My life has long been built on effort.
On finding it hard to say no.
On doing the right thing.
On not giving up.
On pushing through, even when it cost me.
On finding it hard to say no.
On doing the right thing.
On not giving up.
On pushing through, even when it cost me.
I had just completed a nine-month charity journey. My team raised funds for children with cancer, and we trained together. Then we cycled 1100 km to Paris in seven days. I was 59 when I started, and my physical condition was close to zero — the weakest in the team. I knew it. I was usually the last one, and I carried that awareness with me every single day — along with a quiet fear of not being enough.
Before the Paris ride, I crashed mentally. I struggled on the uphills and started hyperventilating. The team was concerned about my well-being and whether I could manage the journey safely. That moment was heavy. Not dramatic — just honest.
I had signed up to cycle to Paris — and I chose to stand by it.
I had signed up to cycle to Paris — and I chose to stand by it.
So I did everything I knew to move toward my goal. I looked for support wherever I could find it: YouTube hypnosis, hypnotherapy, physiotherapy, AI as my personal trainer for food, sleep, and training. My daughters, friends, and social media supported me in ways I still feel deeply grateful for. I didn’t wait to feel confident — I moved forward with fear beside me.
During the ride to Paris, I survived because of others. My team rode with me, supported me, and placed me where the load was lightest. The service team made the journey possible. Love for our shared goal and the sense of togetherness carried me when my body felt done.
Only recently did I hear about the 7 States, and that’s when something clicked. I realized I had already been living many of them without knowing their names. These seven days didn’t change me — they helped me recognize and name what I had already experienced, and they made me curious to go deeper. Especially Receiving. I saw how much effort I use, how often I override myself, and how allowing support changes everything.
What shifted wasn’t my life, but my understanding of it.
At 60, I don’t feel finished. I feel open. I know now that this journey was never only about fitness. It was about attitude. About the mind. About choosing to try even when you know you’re the last one.
This Quest didn’t complete me.
It helped me understand myself — and this feels like the start of what comes next.
It helped me understand myself — and this feels like the start of what comes next.