Tag Archive for: Sean Bell

We often think our standard is what we hold on our best day. It is not. It is what we hold on our worst one.

And most of us have never honestly asked ourselves what that looks like.

Last week I talked about comeback seasons. This week I want to talk about the thing that decides whether a comeback season builds you or breaks you. The standard you refuse to drop even when everything is telling you to.

At the end of the day we are all leading something. A team. A business. A family. A comeback. Ourselves. And the standard we hold in those hard moments is the truest measure of the leader we are.

As you know from this newsletter, there are two voices we all carry, and they’re in a constant battle that I call ‘The Run Within’.

Voice One shows up first.

It always does. And in a hard week it has more material than usual. The results are not there yet. The gap between where you are and where you want to be feels wider than ever. Just this once, it whispers. The circumstances justify it. Lower the bar a little. Nobody will notice. You can get back to your standard once things improve.

Voice Two is quieter.

It knows something Voice One does not. It knows the standard is not something you return to once things get easier. It is something you protect precisely because things are hard. And it says hold the line. This is exactly the moment the standard matters most.

The question that sits underneath every hard season is one most of us never ask directly.

“What standard am I actually holding right now?”

Not the standard I talk about in team meetings.

Not the standard written on the wall or embedded in the values document.

The standard I am living in my worst week, because that is the real test. That is the one the people around us see. And that is the one that either holds everything together or quietly begins to unravel it.

Here is what I know from my own comeback. The temptation in a hard season is to give yourself permission to lower the bar. To tell yourself the circumstances justify a temporary dip. That once things improve you will get back to your standard. That right now just surviving is enough.

And sometimes surviving is genuinely all you can do.

I have been there. There were days during my run around Australia where getting up and taking the next step was the entire standard. The output was small. The effort was everything I had. And that was enough for that day.

The distinction I think is critical is this. There is a difference between adjusting your expectations of the outcome and dropping your standard of the effort. One is wisdom. The other is the beginning of a slide that is very hard to stop once it starts. And it almost always starts with Voice One convincing you that just this once is reasonable.

I am in my running comeback season right now, and I am nowhere near the times I was running before my run around Australia.

That gap is real and I am not pretending otherwise. What has not changed is the standard of how I prepare, how I show up to every session, and how I treat the process and the people around me. That standard stays regardless of where the results currently sit, because I know the results are a lagging indicator of the standard.

If I drop the standard now while waiting for the results to come back, the results will take even longer to arrive.

Voice Two reminds me of that every single morning. Especially the mornings when Voice One has the loudest case it has ever made.

I see the same pattern in the leaders and teams I work with through my keynote The Run Within.

The teams that hold their standard in the bad weeks are the ones that come out of the hard season with their culture intact. The ones that drop it, even temporarily, even with the best of intentions, almost always find that getting it back is harder than they expected. Standards are not just about performance. They are about identity. And when a team starts to identify as one that cuts corners when things get tough, that identity becomes self-reinforcing very quickly.

I have seen leaders go through restructures, losing streaks, budget cuts and team changes and hold their standard through every single one of them. Not perfectly. Not without struggle. Always with Voice Two loud enough that the team never lost faith in what they were building toward. On the other side of those hard seasons, those teams were stronger, more cohesive and more capable than they were before the difficulty hit.

And I have watched others, equally talented and equally well intentioned, let Voice One win just enough in the hard weeks that by the time things improved, the culture had shifted. The shift was hard to trace back to a single decision, and it was unmistakably real.

The difference was not talent.

It was not resources.

It was not even the severity of the challenge.

It was which voice they listened to when Voice Two was hardest to hear.

This is Voice Two doing some of its most important work. Not in the big visible moments. In the quiet Tuesday morning when nobody is watching and it would be so easy to do just enough and call it a day. Voice Two in those moments does not ask for perfection. It just asks you not to drop what you know you stand for.

I truly believe the standard we hold in our worst week is the clearest signal the people around us will ever receive about who we are and what we are about. Not our best week. Not the week we won the championship, closed the deal or hit the number. The week it was hardest to hold the line. That is the week that defines us.

And it is the week where Voice Two either gets a little stronger or a little quieter, depending on what we choose.

So here is your question this week.

Think about your worst week in the last few months. The week where everything felt harder. The results were not coming and Voice One had more ammunition than usual. What standard did you hold that week? Which voice won? And is that the answer you want to give yourself next time the question comes up?

Because The Run Within is not tested in the good weeks. It is revealed in the hard ones.

Thanks for reading.

Sean

Think about a comeback season for a second.

Not a running one.

Yours.

The season in your leadership, your business, your team, or your life where you were rebuilding after something that knocked you back.

Where the gap between where you were and where you wanted to be felt uncomfortably visible. Where you had to show up and do the work without the guarantee that it was going to pay off the way you hoped.

Because most leaders I know are either in one right now or have just come out of one. And almost none of them talk about it openly.

Last week, I shared about my race in Siquijor in the Philippines. I started at 3am in 28 degree heat, and fuelled on sour worms and coke. Race two of my running comeback season. A whole 19 minutes outside my personal best… and I could not have been more positive about where I am heading.

