Dylan Scott on the Slow, Steady Work of Becoming a Hyrox Champion

At this year’s Hyrox World Championships in Stockholm, Dylan Scott has unfinished business.

One of the sport’s most ferocious competitors, the former Doubles World Champion finished third at last year’s Championships in Chicago. The Nike athlete, who now has his sights set on the coveted individual title, has competed at every World Championship since entering Hyrox in 2021. Each year, he has finished closer to the top. He arrives in Stockholm intent on finishing the job. 

That he’s here at all is remarkable. At 17, a career-altering injury derailed his dreams of becoming an elite runner and the future he’d always imagined for himself. Years later, after rebuilding both physically and mentally, he discovered Hyrox almost by accident. What followed was a steady rise through the sport’s ranks that eventually caught Nike’s attention. Last year, another long-held aspiration became a reality when he signed with the brand he’d loved for years.

He’ll tell you that he’s not the fastest or the strongest. But Scott has something that’s harder to manufacture: grit. 

Here, in his own words, he reflects on resilience, identity and what it means to win the right way.

I come from Ninety Six, South Carolina — a town of about 2,000 people — and that place shaped the athlete I became. It’s actually a Revolutionary War battleground, and a lot of our training was out there at the historical site. I ran so many miles on that cross-country course that I could close my eyes and run it in my head. The high school track wasn’t even six lanes — it was five and a half, because you got to the back, and half of it fell off a hill. The weights in the weight room were all rusty. It wasn’t this pretty thing you get with Hyrox, this production. It was grit. 

You don’t always have access to the best things, the best facilities, but if you put your head down, you can start climbing that ladder. I came from doing workouts with tractor chains in the yard to standing on podiums at World Championships. That’s pretty cool.

When you come from a really small town and ascend to a world stage, it instills humility and gratefulness. You start experiencing all of these things that are so big, with so much grandeur to them, but you know where you came from.

It really broke me down as a person when I lost the ability to run. I got injured right before I turned 18. I spent my entire senior year of high school either on crutches or in a cast, and at points in a wheelchair. It happened when I was running on a treadmill watching the Prefontaine movie. My iPod fell, I did a weird shuffle step, and within 15 minutes my right foot was completely dead. Until that point, I had almost inextricably tied my entire identity to running. It was my emotional outlet, my social outlet, my sense of who I was. My sense of purpose was stripped away. I had to sit down and ask: “Who am I? What do I like? What else is going to occupy this space?” 

Over the four- or five-year span of recovering, my understanding of myself as a person grew so much. Looking back, I’m actually really, really thankful. As much pain as the injury caused me emotionally and physically, it created something in me as a person. It changed who I was and my entire perspective on life.

Partnering with Nike was a dream I had that I’d almost let die. I’m so happy I didn’t give up. The path I’d always imagined — running collegiately, earning it that way — wasn’t going to happen after my injury. At some point, you have to look yourself in the mirror and go, “You’re not enough at this. You’re going to have to pick a different avenue.” That fire had really dwindled down to where there was almost nothing left. But for some reason, it didn’t completely burn out.

When I did performance testing at the LeBron James Innovation Center, I was working with people who could give me insights I couldn’t facilitate on my own at home. The things I could find out about my body, my abilities, things I should change. All of that within that building, it’s astronomical. It really could be the difference between where I am now and where I need to get to win it all.

I don’t just want to be a winner for the sake of being a champion. I was drawn to Nike because of that same spirit. Nike wins. That’s what they do. But they want to win the right way. With respect for the sport and my competition, I’m going to be the best I can be. I’m going to compete against the best competition. But I’m not going to race dirty. I’m not going to sh*t-talk you publicly or try to belittle you. I’m going to create an environment around the race where whoever wins won it fair and square, and against the best version of their competition. I want to be a champion where people say, “This guy did it the right way.”

I’ve always been willing to go to a dark place in training, but I’ve learned not to go there too often. A lot of athletes in sports like Hyrox really value the ability to suffer and sometimes test it too much. You keep checking in: “Am I tough enough? Can I hurt enough?” And what tends to happen is you just burn your body out, because there’s only so often you can go to that well and actually handle it and recover from it.

Still, I’ve always told myself that when I refuse to go to those places in training anymore, that’s when I’ll retire. When I’m at the 45-minute point of a workout, knowing that at 55 minutes we’re going to enter that spot, I think, This is going to be hell. But today I’m choosing hell, because I still want to be a world champion.

I give a lot of kudos to my wife, Maria, for pushing me to be uncomfortable and not cling to the past. I was working a corporate job and I was afraid to move on from it because of the security it represented. She said, “You can do this. Please take the step.” I was making it work before, but there were leaks in the ship. We’re in a new boat now. It sails a lot better. Fewer holes.

When you’re around your kid, you get to rediscover things through their eyes. Having my son, August, has brought so much joy and perspective into my life. He doesn’t care if I’m on top of the podium or not, he just yells for Dada, and that’s it. Sometimes right before a race, if I’m in a weird emotional state, I’ll think, Let me just hold my son for a second. Twenty seconds of a big hug. And then I’m like, All right, we’re good, let’s go. Sometimes that’s all you need.

I value effort over almost anything else. Outcomes take care of themselves when you put enough into them. I want my son to see that. He sees fitness as a lifestyle, he travels to races with us. The first beach he ever went to was in France. I want his life to be full of movement and culture, and I want him to see his dad doing it the right way.

I never thought I’d be a world champion or even close to that, but as I stacked bricks over time, I kept getting closer. I kept moving up the podium, and now I’m at a point where it’s like, It wouldn't make sense if you didn’t apply yourself, didn't try. You’re too close to it. So the mindset has shifted from just doing something and happening to be good at it to committing to and pursuing being a world champion.