Until that moment, the longest distance she had ever run was a Tough Mudder race. She had made the decision six months earlier, full of fire and good intentions. Yet life, as it often does, had other plans. Between her surf life-saving surf boat competition commitments and managing recovery, she was not able to train as much as she hoped.
It was not ideal preparation, but she was committed.
I would be lying if I said I was not worried.
As her mother and as her support crew, I was given a single opportunity during the race to ask if she wanted to stop. One question. One out. I carried that responsibility heavily.
The first half of the race passed smoothly. Taya was feeling strong and steady. Then, not long after the halfway point, reality hit.
At the 32km mark, she looked shattered. She’d pulled a muscle in her groin, making even just lifting her leg agony. Her body was screaming. Every step looked like a negotiation between determination and pain. This felt like the moment to use my one question. She looked at me with tired eyes and said, “I am going to finish this race.”
So she kept going.
A climb up the mountain and down the other side was all that remained. When I saw her again, she was about 300 metres from the finish line. I had been watching every competitor come through, cheering for strangers, feeling incredibly connected to humanity. There is something powerful about bearing witness to people finishing a challenge they are not entirely sure they can complete.
Then I saw her. She was crying. Later, I learned she had been crying for the last four kilometres because her earbuds had filled with messages from her brothers, her father, and her friends, all supporting her in that moment.
Her toenails were lifting in her shoes.
Her legs were burning.
Her entire body felt like fire.
Yet she kept moving forward. One step. Then another.
Crossing that finish line was not only a triumph for the day. It was proof. Proof that she could do impossibly hard things. Proof that even when everything hurt, she had more strength within her than she realised. Proof that support matters, but self-belief matters even more.
Why am I telling you this story?
Because 2025 was an ultra-marathon for anyone in business or leadership.
Plans fell apart. Economic uncertainty created hesitation everywhere. Decision-making slowed down. Chaos came in unexpected waves.
Many people reached their version of the 32km mark, where it felt easier to stop than to keep going.
When Taya stepped up to the starting line, she had no guarantee she would finish. Business is the same. Leadership is the same. There is no promise that the work will pay off in the timeframe you want. Sometimes things will go wrong. Sometimes you will feel like you have nothing left.
But progress comes from the smallest possible movement forward. It comes from staying the course even when the shiny distractions call for your attention. It comes from honouring your vision enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
You might be at your own 32km mark right now. You might feel exhausted, uncertain, or tempted to take an early exit. But you are more capable than you think you are. Your resilience is deeper than you realise.
Success belongs to those who do not stop.
Stay the course. One step today. Another tomorrow. That is how finish lines are crossed. That is how movements are built. That is how we all rise.
Janine x