Not because the result was impressive. Because I showed up. Because my foot held up. Because every honest effort in a comeback season is a deposit into something that will matter later, even when the evidence is not fully there yet.

And that is exactly what I want to talk about this week. Because comeback seasons don’t just happen in running. They happen in boardrooms, quarterly reviews, team meetings and in change rooms. They happen after a restructure, a losing streak, a failed campaign, a leadership change, or a season where everything that could go wrong did. And the way a leader navigates that season determines everything about what comes next.


Here is what I have learned from my own comeback and from watching leaders navigate theirs.

The first thing comeback seasons demand is honesty.

You have to be honest about where you actually are. Not where you wish you were. Not where you were twelve months ago. Where you are right now.

Because one of the biggest mistakes leaders make in a comeback season is pretending they are further along than they are. They project confidence that the team can see through. They set timelines that are not grounded in reality. And when those timelines are inevitably missed, the team’s trust takes another hit on top of the one that started the comeback in the first place.

Honest leadership in a comeback season sounds like this. We are not where we want to be yet. Here is where we actually are. Here is what we are building toward. And here is what I need from every single one of you to get there. That kind of transparency doesn’t weaken a team. It unites one.

The second thing comeback seasons demand is patience with the process.

If you’ve been reading this newsletter, you’ll know The Run Within comes down to the battle of two voices. Two voices we all carry. Two voices fighting each other every single day. If you’re new here, Voice One wants comfort. It’s lazy and it’s fearful. It looks for the easy way out. Voice Two is calm, and it demands the work. It asks for discipline when discipline is the last thing you feel like giving.

Voice One is loudest in comeback seasons. It compares where you are to where you used to be. It points out the gap between your current performance and your personal best. It whispers that maybe this is as good as it gets now. That the best days are behind you.

Voice Two knows something different. It understands that comeback seasons aren’t linear. Some days my foot holds up. Some days it doesn’t. Running 19 minutes outside my personal best is not failure. It is data. It’s simply a marker on my road back. Voice Two doesn’t let me sit with that data. It sends me back out for the next session.

Voice One says you are behind. Voice Two says you are in a comeback season. Same facts. Different story. The story you choose shapes everything you do next.

The teams that come back strongest are the ones where the leader keeps Voice Two loud enough for everyone to hear. Where the standard is maintained even when the results are not yet reflecting the effort. Where the process is trusted even when the scoreboard is not yet agreeing.

The third thing comeback seasons demand is joy.

And this one surprises most people.

In Siquijor I raced at 3am with strangers who became friends for a few hours on a dark road in the Philippines. There was a Zumba warm up before the start that had me genuinely laughing. The local runners were magnificent. The energy was infectious. And in the middle of a comeback that is still very much a work in progress I felt pure uncomplicated joy.

That joy was not a distraction from the comeback. It was fuel for it. Because when you can find genuine enjoyment in the process before the process has fully rewarded you, you have unlocked something that most high performers spend their whole career chasing. Sustainable motivation. The kind that does not depend on the result to keep going.

The best leaders I have worked with through The Run Within understand this intuitively. They find ways to make the comeback season worth being in, not just worth getting through. They celebrate the markers even when the destination is still a long way off. They protect the culture of enjoyment and connection even when the pressure to perform is at its highest.

Because a team that is only motivated by results will fall apart the moment the results stop coming. A team that genuinely loves what they do and who they do it with, will find a way through almost anything.

I am not back to my best yet. My running comeback is still very much in progress. I am building. I am racing. I am finding joy in the process. And I am more certain than ever that the best is still ahead.

So here is your question this week.

What does your comeback season look like right now? And are you leading it with honesty, patience and joy? Or are you just trying to get through it as fast as possible?

Because the fastest way through a comeback season is rarely the best way. The best way is the one that builds something worth having on the other side.

Thanks for reading.


If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Sean

A few months ago I raced my first event back in Hamilton Island. An ankle that was nowhere near 100 percent, 20 months away from racing and a start line I had been dreaming about for longer than I care to admit. I crossed that finish line and felt something shift. Not just physically. Something deeper. A reminder of who I am and what I am building back toward.

Two weeks ago I raced again.

Race two of my comeback season.

And this one was not part of any plan.

I had extended my stay in the Philippines, landed on the island of Siquijor and somehow found myself signing up for a road half marathon. Because that is just who I am. Put me near a race and Voice Two starts making decisions before voice one even has time to object.

The race started at 3am. It was already 28 degrees. I fuelled on sour worms and Coke instead of my usual gels and Tailwind because that is what was available and sometimes you just need to adapt and get on with it. My gut had some thoughts about that decision throughout the race. Fairly colourful thoughts. But we got through it together. 😂

It was hard from the very first step to the very last. The heat. The humidity. The fact that my body is still finding its rhythm again after everything it has been through. None of that was ideal. But here is the thing about comeback seasons. They are not supposed to be ideal. They are supposed to be honest. And this one was as honest as it gets.

