I am sat writing this week’s column from a hospital chair, ribs still healing, a cotton pad on my arm from the morning’s bloodwork.
Outside, life moved on: golfers teed off at the Open, Olympic champions did media rounds ahead of the London Diamond League.
Inside the hospital, time slowed.
People fought for breath, families waited in silence, and I sat reading about the death of a 19-year-old Italian cyclist, Samuel Privitera, who died after a bike crash on the opening stage of a bike race in Europe.
Just as that heartbreak settled in, another name appeared online, Felix Baumgartner.
The man who once fell from space to Earth at supersonic speed was gone.
He chased the edge of human limits and lived to tell the tale until he had a fatal crash while flying.
It’s been one of those weeks where sport, life, and death all feel entangled for me.
The wins, the losses, the podiums, the pain.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, two golf interviews that left fans discussing what they said across the internet and in cafes around the world.
Scottie Scheffler, world number one and newly crowned Masters champion, told reporters: “Winning doesn’t give me meaning.”
Then Olympic gold medallist Xander Schauffele, asked about his medal, shrugged: “I think it’s at my parents’ house. I don’t even know where it is.”
When the best in the world admit that success feels hollow, it forces us all to ask: what, then, gives life meaning?
I’m relatively new to golf. I don’t have a swing coach or a trophy cabinet.
I’ve shot 92 and felt proud. I’ve also cried mid-round, wondering what it’s all for.
But I’ve learned that golf, like life, isn’t just about getting the ball in the hole. It’s about who you become walking between the shots.
Scheffler and Schauffele reminded us this week that the pursuit of outcomes alone can leave us empty.
You reach the summit and realise there’s no air up there. At least, not the kind you thought.
And when tragedy hits, or someone like Baumgartner dies after living a sporting dream, it underscores a deeper truth: winning doesn’t insulate you from existential ache.
The PERMA model from positive psychology, Positive Emotion, Engagement, Relationships, Meaning, and Accomplishment, helps us understand what true wellbeing requires. Sport, especially at the elite level, has no shortage of Accomplishment. But if that’s all there is, the system fails.
Scheffler’s joy comes not from trophies but from faith, family, and purpose beyond the fairway. Schauffele doesn’t hang his identity on a medal.
For every teenager training for the Olympics and every adult clinging to fitness post-surgery, engagement matters to the state of flow, of being so absorbed you forget time.
Relationships teammates, coaches, loved ones matter even more. And Positive Emotion? Joy. Play. Laughter. These can be the first casualties in the race to the top which can lace them feeling very alone.
The stories I heard this week hit hard. I remember watching the Red Bull Stratos jump live and was one of the drivers of me getting into psychology and neuroscience.
I love human performance, but I’m more interested in what is happening between the ears way before the world witness the athletes.
It’s the same curiosity I see in hospital and this always has me thinking of what drives.
I found myself thinking not of his death, but of his life. What drove him? What filled the space when the cameras stopped rolling?
Then there was the young cyclist, only 19. The world ahead of him. His story isn’t just about risk; it’s about fragility. We watch athletes for their strength, but forget they are mortal too.
In that hospital chair, surrounded by people fighting to live, it felt almost absurd how much pressure we put on winning. How rarely we talk about what comes after.
Sport has given me so much discipline, community, purpose. But it has also tempted me toward obsession, toward measuring worth in scorecards and benchmarks. It’s easy to fall into that trap, especially when your body is healing, and progress feels slow.
But this week shook me sideways.
I need these ribs to heal, not just so I can swing a club again, but so I can get back to doing what matters most: living each day fully aligned with my values. Laughing with my friends. Feeling the sun on my skin. Staying curious. Being kind. Writing words that might help someone else feel less alone on those hard days.
Because whether you’re a major winner, a gold medallist, a cyclist chasing your first pro contract, or someone just learning how to walk again, your worth is not in the outcome.
It’s in the effort. In how you live. In the meaning you make from your moments.
Scheffler and Schauffele reminded us that chasing outcomes without meaning is a hollow path.
The deaths reminded us that life is short, fragile, and sacred.
And my hospital chair reminded me that healing of body, of mind, of soul is slow but worth the wait.
