I Won a Bronze Medal. And Left Feeling Frustrated

Last month I competed in an Outrigger canoeing competition at a beautiful lake in Wraysbury, I should have came home with a bronze medal and my women's team.

I should have felt on top of the world. Instead, I drove home frustrated. Not as an athlete, but as an event strategist who couldn't switch off the part of her brain that notices when people are forgotten.

Let me explain.

First, the sport itself.

For those unfamiliar with Outrigger canoeing, it is one of the most exhilarating team sports I have ever experienced. Originating in Polynesia, it involves canoes equipped with a lateral float for stability, raced in both ocean and flat water in formats ranging from six-person crews (OC6) to solo (OC1). It demands team coordination, endurance, technical skill, and an almost meditative synchronisation between paddlers.

It is fast, physical, and completely absorbing. I love it.

And the setting, a calm, beautiful lake, was genuinely lovely. Full marks for that.

But here is what an event strategist noticed.

This was an all-day competition. Athletes arrived early in the morning, loaded down with paddles, spare clothing, shoes, towels, and all the kit that serious paddling requires. It was a demanding physical day, multiple races, long waits between heats, hours of sustained effort in the open air.

And there was almost no food provision. No catering. No food trucks. Competitors were expected to bring everything themselves.

There were two portable toilets for the entire event.

I want to be clear, neither of these problems required significant budget to solve. A couple of food trucks and a few additional portable facilities would have transformed the experience entirely. The space was there. The opportunity was there. The decision simply wasn't made.

But even that wasn't the part that stayed with me.

This was.

After a full day of racing, after the effort, the nerves, the teamwork, the exhaustion, the joy: the medal ceremony was forgotten.

The medals sat cold on a table. And then, nobody gave them out. The organisers were too busy tidying up. People drifted away. And the athletes who had given everything that day left empty handed. No ceremony. No medal. No moment. Just a photograph of a results board and an image of the medals we never received, the only souvenirs of a day that deserved so much more.

And this is the point I want to make, as an event strategist, and as a human being.

Any event, corporate or sporting, grand or modest, professional or community, exists because of the people who show up for it. The athletes. The attendees. The participants. The audience. Remove them, and there is no event. There is just an empty venue.

Which means that every decision made in the design of an event must begin and end with one question: how will the people here feel?

Not just during the competition. Not just during the presentation. But from the moment they arrive, tired, excited, loaded with kit; to the moment they leave.

The human factor is not a detail. It is the entire point.

Food is not a luxury, it is fuel, comfort, and care made visible. Adequate facilities are not an afterthought, they are basic dignity. And a medal ceremony, however simple, is not just a formality. It is the moment you look your athletes in the eye and say: we saw what you did today, and it mattered.

When you skip that moment, you don't just disappoint people. You erase the meaning of everything that came before it.

I design events for a living. And I believe this absolutely:

You can have the most beautiful venue, the most impressive programme, the most generous budget, and still produce a failed event, if the people inside it feel forgotten.

Conversely, you can work with limited resources, a modest setting, and a simple agenda, and create something genuinely memorable if every decision you make is rooted in one thing: the person standing in front of you.

That is not a professional principle. It is a human one.

And it is the one I carry into every event I design.

Have you ever attended an event , sporting or otherwise, where the human factor was missing? I'd love to hear your experience in the comments below.

#EventStrategy #HumanFirst #EventDesign #Storytelling #CorporateEvents #OutriggerCanoeing