In the Tour de France, there are two official rest days. This year, the first one came after Stage 10, the very stage my body denied me the chance to complete. Bad luck, plain and simple. You have to be in exceptional shape to even attempt one stage, let alone all 21. Catching a chest cold at the wrong time has derailed this journey for me.
After deciding I couldn’t complete Stage 10, I wasn’t prepared for the flood of emotions that followed. I had trained seriously for nine months, more consistently and with more dedication than ever before. My mission was clear, and I had no doubts I would do exactly what I set out to do.
To outsiders, this might seem silly. Easy to say, “It’s no big deal, you’ll get back on the bike another day.” But for me, it felt like I had given up. Like I had done something wrong, something stupid or avoidable. I knew it was illogical to feel that way, but I couldn’t shake it. So I spent the rest day reflecting on why I, and so many of us, are so hard on ourselves. Why is it so difficult to be kind to ourselves, especially when we need it most?
I kept telling myself I had nothing to prove. I’ve done this before. But this time, I had a clear goal, and now it’s gone. What now? Do I create a new goal? Should I even care anymore? In a world filled with so much darkness and pain, my little failure feels meaningless. “First world problems,” as my daughter would say.
But then I asked myself: why do we set goals in the first place?
For me, it’s because every time I strive to do something that scares me, I learn something new about myself. And this was no different. A lesson to learn. A corner to turn. A look under the hood. A moment to grow from.
So I sat for hours in my room, resting, reading the kind and supportive messages from friends, family, and colleagues who’ve been following my journey. Many of them made me cry. Their words nudged me toward a new perspective. This wasn’t just a missed target, it felt like a personal failure, a loss of control, even though I did everything right.
But I’ve decided to acknowledge the disappointment rather than rush through it. I’m reframing the narrative. Instead of shrinking under the weight of failure, I’m choosing to grow from it. I’m learning not to be so hard on myself. I’m celebrating what I have done: I showed up. I tried. And that’s worth honoring, no matter the outcome.
Resilience. Adaptability. Self-compassion. These are the lessons I’m taking with me. And above all, I’m learning to value the journey, not just the destination.
When I woke up the morning of Stage 11, my gear was laid out from the night before. But I still felt rough, coughing, shaky. I made the tough decision to take another rest day. I didn’t want to. Every part of me wanted to ride that flat stage on this gorgeous summer day in France. But instead, I chose to clean my bike, stretch, and sleep.
Tomorrow is another day. Another stage. A mountain stage. I want to enjoy it, and not harm my already fatigued body. Maybe tomorrow there will be no cough. For now, I’m taking it day by day. Doing the best I can. Guilt-free.
“Sometimes what feels like a setback is really just a setup for a
deeper kind of growth.”
— Brianna Wiest
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