The Ultra Cycling world isn’t something I’d coveted for months or understood in order even to be part of it, but I knew I loved riding a bike. A year previously, I’d texted my friend doing TPR saying, ‘Enjoy what you can and wishing him good vibes’ - maybe somehow I did get it?! From afar, I already knew it would be full of ups and downs. I have taken every opportunity to get outside for years, even for an hour or six. Stripping away the labels of mother, the big job, the admin, the health concerns and the circumstances of having a parent who has recently died, a relentless schedule, all to just get on a bike. I’m not someone who has ever been referred to as sporty. I don’t pick up activities easily, but with grit and determination, I can typically hold my own.

Turns out by racing, or riding, a really long way that grit and determination really helps. On the road you don’t just get to experience new places and have cute chats - you get granted access to the vortex. Now stay with me here, ask any ultra cyclist and they have a place - the race reality with no sense of it. Cyril calls it the tunnel, Joost the X and Quinda the Y. It's a place I had already been, but I hadn’t learnt what it means to me or how to handle it.

I’m now going to explain what The Vortex really is and why I love it so much and how I now understand why some racers do what they do. This isn’t a story about winning, or returning to win following a DNF the previous year but an honest account of what racing an ultra felt to me.

II. Finding your way into the vortex.

Before you clip in, all I felt was apprehension, a mixed feeling of excitement and imposter syndrome as people around me expelled confidence out of every jersey pocket unwilling to be raw and honest about their feelings, probably their coping mechanisms or their experience justifying what was ahead of us all. Deep breaths carried me through realising I had absolutely no way of slowing down time. The lack of preparation made me anxious and the pure blind trust I had to have that it was going to be okay.

After you clip in almost immediately a sense of calm rushed over me, after all I chose to do this, it's what I so desperately wanted. Keeping the legs turning as my confidence grew floating on clouds and not panicking about anything - you have food, water, fresh legs and so much adrenaline to keep you going. The repetition of ‘this is really happening’ I am free going round and round in my head. Almost total silence apart from hubs all around you whirring. Nods of hello, quick subtle waves as you all focus. Feels like you are back at school taking an exam looking around to gauge your classmates expressions to understand how badly or well the next few hours is likely to go.

As the hours drip by I started to care less about what anyone thought of me, and more about the race ahead. Singing, smiling and driving my legs as fast as I could. I’m unsure what causes the vortex. Is it too much sugar, lack of, limited sleep, empty legs or is it the outcome tunnel vision for the task at hand. I didn’t procrastinate, no scrolling endlessly on my phone or sitting around waiting for something to change - focus on the next pedal stroke. It's not always a good place. It can be overwhelming, claustrophobic and beautifully wonderful. The ups and downs. Riding rainbows at first which quickly become a terrifying lurching rollercoaster and quickly back to rainbows.

175 km in, driving rain and running out of water, I came across a small pig shelter with straw on the ground. I left my helmet and shoes on. I got in my bivvy and rested my eyes - didn't even set an alarm just comforted by the driving rain and joined by a fellow rider another dynamic to this insane experience unsure if sleep would come. Unable to sleep but very able to rest. Rain is driving down around me. This is hard but good i clearly thought to myself.

Stopping the next day, realising how tired I already was. Munching down on a cucumber and 2 croissants head down at a bus stop, I really had a long way to go. When you unclip or get off your bike and it feels so weird is when you know the vortex is coming. Being so tired but feeling better just to be moving. The road started to become more bumpy from here on in and I started to believe I could. As the heat grew, so did my confidence. I was rolling through hills and along paths. Smashing through a flooded road, another rider tip-toed around. But it felt long. The wave. Up and down. At this point still aware of other riders, passers down and feeling glances from onlookers wondering what on earth are all these people doing. If you can feel their eyes, you aren’t in yet.

Climbing up Huy 15 hours in was an absolute highlight, it made the rest of the race feel possible. You need to get so far to justify the rest of the journey to your brain and your legs. But it was short lived. 100km to check point two felt like a lifetime, legs getting tired but the rhythm was not there yet. This was hard and at times felt impossible a long way behind me and a long way to go. I hadn’t checked dotwatcher yet so I also had no idea where I was placed, did it even matter. Quickly it absolutely did.

Delirium was really kicking in, consuming litres of coke, hundreds of sweets and as much real food as I would possibly stomach. Realising when things got a bit hazy you needed sugar. I hadn’t relaxed into the feeling enough to appreciate it, just feeling knocked sideways by rainbows into my consciousness.

Whenever you say you are doing an Ultra, people think you are utterly mad, particularly if you are just an average rider with little preparation but what people don’t seem to understand is it’s about riding a bike but also so much more. I’m not sure if some people say you are mad because they are scared for you, or jealous as they would never say yes. Some seemed instinctively put people down even before they have tried. Maybe now people will understand that it was about achieving something, challenging myself and all the rest of it but what I got out of it was so much more.

The Vortex: The experience of a reality where you are just you, nothing else and  inexplicably feral. Emotional rollercoaster. In your own head and living

30 hours in, night two a chilly three hours stop half way through cp 2 felt like we were making progress, close to a fellow racer I was comforted by nightfall.  These fleeting friendships are impossible to judge. On the side of the road with mist around. It was chilly. I piled on the layers, trying to sleep. One female cyclist passed me, stopping to check who I was, and some men on scooters shone torches for far too long at me. I stayed as still as I could, trying to conceal the fact I was a woman. Laughing at me, shining the light deep into my eyes for what felt like minutes. I checked my bike, and soon enough, they were off, and sleep drifted over me. Unable to drift into deep sleep, always alert and ready to ride.

