Anne Usher MBE

My start line.

As a Paralympic gold medallist & an 8-time world champion I have spent my life pushing limits. Overcoming obstacles. Winning. I live clean, eat well, train hard. No smoking. Rarely drink. Fit, strong, focused. No known risk factors for breast cancer - except for the uncontrollable (my age and being female).

There was no lump. Just a slight change in the contour of my breast if I raised my arm. Mammogram? Clear. Ultrasound? Not. The diagnosis of breast cancer came cruelly on Christmas Eve.

I was too busy for cancer. But also, too healthy. I had done everything right - how dare my body let me down like this. This should not be happening to me.

In waiting rooms, I felt like an outsider. They made assumptions about me which did not fit. They saw a 57-year-old woman with breast cancer. I saw an athlete, a current world champion.

Then came the noise in my head. Endless questions. Endless fear. The numbers offered some kind of comfort: Only 3% chance of dying in 10 years. Five years of medication to lower the risk of it coming back.

But no one could stop the relentless churning of how I would live those gifted years. Would I feel like me? Would I trust my body? Would I be able to return to my sport?

First, they said lumpectomy. Then, a second opinion and further tests discovered more cancer.

The word mastectomy hit me like a brick. I had never been strongly attached to my breasts - until I faced losing one. Suddenly, I realised how much they mattered. But to survive, I had to let go.

And still - I could not cry. It felt like this was happening to someone else.

The words that finally cut through were: “The risk of recurrence increases if you choose to keep your nipple.” But I did not want to have this choice! I wanted to choose my old life. My old body. My start line.

From diagnosis to surgery was 68 days. That became my focus. I could not stop the cancer, but I could choose how I arrived on the operating table. Strong. Ready. Just like preparing for any other race day.

I trained. I lifted weights. I visualised…. I breathed. I drew on everything I’d learned through elite sport. Resilience. Recovery. Reframing. I knew how to handle nerves. I knew how to show up.

But this wasn’t a race. There’d be no medal at the end. Just survival. Just healing. Just learning how to become a new version of strong. And maybe, one day, I’ll make it back to a start line.