The powerful force of the car hitting my bicycle launched me into the air and I landed on my left side. My head hit the concrete. The force of the blow caused me to have a stroke, and I suffered a broken hand, bruised hips and knees, and other injuries.
PUCÓN, Chile ꟷ On a freezing July morning in the mountains of Switzerland, I began training early. Like most days, I rode my bicycle with great focus, maintaining a good speed. When I saw a car approaching, like always, I made eye contact to alert them of my movements.
Unfortunately, the driver remained oblivious to my presence and hit me. The powerful force of the car hitting my bicycle launched me into the air and I landed on my left side. My head hit the concrete. The force of the blow caused me to have a stroke, and I suffered a broken hand, bruised hips and knees, and other injuries.
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Lying in my hospital bed, I thought back to those beautiful, early days of life when my father introduced me to sports. At the tender age of six, my parents divorced and he used sports as a way to build a connection with me.
The time we spent together meant so much. Watching his dedication to training instilled a passion in me and soon our shared love for running blossomed. Through practice, I learned from my father how to cover long miles and take on marathons.
In the summertime, without any formal training, my father and I competed in triathlons in the south of Chile, in places like Pucón, Villarrica, and Licanray. These moments marked the beginning of my career in sports – and I treasure each memory. My father also began to improve. At my mother’s insistence, he would tuck us into bed, but then he would head out to practice.
My first-ever race took place at Lake Sausalito in Viña del Mar. While I cannot remember the details of it, I know that finishing the race represented a massive milestone for me. I felt satisfied having finished, despite possessing little knowledge of what a triathlon really was. I had no swimming goggles, and I used my brother’s bicycle for the competitions.
Eventually, I trained professionally at one of the most prestigious universities in Chile, La Universidad Católica. Ana María Lecumberri, an iconic triathlete, coached me. To become a professional athlete, I needed the mental strength to withstand the harshest conditions. She taught me hard work and the rigors of elite discipline so I could achieve my dreams.
In those days, a deep romanticism for the discipline of being a triathlete existed. People seemed less distracted by social media and more focused on improving themselves. Despite my early success, the national federation never supported me. They only showed up after I qualified for the Olympic Games in 2008.
In a twist of fate, the International Traffic Union (ITU) gave me a scholarship right before classifications. After that, the National Sports Institute and the Olympic Committee finally recognized me as a rising star. Obtaining support was no easy feat, however, my greatest support came from my first coach – my father. He and my family helped me navigate that challenging stage of my life. My coach, who endured a similar experience, encouraged me as well.
For two months after that tragic accident in Switzerland, my training paused as I recovered. Healing moved slowly as doctors monitored the effects of my stroke. I had to rebuild a great deal of resilience. After many long weeks of rehabilitation, they took a scan, and delivered good news.
Each day, I feel better in my recovery. On January 7, 2024, I will tackle my first race in six months in Pucón. I will attempt to make the Iron Man in New Zealand in March and then qualify to compete in the Iron Man World Championship in September 2024. I maintain ambitious goals. I know that with mental strength, I can achieve anything. That preparation will allow me to return to the heights of competition. Above all, I hope to continue to improve and make my country proud.