I finished 14th out of 539 runners. A whole 19 minutes off my personal best half marathon time. And I could not have been happier.

Not because of the placing.

Not because of the time.

But because of what I felt in that race.

The Zumba warm up before the start that had me genuinely laughing. The Filipinos around me absolutely loving their running, giving everything, bringing the kind of energy and community spirit that reminds you exactly why this sport is so special. The experience of sharing a start line in a country I had never expected to race in, with people I had never met, doing the thing I love most in the world.

That is what running gives you when you let it. Not just fitness. Not just results. Joy. Pure, unscripted, unexpected joy.

But the biggest win of the whole race had nothing to do with the time on the clock or the place in the results. My foot pulled up well. Really well. And for anyone who has followed my journey and knows what my foot has been through since my run around Australia, you will understand what that means to me. Racing on the road was by far the biggest test I have put my foot through since the big lap. And it passed.

That gives me enormous confidence going into the next training block. We keep building.

And this is the part I want every leader and every person reading this to hear. Because it connects directly to everything I talk about in my keynote, The Run Within.


Comeback seasons are uncomfortable by design. They are the season where you are not yet back to your best. Where the gap between where you are and where you want to be is at its most visible. Where Voice One has plenty of material to work with. You are slower than you used to be. You are not where you should be. Is this really worth it?

But comeback seasons are also where the deepest growth happens. Because they require something that peak performance does not always demand. They require you to show up without the guarantee of a great result. To find joy in the process before the process has rewarded you yet. To trust that the work you are doing right now is building something that will matter later, even when the evidence is not fully there yet.

That is Voice Two at its most courageous. Not the voice that wins the race. The voice that gets you to the start line when it would be so much easier to wait until you are ready, or until you are back at your best.

I am not back to my best yet. Not even close. But I am back. I am racing. I am building. And I am doing it with more gratitude and more joy than I have felt in a long time.

So here is what I want to leave you with this week. Whether you are in a comeback season in your running, your business, your leadership, or your life, the goal right now is not to be perfect. The goal is to take the next step anyway, adapt, find the joy in the process and trust that every honest effort moves you in the right direction.

Sour worms, coke, 3am start, 28 degrees and all. We keep building.


If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Giddy up 🐎

Sean

Ultra running has given me many beautiful gifts over the years. The experiences. The personal growth. The lessons that only come from pushing your body and mind further than you ever thought possible, but very few of those gifts have been greater than the friendships. The people you meet in this sport are a different breed, and Phil Gore is one of the most special of all of them.

If you are not familiar with Phil Gore, let me give you some context.


Phil is a Western Australian ultra endurance athlete, a full-time firefighter, a father, and the reigning Big’s Backyard Ultra World Champion. He has set multiple world records and been nicknamed the King of the Backyard by the sport. He is one of the most credentialed and respected ultra runners alive.

And from the 23rd to the 30th of August this year he attempted something nobody has ever done before. Project 168. Running 6.71 kilometres on the hour, every single hour, for 168 hours straight. Seven days. No assist. Just one man, one loop and the clock. Miss the 6.71 kilometres inside the hour, and the race is over.

Not for glory alone. For Telethon. For sick and disadvantaged kids and their families in Western Australia. Because that is the kind of person Phil Gore is. He doesn’t just push his own limits. He uses those limits to make a difference for people who need it most.

It was an honour to be a part of the livestream. I loved the opportunity to sit alongside Phil’s team and talk about what we were witnessing in real time.

Watch my full interview here (skip to 8:25:15)

What we were witnessing is hard to put into words. Lap after lap after lap, through multiple days and nights, through heat and exhaustion, the kind of physical suffering most people will never come close to understanding. Phil just kept on going.

But the moment that will stay with me forever happened on lap 152.

I got a call from Mally, Craig Maluish, who crewed for Phil during Project 168, and who also crewed for me for seven weeks during my run around Australia in 2024. Mally crewed me from Perth all the way to Melbourne, alongside Phil, who crewed me from Karratha all the way to Adelaide. Mally rang me and said that Phil needs a pep talk. He needs someone to tell him the job is not finished, and I’m the man to tell him.

And I’ll be honest with you, my first thought was who am I to call Phil Gore right now? This is Australia’s best ultra runner and one of the greatest endurance athletes on the planet. What could I possibly say to him in this moment that would make a difference?

But Mally called me for a reason. Because Phil had seen what I went through every single morning during my run around Australia. Eighty four kilometres a day, day after day, getting out of bed stiff and broken and doing it all over again. And Phil has said to Mally and his wife Gem since that watching me go through that every day gave him something to draw on in his own darkest moments. “If Sean can do that every day, then I can too.”

So I called him. On lap 152. With 2.8 kilometres still to run to make the yard and just over fifteen minutes to do it in. Phil told me he could not mathematically make it back, that there was no chance. That the pace required would be too quick.

I told him “the job’s not finished.” He said, “I’m giving it everything I have.” I told him I was proud of him no matter what and to now save his energy from talking to me, and give it one final kick!

