A Quiet Month That Was Anything But

It’s been a quiet month from me, at least from the outside. The kind of quiet that people notice — the lack of posts, fewer ride photos, the odd message asking if I’ve fallen off the radar. But truthfully, life has been anything except quiet.

The first few weeks of January arrived with the force of a peloton sprint. New job. Full training. The first race of the season. Somewhere between the nine-to-five, structured intervals, and trying to pin a number on again, I forgot how quickly the days can go when you’re living in that strange, beautiful blur of hustle and fatigue.

A New Routine, Again

Starting a new job always feels like joining a fresh team midway through the season. You’re learning the dynamics, the rhythm, who pulls on the front and when. At Stride, that’s exactly how it’s felt — exciting, demanding, full gas from the first meeting. There’s an energy that comes from being part of something you truly believe in, and that’s how this month has unfolded: building momentum, refining processes, and setting the tone for the year ahead.

Balancing that with training has been the real test. I’ve trained full time before, and I’ve worked full time before, but doing both together properly — with intention, with consistency — is its own sport. Every alarm in the dark, every quick shower after a two-hour ride before logging onto Slack, every late-night spin on tired legs... it adds up.

The thing is, I love it. I love the structure. The repetition. The rhythm that endurance living demands. It’s never glamorous, but it’s grounding. The early mornings remind you that you’re doing something that demands discipline — and that’s a small victory in itself.

Teulada Moraira: Pinning a Number Again

By mid-January, all the base miles and structure found their purpose on a start line in Teulada Moraira — Stage 1 of the Volta La Marina.

It had been a while since I pinned on a number. That noisy mix of nerves and excitement in the legs, the smell of embrocation and caffeine, the quiet chatter of gears before the flag drops. You can’t really replicate that anywhere else.

From kilometre zero, the race exploded. The kind of “full gas from the gun” that makes you question every training decision you’ve made since October. My power file from that day looked more like an ECG than a watt chart. I gave it everything I’d trained for, but by the time we reached the final drag into the sprint, there was simply nothing left. I looked down and saw numbers I hadn’t seen in a long time — not good or bad, just honest.

I crossed the line 32nd overall and 15th in the Elite category. Respectable, I think, for the first outing of the year. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. That mattered more than any placing.

And then there were the small wins that make it all worthwhile. The new skinsuit didn’t show up (classic), but my Hunt 44 Aerodynamicist wheels did, and they carried me through that course beautifully — carving descents, slicing through headwinds, and putting a grin on my face even when my legs were screaming. There’s something reassuring about knowing your equipment works exactly as you need it to.

But more importantly, I wasn’t doing it alone. My partner, Eva, was there supporting me, cheering me on through every climb and corner. Racing again felt less about numbers and more about connection — back to community, to effort, to something I’d been missing.

Xàbia: Rain, Chaos, and Lessons

The next stage was Xàbia, and if Teulada was about effort, this one was about survival. Of all the days it could have decided to rain, it chose that one. From the first turn of the pedals, it was clear we were in for a wild one.

The pace was ferocious. The bunch split, re-formed, split again. I slipped into a breakaway, got caught, attacked again, and before long was back in the peloton, soaked to the bone, half-laughing at the absurdity of trying to see through glasses covered in road spray.

There was a moment when a team from Kazakhstan started chasing down their own teammates — the kind of mid-race madness that makes cycling both incredible and ridiculous.

The big lesson that day? Positioning in the wet. Nobody wants to rail it through corners when it’s slick, but if you’re too cautious, you find yourself chasing. Again and again. The rain amplifies every mistake, every hesitation.

Yet somehow, even in the chaos, I moved up the general classification — from 32nd to 16th overall. Not bad for a day where the only dry thing on me was probably the inside of my helmet. It’s those small progressions that keep you coming back to the sport. You finish freezing, shivering, but proud. And you learn.

The Unplanned Rest

Of course, cycling rarely lets you have too much momentum without reminding you who’s boss. After Xàbia, the body decided it had had enough. A stomach infection — or inflammation, or whatever polite label you give that sharp reminder that you’re not invincible — knocked me out completely.

Four days without training feels like an eternity when you’ve been in full rhythm. You go from feeling like an athlete to feeling like a spectator in your own progress. The legs twitch. The head races faster than the heart rate ever does. But as much as it frustrates, downtime often teaches more than performance ever can.

The temptation is always to ignore it, to push through, to “ride easy” and convince yourself it’s recovery. But this time, I’ve taken it properly. Feet up, proper rest. The Parcent race, my home race, is coming up on 1 February — but I might not make it to the start line. And that’s okay.

Racing at home is special, but health comes first. There’s more satisfaction in turning up ready later than showing up half-broken now. The season is long; there will be other days, other numbers pinned, other sprints on familiar roads.

Balancing It All

When I look back on the month, it’s strange to think how much has happened in just a few weeks. For all that quiet online, life has been anything but calm.

The biggest challenge hasn’t been racing, or training, or even getting sick. It’s been balance. The daily act of switching between worlds: marketer and athlete, desk and bike, screen and road. Some mornings I’m writing campaign copy before sunrise; by lunchtime, I’m in a pain cave halfway through threshold intervals, and by evening I’m planning athlete partnerships with a protein shake in hand.

It’s relentless, but deeply fulfilling. There’s something about living life at that pace that feels purposeful. Every part feeds the other — the discipline I learn from training fuels my work; the creativity in my job gives me energy for the bike. When one flows, the other follows.

Rediscovering the Joy

If there’s a theme to this month, it’s rediscovery. Not in some dramatic, cinematic sense, but in the small, everyday moments that remind you why you love the things you do.

Rediscovering the buzz of race morning. The comfort of routine. The joy of progress, even when it’s quiet. The quiet satisfaction of a ride that feels smooth, not fast.

I used to think performance was all about progression. Higher numbers, faster laps, more structure. But lately, I’ve started to realise that progress isn’t always visible. Sometimes it’s in simply showing up after a long day at work. Or managing to eat well despite fatigue. Or accepting rest when the body asks for it.

In an age where everything is so visible — posted, shared, filtered — I think there’s real strength in being okay with disappearing for a while. Focusing inward. Doing the work without showing the work. That’s where the good stuff happens.

Looking Ahead

As January winds down, I’m feeling grateful. Tired, yes, but grounded. I can sense that this year will be one of growth and movement, not just on the bike but in every part of life.

If the last few weeks are anything to go by, it’ll be full of long days, full gas starts, rain-soaked rides, and quiet wins. There’ll be more races, more weekends spent in the saddle chasing breakaways and more evenings spent in front of spreadsheets — but also more appreciation for the balance of it all.

And maybe that’s the real lesson this month has handed me: you can’t do everything at once, but you can do everything with heart. Whether that’s launching campaigns, riding races, or taking unplanned rest, showing up — honestly, consistently — always counts.

So yes, I’ve been quiet. But behind that quiet, life has been loud, messy, rewarding, and full of forward motion. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.