The UK has been infamous over the last few years for various things: Brexit, our elections, our god-awful attitude towards other countries and most recently, how we've handled the pandemic. I feel incredibly lucky - living in Scotland has been inspiring. Small town communities have pulled together to make sure as many people as possible are taken care of. But there's been massive upheaval, and while the next few weeks of quarantine are for certain, the future of everyone is most definitely not. 

 Without the communication resources we have, it would be almost impossible to take care of vulnerable people and stay aware of what's going on in the rest of the world. People are capitalising on the situation; people are in serious trouble because of the situation. Incredibly, it doesn't sound very far removed from our "normal" existence. "Class division" is almost an outdated term, but it looks increasingly likely that it will be a very real, very accurate way to describe society after we've moved through the desolation of the pandemic.

It's been a real experience being an athlete through this phase. There's sort of a removed numbness and a weird, disquieting relief. We travelled down to Nottingham the day before quarantine was announced for the first race of the British selection series; and turned around again in twelve hours because the country was in lockdown. Selection can be an extremely heavy experience for athletes, because we spend an entire winter preparing for this race that will decide whether or not we can participate in the world cup series and the world championships. The weird relief comes from building up to this high pressure event, then all of a sudden, it's completely removed. You did all the work, and had the satisfaction of knowing that you were at your peak physical form. It's disquieting because after a few days, you realise the start line is something that is actually extremely important to you, in reality as well as words. 

Athletes are not essential to society. We do not perform a front line role in keeping people well, or supplying people with food, or looking after kids. But in this phase of global crisis (which just keeps delivering, not just the pandemic) people are turning to sources of comfort, and inspiration, and motivation. I feel as though this is where, if athletes truly want to fill a role that directly benefits people, we can adapt to the situation and try to help. I know several athletes with nursing degrees who have jumped straight back on the front line into roles that put them in danger every day. I know a lot of athletes are feeling able to contribute with creative content, motivational posts and live question and answer sessions. I think that's epic, and if people have time to sit down and learn about their own brains and bodies, then athletes are stepping up to this role of sharing their experiences. 

But it's tough, because while some people are inspired and motivated to share with the world, others really aren't. Because sport is at such a high level now, being fluent on social media is very low on the list of things that will help you achieve world class status. You don't need to be a professional photographer or comfortable sharing your life with people to be world champion. You need to be exceptionally good at being alone, at getting logistics done, being comfortable in physical conditions that other people wouldn't tolerate. Yes, to be funded by British Sport you have to have a certain amount of contact time with communities and development initiatives. But you're carefully guided through those, and always with the option to back out if it's unbearable. 

So we don't fill a critical role for society. It's hard to be inspired and motivated every day, especially when you might now be forced into a very basic routine at a time of year when you'd be travelling a huge amount and preparing for race after race. But people are being forced to sit down and adopt routines that might be inherently uncomfortable for them. We're taught from very early to make sure our routines are air-tight, perfect. For so, so many people this kind of perfect routine is impossible. People are having to adapt to situations in which many parts are going to be uncomfortable and stay that way, maybe even after the pandemic has begun to recede. My heart goes out to people and places that are dealing with catastrophic effects, with absolutely no control over the situation. 

I do think as athletes, we can help. We aren't vital, but people are sitting down and listening. They might not care about your workouts, they might not rate sports at all. But reaching out and showing people that you're having a melancholic day, and that you've found joy in something very small, might make the kind of difference that makes a second of someones time a little easier. I think at some level, everyone's humanity is being exposed. Which is cool, because at a very deep level, we're all interconnected. So I think if any athletes make it this far down the blog (well done), I'd say we're doing an alright job. We can always do better; but sharing something of your knowledge of routines, acceptance of setbacks, and understanding of individuals, could really help someone who is stuck. We're in a hard enough sport that we know what it's like, on various levels, to be out of control of a situation. Try and share something that's helped you with that. (Also seriously well done on getting to the end!)

In sport we talk a lot about performance, and delivery, and talent. We talk about "process," and often what marks an athlete as stand-out exceptional is willingness to do what others won't. 

I whole heartedly agree that being bloody minded is a massive part of performance. For every single athlete, a moment where they choose to do, or try something, that is difficult, is a daily occurrence. I think it can be transferred to daily life, for sure. Where day to day routine can be transformed into something exceptional, by that simple decision to do something that is difficult.

