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Some people talk about pushing limits. Others just go ahead and shove them out of the way. Chaeli Mycroft is the latter. If you’re expecting an ordinary story about overcoming adversity, think again. This isn’t that kind of narrative. Instead, it is about someone who never asked whether she could do something, because why on earth wouldn’t she?
“What’s wrong with your legs? “is a question Chaeli has heard all her life. Wrong? Nothing is wrong so this question was always met with the same unshaken answer. Her legs work differently. That’s it. The world might try to label her, box her in, or pat her on the head with a pitying “Oh, you’re so inspiring.” But she’s not playing that game.
Chaeli is a full-time wheelchair user with cerebral palsy. She’s also an activist, an endurance athlete, a speaker and an author. At nine years old, she co-founded The Chaeli Campaign, an organisation that flips society’s outdated notions of disability on their head through advocacy, training, therapy, youth leadership, inclusive education, arts and sports. Her philosophy? “You can do anything. But you don’t have to do everything.” It’s about choosing the things that light a fire in you, not doing things just to prove you can.
She sees sport as one of the most powerful ways to force society to sit up and take notice. “You can’t ignore us if we’re in the race with you,” she says. There’s no better way to change perceptions than by simply being there. Running, cycling, cross-fit. All adaptive. And no, not in some cutesy “let’s include everyone” way. This is about raw competition and disabled athletes carving out space in sports where they weren’t always welcome. That’s the work her non-profit does—building teams that are mixed, disabled and non-disabled athletes together, moving beyond token gestures to actual inclusion.
The biggest lesson? Inclusion isn’t instant. It’s a process. But when disabled athletes keep showing up at the start line, on the trail and at the finish, they rewrite the rulebook.
Rewriting the rulebook: “Let’s climb a mountain. Why not?”
It started as a joke at a backyard braai. A casual, offhand “Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if we climbed Kilimanjaro?” Most people laugh those ideas off. Chaeli’s friends, however, took her seriously. Within a year, a team was forming. Within four years, they were on the mountain.
The preparation was mental as much as physical. It took five days to ascend and two to descend, but before they even got there, Chaeli had to train herself to trust completely. On the mountain, she would be in a specially designed three-wheel chair, strapped in tight while her team of six guys lifted, hauled, pushed and sometimes carried her through the roughest parts.
She trained her mind, because as the mountain guides told her: “Your mind will quit before your body does.” And quitting wasn’t an option.
The adventure: did the mountain fight back?
Summit night. 11pm start. Minus 15°C temperatures hit as they climbed higher into the darkness. It wasn’t that cold when they started at 11pm, but as they gained altitude, the temperature kept dropping. By the time they were deep into the climb, somewhere around 2:00 – 3:00 am, the brutal cold had set in. -15°C. Nine layers of clothing. Everything frozen: water, gear, even her eyelashes. The darkness was endless, the altitude already making its presence known. Altitude sickness kicked in. Paranoia, exhaustion, a mind fog thick enough to make the whole thing feel like a fever dream. Her body screamed for her to stop. And maybe, for a split second, she would have, if someone had given her the out.
Nobody did.
And so, they moved forward. One step, then another. Chaeli explained that they chose to start the summit attempt at 11pm so that psychologically, they would be “walking towards daylight.” The idea was to keep moving forward through the freezing darkness with the mindset that they were heading toward the sunrise, the light at the end of an exhausting, brutal ascent. It was a way to push through the mental and physical struggle, knowing that every step brought them closer to warmth, visibility and the sense of accomplishment waiting at the top. So, they walked towards daylight but by the time they reached Gilman’s Point which is 5,756 meters (18,885 feet) above sea level, she was crying from exhaustion. The tears froze to her face. And then? Her eyelashes fell off!
Yes, really.
And still, she kept going.
The top of Africa
Reaching the summit was surreal, an overwhelming mix of exhaustion, pride and the sheer unreality of having made it to the top. The sun had risen, casting golden light over the vast expanse below, but the air was still thin, the cold still biting. Chaeli was exhilarated but also felt sick, drained from the altitude and the brutal effort of the final push. She wanted to soak in the moment, to celebrate, but her body had other plans.
Her team cheered, hugged and snapped photos, but they didn’t linger long—just 20 minutes at the top. The altitude was unforgiving and they still had the descent ahead of them. Chaeli remembers small, oddly specific worries like making sure the team blanket didn’t blow away in the wind—but the biggest realization wouldn’t hit until later. At that moment, at the roof of Africa, she knew they had done it. But it wasn’t until they were back at base camp, no longer fighting for every step, that the full weight of the achievement truly sank in. Sitting with her team, realising they had done it. Realising that four years of planning, thousands of moments of doubt and an ungodly amount of trust had led to this. That was the real victory.
Chaeli says, “just do it.”
Chaeli doesn’t want people to read this story and think, “Wow, that’s inspirational.” She wants them to understand that they can just go do things. Disabled people don’t need permission to take up space, to try ridiculous things, to fail spectacularly, or to succeed brilliantly.
And no, you don’t need to have every single step planned before you start.
“People wait until they have everything figured out before they try,” she says. “But you don’t need the whole plan. You just need the first step.”
What’s next for Chaeli?
Machu Picchu? Maybe. An Ironman Triathlon? Likely.
The real adventure? Never letting fear of failure stop her from trying. Mountains are climbed one step at a time. Oceans are crossed one stroke at a time. Barriers are broken not by asking permission, but by showing up.
And Chaeli? She always shows up.