I feel excitement in many aspects of gymnastics: learning a new skill, travelling to new places, and competing in arenas filled with thousands of fans. Those moments are easy to associate with excitement because they are visible, obvious and often enjoyable. They come with adrenaline, noise, opportunity and reward.
Right now, I am not experiencing any of those usual triggers. I am not walking out into a packed arena. I am not learning a brand-new skill for the first time. I am not stepping onto a plane for another competition.
But I am encountering another kind of excitement, one that sits much closer to fear.
Tomorrow, I officially begin my competition programme.
This programme usually starts around 8-10 weeks before a major competition. On this occasion, the Commonwealth Games are nine weeks away. That means the next phase of training becomes more specific, more demanding and more focused. It is no longer just about building, experimenting or exploring possibilities. It becomes about refining every detail and preparing myself to perform when it matters most.
This programme will involve refining skills to near perfection, building intense focus around competition scenarios, and pushing through gruelling endurance blocks made up of multiple routines each day. It will mean repeating the same movements again and again, not just until I can do them, but until I can trust them. It will mean putting myself under pressure in training so that competition pressure feels familiar.
All of this work will eventually be channelled into a 40 second routine. 40 seconds that will reflect the hours, the effort, the discipline, the choices and the sacrifices that went into this programme.
Scary.
The fear comes from uncertainty. Will my body stay injury-free? Is this routine the right one for me? Is this skill too risky? Am I not taking enough risk? Have I done enough? Will I be ready when it matters most?
Will I fail when it is time to compete?
These questions are uncomfortable, but they are also honest. They come with chasing something that matters. If there was no risk, there would be no fear. If there was no ambition, there would be no pressure. Fear often appears when the outcome is important, and when you know the challenge ahead will ask something real of you.
So, if there are so many difficult emotions attached to this process, why do I still look forward to the beginning of this terrifying journey?
Because fear is excitement.
At least, it can be.
The feeling is not always comfortable, but it is powerful. It means something important is ahead. It means I care. It means there is a challenge in front of me that will demand more than average effort, average focus or average discipline. That pressure can either become something that holds me back, or something that sharpens me.
I get excited to be challenged. I get excited by the opportunity to become better than ever before, and to fulfil the potential that can often lie dormant without the demands of an intense programme. There is something special about committing fully to a process that you know will test you physically, mentally and emotionally.
The fear does not disappear, but my relationship with it changes. Instead of seeing it as a sign that something is wrong, I try to see it as a sign that something meaningful is beginning. The nerves, the doubts and the questions are all part of stepping into an environment where growth is possible.
I think there is a strong association between a competition programme and becoming the best version of myself. When I complete it to the best of my ability, I know I am ready. I know I am prepared. I know I have done everything I can to stand up, stay calm and perform a pommel routine despite the fear I feel.
That is the part I look forward to. Not because it is easy, but because it forces me to rise. It demands discipline when motivation is low. It demands confidence when doubt is loud. It demands resilience when the body and mind are tired.
Fear creates energy. Potential energy. It wakes you up, sharpens your senses and brings you closer to the edge of what you are capable of. Once you learn to find the excitement within that feeling, you stop running from it.
You fight every time.