Why I Stopped Training for Races and Started Focusing on Sustainable Fitness

For a long time, my life revolved around races, training plans and finish lines.

I moved from one goal straight into the next… one race after another, one trip after another — always operating at full speed. Fitness wasn’t just something I enjoyed; it became something I measured, tracked and constantly pushed.

I believed I could do anything.

I was the epilepsy warrior doing all of this incredible stuff despite living with uncontrolled seizures. Training hard felt like proof that my condition didn’t define me, that I could keep up, that my body wouldn’t hold me back.

When pushing through stopped working

Eventually, it caught up with me.

My seizures got worse. And that’s where I am right now.

No amount of grit, discipline or determination could override what my body was asking for. Training harder didn’t help. Ignoring the signs didn’t make me stronger. It just made everything louder.

For years, fitness had been my armour. If I kept moving, racing and achieving, then everything else felt manageable. What I hadn’t realised was that I’d stopped listening — to my body, my nervous system and the warning signs I kept pushing aside.

Learning to slow down (when I didn’t want to)

Slowing down wasn’t a choice at first, it was a necessity.

Without races in the diary or constant goals to chase, I felt lost. Movement had always been my constant, and now it had to change. Fitness could no longer dominate my life; it had to support it.

That’s when my relationship with training truly shifted.

Instead of asking “How far can I push?” I started asking “How well am I recovering?”
Instead of “What’s next?” I asked “What do I need right now?”

The importance of slow fitness and recovery

It hasn’t been easy — mentally or emotionally.

But over time, I realised just how important slow fitness and recovery are, especially when you’re managing a long-term health condition like epilepsy.

Yoga became a cornerstone of my routine. Not as a workout to burn calories or hit targets, but as a way to reconnect with my body and calm my nervous system. Meditation followed — imperfect, inconsistent, but grounding.

Recovery stopped being something I earned and started being something I prioritised.

Finding balance beyond training

This shift didn’t just change how I move — it changed how I live.

I began returning to quieter, slower activities that had nothing to do with performance or productivity. Reading without distraction. Painting without an end goal. Sitting at the piano simply because it felt calming and familiar.

Some days, the most valuable movement I do is a steady walk with the dog. No pace to track, no stats to upload — just rhythm, fresh air and presence.

These moments matter just as much as any structured training session.

Training for longevity, not just performance

I still love fitness. I still train. I still challenge myself.

But now it’s layered with compassion, patience and far fewer expectations. Training is no longer about proving what my body can do — it’s about protecting my health, energy and future.

Training for life means choosing sustainability over burnout. It means listening before pushing. And it means accepting that slowing down doesn’t make you weaker.

It makes you able to keep going.