to tackle them together.

We’ve seen it through our development programmes. We’ve seen it through sailors sharing equipment and knowledge. We’ve seen it through nations helping one another.

And I’ve seen it again over the last 24 hours. There is still a lot to do before the first race starts in Portimao. World sailing will keep working on funding, boats, visas, classification, coaching and logistics. I’ll keep sending the emails, making the calls and fighting for every sailor in every country we can get onto that start line.

But I’m not pulling alone. And that matters.

Because a strong future for Para Inclusive Sailing doesn’t happen just because we say we want one. We build it. We demonstrate it. We invest in it. And occasionally, we give each other a fairly loud reminder that everybody needs to get their hands on the ropes.

Portimao is an opportunity to show exactly what this community can do: more than 40 nations hundreds of sailors, multiple disciplines, athletes from around the world coming together to compete.

And a community, when asked for help, actually helps.

That’s a story worth telling.

So to everyone who read what I wrote on Sunday night and responded with some version of “what can I do?”- thank you.

You understood what I was trying to say, even if I didn’t say all of it particularly elegantly.

And if you’re reading this wondering whether there’s anything you can do, there is. There are still sailors trying to make it to Portugal. There are still conversations that can make a difference. There are still problems we can solve together.

So I’m going to keep pulling.

And if you’ve got a hand free, grab a sheet and help me sail the bloody boat.