And guess what… Phil made it back! With just under two minutes to spare! If he didn’t complete the 6.7km within the hour, the race is over. He fell back into his chair, let his crew work on him for less than 2 minutes and then went back out there on yard 153.

On his 153th yard, his body finally said no more as he collapsed on the side of the course having truly found his limit. 152 completed yards. 1,019.92 kilometres. One of the greatest displays of ultra endurance we have ever witnessed.

I sent him a text afterwards.

“Phil, you are a life changer. You have changed so many sick children’s lives through this. You have changed thousands of people watching. And hopefully this will go far beyond this event and inspire millions.”

Because that is what this effort deserves.


Community is one of the biggest reasons why I love ultra running. Generally there’s a lot of support and love that goes with the sport, and Phil did have plenty of fans through the event cheering him on.

However, something has been sitting with me since the event ended. An effort like this, one that pushes the boundaries of what’s possible and raises money for sick kids, deserves every bit of amplification our sport can give it. I’d love to see more of the big names and platforms in ultra running get behind moments like this when they happen, because that’s what actually grows the sport and the community around it. A rising tide lifts all boats.

When you’re strong and secure within yourself, someone else’s success never feels like a threat to your own. It was an effort that should be celebrated and supported as widely as possible, and I hope great things keep coming Phil’s way, because that’s what this effort deserves.

Phil showed us all how much more we can all do in our lives. That greater limits are possible. And at the end, he reminded us he is human after all. Not just a goat 🐐 (the greatest of all time 🤪).

He struggled.

He doubted.

He nearly didn’t make it back on lap 152.

And that humanity, that honest, raw, vulnerable humanity in the middle of something superhuman, is what made those who were supporting and following him lean in further. Because that is The Run Within in its purest form. Not the effortless performance. The gut wrenching, everything on the line, Voice Two refusing to let Voice One win moment that defines what a person is truly made of.

If you want to support Telethon and the sick kids Phil ran for, the donation link is still open. Every dollar goes directly to Telethon. Go to philgore.com.au and give what you can.

I’m proud of my friend Phil, and I’m sure that after reading this and understanding the magnitude of what he achieved, you will be too.

Because that is what a rising tide looks like.

Sean

Last week I posted my flops. And the response blew me away.

Messages from people saying they needed to hear that. That they had been carrying their own version of the same flops and hadn’t given themselves permission to acknowledge them yet. That seeing someone be honest about the imperfect parts of the journey made them feel less alone in theirs.

That response reminded me of something I said in last week’s newsletter. People don’t connect with perfection. They connect with honesty. And this week I want to keep that thread going because something happened to me recently that I have been sitting with ever since.

On August the 14th, I flew to the Philippines for what was supposed to be a 9 night, 10 day trip.

I visited Camiguin Island for 5 nights, met my two VAs in person in Lian, Batangas for the first time which is a whole story in itself (I’ll write an article dedicated to that), and spent a weekend genuinely disconnected from the noise of everyday life. It was exactly the kind of reset I needed.

Mantigue Island, off Camiguin Island, Philippines.

As you probably already know, when I’m not delivering a keynote or facilitating a workshop, I’m an online running and strength coach for busy professionals and dedicated athletes. Over the past five years I’ve transitioned from a personal trainer on the gym floor to the online coach I am today. The beauty of this career is I can work from anywhere with internet.

So six hours before my scheduled flight back to Australia, I looked at my calendar and saw the next two weeks held nothing but calls with clients and my VAs, calls I could take from anywhere. I thought: I may never get the chance to adventure through the Philippines like this again. As I get older, life will fill up with more responsibility. More keynotes. A family of my own one day. None of it will leave room for this kind of spontaneity.

People who know me always say the same thing. That I never stop. That I never slow down. That I should take a moment every now and then to smell the roses and either rest or adventure. That life doesn’t always have to be so serious. This felt like the chance to actually do that. So I did something completely out of character. I changed my mind, rescheduled my flight, and booked the next one to Siargao Island instead.

It felt exciting in the moment. Voice Two being bold. Choosing adventure over the plan. Saying yes to the unexpected.

Then, a few hours later, it hit me.

The anxiety crept in quietly at first, then all at once. I’d booked a 28K trail race for Saturday the 29th, one I genuinely wanted to run in on the Gold Coast. It would have been just my second race back from my near career-ending foot injury. The decision that felt so liberating the night before started to feel like a huge mistake. “You’re an idiot,” I told myself. “You worked so hard to get back to racing, and you’re trading it for two more weeks away?”

I sat with the knot in my chest, wondering if I’d let Voice One disguise itself as Voice Two. Whether what I called courage was actually avoidance. Whether the bold choice was the right one.

For someone who speaks about purpose, direction and doing hard things for a living, it was extremely hard feeling so uncertain and anxious in that moment. I haven’t felt like that for a long time. It couldn’t escape me and it was a crippling feeling.

And that is exactly the point I want to make this week.

