As I approached a milestone birthday, I marked it differently. I wanted to test myself, to see what I could do, not just for fitness but for healthy ageing. And, in a slightly millennial twist, I chose Hyrox. The memes about people my age suddenly taking up triathlons or Ironman weren’t lost on me. Hyrox seemed the more accessible option, though, in truth, even these events come with costs that not everyone can meet. That, in itself, raises questions about access, parity, and participation.

Training for Hyrox gave me new focus. My local gym, one of those industrial estate locations, small but mighty. The people there are incredible: diverse in ability but united in showing up. Some are quick, some are strong, but everyone supports each other. It’s a community that motivates person-to-person, not through competition but connection. That sense of belonging feels powerful, and it got me thinking about how community, rather than performance, might be one of the most overlooked ingredients in keeping people moving.

That reflection led me to think about who gets to participate in different kinds of activity. Fitness events like Hyrox or triathlons offer structure, goals, and excitement, but they also come with barriers. Cost, time, travel, and confidence all play a part. Compare that to initiatives like Couch to 5K or parkrun, which have revolutionised accessibility through simplicity and community spirit. They’re free, inclusive, and built around shared encouragement rather than competition, in the most part.

As someone researching inequalities in physical activity, I can’t help but wonder: what do these different “entry points” tell us about how people start, or sustain movement across life? Who gets drawn in, and who gets left out?

Increasingly, I see social media filled with people sharing their journeys, their running times, and their struggles. It’s a positive shift toward honesty and relatability. Both the person who runs 10k in 30 minutes and the one who takes 90 have achieved the same distance, but their journey may have differed. Yet it’s also where physical activity often drifts toward exercise, a subtle but important distinction when public health’s bigger goal is to simply get people moving more for health.

That idea of belonging kept coming back to me. Seeing “people like me” being active, whether online, in a gym, or at a parkrun, creates a bridge for participation.

Recently, a colleague shared something that struck me. They’d been facing health challenges and hadn’t been exercising for some time. After a medical appointment, they told me how relieved they’d felt that the nurse “was like them.” In that instant, they felt safe, not judged, but understood. Soon after, they signed up for a week-long residential fitness holiday, diving in with 110% commitment. The common thread? Community and connection with people who felt familiar.

That story reminded me that physical activity isn’t just about movement; it’s about identity, trust, and belonging. Whether it’s walking to the shops, joining a gym, or showing up for a Saturday parkrun, these moments of participation ripple into social connection and mental wellbeing. For an ageing population, that sense of inclusion might be just as protective as the physical benefits themselves.

Of course, there’s also the other side, when training for Hyrox, I noticed how social media shaped my mindset, at times motivating, at times overwhelming. Algorithms constantly fed me elite athletes and “ultimate performance” reels.

But can’t that same tension can exist in public health messaging. We’re surrounded by headlines about obesity, inactivity, and cancer risk. These messages are well-intentioned; they aim to inform, protect, and encourage. I’ve shared many of them myself over the years, confidently promoting what we should be doing to support our patients and communities. But sometimes I find myself wondering: where is the line between informing and adding pressure?

Public health rightly focuses on improving outcomes, but many of the people we speak to are already living pressured, complex lives. How do we help people feel supported rather than judged? How can we share the importance of movement without turning it into another task on an already full list? Maybe we can take a lesson from initiatives like parkrun, where every effort is recognised, whether you run, jog, or walk. That energy of inclusion, of “just showing up,” might hold lessons for how we communicate health: less about perfection, more about participation.

These reflections take me back to practice. In nursing and public health, we often talk about health promotion and disease prevention, about being role models for the communities we serve. But in reality, nurses themselves face unique barriers: long shifts, irregular meals, fatigue. Promoting physical activity in practice isn’t always easy when the realities of time, space, and energy don’t align.

I recently worked with colleagues in a Royal College of Nursing webinar, Let’s Get Moving: The Power of Physical Activity in Nursing Practice, and it reminded me how complex this balance is. We can guide, encourage, and empower, but we also need to listen and understand the pressures people live under. Maybe the next step for us as professionals isn’t just to promote activity, but to consider conditions where people can find what works for them, where movement fits naturally into life, not as an obligation but as an opportunity.

For me, Hyrox wasn’t about competition; it was about curiosity. It showed me what I could do, but it also reminded me that not everyone has the same starting point or the same support. Whether it’s a world-stage event or a quiet walk to the park, every step counts.

As health professionals, perhaps our role is to make sure everyone feels they have a place at the starting line, wherever that line begins.