I Didn't Survive It

Posted September 10, 2026 — my birthday

An old friend, a para-athlete, asked me this morning: "How did you survive that? It's unthinkable, it's unconscionable what they did."

She meant 2023. Tricanada. World Triathlon.

I told her I didn't. That I'm someone else now.

But that's not the whole story. Because the real question isn't "how did you survive," it's "why the fuck are you going back."

There was a guy. The person who got up every morning and looked forward to the training. Who did the workouts and looked for more. Who just wanted to race with his friends, in the sun.

He got hit by a car in 2017, two weeks before his first qualifying race. Broken scapula. Shattered shoulder. Came back anyway. Qualified in 2019 because he wanted to do one meaningful thing with his life.

Raced worlds in 2021. Got 10th. Then 2022, 5th. Loved every minute of it.

He stood up for athletes with physical disabilities while masking his own because he understood adversity, he had a lifetime of being told what he couldn't do. Couldn't bear to see the tears on a competitor's face when they realized they were going to make him run against the clock, in a race that was supposed to be swim-bike after years of training around his own disability.

In 2022, Triathlon Canada and World Triathlon realized they were on the wrong side of history. Couldn't admit it. So quietly reverted the rule, and they found someone to blame.

Someone who stuttered. In front of an official. When faced with an unfair decision, a canceled swim familiarization in order to run a kids race... at fucking worlds.

Stuttered. And was given a choice: apologize for your disability making that official uncomfortable, or face sanctions. A ban.

The letter was written. Delivered.

The heart stopped moments after.

flatline.

So why am I going to Pontevedra? As his pallbearer. One last time. To finish what he could not.

But let's be clear, I am no longer him, he died. Because an organization that has no concept of what "wellbeing of the athlete" actually fucking means, never has in its entire history, littered with the remains of bright stars, used up, run till they drop, discarded.

I can name names, but I don't need to, anyone with a heart, a fucking brain can see those who were the stars, the hopefuls, who suddenly just stopped. Or the ones who tried to speak out, and were threatened, intimidated, until they stopped too.

I'll bear witness to what happened afterwards. I'll post the apology he had to write. I'll post every email. Let the triathlon community decide and I'm not going to be silenced. You can't intimidate a man who has already been through the doors of death of self.

But until September 26, this is about him, the me that once was, the me they destroyed through pettiness and retaliation.

I promised him the decade in sport would be finished. Ten years of working towards worlds — through the accident, through the recovery, through the murder. I don't break promises to people who got me here.

I didn't survive what they did to him. I am someone else now.

But I'll carry him across that finish line. I'll carry him, and the pictures of those who cared about him, who loved him. Who were his friends.

Happy birthday to the guy I owe everything to.

I'm taking your body to Spain, to complete what you started — Let's finish this.