17/09/2026
I was sitting on the edge of the pool when Tyson turned Steve into a sea monster.
Not the kind that floats politely in the shallow end. The kind that surges up from underneath, grabs him around the middle, and launches him into the air so he can crash down shrieking and swim straight back for more. Again. Again. Again, Dad.
And Steve just kept going. Throwing, catching, wrestling, tumbling under the water with Tyson wrapped around his neck like a very determined koala.
This is what all of it is for.
Not the number on a scale. Not the before and after photo. Not a medal or a PB. It's this. An eight year old who wants to be played with the way he plays, with his whole body, and a parent whose body can say yes.
Steve didn't flinch. His shoulders weren't screaming. His back wasn't bargaining. He wasn't calculating how long until he could make an excuse and get out. He was just there. Fully in it. With our boy.
I'm turning 40 this year, and I know how quietly things slip. You stop getting down on the floor because your knees complain. You stop lifting them because your back feels risky. You stay on the edge of the pool with your coffee and wave. Nobody decides that. It just happens, one skipped week at a time.
And kids don't wait. The age where they want to be thrown across a pool by their dad is not a long age. One day they'll be too big, or too cool, or off with their mates. These moments are fleeting. You don't get to schedule them. You just have to be ready when they show up.
What I see in Steve, and what I keep coming back to at the gym and in my own life, is that being ready doesn't come from willpower. It comes from doing something you actually like, often enough that it becomes part of who you are. Something you look forward to. Something that feels good in your body, not just good for your body.
For us, that's boxing. For you it might be swimming, dancing, walking the same hill with the same friend every Saturday, or rolling around on the lounge room floor. The type matters far less than the rhythm. Week after week. Not perfect. Just consistent.
Because strength isn't only a physical thing. It's capacity. It's the ability to meet life when it reaches for you, to say yes to the wrestle, the climb, the piggyback, the spontaneous race to the car.
So a few questions to sit with:
What moment in your life right now is asking your body to show up?
What kind of movement do you actually enjoy, not the kind you think you should do?
What would it take to make that a weekly thing, not a someday thing?
No single class, program or routine is the whole answer. It's the pile of ordinary weeks that adds up to a body ready for the extraordinary ones. Like a sea monster in a pool, with a kid who can't stop laughing.