Offseason 2025/26

At some stage in November, the sailing season began to slow: no races, boats for sale, and projects coming to an end. Then it stops, like a game of musical chairs.
In the French sailing world, most teams and projects spend this time looking for funding to keep racing, all facing an uncertain future. And then, suddenly, the crazy world of offshore sailing comes to a halt. Nothing. It’s kind of scary — suddenly it’s the middle of November and you’re left wondering, have I raced my last ever sailing race? For a lucky few, they head off in winter, safe in the knowledge they’ll be involved in projects the following season.

The Beginning
The first week without sailing is nice, a change of pace. Time is spent with friends over cups of coffee, long runs in beautiful places, and games of chess. The bag I had been living out of for nine months was unpacked and left untouched. The security of land feels comforting.

It’s also strange, life without sailing, because you reconnect with close friends you haven’t seen in months, and you hear about their lives — without you. My best mate Imy tells me about the main characters in his life now. I laugh, smile, and cry as if listening to the audiobook version of Friends. Not the person I used to share a house with, whose life was so intertwined with mine.

One moment, sitting on the London Underground near the end of that week, you get to see the hustle and bustle of the corporate world. It looks a lot like a busy leeward mark rounding: the literal shouting, the pushing, and that annoying person arriving late, trying to force themselves into a gap that clearly doesn’t exist. I love their conversations; in their world, they talk of needing to “circle back,” find “synergy,” and the importance of being “agile.” Which, to be honest, is probably making them laugh at me when I explain that I’m “struggling for height,” working on “optimising stacking,” and that I’m “looking for a left shift.”

Sometimes, seeing the corporate world exist, I start to wonder if that’s what’s next for me?

Free Time
Without any actual sailing, I tried my best to fill the time with related activities. I’m pretty certain no one else is reading books about weather and strategy or sleep optimisation on the bus in the UK. Maybe I’m weird for doing it, but it at least makes me feel that I’m progressing. Well, with plenty of running and trying to teach myself random life skills that actually have no practical use, like doing a handstand.

My Project
I tried. I genuinely worked my ass off to get back on the start line and mount a serious campaign in the French Elite Offshore Championship and La Solitaire du Figaro.
Repeated rejections from businesses about sponsorship haven’t helped the feeling of uncertainty. Although one small victory was that I got closer to a competitive budget than I’ve ever done before. That keeps the hope and fire burning inside me that one day I’ll get to race in the world’s greatest solo sailing races again.
At the end of January, I called it quits on making it in 2026. Simply, I’ve learnt enough to know that you never recover from a late-starting sports project; you simply lose the race against time. I want to succeed, not run around desperately chasing my tail behind on time. I’ve done that before and it’s not fun. I owe it to myself to put myself in the best possible position to do myself justice.
So yes, my boat will remain a fragment of my imagination for 2026, and this project will exist only on Microsoft Excel and Photoshop in 2026. That’s okay — it’s better to try and fail than not bother to try at all.

The Start of Chapter 2026
As the days in January start to get longer again, luck appears to be on my side. For reasons I don’t understand, opportunities find their way to me.
One becomes two, becomes three, and suddenly it feels like I’ll get to sail a little in 2026.