The Year Life Tried to Break Me - And Why I’m Choosing to Coach Anyway

If you’re new here—welcome. I’m Kane: triathlon coach, competitive age‑group athlete, proud Aussie, and someone who has spent far too many hours in lycra to ever pretend I’m normal again.

I live on the Gold Coast, which means I’m spoiled with sunshine, beaches, trails, and training conditions so good they should probably be illegal. I’ve been coaching for a few years now, and honestly, nothing lights me up more than watching people realise they’re capable of far more than they ever believed. That moment when an athlete surprises themselves? That’s the good stuff. That’s why I coach.

But this past year… well, it’s been a ride. And not the smooth, aero, tailwind kind.

THE YEAR THAT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE (TWICE)

Last year I was deep in the grind—finalising my qualification for the World Triathlon Age Group Championships. It was on home soil, and I was fired up. Then life stepped in with a plot twist I never saw coming.

My dad passed away with only a few races left in the qualification window. I was a mess. But I dragged myself to those start lines because he was always in my corner, always cheering, always proud. I figured the least I could do was stumble across a few finish lines for him.

Fast‑forward six months. I took time off work to sharpen the final edge before Worlds. I was ready. Motivated. Hungry. Determined to make Dad proud.

Two days into a six‑week training block… my wife’s dad passed away.

Well. Shit.

For anyone that doesn't know what allostatic load is, let me introduce the topic. It’s essentially the cumulative impact of everything outside triathlon that still affects your performance inside the sport. Grief, stress, work, family, finances, sleep, life chaos — all the stuff that quietly piles up until your body and mind start waving a little white flag. And let me tell you, my allostatic load last year was through the roof.

WORLDS, SHOULDERS, AND A WHOLE LOT OF REFLECTION

Worlds was incredible. The camaraderie, the friendships, the shared suffering, the Aussie pride watching Matt Hauser take the World Championship title—it was magic.

But when the cheering stopped, I felt flat. I hadn’t hit the goals I’d set. I’d wanted to do something special for Dad, and I didn’t. At least, not in the way I imagined.

So, I stepped back. Looked at the shoulder I’d been dislocating like it was a party trick in 2025. Decided it was time to stop pretending it was fine. Had surgery in December. Six weeks in a sling. No training. Just coaching. And a Christmas without either of our dads.

It was a lot.

But in the quiet moments—between physio appointments, coaching sessions, and trying not to cry every time I rolled over in bed—I realised something important:

I genuinely love coaching. It’s who I am. It’s what I want to do more of. And when I’m back racing properly, I want to inspire through action as much as words.

THE PEOPLE WHO GOT ME THROUGH

My best mate—more like a brother—lived with us for the year. We came into his life after a serious bike accident, and he became part of the family. He’s Dutch, a triathlete, and together we rode the highs and lows of 2025.

Then in January, visa issues forced him to leave suddenly. His room is still full of his stuff. It’s weird. And it hurts.

People always say “life is precious” and “live every day like it’s your last,” but honestly? I thought I had more time with Dad. I thought my mate would still be here. I thought things would look different.

But when everything felt heavy, I turned back to my triathlon club. To the community. To the everyday legends juggling work, kids, finances, stress, and still somehow managing to train for three sports. If you’re doing triathlon and life even moderately well, you’re already a bloody hero.

These are my people. My community. My family.

And I want to give back.

WHY I’M HERE — AND WHAT’S COMING NEXT

I want to coach more. I want to help more people break through the elitist barrier that scares newcomers away. I want to show that you don’t need a $15k bike, a 4% body fat ratio, or a VO2 max that makes your doctor faint.

You just need curiosity, courage, and a willingness to try.

I want to share training tips, beginner advice, gear reviews, and the lighter side of this ridiculous sport. Because from the inside, triathlon is equal parts inspiring and absolutely unhinged.

And yes—I’m currently 6kg heavier, unfit, and my first Parkrun back nearly killed me. But I’m chasing big goals again. I want to break 2 hours for a standard distance triathlon at 44 years old. And I’m going to document the whole journey.

For the mid‑life‑crisis, leg‑shaving, lycra‑clad, prematurely greying age‑groupers out there—you’re my people too.

LET’S DO THIS

This year, I’m choosing joy. Community. Purpose. And a whole lot more laughter in a sport that can take itself way too seriously.

I’m excited to share the journey—raw, real, messy, and meaningful.

Let’s get into it.