I’ve reminded myself that uncertainty is not a sign that I’m lost, and that’s the same for you too. It’s a sign that you are making real choices about a real life. The people who never feel uncertain aren’t the most confident people in the room, they are the ones who stopped making bold decisions a long time ago. Because bold decisions come with doubt, every single time. And the only way to avoid that doubt is to stop choosing anything that actually matters to you.

I talk about Voice One and Voice Two in my keynote, The Run Within, and I want to add something to that conversation this week. Sometimes Voice One doesn’t sound like fear, laziness or excuses. Sometimes it sounds like reason. Like practicality. Like the sensible thing to do. And sometimes Voice Two doesn’t sound like confidence or clarity. Sometimes it sounds like a quiet but persistent nudge toward something you cannot fully explain yet.

The hard part is that in the moment they can feel almost identical. And the only way you get better at telling them apart is by making the choice, sitting with the discomfort that follows, and trusting that the uncertainty itself is part of the process rather than a sign you got it wrong.

I don’t regret changing my flight. And I’ve now given myself some grace for the hours I spent anxious about whether I had made the right call, instead of being present in the decision I had already made. I realised the anxiety wasn’t telling me that I had made the wrong choice, it was just Voice One catching up to a decision that Voice Two had already made.

And then something shifted. After a good night of sleep and a clear head, I found my feet again. I met local runners at the Siargao Run Club and that familiar feeling came rushing back. The community. The movement. The reminder of who I am when I strip everything else away. And now I’m loving it. I’m heading back to Australia next Monday morning (7th of September), and I even signed up for a local half marathon race on another island in Siquijor, this coming weekend, so I’ll still get to race after all.

But the best thing I’ve been able to do over the extra week, is learn to surf. Siargao is the surfing capital of the Philippines and it has felt incredible to be in the water, so present and out of my head. So I am doing the real work on the waves too.

Voice Two is alive and well out here.

I know I’m still on track, just taking a slightly different route than I originally planned. And honestly, that feels very on brand.

That is something I am still learning. How to make the bold choice and then actually let myself live in it without immediately pulling it apart. And I think that is something most of us are learning together.

The flops post resonated because it was honest. This one is honest too. I am not someone who has it all figured out. I am someone who is deeply committed to figuring it out in real time, sharing the journey as I go, and trusting that the uncertainty along the way is not the enemy of a meaningful life. It is actually proof of one.

So here is your question this week. Where in your life right now are you sitting with a decision you have already made and letting Voice One pull it apart instead of trusting the voice that made it?

Because sometimes the bravest thing isn’t making another choice. It’s staying in the choice you have already made.

That is the run within. It doesn’t always feel certain, but it is always worth it.

Thanks for reading.

If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Sean

Last week I did something a little different on social media.

I posted my flops. See here.

Not the highlights. Not the race wins, keynote stages or the milestone moments. The actual flops. My horrific golf swing that should never see the light of day. The ankle injury I sustained playing basketball four days before my first race back, that set me back another six weeks. Comparing myself to where I think I should be. The moments I let Voice One win and I didn’t show up.

And the post resonated with a lot of people, because people don’t connect with perfection. They connect with honesty. The setbacks. The self doubt. The grief. The seasons where you are not growing rapidly but simply trying to get through it. We all go through periods like that. Not everyone wants to post them and that’s ok. But the reason I did, is to show people that those seasons are a normal part of the journey too.

Flops are an important part of the stories I tell. When you’ve done something most people can’t fathom doing for one day, let alone 5.5 months straight, it can be hard to connect. The flops are the bridge. They shouldn’t be the embarrassing footnotes that we hide until ‘we are successful enough’ to laugh about them. They are the actual story. The part that makes the wins much more meaningful. The part that shows what it actually takes to keep going when things aren’t going to plan.

Here is what I know about flops from everything I’ve learned on the road, on the stage and in the quiet moments in between.

Every single flop is Voice One having its moment. The comparison. The perfectionism. The overestimating. The caring too much about what other people think. The belief that a setback means you have gone backwards. That is all Voice One. Loud, convincing and very good at making ordinary feel like the only option.

But here is the thing about Voice One. It is not the end of the story. It is just the first draft.

Voice Two is the one that looks at the flop honestly and asks what can I learn from this. The one that says give yourself some grace, you aren’t going backwards, you are rebuilding. The one that keeps showing up even when showing up feels pointless.

My confidence took an enormous hit after my run around Australia. 2025, the recovery year, was the hardest year of my life. Not because I went soft. For 5.5 months I’d been writing cheques my body was always going to have to cash. The crash was it collecting. That part wasn’t a flop. It was the cost.

Voice One showed up later in my recovery. The transition from the biggest physical challenge of my life to building a speaking and coaching career was much harder than I anticipated, and Voice One had plenty to say about it. You should be further along. Look how slow this is. You’re letting yourself and people you love down. That was the flop. Not the crash. The story I told myself about the crash, when I should have reminded myself that great things take time, and shown myself some grace for the ringer I’d put my body through.

But things are changing. I am doing the work. I am showing up consistently. I am back to a place where I feel genuinely good about the direction things are heading, with a lot less care or fear of what anyone else thinks about my journey and my decisions.

