Commonwealth Games 2022: Badminton player Kirsty Gilmour's letter to her 16-year-old self
Hey Kirsty! You're 16 and in your final year of high school. It feels like the end of something but, let me tell you, this is very much just the start. The start of so much. 
wo-time Scottish badminton medallist Kirsty Gilmour will be taking part in her fourth Games in Birmingham. BBC Sport asked her to write a letter to her 16-year-old self as she was preparing for her very first....
In this next year alone, you are going to compete in a Commonwealth Games, graduate high school, pass your driving test and start university. And it will all go past in a magnificent blur until you are 28, sitting in your flat, trying to think back and reflect on it all.
You are in that perfect spot where you feel like an adult and a child all at once. 
Your journey to Delhi won't start at the airport but at the information and kit day. You will be sitting in a lecture theatre with 300 other athletes and be bombarded with more information than your little brain can handle. Then the good bit: the kit. Fresh and smart. It will all feel a little surreal right now and, to be honest, it will continue to.
After the awkward picture by the front door with your new kit on and your bags packed, it will be time for your mum to drop you at the airport. Savour this because soon someone dropping you off will require them to take out a bank loan. 
Now the real journey begins. In a few years, you will be raging at having a middle seat for a 15-hour journey but you won't bat an eyelid. You're just buzzing to be there. Plus, the athlete to your right is some kind of big deal, apparently. Eilidh Child? I wonder if she ever made it?
u'll arrive in beautiful, vibrant, colourful India. The furthest you've ever travelled to play badminton. And it will be great. I promise. You'll be nervous, but not too nervous. You'll play some good games, some not so good games. You'll start to see what professional behaviours look like, and some not so professional ones. 
But you have one job: to play as much badminton as possible. You'll play singles, doubles and mixed and you'll learn a lot. No-one is counting on you to win a medal. Zero expectation and minimum pressure. Enjoy it now because that won't last long...
One overriding memory you'll take away from these Games is the kindest of one of your team-mates, Emma. You'll have a couple of rough days mentally and she'll be unnecessarily generous and kind. It will take more than a decade for you to say thank you when you cross paths at the Tokyo Olympics, but that won't even be on your radar yet.
Now that Delhi has rattled past in a glorious tornado of colour, you'll have found your feet a little. Or so you think. Let me tell you about Glasgow 2014...
So you are 20. You've started traveling the world playing tournaments. You're in university. You've moved out of home. You kind of know what you're doing. You are No.17 in the world and seeded No.2 for the Commonwealth Games. Cool. 
Glasgow is alight. The whole place is buzzing. You will never experience the city like this again. It's incredible. Blazing sunshine, food, music, arts, culture festivals... it's a vibe.
But gradually over the next few weeks your world will become very small. Every part of your life will be entangled in a Games web. Your friends are in the team, your relationship is in the team, your other friends and family are coming to watch, and you're only 15 minutes away from home. But you don't really realise this. You're still quite naive.
will be both the absolute best thing as it will protect you from so much, and also the absolute worst thing as it will affect your performance. But you'll learn some monumental lessons. They'll hurt, but you'll be glad they happened.
In these Games, you will have one of your proudest moments and biggest regrets all within 24 outrageous hours.
Let's start with the good bit. You're going to get a medal. I know! Congrats! And the even better news is you'll do it in an incredible manner. 
You'll win the first set of the semi-final against Tee Jing Yi from Malaysia, but will be 11-19 down in the second. Uh-oh. But then you'll take 10 straight points, throw your racket in the air, fall to the floor and cry. A spot in the final and a medal are secure.
But here's the thing. You'll think you're amazing, that you've got the job done. You are the last Scot standing and while your team-mates are out "decompressing", you spend the rest of the day and night scrolling Twitter. 
"Omg, totes incredible @kirstgilmourr", "unbelievable match, you're amazing". 
re will be hundreds of variations of that. And, hey, who doesn't want to read that? I get it. But it's detrimental to your performance in the final the next day. You relax too much and the fire is gone. You think you've already won but, let me tell you, maybe not immediately, but in one, two or three years that silver medal is going to sting.