It's far too easy to think of yourself as unique, to imagine that your journey is the only one like it. There's such a massive culture of "normal," in our world. It's so easy, in an instant of speaking to someone, to decide if they fit into that box. I don't think that personality is an indicator of whether someone is "normal" or not. The decision, on a daily basis, to do something that might seem like "the long way round", or "uncomfortable", or simply hard, is what develops winning habits. In my opinion. 

This is my seventh year of writing this blog, and it's astounding (horrifying) and really nostalgic to read back and see what has changed. I'm writing about what makes an exceptional athlete, because it's far too easy to lose sight of it. In a world that is essentially business - you have to perform to a certain degree, to gain reward and sustainability - words like "talent" and "young" get thrown around without proper thought. Athlete is a cool word, because it has always signified someone exceptional at what they do. Remembering that, I've met thousands of athletes. People who will pursue something difficult, tirelessly. More importantly, people who pursue something difficult, despite being tired. Finding that energy, to keep doing something even though it's hard. I love that about sport, and I love that about people. 

So starting 2020, I thought I'd share how I want to keep going. I got told by a coach years ago, to not change. Don't change how I am, don't try and get rid of the "bad" parts of my personality. Somehow, irrevocably, that gave me the freedom to let go of some of those parts anyway. When you stop thinking about what you're not, it becomes a lot easier to focus on getting where you want to be. Which is interesting, because I think part of the human condition is never quite being where we want. But learning to be content with where we are, whilst continuing to do those things that are normally "difficult". That's what I want to do. I want to step up, and be bloody minded. To be able to listen, and be empathetic, while feeling strong and certain of my own journey. 

I love training with other athletes, because you get to see again and again, people pushing what they're happy to do. There's a special "move" on the Olympic course in London, on a water feature called "Piccadilly". I was training on it a week ago with a friend. My rock-solid impulse on this move (for paddlers; down on the left to high up right) is to use the outside edge of the water feature (we call it a "curl"), on my inside blade (the side of the paddle that is upstream of my body). I know for sure that I can do it that way every single time. My friend's impulse, is always to jump underneath the gate, inside the water feature, for a shorter line into the upstream gate. They're both effective methods; mine is a fraction slower, and takes almost no energy. My friend's way is a little faster, but needs more power to jump. 

We both tried each other's signature moves. It was intensely uncomfortable for both of us; I apparently lose all sense of balance and feel for the water as soon as I try to jump inside the feature, and Isak struggled to trust the water to hold his weight on the back. I have to say Isak was more successful in exploring the alternative method than I was, but it was an intense experience for me, because I was choosing over and over again, to do something that was difficult for me. 

So I'm happy to say I started this year how I mean to go on; bloody minded, happy to keep failing while I learn to do stuff better. I'm intensely competitive, so failure isn't an easy thing for me anyway. But I hope I keep stepping up, over and over again. 

This year's been crazy. I lost my support from Scottish Institute of Sport. I made the world cup team (as a released reserve) for THREE world cups. I didn't semifinal in any of them. I won my first international senior medal at the ICF ranking race in Bratislava, one of the courses that I find hardest to race on. I had a mild life crisis. I travelled a LOT, and it was amazing. Oscar and I moved house (I have NO idea how my parents did it between countries with two kids) and made a plan for the 2020 racing season. Off the back of this seasons results, I have been awarded support again by the Scottish Institute of Sport. 

It's been an insane mix of incredible highs and outstandingly crappy lows. I know for absolute sure that almost all my friends have had a similar or worse couple of years. Maybe it's really millennial of me to feel 'low' in a life where I'm able to do basically everything I love. But the highs wouldn't be as incredible without the lows, right?

A massive part of slalom is mindset. I'd like to go as far as to say a 'sustainable' mindset. Which to me is having a solid home 'base', and a plan. The thing is, mindset is completely internal. I think someone with the least stable lifestyle in the world and absolutely zero plan from one day to the next can have a more sustainable mindset than someone who has every single day mapped out. I'm probably guilty of the latter; I plan everything like three months in advance, but I still get incredibly anxious about having 'missed something' or not accounting for something in the plan. So I get anxious about the plan.

