It all started with a message from Charlotte - my lovely daughter-in-law and unstoppable burst of energy from Bergen. One rainy October evening, I was happily wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and zero intention of moving, when a message pinged in: “Wanna join us at Hyrox in Copenhagen on March 15?”

Hyrox? Honestly, it sounded like either a protein powder or a Nordic skincare brand promising eternal youth. I had no clue. But March was months away, and from the safety of my sofa, I felt bold. “Sure, why not?” I wrote back, feeling proud.

We decided, heroically, to start training hard from January 1. New year, new muscles, right? And then came the shock. We googled the Hyrox exercises.

Lunges. Sled pushes. Burpee broad jumps. Wall balls. Rowing. Running. Basically, everything I actively avoid.

“Wait, people actually do all that?” I muttered in disbelief, wine glass trembling in hand.

Luckily, we had signed up for the relay. Four people. Eight stations. We distributed them with the strategic precision of military tacticians (with just a pinch of panic). I gracefully volunteered for what I assumed were the two easiest stations: rowing and the farmer’s carry. I mean, it’s walking with weights. How hard could that be?

Well. Let’s just say my hands and shoulders now have a different opinion.

Once we realized we were in tragic shape, we did what any panicking amateurs would do: we trained like maniacs. Every other day. Sometimes every day. Lift. Lunge. Complain. Repeat.

The result? We burned out completely. By mid-February, we were so exhausted we could barely lift a soup spoon. And just when we thought things couldn’t get any worse - bam! A nasty cold hit us like a truck. For three long weeks, we were coughing, sneezing, and sniffling like it was our new full-time job. Training was replaced with naps, tea, and complaining dramatically about our fate. Our muscles were still sore, but now mostly from coughing.

March 15 came faster than expected - as those terrifying dates always do. We were still slightly sick, slightly broken, and wildly underprepared.

We walked into the arena... and were surrounded by tall, shiny, athletic gods and goddesses, all looking like they came straight from a Nike commercial. I looked down at my leggings and reached for a tissue.

But then something magical happened. Karolina – my other daughter-in-law, our sweet little beam of sunshine – showed up with a surprise: sleek black Worlds Within t-shirts. Minimal, elegant, and printed with our little logo over the heart. Suddenly, we weren’t just a bunch of sniffly amateurs. We were a team.

We raced. We coughed. We carried. We gasped. We laughed. And we finished - together - in 1:30:39.

Tom was calm and focused. Mic was fast and precise and sharp. Karo was strong and stylish. And me? Red-faced, determined, and strangely euphoric.

That little logo on our chests became something bigger. Worlds Within wasn’t just my blog anymore - it was a symbol. Of showing up. Of doing hard things. Of laughing through the pain (and the snot).

So here’s to midlife adventures, sweaty regrets, and unexpected triumphs. To coughing through cardio and still crossing the finish line. To beginner mistakes, burnt-out muscles, and trying anyway.

And guess what? We’re not done.

We are already thinking about signing up for another Hyrox race in Gdańsk this October.

So if you’re reading this thinking, “Could I do something like that?” - the answer is: YES. Join us. Cheer us on. Or just laugh along from the sidelines. There’s room for everyone.

You’ve got your world within. And maybe - just maybe - a t-shirt waiting for its next adventure.