Looking back, you'll not blame anyone in particular. This is maybe the first Games where social media was starting to take off. We didn't get any advice around it and no-one really knew the effects it could have. But I wish someone had helped you through those 24 hours better and slapped that phone out of your hand. 
I think the people forgot you were only 20. But you learned one hell of a lesson. And you'll rarely make that mistake again.
Winning Scotland's 53rd and final medal of the Games was amazing, despite all that. It was one of your biggest learning experiences. Want me to tell you about Gold Coast 2018..?
You're 23 now. You own a house, and you've been to an Olympics. You've been round the block once or twice but these Games are going to require you to draw on every single bit of that experience.
You've done the kit day, you've done your training, you've chosen your window seat and you're on your way for a third time. You'll feel a nice buzz to this Games. It feels big and important. And it will be.
You'll arrive at the village after 26 hours of travel, looking forward to some food and a lie down. Someone will point at a building and say, "this is your home for the next four weeks". 
Like Sam Neill standing up in that jeep in Jurassic Park, you'll take your sunglasses off, eyes wide and jaw-dropped at the sight of a 15-foot high poster of yourself decorating the front of your new flat. Well, this is new.
minton squad will quickly earn the reputation of the team that sit out in the sun too much. And it's fair. We play a year-round indoor sport. We have pasty legs and a Vitamin D deficiency. Let us have this! 
We put up a good fight in the team event and you reach the semi-final of the individual competition when your last-eight opponent withdraws after falling in the first set. You're left with adrenaline coursing through your body but with no outlet. You spend the next few minutes tingling but you're within sight of another medal.
You will be going in fresh against former World No.1 and Commonwealth gold medallist Saina Nehwal from India. Leaving you out of the singles in the team event was a good tactical decision. The last time you played her it was close. And it's close again this time but you lose 21-17 in the third set. 
Ooft. So what now? This will be a truly unique situation in your career. Lose a match in the morning then play another in the afternoon to win a major medal.
where the lesson from four years ago in Glasgow comes in. Your best friend today will be Simon. You know Simon. Tall guy, calming influence? You've been working on psychology together for the last three years? That's him! 
You will be glued to each other for the next five hours. He will get you through this. You'll go to the village together, eat (if you can), grab a smoothie and return to the venue. You will pester him with your every thought and he will tell you, "Treat this like any other match. You're prepared for this. Just concentrate on yourself". And every variation of that sentiment. 
You'll take a deep breath and walk out to face Michelle Li, who you lost the Glasgow final against four years earlier. Your nerves will be buzzing, but so are hers. Now here's the kicker... I have no other advice for you because I only remember the very last point. 
You will stand shuttle in hand at 20-16 and decide on a high, forehand serve. Michelle will have to just go all out for it. You've all but dragged the match away from her. She will play a full power, cross-court smash to your forehand but, before you can reach it, it hits the floor. Your head will jolt round to look at the line judge, who will throw their arms wide to signify it was out. And you will have done it. Bronze medal acquired. 
I bet your mum and pregnant sister who will be in the crowd will have a wee cry right about now. The warmest, most satisfying wave of relief will absorb you. You will celebrate with team-mates, hug friends and gaze at that medal while standing on the podium with a Saltire around your shoulders. That's the good news.
ws is that you will spend the majority of the next week crying. Sorry kid! This one has emotionally wrecked you. Leaving the village, flying home, seeing your friends and family again after four weeks... tears, tears, tears. It will be pretty out of character, but that's the Commonwealth Games for you.
Reflecting back, on the precipice of Games number four, I realise what that tension was in Gold Coast. It didn't really feel like a good, excited tension for you. It felt like a kind of grey, desperate, edge-of-seat kind of tension. And it's maybe only now that I realise why. 
You were absolutely adamant to prove - to yourself and others - that Glasgow was not a fluke. To show you can repeatedly bring that kind of quality and back up good performances with even better ones is what will fuel your fire through many, many years. It's still what will keep you going now.
So here we are at Birmingham 2022. We've got the kit, we've done the training, now all we've got to do is go and back up those good performances you've been giving lately. 
Oh, and maybe do a few extra shoulder stability exercises before this one. There's going to be a big Saltire with your name on it for the opening ceremony...
Good luck!