During and after cancer treatment, the goal posts keep moving - and that’s ok!

How to cope when the goal posts change after cancer

This weekend, I stood on the start line of a triathlon I’d been training for over six months.

The last time I did this event was two years ago. I was fresh out of cancer treatment and absolutely determined to get back to being the girl I used to be before cancer turned everything upside down.

Back in 2023, I smashed my way through that triathlon on pure grit alone. I did far better than I ever expected. But if I’m honest, it wasn’t because I was fit or well prepared. It was fuelled by defiance, anger, and a fierce need to prove something – to myself, to cancer, to the world. My body was broken, exhausted and under-fuelled, but my head was stubborn as hell. It wasn’t sensible, and it definitely wasn’t sustainable, but emotionally, it felt necessary at the time.

So standing there again this weekend, I was nervous.

This time, I’d done things “properly”. I’d trained consistently. I’m healthier, stronger and fitter than I’ve been in years. And yet, a little voice crept in: what if I’m actually slower now? I’m older. I’m menopausal. I’m achier. What if the broken, skeletal version of me from two years ago – running on sheer will to live – was faster than the version of me who’s worked so hard to rebuild?

Because as any cancer survivor knows, the will to live is an incredibly powerful force. Sometimes it feels like it can move mountains. Maybe it’s even stronger than training plans and fitness stats.

But I didn’t get to find out.

Three minutes before the starting gun, as we stood there zipped into wetsuits and buzzing with adrenaline, the race was cancelled. Weather reasons. A storm that never actually arrived.

Just like that, the goalposts moved.

One thing never changes after cancer - how much I love my kids

So I did what any frustrated, stubborn athlete would do. Along with most of the people on that beach, I swam the course anyway. Unofficially, quietly, defiantly. Then I made myself run and cycle too, just so it felt like I’d completed my triathlon.

I was disappointed. Sad. Frustrated. But as I ran, something shifted.

I realised what an enormous privilege it is to be able to move my body at all. To swim, to run, to cycle. To stand on a start line after everything cancer has thrown at me is not something to take for granted. It’s something to be deeply proud of.

Cancer has a way of constantly shifting the goalposts. Treatment plans change. Recovery doesn’t follow the neat timeline you’re given. Side effects linger. Energy comes and goes. Life after cancer rarely looks the way you imagined it would. Progress is not linear – it’s messy, bumpy, twisted and full of detours.

And that’s not failure. That’s reality.

The more we can adapt, accept, and gently adjust our expectations, the easier it becomes to cope. That doesn’t mean giving up on goals. It means holding them a little more loosely. It means allowing yourself to change direction without beating yourself up for it.

I’m very goal-orientated, and that isn’t always a good thing. This weekend was a powerful reminder that it’s OK when things don’t go to plan. Sometimes the real win isn’t crossing the finish line, but showing up, adapting, and taking the next step forward – however small, however imperfect.

One step at a time is still progress. And progress, after cancer, is always worth celebrating.