An old coach told me that when we sit on the start line, it's important not to give yourself anything extra to think about. So you should sort out everything in your life so that you can completely focus on racing. But when you look at the racing history of some of the best athletes in the world, that just can't be true. Fiona Pennie is one of the best athletes in the history of canoe slalom, and has overcome a plethora of challenges this season to still, against all odds, put down some incredible racing. Time and again, we see Olympians and world champions performing at an insane level despite horrendous personal circumstances. I actually don't think it's too surprising. Racing is what athletes train for, every single day. And when racing becomes an escape from "reality", then perhaps it's even easier to give it your absolute attention. 

I'm not great with change. Maybe it was moving house a lot when I was younger; but probably not, because I didn't really like change even then. This year has seen such a vast range of change for me that I think I've started to relax into it. It's so, so hard not to compare your situation with others, or only see the parts that are 'worse' or 'unfair'. It's sort of bullshit, because as cliche as it sounds, everyone has stuff to deal with. There's always going to be a way your situation is better or worse. But I think what defines your success is seeing the best parts, and feeling confident that you're doing the right thing. At the end of the day, the beauty of racing is the freedom you have sitting on the start line. There is absolutely no obligation to do, or think about anything other than what you're doing right now. You don't need to 'sort out' your life. Enjoying the moment is simply doing justice to yourself and what you have spent your life training for. 

In the last few posts I've written about all the awesome things I've learnt over injury, racing, mistakes and successes. About adapting and meeting needs that don't just belong to you. It's really cool being able to write down tangible lessons I've picked up, dismantling them and rebuilding them to fit all my possible scenarios. 

Thing is, true tests can't really be planned for. It's easy to practice mindfulness and rest, when you're in a happy, healthy position to do it. It's much, much harder to practice those things in times when everything else doesn't feel ok. I don't really mean racing in itself; that's a blissful moment in time where there are literally no requirements of you to do anything except slalom. You don't have to interact with anyone in a race run, you don't have to remember or analyse or think, and it's awesome. The harder part is afterwards, if it didn't go how you expected. 

My kicking, screaming first reaction is to delegate. It's pretty ugly and I've thankfully developed a mechanism where I can recognise myself going into "bitch mode" and take myself away to burn it out. Delegation is like blame. Your brain is hurting, it's really fucked off, and it wants the problem to be someone, anyone else's fault except yours. It's super unpleasant and a really hard thing to come to terms with; nobody wants to be that person. It so easily wipes out all the good, positive things in your life and leaves a ridiculously dramatic, bitter shadow that nobody likes and is really hard to work with. I guess you could also call it self pity, blah blah...

So it's almost completely impossible for me to have a calm, reasonable discussion with myself at moments like this. It's best to just get back in my boat and paddle as far away from other human beings (for their sake) as possible until it's had time to tire itself out. It's quite embarrassing when you come to your senses. Here I am, in the middle of one of the most beautiful (Sava) rivers in the world. I've just competed for Great Britain and had an opportunity to do my best on a world stage, and I'm sitting throwing shit at anything that will stick in my own brain. It's ridiculous and embarrassing.

Luckily, at this stage I've had  chance to cool down and resolve a few things. I decided at the bottom of Tacen that I need to stop making excuses for myself. That doesn't mean training harder or "never missing a session". It means that when I'm analysing my performance and condition, that I do it objectively, with the tools I have access to, without subjective input. My position isn't relative to anyone else; it's just mine. 

I'm the kind of person who suffers a failure (to clarify, in my mind, this 'failure' is not qualifying for semifinals at either of the first two world cups) by throwing myself into hard training. Because when you're exhausted it's much harder to think, and it sort of relaxes me. Although from years of experience and a tough injury it would be apparent that this method does more harm than good.

So even though all I really wanted to do was hurt, when I got home to Scotland the first thing I did was take a week off. It's horrible to sit with your own brain sometimes, but this is probably the first time I've actually forced myself to do that, and it wasn't as awful as I thought. I had some time to think about what I really expect from myself, and how realistic that is. To design a training programme that is sympathetic to my needs - physically and mentally. It was pretty awesome just to recover and be lazy for a few days. It was a hard thing to decide, and if you were to summarise this blog into bullet points it would look ridiculous:

- trained too hard
- had a big tantrum after racing
- decided to take week off
- feels healthy again

But I hope it helps someone to realise that no matter how they think they look on the outside, you still have to make decisions based on  your own perspective. How you are doesn't need to change or be the best all the time. You just need to recognise it, and be able to do the healthiest thing even if you'd rather ignore it all. 

