No participation trophies

Yesterday, Tapley handed me a future version of myself. She disguised it as a challenge wrapped in a joke. Heather and I laughed immediately, because Tapley has perfected the art of delivering truth sideways.

We had gathered for the first time this year, the three of us resuming the accountability group we’d formed last February. Back then, we met regularly, shared goals, compared progress, and held each other steady.

Then 2025 happened. It dug in its claws and dragged us off course. Quietly. Gradually. Effectively. This meeting was our reset.

I told them about my plans for 2026. The fifteen goals. The books. The fitness commitment. The excitement I could feel building again after a year that had nearly convinced me to stop trying.

Tapley rolled her eyes. “You’re such a Capricorn,” she said.

We laughed, because she wasn’t wrong. Fifteen goals does sound excessive when spoken aloud. But then she said something else, almost casually.

“You should reward yourself when you hit your fitness goals. Something meaningful.”

That stopped me.

Not a generic reward. Not new shoes or a nice dinner. Something that belonged to the person I was becoming.

She added, “Maybe not Machu Picchu. But something that fits.”

I knew immediately.

The Great Glen Way in Scotland.

A trail stretching coast to coast, Fort William to Inverness. Miles of earth, sky, and quiet.

Years ago, before the divorce, we had talked about hiking it as a family. We never did. Like many plans, it dissolved into the space between intention and reality. The idea, however, never left me. It lingered, waiting patiently in the background of my life.

Now it returned, not as a family trip, but as mine.

There was only one condition: I cannot book it until I earn it. No participation trophies.

If I want to walk that trail, I have to become the version of myself who can finish it.

That means achieving my health and fitness goals. Building strength. Endurance. Follow-through. It means proving, not wishing. Follow-through has always been the fragile part of transformation. Motivation arrives easily. It’s maintenance that tests you.

Tapley suggested creating a Pinterest board to keep the vision alive. I haven’t touched Pinterest in years, but the idea sparked something else. Not just a board. A declaration.

I found the hiking company I had bookmarked back in 2019. The same itinerary. The same photographs. Mist rising over rolling hills. Narrow trails cutting through ancient green. The map itself felt like an invitation.

I built a vision board around it. The route. The timeline. The milestones required before I could claim it.

And then I added the word that defines my year.

INTEGRATION.

Not becoming someone new. Becoming someone aligned. It now hangs where I can see it every day. Not as a promise, as a contract.

The trail is waiting. But it will not meet me where I am. It will meet me where I earn my way to it.