And sharing my flops last week was part of that, because The Run Within is about the battle of the two voices, not just about the moments you chose Voice Two and everything worked out perfectly. It is about the moments you chose Voice One, felt the cost of it, and then chose Voice Two anyway the next day.

That’s the real story. And it is worth telling.

So here is what I want to leave you with this week 👇

What is one flop you have been carrying around that you haven’t yet let yourself learn from? Not the polished version you would share in a meeting. The real one. The one that is still sitting with you.

Because that flop is not evidence that you are behind. It is evidence that you are in it. And being in it is exactly where The Run Within grows.

If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Sean

Last week I talked about what real strength actually looks like. This week I want to take that conversation somewhere more personal, because the timing of what I am about to share feels like more than a coincidence.

In October I will be speaking at the St Patrick’s College, Ballarat MENtal Breakfast. I want to tell you about it because this one means a great deal to me personally.

The MENtal Breakfast is now in its tenth year. It is the major fundraiser for the Chris Yeung Fund, which raises awareness of men’s mental health and steps in for families in the St Patrick’s College community where a father’s mental illness has meant he can’t work. In practical terms that means covering school fees so the kids don’t lose their place at school on top of everything else going on at home. Since it began, the event has raised more than $155,000, providing relief to more than 20 students, keeping them connected to their school and their community at one of the hardest times a family can face.

The theme this year is Pull Up a Chair. An invitation to start a conversation about men’s mental health. And I cannot think of a more important invitation to accept.

I don’t take this one lightly. Standing in a room built specifically to support fathers and families through something this hard is not just another keynote to me. I am going to give it everything I have.

Here is why this event means so much to me.

Growing up I experienced firsthand what it looks like when the challenges at home go unspoken. When your dad is carrying more than he should have to carry alone, and doesn’t feel he has the words, or the permission, to talk about it. I saw what that silence cost, and I felt the weight of it too.

That experience shaped me in ways I am still uncovering. It is one of the reasons I turned to running from a young age. Getting outside and moving my body gave me a way to process what I was carrying when I didn’t have the words for it yet. It gave me purpose, structure and space mentally when everything around me felt uncertain. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was already experiencing the run within.

What I know now is this. The barrier between a person and the help they need is almost never a lack of love or support around them. It is the story they have been told about what strength is supposed to look like. That real men don’t talk about things they’re struggling with. That asking for help is weakness. That keeping the mask on is the brave thing to do.

It’s not. It never is.

Men are taught early that the mask is easier to wear than to take off, that achievement and results are the currency of respect, and that if you just keep pushing, you never have to stop and process how you’re actually going. So a lot of men build their identity entirely out of what they do, rather than who they are, and they let that identity carry more weight than it was ever built for. The moment results dip or life throws something unexpected at them, there is nothing left underneath to hold them up.

Protecting who you are outside of your work and your achievements is not indulgent. It is essential. It is what lets you show up fully for the people who love you, instead of just the version of you the world sees on a podium or a payslip.

I am not a dad yet, but I plan to be one day, and I plan to be the best one I can be. That means I will always speak up. I will always ask for help when I need it, and I will never stop training. Of course the amount of training I’ll be able to fit in will inevitably shift once I have a child, that is just reality. But the practice won’t stop, because it can’t. It sounds cliche, and we hear it all the time, but it is true. You have to put your own oxygen mask on first. Looking after yourself is not selfish. It is what lets you actually show up, fully, for the people who need you at home.

November is Movember, the global movement dedicated to men’s mental health, suicide prevention, and physical health. It is one of the most important conversations we have as a society each year. But I think we need to be having the conversation more often. Not just in November. Not just at fundraising events, but in our workplaces, our sporting clubs, our families and our friendships. People should feel comfortable to have these conversations every single day if that’s what is needed.

Men’s mental health is not a niche issue. It is a leadership issue. A culture issue. A community issue. And it starts with people willing to pull up a chair and say “I am not okay”, and truly know, that is alright.

That’s what I talk about in my keynote, The Run Within. Because the run within isn’t just about being disciplined and pushing through discomfort in the times where that is required, it is also about doing the inner work which involves taking ownership of your wellbeing. Choosing Voice Two when Voice One is telling you to stay silent, stay tough and keep it together.

Real strength is being willing to talk. To ask for help. To seek professional support. To take ownership of getting better, even when that feels like the hardest thing in the world.

I am genuinely honoured to be speaking at the St Patrick’s College, Ballarat MENtal Breakfast in October, because events like this are proof that the conversation is changing. That communities are choosing to pull up a chair rather than look the other way. And that the next generation of young men coming through at St Patrick’s College will inherit a different story about what strength actually means. That is worth showing up for. Every single time. I hope more schools follow their lead.

If the message in this newsletter resonated with you today, please share it with someone who needs to hear it. Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for someone you care about is simply remind them they don’t have to carry it alone.

If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Sean

Strength has a branding problem. Don’t worry, no spoilers for those who haven’t seen it yet. But if you have, you will understand exactly why it fits.