But this post is about more important things. It's also about making difficult choices. I allude to it in the biography part of my JustGiving page. I say; "As an athlete you are put in a unique position to help deliver messages that are vital to education, quality of life and sustainable lifestyles across the world." 

​When I think about what sport means to me, I usually come to think it's an endeavour that has saved my life in a lot of ways. Having a pathway to pour your heart and soul into is an incredible position to be in. It can also be isolated, and forces you to question yourself, sometimes every day. But ultimately I feel as though I have a platform to speak from, a group of friends and a way of life that makes me feel safe in speaking my mind. Not that my opinions are particularly valuable; it just feels safe to express them, because you are often asked to. 

Over the last few months, I have felt like there is a shift in the awareness and priorities of society. We've all realised that our planet is dying. Sport has to embrace a new role; a platform to inspire in a way it hasn't focused on before. People like Etienne Stott (who I'll be interviewing in a couple of days!) have had the courage to stand up and talk about what is happening to our planet. How our current lives have to change. The uncomfortable reality of this is that athletes do leave a significant carbon footprint. The public voices we have to talk about these issues does not offset the price the planet pays. 

​So a pretty easy set of changes I've made:

Eating plant based. I don't like saying 'vegan' because unfortunately, there are a set of feelings attached to the label which influence the way people listen to you after that. I always said 'I'll be vegan after I'm done being an athlete.' The reality is, athletes make exceptions for all kinds of food and drinks, because they want them. I'm making a permanent exception to the way I used to eat, because I want to. It's not hard to eat plant based, it's just a change of habit - I eat exactly the same proportion of protein, carbohydrate and fat as I always have done. 

Educating myself about recycling, plastic packaging and the cost of import. 25% of all waste that gets put in recycling actually gets dumped in landfills, because people can't be bothered rinsing out their tin cans or washing the food waste out of the boxes. It takes a fraction of your time. Slow down, give a shit, and make a difference. Plastic packaging is a harder one to begin solving. The UK has so much plastic waste that we're forced to shove a load of it overseas, to deal with. Our consumerist lifestyles are not sustainable. Which brings me to the harder things to stomach:

Travel requires fuel. I don't just mean the fuel we use in our cars, or the fuel airplanes guzzle. I mean the millions of gallons of fuel it takes to ship bananas from South America to the UK. The deep, brutal scars that our changing demands leave on the world. Avocados are popular. Chia seeds are popular. Tofu, rice, wheat, dairy, meat, oranges are all things consumed by the billions of tons, and we add to the damage caused by farms by insisting on shipping them to ourselves. Every day. It's great being aware of all this stuff. Figuring out how to do something about it is hard; not least because the reality is, we're gonna have to give up some really nice stuff that we've gotten used to. 

I'm excited to learn more about the impact my role can have in the world. I'm getting used to the easy changes I've been able to make. I'm learning more about the ways I need to keep changing. Some of them seem unbearable right now, but with education and understanding anything is possible. I love my sport; slalom is part of me. I want to ride the wave of support I get through that, and help show people that it doesn't have to be scary, and they aren't alone. We all live here!

I reckon I've been through almost every stage of self-doubt, barring those stages you can only get through certain life events. For example, I've yet to experience the self-doubt of parenthood. But I think I can break down the kinds of self-doubt that are useful, and not useful.

From others

I'm a naturally curious person, so I tend to ask a lot of questions. Sometimes they're pretty hard questions, which inevitably result in hard answers. Which is fine; as long as I'm prepared for them. Through a lifetime of trial and error, I have found my success rate is around 25%. That's another 75% of taking discussion slightly too personally, which is pretty draining for everyone involved! For other curious athletes, I'd say that doesn't necessarily mean STOP asking questions. But it's important to learn that another human's response isn't just a reflection on you. You need to be open to their own experience and opinion which shapes the response they give you.

Also, because other people are curious, they'll often give you unsolicited opinions, advice, warnings, directions and criticism. That's alright too; social rules mean someone has to feel pretty strongly to give you advice that you didn't ask for. Which is cool, because it means they want to help; or feel good. I think it's even more important to have self awareness in those moments. Just because someone else says you're jumping wrong, doesn't mean you need to change the way you jump. Or even think about why they want you to jump differently. It's just information on offer, for your acceptance or declination.

