When Simone Biles walked out onto the Ready25 stage in Sydney, the room leaned in.
Here was the most decorated gymnast in history, a woman whose name has become shorthand for excellence.
Yet, what followed wasn’t a highlight reel of medals.
Instead, Biles offered something more valuable: a candid exploration of what it really takes to succeed, what it costs, and why no one—no matter how talented—gets to the top alone.
“It really does take a village to be where we are,” she said.
“I’ve learned that over the course of my years. I’m very, very grateful for my village and for the support. And that’s why anytime I’m up on top of the podium and we’re hearing the national anthem, I’m so grateful. I’m like, I didn’t just do this alone.
“It’s for my teachers, my trainers, my coaches, my family, everyone who has dedicated their time for me to be able to make it to gym on time, to train, to be the healthiest version I can be possible.”
For real estate agents, that sentiment resonates.
Behind every “sold” sticker is a network: mentors, colleagues, assistants, marketing teams, even family members who absorb the stress of late nights and unpredictable weeks.
And just like Biles, no agent gets far without recognising and respecting their village.
Talent is never enough
What made Biles’ story so incredible was how ordinary the beginnings sounded.
Gymnastics wasn’t her plan; it was a rainy-day daycare field trip.
“Gymnastics picked me. I didn’t pick gymnastics,” she explained.
But her natural ability, while obvious to coaches that day, wasn’t refined.
“In the beginning, I wasn’t what you saw on the screen. I progressed quickly, but the form and the discipline wasn’t all the way there. If they saw me whenever I was younger, they were like, okay, she could be really, really great, or she could just be flipping around and not be able to harness all of that.”
Biles described how, as her ambitions grew, her life shifted dramatically. What started as a hobby became a full-time commitment.
“You’re going from twenty hours to basically thirty two to thirty four hours a week because then you need to train twice a day,” she recalled.
“And so that’s when I decided that this is what I wanted to do. I wanted to take it serious.”
She traded school dances for homeschooling, football games for conditioning, teenage rebellion for routines.
“I begged my parents to not homeschool me and to try to figure it out, that I could do high school, have the social life, do gym, and still be hopefully one of the best in the world. And they were like, that’s not how it works.”
Control what you can
But while sacrifice is necessary, Biles was quick to point out that obsession with others can derail even the most talented performer.
“My coaches always said, like, you’re not competing against anybody else. It’s you and your gymnastics out there. You can’t control what the judges do. You can only control what you do.”
That advice could be written on every agent’s wall. Markets rise and fall. Competitors overpromise on price or commission.
Social media feeds showcase deals that make others feel behind.
But Biles’ discipline was in focusing inward—on her training, her execution, her performance—because that was all she could truly own.
Adversity and resilience
Not all of Biles’ lessons came draped in gold.
The Tokyo Olympics, postponed by COVID and held under suffocating restrictions, exposed just how fragile even the greatest athlete’s mental health can be.
“I remember getting on the plane to Tokyo and thinking, this is strange. For some reason, this is not gonna go the way I want it to,” she said.
She was right. Mid-competition, she experienced the “twisties”—a terrifying loss of spatial awareness in mid-air.
“That’s the scariest feeling in the world for a gymnast… we are like 10 to 12 feet in the air and it’s really dangerous. It could be catastrophic. We could paralyse. Some people have actually died.”
Her decision to withdraw stunned the world. Critics called her a quitter. Supporters called her brave. For Biles, it was a moment of clarity.
“Pulling out at the Tokyo Olympic Games was the most courageous I’ve been. That’s the only time I’ve ever felt worth more than gold, and then finally got the help that I deserved so that I could come back and go to Paris and be successful.”
What struck many in Sydney was Biles’ candour about vulnerability—something rarely associated with elite sport, or with real estate sales.
“What I have learned over the past couple of years is whenever I’m vulnerable, that’s when I’m my strongest and that’s when I’m open to getting help. And, you know, you always think you can do it by yourself, but the fact of the matter is sometimes that’s not the case.”
Perhaps the most unexpected wisdom came not from medals, but from what Biles found outside of gymnastics.
“I’d rather look back at my journey and be like, I had so much fun rather than just to look back and then be like, well, I was successful, but I was bored as hell.”
Her coaches insisted she rediscover the joy that brought her to the sport at six years old. She listened. She went to brunches, spent time with friends, found hobbies that filled her tank. That joy off the mat, she explained, made her better on it.
