This article was written by Becky Wilde.
One year since Paris 2024.
One year, but it could be ten. It truly feels like a lifetime ago.
There have been many articles, interviews, and podcasts, but a year later, in my own words, this is a reflection on achieving the medal many thought was impossible.
The Build Up
The Olympic Games have always been my obsession. From 2004 onwards, I knew every piece of trivia. Books, magazines, newspaper cut-outs, and posters littered my room, and the love of the Games has followed me ever since. Yet this obsession was something I was apprehensive about heading into Paris. Watching the other sports as a fan, would I be able to dissociate from my athletic identity? I didn’t want to let the emotions of the Olympic Games impact my own performances and drain me before I raced.
Whilst these worries were completely rational, I embraced the Games, watching sport in my downtime and using it to switch off just as I always had. It was my coping mechanism and allowed me to stay true to myself, keeping the superfan inside me happy.
Having dreamt of going to the Olympic Games since the age of six, I also needed to confront the reality of achieving my dream. Inevitably, I was nervous, and it would have been easy to let these nerves overwhelm me, as I had on countless occasions when I was a younger athlete, but instead, I made a conscious decision to own this moment. I have a clear memory of looking down the course from the boating area in Vaires-sur-Marne: I was finally where I was meant to be.
In the boat, it was just as it always was for Mathilda and I. We were intent on keeping the same focus and the same sense of enjoyment in those final few days. Nothing had changed. It was just another 2km lake, and we would take the same strokes we had practised every session. It was the same race plan we had rehearsed every day. Blurring out the outside noise, we kept it as normal as possible: signing off social media to escape Olympic fever, sticking to our regular schedule and being ourselves. The same sentiment we had throughout our time together remained: “a happy boat is a fast boat”.
The Semi-Final
Naturally, the race everyone talks about is the final, but it’s the semifinal that will forever be the race I am most proud of. After somewhat “announcing” ourselves in the heat, we drew the hardest semifinal imaginable and would be racing all the crews expected to make the final. The nerves when we saw the draw were gut-wrenching, and we both had moments of doubt without telling each other. But this was the race we had been building towards in the ten weeks post-qualifying. This was the target. We had the belief; we just had to go and execute it.
Confident and relentless, that was the best we ever rowed, leading the world and Olympic champions until the final strokes. Staying internal, every metre was taken care of, and we had complete trust in one another. It’s the race where our potential was unlocked on the world stage, and crossing the finish line, any doubts we had left were extinguished in the knowledge that we could win a medal two days later.
The Final
I heard a quote soon after the Games that made complete sense: “Practice makes Permanence, not Perfection.”
That was our final. It was by no means the perfect race, but it didn’t need to be. We had so much belief from our training in the build-up and our performances that week that there was no way we wouldn’t deliver something special. I woke up on the morning of our final with a cold, cursing the universe that it couldn’t have waited one more day. I told no one. There was nothing that could be done now. Unbeknownst to me, Mathilda had a rib stress fracture she had been managing for weeks; the pain had been excruciating after the semifinal, but she hadn’t wanted me to worry. Neither of us were 100%, but we were ready to give 100%. We raced with the same relentless, confident attitude that we had all week, defying all the odds and delivering a bronze medal.
The Aftermath
I can only describe crossing the line of our Olympic final as experiencing shock. Every day up to that point had a plan, and every minute was taken care of on race day. Our schedule was written up to 11.18 am, and then the race plan took over. There was no thought for what came next.
When we crossed the line, Mathilda screamed that we had won bronze, but in the one moment I ever doubted her, I was convinced we were fourth. I couldn’t accept what we had done until I saw it on the screen: GBR third.
Everything that came after was a blur. There were hugs, tears, endless media, and so much celebration. Memories to treasure forever, but all of it felt like an out-of-body experience. I had dreamed for years of being an Olympian, but I had never once dreamt of winning a medal. It was beyond belief, and it stayed like that for a long time.
The Comedown
I got the Olympic Rings tattooed on my wrist soon after I returned home. I wanted them somewhere I could see them to remind myself what had happened, and it slowly helped me come to terms with what we had achieved.
Post Games, there are so many feelings and emotions to work through, and when the adrenaline eventually wears off, the comedown hits. Everyone talks about the Olympic blues, but no one can fully comprehend it until they experience it themselves. I finally felt the impact in November as I returned to full-time training again. It’s not that I didn’t want to return; I didn’t realise I wasn’t ready to. I was still on that Olympic high, with life outside of training continuing to celebrate the summer. But the grind of elite sport had already moved on. The next cycle had started; the Olympic Games were a distant memory for many. That’s probably when it hit me: sport waits for no one, the results-driven machine keeps rolling. I just wasn’t ready to go with it yet.
I had achieved what I hadn’t thought was possible, and all my aims and expectations were now completely thrown away. Whilst I couldn’t live on our Olympic high forever, it was four years until the next one—four years until I could achieve a better result. Four years is a long time.
This season has been a whole new challenge. My Olympic year can only be compared to a rollercoaster, so fast-paced that there was barely time to catch a breath. This season, in contrast, has been a hike, slower-paced with some peaks and many troughs.
Life moves on, sport moves on, and I have accepted that. Yet the experiences and lessons I learnt from last year have been so important to take with me:
When others doubt you stay true to yourself
Enjoy the journey
Fear no one
Chase your dreams
Be ready when opportunity calls
No matter what comes next in this new Olympiad and beyond, I’ll hold onto these things forever. And most importantly, I’ll remember the little girl who grew up dreaming of the Olympic Games: she‘d be so proud.
