My Forehead Scar: A Crash Course in Being

"Don't even think about the scar that will leave," says Erik as he and Jesse were rushing me to the hospital.

"I hadn't even thought about that?!" I pulled down the mirror in the passenger seat and removed the bloody paper towel that I was holding over my forehead. There it was... my face had been split open. I couldn't think about anything else. Astonished, I started laughing and crying, something I had done often. The pain became real because I had seen that it was supposed to hurt. Pretending to be tough, I choked back the tears and laughed some more. "I'm going to be very dramatic about this when we get to the hospital so I can be seen right away."

The night before this event, I was watching the movie "About Time." It's about time travel, and every time the main character makes a mistake, he can go back a few minutes and try again. Very cute movie by the way. I promise it has to do with this story.

I woke up early as usual to go train at Tempest South Bay with all my Tempest Freerunning teammates. It felt like another day, but I felt this excitement that something big was about to happen. The month prior, I had won the Red Bull Art of Motion in Italy. This was a big goal of mine for years and it took so many early mornings of training, mental rewiring, and even a few concussions for me to finally reach that milestone. And when it happened I felt on top of the world.... For about an hour or so. Until I realized that I didn't know what would be next for me for the first time in many years. How was I going to feel good about myself again? I bypassed the celebration and anxiety crept in, convincing me that I need to be so much better next time and have to continue to win so that I can stay relevant.

So it was back to the drawing board. How do I continue to one-up myself? Double fulls (A backflip with two twists) were an inconsistent move for me. I had done them on concrete a few times, but they usually ended with me on the ground and the bruises to prove it. I decided I would get better at those and started warming them up into the foam pit. At South Bay, there were bars over the foam pit, and they were held up by a metal ladder, something I never realized I could possibly hit with my head.

After a few tries, Erik suggested I push harder off my hand on the takeoff. I visualized and immediately went to try it. I pushed off harder than I ever had and felt myself go sideways. Time slowed down and I knew what was about to happen. Shit. I'm going to hit that ladder I think. Smack!

"No!" I heard Erik yell.

I had hit the corner of that pole right above my right eyebrow and landed face down in the pit. I quickly looked up to assure my friends I was fine, when I knew I wasn't; something I was a pro at. My friends gasped and I looked down to see a pool of blood on the blocks of foam. "Ouch." The back of my head started throbbing. Jesse jumped into the pit with me while someone went to grab paper towels. My mind went straight to About Time and I thought I could just go back in time and do that differently. Only I couldn't. I knew that this changed a lot for me. "I'm going to pass out," I said as Jesse was asking me how many fingers he was holding up. Everything went blurry.

I don't remember how I got to the car, but soon enough we were in the hospital, post Erik's encouraging talk. I managed to bypass the waiting room by removing the napkin, blood spilling onto my nose and eyes. "Please help me!" Looking back, this somehow makes me laugh every time I think about it.

I was greeted by a well-intending doctor. "Sydney, you may want to consider plastic surgery for this."

"Can you just stitch it up? I can't even think about that right now."

He put a numbing medicine inside the gash that made me grit my teeth, pain so severe. And he gave me seven stitches, diagnosed me with a "minor" concussion, which we agreed on because if he had said it was an actual one then they'd be required to keep me overnight, which I was not about to pay for. (American healthcare, am I right?) And I was on my way.

The next few days were spent resting and I was starting to feel anxious to get back to training. Progress couldn't wait. And I was beginning to feel so much frustration that I wasn't a better athlete. Looking back, I have no idea why I was in such a rush all the time, there was a constant urgency to literally everything I did. To get to the next thing, and the next. I never felt truly present. And if I was, I could have seen that all the concussions I'd had up to that point were showing me something, trying to get a lesson through my thick skull. But I couldn't see that, which is why what happened next was such a beautiful part to this awakening.

About a month later, my head was feeling back to normal, though my body and mind were begging me to slow down and be present. But I just didn't listen. Fuck that right? That's what we are taught as athletes. After yet after another session of pushing my absolute limits, I was driving home when it happened.

The car in front of me stopped abruptly, causing me to slam on my breaks, having to turn slightly so I didn't hit them. I looked in my rearview mirror, seeing a car moving so quick, realizing they're not stopping. I braced for impact. BAM!

I had blacked out for a minute and came to with my car still on, blasting music. "The walls are falling down..." Citizen Cope's lyrics still giving me goosebumps today as I write this. I tried to turn the car off, but I didn't know how. My head was completely rattled. Sounds were piercing. My breathing was loud. Confusion was an understatement. A man with a bloody nose ran up to me. "I'm so sorry I hit you. I fell asleep!"

The trunk of my car was no longer existent, the front obliterated. I was hit from the back, which shunted me into the car in front, as well as a parked car on the side. The airbags did not deploy somehow. I got up, and told the man "It's okay. I wanted a new car. I didn't think it was time, but now it is." And I was back to training within a couple days, learning nothing.

This is where the synchronicities come together beautifully. I was pissed off after a session I had where I couldn't quite get the connections I was working on and rather than feeling grateful I was moving at all, I was just disappointed. I was rewatching a clip of mine on instagram and listening to "Slow down" by Nahko. I'll never forget this. Instagram glitched, and my clip sped up, probably ten times the speed; while "Slow down" kept repeating in the background. I burst into tears. It hit me harder than knocks to the head I'd recently suffered.

It's like the universe grabbed me by the shoulders and said, "You’re not going to outrun what’s trying to heal you."

I had been trying to win my way into worthiness. Chasing titles, progress, validation. Believing that if I'd just achieved enough, I'd finally feel enough. But the truth is that none of that made me any more worthy than I already was. All it gave me was an undercurrent of stress, feeling like I was always behind, even when I was far ahead. I was missing the quiet details that make life feel beautiful. Like the intricate patterns on the leaves, the first sip of my morning coffee, taking a deep breath and fully exhaling. The yin of the yin and yang.

Luckily the pandemic arrived shortly after this. As strange as that sounds, it gave me the space to actually integrate what life had been trying to show me. I see things with a different kind of reverence now. Progress means something different now. I pay attention to what feels aligned and to how connected I feel... To myself, the moment, to the world around me. The scar on my forehead is a constant reminder to return to myself and ask "Who am I being?" I allow myself stillness, savor the first sip of an iced matcha on a hot day, and notice how good dinner tastes when I take time to make it myself. I take rest days, I book trips on a whim, and I also make space for the part of me that craves greatness. Because that part is just as beautiful. It just doesn't run the whole show anymore.

And this is the work I do now. I support people, especially high performers who’ve spent their lives pushing, to reconnect with themselves in a deeper way. To stop living in reaction mode and start creating from a place that feels clear, grounded, and true.

Most of the people I work with have done a lot. They’ve achieved, succeeded, and performed. But somewhere along the way, they lost touch with the part of themselves that can actually rest, or feel joy. Or even say “this is enough.”

Coaching creates space to hear the quieter parts. The ones that know what you really want, what you'd love to let go of, and what you're ready to embody. You don't have to hit your head several times in order to learn these things! If this story sparked something familiar within you, I'd be honored to work with you.

Right after they stitched me up! I remember I took a photo and looked at it, deciding to retake it with a smile. It's one of my favorite photos ever of me. Can you believe this is the first time I ever got stitches?

Before the stitches. I look like I just lost a UFC bout lol

The next day when the bruising came in. I wish I had more photos of how colorful my face got!

Shortly after the stitches were removed. I remember being pretty relieved because I thought I was going to look like frankenstein forever.

I was fully stopped and hit at 40mph from the car behind.

The front of my car.