As I sit here in Paris, adjusting to the time zone and the rhythm of a new city, I can’t help but reflect on the journey that brought me back to this moment. Just hours ago, I was on a plane, heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and excitement, knowing that I’m about to embark on what will be my final full ride of the Tour de France route.
I’ve done this once before, in 2019. That experience changed me.
The solitude of the mountains, the endless climbs, the quiet hours alone in the
saddle—it was a crucible of self-discovery. When I finally completed the
3,500-kilometer journey and circled the Arc de Triomphe, I swore I’d never put
myself through that kind of suffering again.
But the sense of accomplishment lingered. The promises I made to
myself about how I’d live and work differently stayed with me. And every time I
recounted the story, I’d tear up. That finish line haunted me—in the best way.
So I signed up again.
Then came the pandemic. Two years of waiting. In 2022, I returned,
only to be forced to abandon the ride after nine stages due to COVID. In 2023,
I tried again—half the route this time—but with my daughter’s wedding
approaching and my business in the middle of a warehouse move, I was
overwhelmed. I caught a stomach bug that was going around camp. I could have
rested and pushed on, but my heart and head weren’t in it. And for something
like this, everything has to align—body, mind, spirit, soul. It doesn’t have to
be perfect, but if one part is off, the odds of finishing drop dramatically.
I took a year off. I thought maybe I was done. But here I am
again.
This past year of training has been unlike any other. I wanted a
new experience, starting with how I prepared. A friend and fellow cyclist
recommended Andrew Randell, a retired Canadian pro. Andrew was up for the
challenge. He started by putting me through a series of tests—something I’ve
always dreaded and avoided. His training philosophy was completely different
from what I was used to. At first, it felt like I was riding in a straitjacket.
The winter months were filled with structured indoor workouts that I repeated
weekly. It was monotonous at first, but soon I could see the progress, week by
week.
I trained less than ever before, but every session had a purpose.
Andrew focused on building a strong base—low heart rate, low wattage, long
endurance. It was hard, but in a different way. I had to let go of the mindset
that every ride had to be a sufferfest. And it worked. My fitness reached new
peaks I’d never seen before.
Now, with my taper complete, I feel rested and strong. I’m here in
Paris, adjusting to the time zone, and in just a few days I’ll head north to
Lille, where Stage 1 begins. I’m nervous—scared, even—because I know what’s
coming. But I also feel incredibly lucky. Lucky to have this chance again.
Lucky to be here, ready to ride.