From yourself

I think I'm doing pretty well in the whole recovery thing. Actually I think a long rest is one of the best things I've ever done in my canoeing career; it's changed the way I feel about recovery, post season breaks and general health. But obviously there's plenty of self doubt swimming around; have I started back with too much, or too little? Did I take enough time, did I take too much time? That's a really long, difficult cycle of thought that my brain would be quite happy to jump right on. Actually the most valuable thing I've had from a long recovery break, is stepping back and saying, it's alright. If you want to go on that cycle, go ahead, but I'm not coming with you. 

From being a much younger paddler, I've had a strong mental reliance on doing what other people tell me to do in terms of rest, recovery, and injury. Being curious, I've learnt a lot about physiology and what a body needs. I've also learned loads about what it really DOESN'T need! This is the first year in a while I've had a chance to sit back and make my own decisions about how it all feels. I've had the most amazing professional support through the whole process, but what feels really liberating and terrifying, is the shots being called by me. Terrifying though it is, actually I'm the only person in the whole process that is with me 24/7. I'm the only one who knows exactly what sessions I'm doing, exactly how they all feel, and what my brain is doing in the middle. 

So...

I think self-doubt can be useful, as long as it helps you ask the right questions and seek the right help. I think it is NOT useful, when it begins an existential crisis. I think it's different from anxiety, because if you use it right there's a vast amount to be learned. But if you dwell on it, in my experience, there's a lot more tension in your brain. And the biggest, most important lesson I've learned, is that if there's tension in your brain then there is definitely tension in your body.

The most inspiring athletes in the world overcome insane mental and physical barriers, often without injury. I think it says a lot about brain conditioning. If you can relax your brain into the flow of self confidence and self doubt, then your body will just flow along with it. I'm definitely not a physiologist or a coach or anyone who should be teaching mental approach. But I reckon the more relaxed an athlete is, the healthier their body is able to be. 

Today is the end of rehab week five. I've got tons to say, but I'm gonna stick with what I wish I'd known five weeks ago. So I thought instead of rambling about theory in this post, I'd write to myself like I'm sitting next to me writing the previous blog post. Hope that's ok and not too abstract for everyone!

Well done. You've made a very uncharacteristic move. You've managed to make a calm, logical decision without a meltdown. (Ok there were one or two but luckily Oscar was on damage control.)

Consider this. In a pull up set, you often do things like 5 x 5 reps @ 20kg. That's 500 kg. It's all going through quite a small tendon in quite a small person. Half a ton is a LOT. Think about reasons we change gym programs regularly. Brain/body is all one big system. The whole lot needs to rest and regenerate.

You'll be surprised. At how much you like running. Now we know it's very easy to get over excited and over do it. You'll also be surprised about how much you hate the watt bike. 

Energy isn't just physical. Once you get over how twitchy you are about not being in your boat, you'll be amazed about how much energy you have relax. That sounds ridiculous. But actually chilling out is a skill, and I've been terrible at it. You get into a tired cycle of moving from one task to the next without pause, and perhaps at 98% of your potential. Actually when you're watching your body, and sleeping more, and being less cold, you get so much more energy to do 100%. Just remember that when you get back in your boat. 

Winter. Isn't just a time of year to suffer. Ok running (especially Wednesdays - I have an interval session that actually makes me want to die) is the embodiment of suffering. But winter really is beautiful. Everything slows down, and it takes more time to do things. Scraping the car is shit, but watching the ice melt off the headlights into little clouds while you do it is beautiful. You need to remember things like this too. 

You'll change. I mean, not in a significantly spiritual way. I still love food, I'm still an explosive person, I still want to tire myself out and be dynamic and I'm hurting to get back in my boat. But in a time where you think you'll be depressed every day, you'll actually be amazed at how nice every day is. It's like there's something to look forward to at the end of every session. In the mornings when you wake up you're not pissed off you can't get in your boat. You're excited to feel the cold air outside, and the burn in your cheeks when you finally warm up again. 

It's just four weeks to go until I get back in my boat. I'm learning new things every day, and I think the most valuable lesson so far is the art of chill. I'm definitely still a beginner but it turns out when the evenings are dark and the radiator is hot there's nothing I'd rather be doing than resting. Who'd have thought? 

