SECOND WIND

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Why I said yes to something that didn’t make sense on paper.

As summer ramps up on San Diego Bay, the rhythm becomes familiar. Wednesday nights fill with Beer Can Races — spinnakers popping open, crews laughing, the easy mix of competition and camaraderie that defines sailing here. Out past the channel, boats stretch into longer courses, chasing breeze lines that locals seem to read without having to think.

From shore, it looks effortless — routine, even. But it never really is. For me, this is where our story begins.

I grew up sailing on San Diego Bay. By the time I was a teenager, I was deep into competitive sailing — national champion, U.S. Sailing Team, traveling internationally and working my way toward what felt like the obvious next step — the Olympics.

In 2002, I went to Athens for the Olympic test event. I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Except, somewhere on that trip, I realized I didn’t want my life to be one-dimensional. I loved sailing, but I wanted more than a single-track life that revolved entirely around one thing. So, I stepped away. I went to college, built a career, got married, had kids, and built a full life that I’m grateful for. For a long time, I assumed that my competitive sailing life had simply run its course.

A RETURN TO THE WATER

Coronado has a way of bringing things back to you when you’re not looking for them. In late 2024, I invited a few non-sailor mom friends to join me for a local regatta. It was supposed to be fun — a one-off — but we ended up winning.

What stayed with me wasn’t the result; it was what the women on the boat said afterward. They looked at me and said, “Why aren’t you racing anymore? You just lit up. You should get back out there!” I gave them the logical answer: it’s expensive, I’m a working mom, I don’t have extra time. But later, I couldn’t shake it. I realized they were right. I realized I did feel lit up. And I liked that version of myself.

I didn’t walk away from that regatta and decide to go to the Olympics; I just decided to get back on the racecourse. I bought an ILCA and started training again. I started showing up. Then something happened that I didn’t expect. I started getting results. 

Race by race, regatta by regatta, I worked my way up the national rankings until I found myself sitting at number seven in the United States. That’s when the thought hit me: Wait a second… I’ve still got this. And if that’s true…then what am I going to do with it?

The decision to go all in didn’t come in one big moment. It built over time — through the work, the results, and the realization that this wasn’t just about coming back for fun. I was competing again at a level that mattered. Eventually, the answer became clear: I was going to go for it.

WHAT IT TAKES

There’s no version of this that’s simple. I’m training, fundraising, and managing logistics, all while working and raising two kids. There are days when it feels like too much, but I’m not doing it alone.

My husband, Ken, is the force behind so much of what makes this possible. The logistics, the schedules, the pieces that have to keep moving when I’m traveling or on the water — he’s the one quietly holding it all together. There’s a level of trust in that kind of partnership that I don’t take for granted.

OBSTACLES

And then last year happened. I underwent major abdominal reconstruction, and for a while, everything stopped.

The strength I relied on to compete at this level was gone. I couldn’t lay flat in bed. I couldn’t walk two blocks to take the kids to school. For a stretch, I wondered if this Olympic dream would slip away from me again. I learned that you don’t come back all at once — you rebuild piece by piece.

COMMUNITY SUPPORT

What made that possible was the community around me. My mom stepped in to help with the kids, and people in Coronado showed up in ways that mattered — helping with school pickups, checking in, making sure my family was supported so I could focus on recovery.

Businesses like Coronado Taste of Oils have quietly helped me keep going, stepping in not for visibility, but because they believe in what I’m doing. Through Monarch Soul Chrysalis Circle, I’ve found a different kind of support — one rooted in connection, encouragement, and personal strength, not results. 

With the support of Shayna and her instructors at Pilates of Coronado, I worked through the humbling process of rebuilding my strength from zero. Week by week, I came back stronger. Now, when I walk into the studio after a regatta, the women there already know. They’ve been following along. They ask how it went before I even put my bag down. They’re in it with me.

WHAT THEY SEE

My kids are part of all of it too. They’ve seen the early mornings, the travel, the long days on the water. They’ve seen me win, and they’ve seen me struggle. They’ve seen the days that feel effortless as well as the ones that don’t. That matters to me. I want them to see what it looks like to go after something that matters — not perfectly, but fully.

This campaign has taken us places we probably would have put off for years — different countries, languages, and ways of life. Airports, boat parks, and long days on a schedule that doesn’t make much sense for kids. It’s not always easy, but they’re learning how to adapt, be curious, and step into unfamiliar environments. They’re meeting new friends, seeing world heritage sites, exploring new cultures, and they’re getting to witness, and be part of the story as it unfolds.

Whether I make it to the podium or not, the journey itself has been incredible, and they’re right there in it with me. That feels just as important as anything that happens on the racecourse.

Out there, I carry pieces of that perspective with me. On the racecourse, I wear pink so that my youngest can spot me from shore — her little pink dot in a sea of white sails. For me, it’s a reminder that even in something this serious, there’s still room for joy.

PROOF

There’s a difference in how I approach racing now. When I was younger, everything felt urgent and more tied to outcome. Now, I trust myself more and I’m more grounded. That trust shows up when it counts.

At the World Championships in Italy, on the final race day, I had one of those moments. The fleet was stacked and the start line was crowded. The safe move was to stay conservative but instead, I crossed the entire fleet on port tack. It’s a decision you can’t hedge — you either commit, or you don’t. I committed and it worked. I led the fleet for most of the first beat, sailing in clear air with control of the race.

But more than the position, it was what that moment meant to me. It was proof that  the strength was back, that the instincts were still there, and that I belonged on that line.

THE RIPPLE EFFECT

The road to LA28 is long, and nothing about it is guaranteed. But somewhere along the way, I realized this had become about more than just racing.

What started as a decision that didn’t make much sense on paper has had a ripple effect I never could have planned for. I’ve had people reach out and tell me they signed up for something they’d been putting off, that they went back to something they used to love, and that they finally said yes to something that felt a little risky. I understand why those things get pushed aside — I did it for years. To witness how my journey is inspiring others is incredibly meaningful to me.

Last August, I gave a keynote at a sales retreat and met Rica Fricks. At the time, she was standing at the edge of her own big decision — one that would require her and her family to start over in a completely new country. We didn’t talk about it in some big, dramatic way. It was just a conversation. But later, she told me that something about my story stayed with her. And when she and her family made the move to the Netherlands to begin a new chapter, she carried that idea with her: that it might not be too late, and that starting over might still be worth it. She refers to her new venture as her “second wind.”

That’s been one of the most unexpected parts of all of this. Because this was never about having a perfect plan. It was just about saying yes to something small and being willing to follow where it led. Seeing that decision spark something in someone else has been one of the most gratifying parts of this entire journey.

Out on the water, the conditions are always changing. You don’t get to wait for the perfect moment. You just have to decide to go.

For me, this isn’t about going back. It’s about continuing forward — with more experience, more perspective, and a clearer understanding of what I’m capable of.

Sometimes your second wind isn’t something that shows up on its own — it’s something you choose.

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