Day 45, part 2: What really happened

Yep, seven months since the challenge and still, the dust is settling in places I didn’t even know had collected it. There’s something strange about reflecting on an experience that was so all-consuming it practically swallowed me whole, spat me out, and then asked, “So… what did you learn?”

Let me start with the unexpected MVP of the journey: my camera. Yes, the one I didn’t even realise was recording sound most the time. Turns out, it wasn’t just capturing the road and blurry landscapes, it was recording voices, too. Conversations. Whispered frustrations. Quiet encouragements. Moments that, in hindsight, helped me piece together the puzzle of what actually happened, and more importantly, affirmed that I wasn’t imagining things. It did happen. I wasn’t just tired or emotional. I wasn’t being "too sensitive."

Doing something that’s never been done before (literally), as one wise polar explorer reminded me, earns you the right to stomp your feet, cry into your socks, or howl at the moon. Things I'd wish I'd been able to do. It was the hardest thing in the world. And no, support isn’t a luxury in those moments, it’s a lifeline. I wish I’d received more of it. Some days, I did. Some days, I felt held. Some days I would be lured into a false sence of security, thinking that I mattered and I wasnt the enemy. But as the journey wore on, that support faded more and more, just as things got tougher for me. Which, if you’re wondering, is the exact opposite of how support should work.

There’s an old saying: Don’t mix business with pleasure. I’d now add: Don’t mix epic physical challenges with close friendships unless you’re ready to risk them. I wheeled into that challenge with a team. I wheeled out wondering whether we were still one. People change under pressure. They say things they might not mean, or worse—say exactly what they’ve been thinking all along.

A message I received after it was all over from someone I’d thought of as one of my best friends said she’d spent the entire year pretending to be my friend. That one… broke me a little. Okay, a lot, it actually broke my heart. But as I sat in that brokenness, I realised something powerful: I'm still standing (metaphorically!). Bent, maybe (okay, literally!). But not fully broken!

This blog post isn’t a pity party. It’s a release. It’s my way of folding up that chapter and putting it back on the shelf. Yes, I was told before the challenge that not everyone is lovely (over and over) and yes, I now believe that. But I also still choose to believe that most people are. Maybe not all in the same way. Maybe not consistently. But in their own, human, flawed ways.

And let’s not forget, every single one of us chose to be there. We all signed up, eyes open. The argument that “you chose to do this” doesn’t carry much weight when everyone else did too.

I didn’t shout at people. I didn’t tantrum in the tundra. I asked for space when I needed it. I got stressed with my body, not with others. I thought that was enough. I still do. Maybe it just wasn’t what some people wanted. That’s okay. I’ve learned that not everyone will understand you, and you can’t spend your life begging them to try.

There’s still a lot I haven’t unpacked, emotionally and metaphorically. Maybe I never will. But what I have figured out is who mattered. The ones who stayed. The ones who saw me at my lowest and didn’t flinch or shout or ignore. Those who are still here, cheering me on toward the next challenge (because yes, there is one).

And to those amazing people: I see you. I thank you. I love you.

As I look ahead, I imagine a different finish line. One with laughter, hugs, and a team that crosses it together. Because no matter what happened last time, we made it. All of us. And I’ll never stop being proud of that, and I truly thank every single person who contributed a big or small thing towards making that happen.

Onwards. To bigger, better, bolder, and this time, perhaps… a little kinder.