For generations we have associated strength with the person who never cracks. Who has the answer for everything. Who powers through without complaint and makes it look effortless. Who keeps the mask on regardless of what is happening underneath it. And somewhere along the way, that image became the standard that leaders, athletes and high performers measured themselves against.

But that version of strength is not strength at all. It is performance. And there is a very important difference between the two.

Performance is what you show the room. Strength is what you draw on when the room is empty.

I have worked with enough leaders and athletes to know that the ones wearing the mask the tightest are never the strongest people in the building. They are the ones carrying the most weight alone. And that weight, unshared and unprocessed, makes them more brittle. More reactive. More disconnected from the people they are supposed to be leading.

Voice One loves the mask. It whispers keep it together. Do not let them see you struggle. Stay strong. And on the surface that sounds like discipline. But underneath it is fear. Fear of judgement. Fear of appearing weak. Fear of what happens if the people around you see that you are human.

Voice Two knows something different. Voice Two understands that real strength is not the absence of struggle, it is the honest acknowledgement of struggle combined with the decision to keep going anyway. That combination of honesty and action together, is one of the most powerful things a leader can model for the people around them.

Here is what I have observed consistently in high performance environments. The leaders whose teams trust them most aren’t the ones who project certainty in every situation. They’re the ones willing to say “I don’t have all the answers right now, but here’s what I do know, and here’s how I propose we should work through this together.”

That doesn’t undermine authority. It builds it. Because it’s real, and people can feel the difference between a leader performing confidence and a leader actually leading through uncertainty.

Keeping the mask on has a cost that leaders don’t account for. When you never show struggle, never admit a mistake, never let the team see the human behind the title, you teach everyone else to do the same. Problems get hidden. Mistakes get buried. People stop asking for help, because asking feels like weakness. And the whole team performs below its potential because everyone’s too busy managing their image to actually do their work.

That is not a high performance culture. That is a high pressure culture.

A high performance culture is one where people feel safe enough to say “I am struggling with this”, or “I got that wrong”, or “I need support.” Where honesty is met with respect rather than judgement. Where the leader has made it normal to be human by going first with their own humanity. And where that psychological safety translates directly into better thinking, better communication, better ownership and better results.

This is exactly what I talk about in The Run Within. Voice One tries to keep you safe, and in a leadership moment that often means telling you to hide the struggle, protect the image and act like you’ve got it figured out, even when you don’t. Voice Two doesn’t let you off that easy. Voice Two’s the one that says, “say it anyway. Ask for help anyway. You can do the hard thing, and right now the hard thing is being honest.”

The leaders who can do that, who can be honest about the hard stuff and keep going anyway, are the ones who build teams that are genuinely resilient, not just resilient-looking.

Real strength is not the mask. Real strength is the person underneath it who is willing to take it off, tell the truth, and lead from that place anyway. That moment is available to every leader reading this. Not on a cinema screen. In your next team meeting. In the conversation you have been putting off. In the moment you choose to say “this is hard and I need support” instead of “I’ve got it covered.”

That is the kind of leader worth becoming. And it doesn’t start with a strategy or a framework, but with a simple and courageous act. Telling the truth about where you actually are.

Because The Run Within isn’t won behind the mask. It is won in the moment you choose to remove it.

If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Sean

The best keynote I deliver is one that changes how someone thinks, acts, or decides two weeks after they’ve left the room, not how they react in the moment. I know it landed when the messages and conversations keep coming back weeks after the keynote ends. That’s the number one metric I use to measure a keynote’s success.

That’s the standard I hold myself to. It’s why I pour everything into every single talk I give.


A few weeks ago I received two messages that stopped me in my tracks. Both from people who had attended recent keynotes. Both unprompted. Both about The Run Within, the battle between Voice One and Voice Two.

Messages I received after the ASTMA x GMA National Conference (left) and from the Metricon Homes Construction Forum QLD team (right).

The first was from a woman called Naiomi, who attended the ASTMA x GMA national conference. I usually block out names to protect people’s privacy, but Naiomi has given me full permission to share her story alongside her name, because she said the impact was so profound. She had been invited to play golf at King Island, a bucket list destination for any golfer, but almost said no because fear was holding her back. She is scared of flying and only small planes service the island. Her first instinct was no way. Voice One loud and clear. But then she remembered something I had said about not letting fear stop you from doing something incredible, and Voice Two took over, reminding her “how amazing an opportunity” she had. She told Voice One where to go, got on the plane, and had “the most amazing trip”.

The second image came the evening of the day I spoke to the Metricon Homes QLD division, at the Metricon Construction Forum. This message came from a man I had personally inspired to believe in himself more, and to consciously understand his own war with Voice One. He said that on the bad days, he would remember what I’d shared and use it to back Voice Two. I’m grateful I was able to impact him, and that my Two Voices framework could support him through his bad days.

These messages are why I do what I do.

Not for applause. Not for likes on social media. Not for status. For the moment someone takes time out of their day on the evening of a keynote, or weeks after it, to tell you that something shifted for them. That they got on a plane they were terrified of. That they are going to remember your framework and personal story on their hardest days. That is the aftereffect I am chasing every single time I step on a stage.

