What Do You Dare to Dream Now?

Thirty years ago, I sat in a boat on a lake in Atlanta, Georgia, and became an Olympic gold medallist. I still don’t say that lightly. Even now, three decades later, part of me still wonders if it really happened.

Going back, thirty years on, has stirred up questions about ambition, ageing, starting again, and the long game.

The build-up to those Games was not a clean story. There was doubt, and there were setbacks. There were moments when the whole thing felt impossibly far away, when I wondered whether I was being completely delusional to think it was possible at all.

The expectation was enormous, and the pressure was real. On the day of the race itself, the noise of the crowd and the Atlanta heat made everything feel overwhelming. Then, when it was over, pure disbelief. I have never quite found the words for what that felt like. The photo below is one of those moments: Megan and I on the podium, caught somewhere between "is this really happening?" and "pinch me."

I thought about it constantly for years. Then, somewhere along the way, I realised life had simply moved on, the way it does.

Now I am going back, not to compete, but to watch. My daughter will be rowing there in the NCAAs, and sitting in the stands while she races is something I cannot adequately prepare for.

She doesn't need my experience. She doesn't need my advice. She knows her race plan, she knows her team, and she knows her own body. She needs me to be proud, and to hold it together in the stands ... and I am working on both.

Going back has me thinking about time. About what thirty years changes, and about what, despite everything, stays exactly the same.

What thirty years changes

The obvious things first. My body is different now. Of course it is. That part I expected. What I didn't expect was that my relationship with ambition would change too, and not in the direction most people assume.

When I was twenty-four, I dared to dream. I pushed boundaries, put myself out there, and set goals far bigger than anything I was sure I could reach. Then leant in and chased them anyway, even when it was uncomfortable. The goal was clear and the path was structured, and there was safety in that, even when it was brutal. Training schedules, race plans, measurable outcomes. The system held you. You showed up, you did the work, you could see exactly what you were building toward. You knew where you were.

Now, in my fifties, I find myself doing it again. Setting up a new business. Taking on a whole new area of my life. That same discomfort is back, and so is the daring to dream, the appetite for goals that stretch me, the pull to put my ambition and my life back into motion. I don't want to look back and wonder, "what if?".

But this time there is no such structure, I have to build the system myself. You have to show up when nobody is watching, make decisions without a roadmap, and keep going on the days you are not sure any of it is working. There is no race plan that covers this.

Which makes it challenging, but it is also the most alive I have felt in years.

The goals that scared me most

I have come to understand that the goals that felt too big were the interesting ones.

I don't mean reckless. I am not advocating for chaos, or for ignoring reality. I mean the goal that stretches you, the kind that asks you to become a different version of yourself in order to reach it. The kind that makes your stomach turn a little when you say it out loud. The kind you have probably been circling for longer than you would like to admit, approaching and retreating, approaching and retreating, telling yourself the timing isn't right, or that you're not quite ready yet.

Those are the ones worth attempting.

The comfortable goal, the one that fits neatly inside what you already know you can do, might still be worth pursuing. But the one that doesn't frighten you at all is probably worth a few honest questions.

What does not change

The drive you had when you were younger, I now realise that part doesn't go anywhere.

It might go quiet for a while: after burnout, after injury, after the years when life simply takes over and you quietly set down things that once mattered to you. It might go so quiet that you start to wonder whether it ever really existed. But it is still there. Waiting. Looking for something worth chasing again.

As I get ready to stand in Atlanta and watch my daughter pull through the water in the same country where I once did, I can feel it doing both things at once, making me reflect, and pushing me to ask what comes next. Do we stop dreaming because the dream disappears? Or because life gets loud, and we simply forget to ask the question? I haven't stopped dreaming. But my dreams have changed.

What do you dare to dream now?

When you are younger, it feels simpler, your options seem more obvious. Now, with everything you know, everything you have lived through, every version of yourself you have already had to become, and everything still ahead of you, your goals carry more layers. They shift and reshape to reflect the person you are now.

So write it down or tell it to ChatGPT! Not a full plan, not a strategy document, just an outline of what you want. The career you keep imagining. The creative project you have been putting off. The health goal you quietly gave up on somewhere along the way. The version of your life that feels slightly too big to say out loud to anyone else.

You don't need to know exactly what your 'finish line' looks like yet, you just need to be honest about what you want. The harder part is making it stick this time, so start small. Say it to yourself, out loud, then tell one person, and then take one small step toward it this week. Not a leap, just a step, and then another, and another after that.

The long game is still yours to play. Thirty years from now, you will be somewhere. The only question is where you decided to aim.

If this has stirred something in you, a goal, a dream, a quiet nudge that you are not finished yet, I would love to help you explore it. Get in contact with me and we can talk about where you are now, where you would like to go, and what small steps could help you begin.

Don't know me yet?

Kate Slatter OAM OLY is a Registered Nutritional Therapist, Functional Medicine Certified Health Coach, and Olympic gold medallist. She works with individuals and organisations on performance, energy, and sustainable health through her 1% Gains method.

What Do You Dare to Dream Now?

By Kate Slatter