The Race

When I was 15, in Year 11, I took part in our annual school sports day. Like everyone else, we had to sign up for a few events. I chose the 800m.

Standing on the start line, I realised I was surrounded by some of the strongest runners in the school. I was never known as the sporty one — I spent most of my time in the music department.

I turned to the teacher stewarding the race and said,

“You know, Miss, I’m going to win this.”

She laughed. “Oh right…”

She didn’t believe me.

What she didn’t know was that outside of school, I had been training kickboxing three nights a week. By that point I’d earned my purple belt. My fitness had transformed. I’d once mentioned my belts to the PE staff and been met with polite indifference, so after that I kept it to myself. Quiet training. No validation.

A few of the girls in my race were even placing bets on who would win. I wasn’t in the conversation. I was the “music nerd.” Kids can be ruthless in their categorising.

Then the gun went. I stayed neck and neck with one of the best runners in the school for most of the race. But in the final 100 metres, something switched. I sprinted. I didn’t look sideways. I didn’t check where anyone else was.

I just ran.

And I won.

At the finish line, the same teacher looked stunned.

“Oh wow… you did actually win.”

I smiled. “I told you.”

That race taught me something I’m only now fully understanding. People will categorise you. They will underestimate you. They will decide who you are based on the smallest snapshot. But the real work is done in private. You don’t win to prove other people wrong. You win because you already know what you’ve built.

I’ve lost plenty of competitions since then — on stage, in the ring, and in the invisible race of hitting milestones by a certain age. For a long time, I believed life itself was a competition: achieve a certain thing by a certain time and you’ve “won.”

At 33, I’m officially “too old” to enter many of the major piano competitions. Thirty-three. Apparently that’s past one’s prime.

But life — and music — are not competitions.

They are long-distance runs against the version of you who wants to quit.

The past few years have stripped away my need to compete with anyone else. And strangely, that’s when the real victories have started happening. Life isn’t a race against other people. It’s endurance, quiet training, and conviction before applause.

And sometimes, it’s standing on the start line already knowing.