STORY 04 | LUCY
It wasn't winning a race.
It wasn't crossing the finish line in Paris.
It wasn't even one of the many years she'd spent playing competitive netball.
It was an ordinary training session. Four months after becoming a mum.
As Lucy pushed open the netting and stepped onto the indoor court for the first time in almost a year, she felt something she hadn't realised she'd been missing.
"I feel like me again."
For anyone watching, it was just another evening of netball.
For Lucy, it was the moment she realised she'd found a part of herself again.
Sport has always been woven into Lucy's life.
Growing up, she played almost everything she could.
Hockey.
Basketball.
Running.
But it was netball that captured her heart.
She played for school, represented her county, even attended England trials, and continued playing throughout adulthood, eventually reaching the highest standard she'd ever competed at in her mid-forties.
Yet if you asked Lucy what sport has given her, she probably wouldn't begin by talking about competition.
She'd talk about people.
"It's always given me more than fitness."
"It's given me confidence, community and connection."
When she moved to London, netball introduced her to a new group of friends.
When she later moved to Birmingham, joining another team helped her build a new life all over again.
Sport became the thread that quietly followed her through every chapter of adulthood.
Not because she was chasing medals...but because it always felt like somewhere she belonged.
Then came motherhood.
Like so many women, Lucy describes becoming a mum as wonderful.
She also describes it as one of the hardest transitions of her life.
"The sleep deprivation, the constant responsibility, and the realisation that somebody else depended on me for everything meant there was very little space left that felt like my own."
The days became filled with feeds, sleep routines, nappies, appointments.
The endless mental checklist that so many parents quietly carry.
She wouldn't have changed it for the world.
But somewhere amongst looking after everyone else, Lucy realised she'd stopped making space for herself.
Then, four months after her daughter was born, she walked back onto a netball court.
She remembers the drive there.
Her husband was at home with the baby.
For the first time in months, she wasn't going somewhere because somebody else needed her.
She was going because she wanted to.
"I remember pulling the net aside and stepping onto the court."
"It felt like I was stepping back into a part of myself that had been waiting patiently while I adjusted to becoming a mum."
She surprised herself that evening.
After a year away, she still had it.
She even played centre, one of the most demanding positions on the court.
But that wasn't what mattered most, what mattered was what she realised afterwards.
"Becoming a mum hadn't replaced who I was. It had simply added another part to me."
Over the years, sport continued to evolve alongside Lucy's life.
Netball remained a constant.
She completed the National Three Peaks Challenge.
Ran the Birmingham Half Marathon after having her children.
And then, at forty-five years old, decided to take on something entirely different.
Cycling.
The challenge?
London to Paris.
The catch?
She'd only started cycling a few months earlier.
To most people, that probably sounds ambitious.
To Lucy, it simply sounded exciting.
"I've always enjoyed a challenge."
Training quickly became part of family life.
Long rides took hours.
Weekends needed planning.
Her husband was training for an event too, so together they worked out who would train on which day, making sure both of them still had space to chase goals that mattered.
It wasn't always easy.
There were moments of guilt.
Lucy admits that, like many mums, there was always a little voice wondering whether she should be somewhere else.
But over time, she began to see things differently.
"I've stopped seeing exercise as an indulgence. I see it as an investment in my health, my happiness and, ultimately, my family too."
Three days and hundreds of kilometres after leaving London, Paris finally came into view.
The Eiffel Tower stood to her left as riders made their final approach.
Lucy remembers scanning the crowds, convinced she'd never spot her family.
Then she saw them.
Her husband.
Her daughters.
Holding homemade signs high above their heads.
She climbed off her bike and hugged them all.
"The hug with my husband is the one that stays with me."
"He'd supported all the training, looked after the girls while I was out riding for hours, and helped make the whole challenge possible."
"Reaching him at the finish line felt like we'd achieved it together."
Moments later, her youngest daughter insisted on helping her return the bike.
They walked hand in hand through the finish village, stopping to high-five other riders.
Then, almost as quickly as the moment had arrived...
Life returned to normal.
The girls wanted to play Top Trumps.
So that's exactly what they did.
Lucy laughs when she remembers it now.
"One minute you've cycled from London to Paris, the next you're back being Mum."
For years, Lucy believed strength meant pushing harder.
Playing longer.
Training more.
Lifting heavier.
Then life quietly changed her definition.
Watching her mum recover after emergency surgery became one of those moments.
Before becoming ill, her mum had been fiercely independent.
She gardened.
Played bowls.
Met friends.
Lived life on her own terms.
Three months in hospital changed everything.
Lucy remembers watching her climb the stairs for the first time after coming home.
Her brother stood close behind in case she fell.
She pulled herself upwards using the banister.
"It was heartbreaking."
"It also made me realise how quickly we can lose strength if we don't use it."
Now, every time she picks up a barbell, she's thinking much further ahead than next summer.
She's thinking about the woman she hopes to be at eighty.
Independent.
Capable.
Still travelling.
Still carrying her own bags.
Still saying yes to adventures.
"Strength isn't really about the weight on the bar anymore. It's about giving myself the best chance of living a full, active life for as long as possible."
Eventually, another chapter came to an end.
After decades of playing, Lucy retired from netball.
Not because she'd fallen out of love with it.
Quite the opposite.
She was playing some of the best netball of her life.
But life had changed.
Weekends were no longer just match days.
They were birthday parties.
Swimming lessons.
Family adventures.
She realised something had to give.
Her teammates surprised her with flowers after her final match.
She walked away smiling. Not heartbroken.
Just grateful.
"Retiring didn't mean giving up sport. It simply gave me the freedom to discover a different version of it."
At the very end of our conversation, I asked Lucy one final question.
Who is Lucy when she's training?
Her answer was beautifully simple.
"When I'm training, I'm completely present...it's one of the few times when my mind and my body are completely in the same place."
"More than anything...I just feel like myself."
And perhaps that's what this story has really been about all along.
Not netball.
Not cycling.
Not lifting weights.
But the quiet power of finding something that reminds you who you are.
Even as life continues to ask you to be so many other things.