By: Julia Hunter
We are living in a spectacular time and society where we are largely living for, or living by, the roles we choose to adopt in our lives. In doing so, more often than not, who we are at the heart of the individual is forgotten. Motherhood has been a stark reminder of this. I am a mother, a wife, a life coach, an athlete, a daughter, and so on. But I am also an adventurer, a lover of nature, an outdoors enthusiast. I prefer kindness over criticism. I live to make people feel seen, heard, and loved.
Whale of Trail 2025 brought me back to who I truly am in so many ways and left me guzzling the dust of my ego. My 2025 race started out with goal times in mind, hopes and dreams of a podium, and pressure to perform at its core. Despite how nonchalant I may have sounded to others, for me it was: get in or get out.
I had won the 35km in 2019, and after having to postpone my “winning lottery ticket” to do the 53km due to my pregnancy with twins, this year was my time to shine—or so I thought. Returning to the race with three beautiful children felt different. Other than the obvious hurdles of sleep deprivation and the fact that energy is split in a gazillion ways, I had high hopes of replicating whatever magic recipe I had conjured up for the 35km.
Despite knowing the field was highly competitive, with the likes of Kerry-Anne, Emily, and Simone, to name a few, I still had an obsession with time and with trying to keep up. I had lost sight of who I was and was feeding the wrong wolf.
As fate would have it, I had an ITB flare shortly after the dawn start. This came as no surprise, as it had been there pre-race—but I had chosen to ignore it. I had trained really hard and consistently, knowing the route was one of mixed terrain, with some brutal technical sections combined with subtle yet punishing stretches of sand running. However, I had consciously made some poor choices and hadn’t fully listened to my trusted coach in managing my ITB.
As I passed Robbie Rorich on a descent—who had literally stopped, peacefully accepting his fate, to smell the proteas and enjoy nature—my race hopes and dreams began to disintegrate before my eyes.
I got to the aid station at the bottom of the steep climb and broke down in tears. Training for these races with small children, life commitments, and trying to restart a business is real. It is so real. The juggle is an art form, and it certainly would not be possible without the support of my husband. He is my greatest cheerleader, my sounding board, and always in my corner, no matter what.
The guilt one feels in choosing to pursue something like endurance sport can also be particularly challenging in the context of motherhood—and it’s something I have spent many hours working through. All the feelings, questions, and emotions flooded in at that one aid station. It was all too much.
But then so did the thought: what is this all about?
The Whale is about family. It is about enjoying nature and immersing oneself in the most exceptional landscapes. It is about running alongside the ocean, hearing her whispers while soaking in the majesty of the mountains. It’s a different kind of high.
As a life coach, I understand the process of our thoughts and how they influence our emotions and, consequently, our actions. So I started thinking about my luck—what a privilege it was to be there. How fortunate I was to find myself in such an exceptional place with like-minded strangers, yet still experience the solitude of nature.
Then I visualised my children’s faces as I would cross that finish line. The previous day, their faces lit up as I set the scene—the crashing waves on one side, the mountains in the distance on the other. Their eyes grew wider as I explained the majesty of the route, where I would be travelling, and the journey through the sand to reach the very finish line they were standing on.
They didn’t have to say anything—I could feel their pride and admiration for their mum doing something hard. There is no greater prize.
And so, I put my big-girl panties on and carried on.
The crew were so kind, asking what they could do as I sobbed over my lingering ITB pain.
To continue became about managing the pain and recognising that where I found myself far outweighed any time goal or placement. I was exactly where I was supposed to be—with the cherry on top being my raison d’être: the three bright-eyed little humans waiting for me at the end.
And so off I went, along the most picturesque yet gruelling trail along the coastline. It is so exquisite you couldn’t dream it up if you tried. I hit the sandy beaches and walked most of the way before reaching the final aid station. I knew what was coming and set off on the final stretch along the familiar rolling terrain towards the finish. Fellow competitors from the 35km were stopping to take in the views, search for whales, eat a sandwich, and take selfies against the matchless backdrop.
This was real success—giving yourself permission to take it all in.
As I reached the final kilometre, I could hear the commentator welcoming in the Whale Pod, and all I could focus on were my children’s faces. As I came up the stairs, our eyes met, and to this day, it remains one of the proudest moments of my life.
It was never about finishing in a certain time. It was about dying to my ego and acknowledging something far greater than myself: running through the most breathtaking terrain, pushing through when things got tough, and inspiring my children to do their best despite the circumstances.
To do hard things that align with my values—not to prove anything, but because it is who I am at my core.
This is the greatest win of all.
Carving out time for these things takes planning—but it also takes the courage to dream.
Motherhood has taught me that it’s okay to dream big. You just have to find the time—and make it happen.
The kids had a dreamy morning driving through the vastness of De Hoop, spotting zebras, ostriches, and all the bokkies they could imagine. They rode their bikes with new choms and soaked up the gees and energy of the race village.
Motherhood is a beautifully messy experience. It teaches you resilience in a way that’s hard to explain, but it also teaches you about self-acceptance—beyond your titles. Your strengths and your weaknesses, and the beauty in both.
Since this race, I’ve had to re-establish why I run and what it means not only for me, but for my entire family. Whale of Trail epitomises my “why.”
I will definitely be back—kids in tow—to inhale the salty ocean breeze and experience freedom through movement amidst the fynbos and mountains.
