Reflective Performance

I have been doing a bit of reflection lately, due to current circumstances I have been prevented from pursuing my passion and things are currently on hold. But I want to get back to it and will once time’s get better.

People do often ask me what it was like and how I did it, so I thought I’d put a few words together about it and how I felt.

Stepping onto the stage at the championships was one of those “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this” moments. I’d spent years in gyms and around fitness culture. I had an idea of competing but thought I would never be good at it. It is one thing to hit the gym, but competing is a different universe. One that asks you to be disciplined, vulnerable, obsessive (in a controlled way) and oddly calm while you’re standing under bright lights in a layer of tan, trying to look like you belong. I went in thinking it would mostly be about training. I came out realising the real contest happens long before you ever hit the stage.

I first decided to throw my hat into the ring for the ICN Victorian Championships because time has a way of speeding up. COVID had finally loosened its grip, life was returning to something like normal, and I had this persistent feeling. If not now, when? So I started documenting the journey, not just to keep myself accountable. But because I knew other people sit on the fence for years, waiting to feel “ready.” Competing taught me that “ready” is a moving target. One you will never hit.

The early phase was messy and brutally honest. I began around 91kg and with the urgency of a looming contest (that later changed), I tightened everything up and dropped weight quickly hitting about 85kg in a little over a week. That kind of early momentum can feel addictive. The scale moves, the mirror changes and you start thinking you’ve cracked the code. But bodybuilding prep humbles you fast. Rapid change is easy compared to sustained precision.
And precision is where the sport really lives.

The hardest part wasn’t training as I’m not new to hard sessions, it was diet. Competitive bodybuilding turned food into maths and time into a schedule. Meals became measured, planned and repeated. My day stopped revolving around what I felt like eating and started revolving around what the goal required. It taught me more about nutrition than years of casual “eating clean” ever did, because you can’t bluff your way to stage leanness.

When I finally walked out at the ICN Victorian Muscle and Model Championships, it was nerve-wracking in a way that surprised me. This was my first ever contest and I chose Men’s Physique due to my legs not being the same as my upper body from years of marathon running. I remember being on stage and my brain was constantly “Where do I stand? What’s my next pose? Am I doing this right?”

What I didn’t expect and what I’m still grateful for was the atmosphere backstage. I’d braced for ego and “sledging,” but the vibe was supportive. Competitors helped each other, hyped each other up and generally acted like people who understood exactly what it took to get there. Even though it’s a competition, there’s a kind of shared respect in the room. Everyone has suffered through the same hunger, the same early mornings, the same “no thanks” at social events.

Then the moment happened, my name got called for 5th place in Men’s Physique.

I was genuinely shocked the kind of shock you can’t fake, because it hits you right in the chest. It felt like validation, but not in a “I’m better than…” way. More like the work counted. The hours and the boredom and the discipline weren’t invisible. They added up to something real, something measurable.

But the biggest lesson from that first show was that experience matters. Afterwards, I could see the little moments where I’d missed opportunities transitions, stage presence, small presentation details. So rather than letting the result be the end of the story, I used it as fuel.

That’s what pushed me into my next challenge. The ICN Australian & Oceania competition. This time I competed in Bodybuilding, which suited my build better but it came with a new set of problems. The transition from Men’s Physique to Bodybuilding isn’t just “do the same thing but bigger.” It’s different posing, different expectations and a different emphasis on overall development. And I had to learn fast.

I also had to face something I’d rather hide, my legs. Years of marathon running left me with what I described as “shortfalls” compared to the standard I was stepping into. Bodybuilding is brutally honest that way it rewards the whole package, not just your strengths.

If I had to boil down what ICN competing taught me, it’s this:

1. The body follows the calendar.
   Consistency beats intensity, but intensity still matters especially when you’re tired, hungry and tempted to “just ease off.” Prep taught me how to stay steady.

2. The mind needs coaching as much as the physique.
   One of the most practical pieces of advice I picked up is to get an experienced coach so you’re not carrying every decision and stressor yourself. You need your mental bandwidth for performance not for juggling a to do list when you’re already depleted.

3. Community changes everything.
   The stage is a solo moment, but the journey doesn’t have to be lonely.

Competing at ICN didn’t just give me a placing or some stage photos. It gave me perspective, on discipline, on identity and on what it feels like to pursue something that scares you a little. I went in as a gym guy testing himself. I came out as someone who understands that confidence isn’t something you wait for, it’s something you build, rep by rep, meal by meal and choice by choice, until one day you’re standing under the lights thinking, I earned the right to be here