My past
THE BEGINNINGS, THE DREAM, THE PIVOT
It all started with the laser…
the boat that gave me a way to grow, be grounded, be free, prove and an art to master.
Identity
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The Laser was freedom to me.
It was the first place I felt fully responsible for my outcome. If I made a mistake, I owned it. If I improved, I earned it. There was something pure about that simplicity.
I chased precision not because I needed validation, well maybe i did, but because refinement feels alive to me. Sailing the boat well is like tuning an instrument small adjustments, full presence, constant growth.
For a long time, I thought I had something to prove. I felt like the underdog. Others had more resources, more support. I carried that story quietly.
Now I see it differently.
The boat was never about proving I belonged. It was about becoming who I am when everything unnecessary is stripped away.
That’s why I’m back.
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I told myself this was the responsible path. That chasing the Olympics was uncertain, risky maybe even selfish. I convinced myself that discipline meant choosing stability over desire. But underneath that decision was a quiet ache. I wasn’t walking away from sailing… I was trying to silence a dream that felt too big to justify.
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It felt like standing on the dock while everyone else pushed off.
I was proud of them. I respected the grind. But there was this quiet knot in my chest every time I saw training photos or regatta results. It wasn’t jealousy it was recognition. They were living the version of life I had once pictured for myself.
I told myself I’d chosen differently. That I was building something solid. But part of me would always wonder what would’ve happened if I had stayed on the water and kept going.
The return
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Growing up without a father meant I was always looking for anchors in other people and somehow, I was lucky enough to find them.
My mother was the engine behind everything. She drove me to every practice, every regatta, every early morning session, holding the whole thing together when it would’ve been easier to say no. She didn’t just support my sailing; she backed a dream that, on paper, didn’t make sense for a single mom to carry alone.
Tucker stepped in and quietly filled a space I didn’t have language for yet. He got me the gear I needed, pushed me, called me out when I was half‑stepping, and believed in me like a father would. He made sailing feel less like a hobby and more like a standard I had to live up to.
My grandmother gave me something just as important: stability. A place to live, to rest, to reset. She supported me all the way until she passed from illness, and when she died, it didn’t feel like her support disappeared it turned into a responsibility. I carry her belief in me every time I launch a boat.
The coaches at Del Rey Yacht Club in California helped raise me too. They gave me structure, discipline, and a competitive home a place where I belonged and was expected to grow, not just show up.
I didn’t grow up “without a father” so much as I grew up with a village that refused to let my potential go to waste. This LA 2028 campaign isn’t just mine it’s a way of honoring every mile my mom drove, every dollar and hour Tucker invested, every night my grandmother kept a light on for me, and every coach who treated me like I was worth the work.
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If I don’t try for LA 2028, something in me hardens.
On the surface, life would look fine I’d keep coaching, keep growing the business, keep showing up for other people’s goals. But underneath, there would be this steady, dull ache, like I’d turned my back on the one version of myself that only I could protect. It wouldn’t just be “missing an Olympics”; it would feel like abandoning the kid who fell in love with a Laser and the community that carried me this far.
I know what regret feels like in small doses the “what if I’d pushed a little harder” after a race and I can see how that could calcify into something heavier if I don’t at least step fully into this window. LA 2028 isn’t just another cycle; it’s home water, home culture, my people in the stands, and if I let that pass without giving everything I have, I don’t think I’d ever fully make peace with it.
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Building my coaching and fitness business has taught me how to show up every day, not just when it feels good. It forced me to turn passion into systems: programs, schedules, follow-ups, content, billing, communication all dialed so clients get consistent results, not random peaks of effort.
It’s also given me real financial awareness: budgeting, planning, managing risk, and thinking in four‑year windows instead of four‑week windows. I’ve learned how to lead people, set standards, and have hard conversations while still making them feel supported. Most of all, it’s taught me discipline without drama doing the work when no one’s watching, tracking the data, adjusting the plan, and treating my body and training like a high-performance business, not a hobby.
