Like a lot of the world this week, I’ve been pretty hooked on watching the Olympics. The fame, glory, survival and undying passion of the Olympians makes for compelling TV. And the pace, buzz, and ongoing live commentary has an almost meditative effect on me.

The emotions run high at the Olympics — the highs are exhilarating, the low, crushing, and watching it feels like being privy to the athletes inner world. Which just happens to be broadcasted around the world.

This year, however, with the Olympics on high rotation at our place, I’ve been thinking a lot about everyday people too and how much willpower, effort and determination it takes to stay in this game of life. And what a game it is.

Everyday life can ricochet between feeling like a triathlon, a marathon and a sprint, and sometimes all three mixed into one.

Life is not for the faint hearted.

And yet, for the most part, our journey remains silent; personal. Our struggles, while so raw and real, aren’t displayed on a big screen or even a small screen. In fact, a lot of the time, they aren’t even displayed at all.

So much of what we experience is private. And if we don’t talk openly about our struggles, our experiences remain that way.

It can be a lonesome experience to run a marathon alone, metaphoric or not. And it can feel completely isolating too.

I’ve been there. Have you?

And yet —

Olympians don’t become Olympians overnight. They have coaches, a support team. They have early mornings and late nights. They have mentors, sports psychologists, physios. They also have incredible focus and make plenty of sacrifices along the way.

So why does so much of our personal struggle happen silently?

I vote we start recognising the Olympian in all of us. Gold medal or not, we are all competitors.

No one should feel like they are competing at this thing called life alone. We all need our team of people — coaches, therapists, family to cheer us on. We need connection, attention, recognition.

And even if we feel like we’ve had enough, that things are simply too much, we can’t give up. Because life isn’t for the faint hearted.

So we continue to balance on a beam while doing flips in the air. And if we lose our footing, we still march on with our routine. We get back up again if we fall, even if our ego is bruised. We don’t give up, because giving up on life isn’t an option.

If you witness someone doing something challenging or corageous in their own life, something that takes guts and grit and determination, acknowledge it. Let them know that you are in the stands, cheering them on.

And if you are the only one aware of the race you’re running, notice it too. And be your own cheering squad.

Because we all deserve a personal cheering squad.

And because nobody deserves to run the marathon of their life alone.