And I want to be honest about something. Public speaking is not a skill I was born with. I am still learning it every single week, still developing my stagecraft, and my ability to connect with a room to leave something in it that lasts. Warren Tate has been helping me with communication since 2020. Chris Fudge is helping me bridge my athletic world with the corporate one. The work will never end for me, and I am proud of that. The moment you stop seeking advice and practicing your craft, you’ve lost.

There is a saying that athletes make the best motivational speakers because they understand endurance. Not just physical endurance but the mental kind. The kind that keeps you going when every logical reason to stop is staring you in the face. The kind that has nothing to do with talent and everything to do with the decision to keep showing up. There’s real truth in that. Because when you have lived the hard thing, when you have been through the darkness and come out the other side, your words carry a weight that is hard to manufacture.

That is what I bring to a stage. Not a polished script. A lived story. And the connection that comes from sharing it honestly with a room full of people who are carrying their own version of the same battle.

Because here is what I know about Voice One and Voice Two. They are not unique to me. They are not unique to endurance athletes or elite performers. They live in every person in every single room I walk into. The leader who knows they need to have a hard conversation but keeps finding reasons not to. The team member who has a goal they have been putting off for years. The person sitting in the back row who came to the conference already checked out and left with something they did not expect.

That is what a great keynote does. It meets people where they are and leaves them somewhere different.

She got on the plane. He is going to back Voice 2 on his hardest days. And somewhere out there someone is training for their first marathon, finally applying for the promotion they have talked themselves out of for two years, or having the conversation they have been avoiding with a loved one.

That is the aftereffect. That is what I am building toward with every keynote, every newsletter, every coaching session, and in every story I share.

This is why I love what I do. And I’m just getting started.

If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Sean

I’ve noticed something consistent across every athlete I have ever coached. And it has nothing to do with pace, distance or race results.

The ones who run consistently almost always show up calmer, clearer and more in control of themselves. Not just physically but emotionally. The ones who go several weeks without training almost always come back more anxious, more scattered and more reactive than usual.

Running does something to the mind that is hard to fully explain until you have experienced it yourself. For me personally it has never just been about fitness. It has been about clarity. About processing. About taking whatever is sitting heavy on my chest and moving it through my body until it becomes something I can actually work with. The simple act of lacing up my running shoes and heading out the door has done so much for me, for as long as I can remember.

When you run, your body releases the chemicals that regulate mood, reduce anxiety and create a sense of wellbeing, but beyond the chemistry there is something else happening that I think is just as important. Running gives you a problem you can solve. A distance to cover. A finish line to reach. And in a world where so many of our stressors feel uncontrollable and unresolvable, that simple act gives your nervous system something it desperately needs. A win. A moment of agency. Proof that you can do hard things and you can come out the other side.

I see this in my athletes all the time. The ones going through difficult periods tell me that their training is the one part of their week that feels completely theirs. Where the noise stops. And that feeling does more for their mental health than almost anything else they do.


This connects directly to what I talk about in my keynote The Run Within. I get the audience to write down one goal they’ve been putting off, or even better, text it to someone close to them. It doesn’t matter what it is. Then I make the case that the hard part is never really about that goal. It’s about who that goal makes you become in its pursuit. And what consistent movement does for you on the inside over time that gets you there. The emotional resilience it builds. The mental clarity it creates. The sense of identity and self belief that grows every single time you show up for yourself and do the thing you said you were going to do.

It’s called The Run Within because there is a run that is happening within all of us. The Run Within is the battle between the two voices we all carry. One that talks us out of hard things and pulls us toward the easy road (Voice One), and one that helps us take the harder path toward who we’re capable of becoming (Voice Two).

Voice Two is our greatest ally. It’s the mentor within. It wants the best for us, but we have to earn it.

Every run you complete when Voice One told you to stay home is a vote for the person you are becoming. And those votes compound. Not just in your fitness. In your emotional strength. In your ability to handle pressure, regulate your reactions and show up as the best version of yourself when the people around you need you most.

That same principle applies at work, and it’s on the leader to set it. We have gotten better at talking about mental health. More workshops. More resources. More boxes ticked. But a mental health workshop once a quarter does not build a mentally healthy culture alone. The leader does, by actually living the standards, not just talking about them.

The culture of any team is set by what the leader models every single day. As leaders, our job is to produce results. And the fastest path to sustainable results is not pushing people harder. It is creating an environment where people can bring their whole selves to work.

Where someone can say I am not okay today and know that honesty will be met with support rather than judgement. When people feel that way, they think more clearly, communicate more honestly, take more ownership and care more deeply about the outcome.

That is the culture worth building. And it starts with the leader being willing to go first.

So here is your challenge this week. If you are not moving consistently right now, commit to three sessions this week. Not for your fitness. For your mind. For the version of you that your team, your family and your goals deserve.

Voice Two gets stronger every time you lace them up and go.

I appreciate you reading.


If you’d like to follow my ‘The Run Within’ newsletter in live time, you can subscribe on Linkedin here:

Sean