I'm normally terrible at choosing. I think I have some built-in avoidance program that makes me want to only have one option moving forwards. A clear pathway, or a direct set of instructions It's much easier. This winter, Oscar and I were going to move to Pau d'Pyrenees. It was going to be incredible; whitewater every day, a culture of paddling that is everything we love about our sport. It was the obvious next step for me in training and racing.

In my slalom career, I've had to make one really difficult decision before - years ago. It wasn't my choice to have that decision forced on me, and it wasn't a decision for myself. It was a choice presented to me by people for reasons outside of sport. 

But at the end of the day, that time, either choice I made resulted in me doing what I really wanted to be doing. Which was getting in my boat and training as hard as I could. And having the opportunity to make that decision, even if it was shitty, is still a privilege because so many people don't even have a choice, or an opportunity to be on that pathway.

For a couple of years I've had a bit of a niggle in my left elbow. It presented itself as reactive tendinitis when I first encountered it, and sort of flared up a few times since then with recurring inflammation and stiffness. I know loads of paddlers who get sore wrists or elbows - listen, if it's making that 'creaking' sound, then stop. I know it doesn't hurt that much, but we're pretty tough! So stop.

I decided to get an MRI scan shortly after the world cup in Tacen. I just wanted to know what the problem was, because while it wasn't getting sore, by the end of the 2018 season I was having to let go of things quite randomly. Picking up a laptop in that hand, opening a door, holding my phone above my face (yeah) and opening jars of things. I'd just suddenly let go. It wasn't sore or anything, but seemed a bit weird (and expensive, I broke a lot of stuff).

I was so sure that in my consultation after the MRI scan I'd be told that I just needed to do some theraband exercises, release work on my pecs and probably develop stronger deltoids (the root cause of previous niggles). So I was pretty shocked to get an appointment with a surgeon shortly after the results came back.

I'd never heard of a 'bone marrow oedema' before but it sounded bad (I later discovered that a paddling colleague had suffered a much nastier one in the clavicle). Basically the bone in my elbow joint had been under so much pressure, for so long, that it had swollen inside and become inflamed. But that turned out to be the less problematic part of the scan. 'Degenerative tendinitis' is what you get when you ignore small niggles for a long time. The cartilage in my left (and probably right, but we only scanned the left because that's the one that hurts) elbow is 'fibrillated' and worn. It looked a bit like the edge of a carpet on the scan.

So I had a decision to make. Surgery seemed like the fastest option - there's an operation called the 'topaz' procedure, where using keyhole surgery doctors sort of 'burn' the tendon that's fibrillated, which causes it to build a thick layer of scar tissue. This alleviates pain, and strengthens the tendon a little. There's a three month no-use period, and probably more than 12 months of rehab. Either way, our winter of whitewater in France changed to time away from my boat in Scotland, very quickly.

I came so close to choosing surgery for a number of reasons. It would satisfy my decision making problems. There would be absolutely no option of getting in my boat while it was healing. It was a definitive ACTION to fix something. A black and white, this is for my paddling, option of surgery. It sounds pretty cool too, being an athlete and getting your body cut open to fix an engine problem. It gives 'rehab' a definitive purpose. Once the bandages are off, you're going again.

I'm extremely lucky, because I turned to everyone I knew who had ever had a severe injury or the option of surgery. Every single person offered all the advice they knew, what they would have done differently, or why they're glad that they made their own decision. I have the most amazing support network with sportscotland Institute of Sport, and my physios and doctors held my hand the whole time while I was swerving between options. 

The longest I've ever been out of my boat in almost ten years is one week. We decided that the best option for me, would be to try the 'rehab' part of surgery without actually having surgery. I made this decision looking at my goals - from a long and short term perspective. I want to race for GB at the world championships, and the Olympic Games. I want to teach my kids how to paddle in ten years time. I want to stand on a podium next to my teammates and friends. I want to be 80 years old and feel the water under my kayak. I don't want to risk my health. And surgery, even in the best hands, is risky.

Giving my body time to rest is something I've been terrible at over the years. The time I take out of the boat this winter will be one of the most challenging things I've ever done, but possibly one of the best decisions I've ever made. I'm so grateful that this decision was one I had the opportunity to make, by myself, for myself. I hope if anyone is reading this with a heavy decision weighing on them, that they have the same kind of people to turn to that I do. I invite you to think of me as one of those people. 

