Showing up to the first Winter Invictus Games felt like setting off on some grand, uncharted quest—one filled with unknowns, a little fear, and the promise of something bigger than myself.
A quest to stop second-guessing.
A quest to push past doubt and own every damn step forward.
A quest to give it everything, no matter what.
But I’ll be honest with you—I almost didn’t go.
February 7th. That’s when I finally bought my plane tickets. Up until then, I had one foot out the door, drowning in a brutal week at work—the kind that guts your spirit and leaves you questioning everything. The kind that makes you want to disappear into a couch vortex, binge-watching Law & Order reruns in your pajamas, convincing yourself that the world wouldn’t miss you anyway.
Tempting.
But then there’s the other part of me—the one that refuses to let life win without a fight. The resilient, reckless daredevil that said, Get up. Pack your damn bag. Go back to the place where you belong. Where stories of resilience, courage, and grit are waiting to be told.
So I did.
And the moment I arrived, I felt it—like a homecoming. Stepping into the Invictus Games is like walking into a space where the world actually makes sense for a change. It’s a reminder of what’s possible. It’s a little like Disney World, but instead of Mickey Mouse, you’ve got warriors from across the globe showing what true strength looks like.
Turns out, I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. Veterans from all over shared the same sentiment: If you want to imagine a world at peace, come to the Invictus Games.
The Dream Team
What makes the Invictus Games what they are?
It’s the people.
The volunteers, the organizers, the athletes, the families, the veterans, and yes—even the decent members of the press. The real Dream Team.
You want proof? Let me give you a moment I’ll carry with me forever: Gaddafi Yau from Team Nigeria skiing for the first time in his life. Watching him carve through the snow, he turned to all of us and said, “We are one. We love each other.”
That is the spirit of the Games.
The Conquest
The mantra of the Games is to be the conqueror of our fate. And every single athlete, every single family member, embodied that this week.
For me, that energy was like a slow, steady light breaking through the fog I’d been stuck in. Before booking my flight, my better half gave me a nudge—reminding me of what I do best: telling stories. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this until I was in the thick of it, talking to people whose resilience makes my own struggles feel a little less heavy.
Like Richie McCaw—yeah, that Richie McCaw. The All Blacks legend. Ambassador of ISPS Handa. We had a conversation (which, by the way, you can listen to—though apologies in advance for my flu-ridden, very French Canadian voice).
The conversation will be available really soon.
Or Mike Murphy, a U.S. Army veteran who lost his sight a few years ago—now competing as a visually impaired snowboarder. Yes, you read that right. A blind snowboarder. And not just making it down the hill—owning it.
I sat down with Mike, his fiancée Ashley, and his best friend—a service dog named Maverick. The conversation flowed, like we could’ve talked all night. It was honest, unfiltered, real. I found myself opening up more than I expected, sharing my own struggles, my own doubts. And then something unexpected happened.
Mike’s family joined us, and somehow, we got onto the topic of my mom. She’s been fighting cancer, and like millions of others battling that monstrous disease, there are good days, and then there are the days that break you.
Then Ashley asked me something I didn’t expect:
“Can we pray for her?”
I paused. Not because I didn’t believe in the power of it, but because I wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of that kind of kindness. But I said yes.
We stood there, forming a small circle around Maverick, hands clasped. One of Mike’s family members led the prayer, and in that moment, something hit me like a freight train—gratitude.
It was my first night at the Games, and already, I’d witnessed my first miracle.
The Takeaway
The Invictus Games are more than a competition. They are a testament to resilience, to brotherhood, to the unshakable human spirit.
And for me, they were a lifeline—a reminder that no matter how heavy life gets, there’s always a reason to keep pushing forward. To keep showing up. To keep telling these stories.
I will always be grateful to Mike, Ashley, Maverick, and the entire Murphy family for reminding me of something I had forgotten:
Gratitude is a game-changer.
Stay tuned for the next episode.