StagesFeelingsAbsolute despairHuge delightTotal sense of calmFerral

Riding through the dark when the rest of the field were asleep made making progress feel easy. Music passed slowly into my ears, no boredom just a drive to keep moving. After a hot day of climbing finally, a descent where my front wheel wobbled to the point I thought it was all over. It ended up being fine, but the capacity for trouble got smaller and smaller. Joost and I voiced noted. Little updates. Emotional waves, rainbows, and rollercoasters. I was racing, I was happy.

On my way to CP3 I had pizza, starving but too full to eat. Realising quickly how exhausted I was. Every step feeling tough and realising the saddle sores were very much there. As I pulled on my new bibs everything felt better, but putting my old bibs back in the bag brought me to tears, the clip too tough, the sun too hot, they started to roll down my face. But only for a minute. Back on the bike I felt calm. Saddle sores made me numb; it is getting sore to ride, no flow anymore, just pain.

Monchau was beautiful, but my mind couldn't focus or find the climbs, desperately trying to follow the route. I climbed the climb, enjoying the challenge of the cobbles, the elation of almost being there and still feeling strong. Even finding the energy somewhere to text a selfie captioned ‘heaven’. Feeling moments of positivity flooded by the worst feelings in the world and flipped.

Soon, the loneliness hit. I washed my face, sat down, had some pizza and coke, and then an alert that the sixth rider was on her way made me panic. Again, I was desperate to get on the road, desperate to keep moving. It was a mix of loneliness and exhaustion—more than you could imagine. Fuelled by coke, the last bit was here. Was I upset it was soon to be over? How did I feel - I couldn't work it out. I left quickly, ensuring everything was secure, chasing the finish, eating as much as possible, and feeling desperate. Again there is a photo where I look the most myself and another where I look completely broken.

A huge descent. The perfect climb. A happy human. I felt I could. I didn't take photos, but they are in my brain. It always will be. Unable to describe. Nobody understands. I loved this bit,  sleep close; a very accomplished day and not too far to go. From here on in, things got really strange. Slightly unclear on what was true, what was in my mind.

As the sunset approached, I put on a jacket. I kept pedalling, and I realised I'd lost my saddle bag. What to do now? Could I carry on? I was in a total tailspin. Somehow, I felt calm but scared and tired. I was desperate to crawl into my bivvy, my safety blanket. I was so happy it was almost time; now it never would be. I screamed into the darkness blaming myself, so upset and so tired. Feeling tiny somewhere.. Who even knows where I was. The haze, the hallucinations - were the rocks faces, were benches talking to me? Pedalling through the night knowing sometime that the sun would rise and I could  rest. The sunrise came, and it was beautiful. Pink clouds. Deers jumping. The wildlife is impressive, being awake and outside 24 hours a day. But then the Wahoo died. Another stop. Each time it became harder to start again.

Stopping in Velden for yoghurt cucumber coke and sitting on the side of the road. I was stopped and a lady said did I realise I was cycling on the wrong side of the road. People were concerned I was a small female alone. People worried for my safety. I was unable to care, almost not listening, just moving through the supermarket like a snail. They were unable to believe I was going to Utrecht tonight, unable to comprehend the distance I had come. Realising that I really was in The Vortex. So focussed, so tired and so full. Absolutely stuffed of everything I never eat.

I jumped on the tt bars. 30 min intervals. Climbing for me. Sipping chewing and inhaling sugar. Anything to keep me moving. Then onto the flats—the endless flats with the heat rocketing—speaking to Joost, knowing my phone would die, knowing I would be alone. I cried and cried. Missing life and so so very tired. I couldn't cope. I had to dig deep, but this flat land was not for me.

Next, stop at a gas station. Red Bull and water and carb powder in one. Haribo. A snickers. I just had to get there. I was climbing and climbing into the sun. After what felt like hours, we were in the woods, back to climbing legs feeling strong again up and down up and down. Again, I was refreshed by the shade, but the saddle sores were agony, and I started to lose sense of reality. I was so sure I'd climbed these before—no way to check with anyone outside - my phone had died . I just had to pedal. At this point I had been riding for more than 30 hours with limited breaks, and this was very much not part of the plan. I hadn’t given my body quick rests, or snippets of sleep just slowly crawling along the route.

Into farmland. Again left, right, left, right between fields. Convincing myself, I failed. Convincing myself, I was on the wrong road pedalling as tears rolled down my face. The familiar feeling of maybe I'd been here, unsure if it was my mind playing tricks or just the truth. Up by the water. The finish in the wahoo screen when I zoomed out, had I made it? It felt like forever. Feeling close and far. And suddenly I was done. Everything stopped. It was over. The best thing I've ever done. Everyone there, it felt so quiet, hugs and high fives. What had I achieved? Turns out scary is good.

Perhaps it's because I get little time to prioritise myself, continually juggling too many things, or wistfully on the lookout for childhood simplicity in a non judgemental world but I really love the vortex. Of course you are judged, shuffling around supermarkets stinking, breaking down in tears because you can't do your bag up, but somehow you are beyond caring and that is the best feeling in the world. But you can’t go there all the time, it makes you evaluate everything good and bad. It's too simple of a world to always live in but it makes for the perfect holiday.

3 days 1 hour 42 mins

5th woman

59th Rider

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