So my mission to fix my elbow begins, and as usual I'll keep updating my social media with pictures and videos of the best and the worst bits! Thank you for joining me.

Tacen quickly became one of my favourite courses, for a completely different reason than all the others.

Being a competitive athlete in slalom is pretty special. We get to train and develop aspects of mentality that I think are slightly diluted by 'linear' outcomes in other sports. The elite end of slalom displays a range of styles and approaches that are so diverse, yet produce such tight margins of success, that it's really comparable to nothing else. 

This blog isn't easy to write. A big part of being a competitive athlete is managing ego; this can range from managing expectations, to approaching relationships, to developing an objective approach to feedback and a million other very personal things. I really wanted to write about my experience here, in the hope that it helps some athletes who might have felt the same way I did when I first came to the incredible Sava river.

When we arrived in Tacen, the water was pretty high. I'd never been to this particular venue before, and I knew that I was coming to one of the biggest 'drops' in the slalom world. The top of the course begins with a steep slide that drops into the first few gates. In the whitewater world it's really not a big deal. There are few consequences of messing up the line other than time loss, and it's accessible to all levels of paddler. Even in the slalom world, there is very little time distinction between nailing the line and having a slightly 'off' run. But when we showed up on Sunday evening, and the water was absolutely pounding into the right hand wall - where I knew I should be 'aiming' - I just felt sick.

Honestly, it's one of the hardest things being open about this kind of feeling. We live to race, and Tacen is a regular venue for top events like the World and European Championships. Local Slovenian paddler Peter Kauzer, one of the most decorated and impressive paddlers to watch, can do the whole thing with his eyes closed. I knew all this while I watched the water folding back on itself at the bottom of the drop. I watched C1 and K1 paddlers flying down it, almost completely in control of their boats in the churning boils. I knew I had to do it tomorrow. I just really, really didn't want to.

This isn't an easy feeling, because as a pretty experienced athlete, my immediate reaction was to clamp down on these feelings and try to shove them out of my mind. It's easy then to get into a cycle of dismissing the fear as ludicrous, clutching at things you've heard people say like 'it's easy' or 'just stay right' or 'maybe they'll close it for the race', and sick fear that comes in waves. This is a bit dramatic; I wasn't actually sick, and I was excited to try something that was completely out of my comfort zone. But your brain so easily hangs on to these cycles of thought until they are blown way out of proportion. 

What I took away from this, while I was battling the cycles of thought that clouded my brain and made my hands sweat, was that trying to grip and shove feelings away from yourself actually has the opposite effect. It feels completely anti-intuitive, but the best thing I did for myself the evening before I tried the drop, was lean into those feelings. I stopped trying to resist the feeling of FEAR. I let it wash over me, and suddenly all those scary thoughts of slamming into the wall on the right or spinning into a death roll on the left became much less specific. Over the evening, the feeling of fear became just like the feeling before a race. Excitement, gentle adrenalin, and arms itching to get on the water. 

At the bottom of my first run down, I could have cried with laughter. Remembering the feelings I was grappling with when I first saw the drop, it felt absolutely absurd. But I wanted to remember how I'd felt, and try and explain that actually the best thing you can do is one of the most incredible learning experiences of all.

In all fairness, I spent the first two days on the drop doing some truly horrible lines. I went straight through the middle of the hole at the bottom countless times, paddles in the air, boat underwater, edges forgotten and upstreams missed. But every time I did it, the drop got a bit easier. It felt like I had more time to decide what was happening. On the day before the race, something clicked. I got all the way over to the right hand side, and it was like my boat had previously been paddling with an anchor whose rope had just been cut. You sit up on that pile of water, and the whole space opens up. There seems to be minutes, rather than seconds, to decide what line to take. 

I didn't get the result I wanted in the semi final at Tacen. I had two pretty serious mistakes that slowed me down and gave me penalties. But I was proud that over my three runs, I had three almost perfect deliveries on the main drop. What had been a really intense personal battle for me had become the easiest part of the course. I want to go back to Tacen, to keep learning about the water - because I don't think there is a better course for that. But I feel incredibly lucky for what I brought home with me.