Helen came to train with me for a few months to prepare for a HYROX event. She’s in her 50s and that’s as specific as I’m allowed to be
I’d love to say her preparation followed a perfectly periodised plan: clearly defined phases of strength, conditioning, and a beautifully structured taper into race day.
The truth is, while we did cover all of those elements, they weren’t the main focus.
Looking back, the real work wasn’t physical at all.
It was confidence.
Many adults who take on new challenges whether that’s a fitness event, a competition, or simply training with more intent don’t struggle because they lack physical capability. They struggle because they doubt themselves.
Helen was no exception.
Well-meaning friends were quick to tell her how tough HYROX is. That it might be “a bit much.” That it might be unrealistic. This advice mostly came from armchair experts who hadn’t participated in a fitness event of any kind for the last 30-plus years.
My role as a coach wasn’t to overwhelm her with intensity or complexity. It was to provide incremental challenges carefully chosen, progressively harder steps that built momentum through small wins. Each session created just enough discomfort to stretch her, but not so much that it undermined belief. Confidence grew first; competence followed.
Then the variables started to stack up.
Helen was originally entered in the women’s doubles category. When her partner became ill, she had to find another a male partner which moved her into the mixed doubles division. The weights increased significantly, now aligned to male standards rather than female. Not what she’d signed up for. Not ideal. But she adapted and kept going.
A few weeks later, with roughly a month to go, her new partner dropped out altogether.
Most people would have pulled the plug at that point.
Helen didn’t.
She stayed positive, regrouped and roped me in to partner her for the event.
Race day brought its own challenges, as these events always do. But what stood out wasn’t just that Helen finished it was how she showed up. She attacked stations I’d quietly assumed might be beyond her strength capacity.
One example: the sled push.
At 153 kg, it’s not something I personally find easy. Yet Helen got stuck in, got it moving, and even gave me a much-needed breather in the process.
That’s what confidence looks like when it’s been earned properly.
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Why this matters
A short-term goal does something powerful. It focuses attention. It gives training a purpose beyond “staying active” or “keeping fit.”
The outcome matters but the real value is in the process. When there’s a clear goal on the horizon, the steps required to move toward it become easier to commit to. Training stops feeling aimless. There’s a reason to be in the gym. A reason to do the hard things.
And almost as a by-product, things start to change.
You get stronger.
You get fitter.
Your body changes.
Your clothes fit better.
As Jim Rohn put it, the purpose of a goal isn’t just to achieve it - it’s to become the kind of person who could.