When people find out I’m a urology registrar, they usually nod politely or giggle for obvious reasons. When they find out I’m also a competitive cheerleader, they tend to blink, pause, and then ask: “Wait, like pom-poms and high kicks?” Not quite.
Cheerleading is a full-contact performance sport that sits somewhere between acrobatics, dance and organised chaos. It involves tumbling, stunting (the art of throwing people into the air and catching them again, preferably in the right order), human pyramids and choreography – all performed to music in under three minutes. It’s demanding, precise and, at times, slightly terrifying. Much like surgery.
My journey in performance sports began long ago. With 14 years as a figure skater, long days, blisters and quiet perseverance were routine. At university I discovered cheerleading, my ‘retirement sport’. I was immediately captivated, and what began as a pastime soon became a serious commitment. In the early stages of my medical career, when frequent rotations made it difficult to establish a stable social network, my cheer team became my community. The friendships built there – based on trust, accountability and mutual respect – provided continuity and support at a time when everything else was transient. Now, several years later, I still train multiple times a week and compete nationally and internationally, while helping to direct a club of around 100 athletes, all while pursuing clinical and academic training in urology.
Balancing clinical training with competitive sport inevitably brings its challenges. There have been post-on-call competitions and straight-from-conference training sessions. I have accumulated my share of bruises, a few broken fingers, and more rota swaps than I care to count. But despite the sacrifices, cheerleading has been one of the most rewarding constants in my life. This isn’t so much a story about doing it all, but about the transferable lessons between two high-performance worlds, and how the mindset of an athlete can strengthen that of a surgeon (and vice versa). The parallels between surgery and cheerleading run deep. Both demand meticulous preparation, repetition and patience. Whether mastering a basket toss or refining a surgical technique, progress is incremental and requires resilience. Both require composure under pressure, the ability to perform with focus even when fatigued or anxious, and both are, at their core, collaborative disciplines built on trust. On the mat, precision, communication and reliability are essential; in the operating theatre, the same principles apply.
Over time, I’ve realised that certain habits from sport translate directly into surgical practice; these are the ones I find the most valuable:
- Visualise and prepare. Before performing a complex skill, whether a stunt or a procedure, I mentally rehearse each step, focusing on good execution rather than potential mistakes. A moment of calm before the music (or the exam bell) starts helps me trust my preparation and let focus and muscle memory take over.
- Perform under pressure. This is a skill that needs to be practised and develops with time – over 20 years of competitions in my case! Even when nerves threaten to take over, projecting calm steadies both you and your team. When mistakes happen, reset quickly and move on to the next task/skill/viva station – reflection is key but can wait until after your competition or exam is done.
- Build your team. Success depends on trust and atmosphere. Get to know your colleagues, communicate openly and support each other in and out of theatres. A cohesive team performs better, especially on the tougher days.
- Practise patiently. There is no substitute for time and repetition. Progress, whether athletic or surgical, is rarely linear, and frustration achieves little. Patience, consistency and humility turn today’s challenges into tomorrow’s routine.
Maintaining performance at a high level, both clinically and athletically, relies on having a network of people who understand and support one’s endeavours. I am grateful for an endlessly patient partner who helps me navigate impossible schedules, colleagues that are sympathetic to my swap requests, and research supervisors who would rather meet at 10pm than have me cancel training. Their understanding has made it possible to pursue both passions without feeling that one must come at the expense of the other. That kind of support is, I believe, indispensable for anyone striving to balance demanding professional and personal goals.
Beyond my own athletic journey, my leadership role as a club director has brought further lessons. Managing a large team of athletes comes with its own share of challenges – logistics, finances, conflict resolution and strategic planning – but these experiences have honed skills that directly translate to medicine. Leadership, empathy, communication and problem-solving are as vital to running a sports club as they are to leading a surgical team.
Next spring, our team will compete at the World Championships in Orlando for its third time, a milestone that once felt out of reach. I have been ‘trying to retire’ from competition for several years, but the sport is difficult to leave behind. In time, I hope to transition into coaching, to remain involved and to help foster the same sense of belonging and resilience that cheerleading has given me.
As clinicians, we increasingly discuss wellbeing, burnout and the elusive concept of balance. For me, cheerleading has been more than an outlet; it has been a source of stability, confidence and joy. It reminds me of why I chose surgery in the first place: the pursuit of mastery, teamwork and the satisfaction of steady progress.
So, while my days may begin with cystoscopies and ward rounds, and end with choreography and human pyramids, I see them as part of the same continuum. Both require focus, teamwork and resilience; both demand that you perform at your best, even when tired. And ultimately, both have shaped who I am: a surgeon who stunts, and a cheerleader who sutures.
Declaration of competing interests: None declared.
