A friend called me out this summer when I said that doing the BC Bike Race (BCBR) is too difficult for me. After much contemplation and excessive amounts of overthinking as I tend to do, I have signed up to do the race next summer. The commitment is in place; working through the self-doubt is an ongoing exercise.

Finding the courage to commit to BCBR had me thinking about 5 years ago when I was in exactly the same place over Moab Rocks. I was so terrified of being in over my head, I stewed endlessly over that decision. Could I do it? What if I couldn’t do it? What if I died? What if it was too hard?

But, what if I could? What if it was really fun? I didn’t want to look back one day and wonder IF I could have done it. And now 5 years later, that’s the same driver behind my decision to race BCBR. Well, that and the fact that it’s never going to get easier as I’m only getting older.

Covid interrupted that journey, and I finally got to race Moab Rocks in 2022. All my training was just about not dying in Moab. When I got there, it was all so overwhelming and terrifying. Once I got past the start line angst, I had an unbelievable time – even from dead last. Later that summer I rode 100 miles at SBT GRVL and then went to SA to race Wines2Whales at the end of the year. SBT GRVL was my strategy to commit to trying again if Moab Rocks ended poorly.

In 2023 I went back to Moab again, my attempt to do better was thwarted by bad weather but I still had so much fun on day 3. I did BWR on Vancouver Island and went back to SBT GRVL again in 2023. I did a few different races in 2024, and am now looking ahead to 2025. It’s not even strange for me to be planning a race calendar anymore, it’s just what I do. I am at the same time in awe, and somewhat amused when I pause to consider how racing has altered the path of my life. But mostly, I am so grateful for it.

The people I’ve met through racing and the range of experiences that have come out of it have been the most significant. All the feelings around racing are big feelings: the angst, the joy, the struggle, the self-doubt, the accomplishment and the love for everyone and everything after you have crossed that finish line.

One of the best things about racing, is where you get to ride. Even in the most challenging moments, on the steepest climbs where you can’t even see the crest, you can look around, and be moved by your surroundings. The Gantouw pass in the Western Cape, is an old wagon trail that is a mandatory hike a bike on the first stage of Wines2Whales. Pushing our bikes up the rocky trail was difficult, but the views, even as your lungs heaved, were stunning. To grasp the splendour of where you are, and contemplate those who have come before you is humbling. I have learned to remind myself that I chose this; and even as I am struggling, I know that I can do it. I am slow, but strong enough to get it done.

It’s all so transformative: everything from discipline of training, the patience required to trust the process, working through the start line nerves, and pushing through when it gets hard and encouraging one other person who’s also struggling. The elation of crossing that finish line is a feeling that lasts for days after. I don’t know how you would explain that feeling to someone who doesn’t race. 

All the races we do, all the experiences we have in training and in racing, all the people we encounter along the way, weave together to craft our stories. When I got cut from the long course in OR and had to do the short course, I learned that I could dig a little deeper. I also learned to wipe my tears and carry the lesson forward, leaving behind the heartache.

Even the so-called failure in racing is a win, because you know better for next time. It’s not just the training, but the process of learning to believe in yourself that helps you grow. The latter is perhaps the hardest lesson for me. I am still learning how to believe in myself and am deeply grateful to the people in my life who believe in me, when I stumble over doing the same.

I have never done anything athletic in my life. I grew up in SA where PE twice a week was the only exposure we had to sport in school. There was no after school sport in the apartheid school system, no teams, no development programs. And mostly you could get out of PE if you said you had your period.

Working with a coach and learning about building endurance was, and still is, all new to me. To be stronger than I’ve ever been at 57, training for the hardest thing I’ve ever done (well going to try to do is probably more correct), is at once scary and empowering.

In many ways, I feel like this is just the beginning of the next chapter. The best is yet to come.