100 Kilometres
A story of gears, grit, and the invisible partnership between body and mind.
On Monday, I cycled 100 kilometres.
My first century ride.
For a seasoned cyclist, that might just be a tick on the training log, nothing to write home about (unless your home is filled with Lycra and protein powder).
But for me, a trail runner on a temporary sabbatical from running (thanks to a spinal injury), it felt monumental. It took five hours, three snack breaks (I still haven't figured out how to chew and pedal at the same time), a minor cleat crisis, a loyal boyfriend playing human GPS and two friends who never let the road feel too long.
The Long Ride Back to Myself
There’s a special kind of intensity that comes with doing something for the first time. It’s not just the distance - it’s the not knowing. Will my legs survive? Will my snacks last? Will I accidentally unclip at a roundabout and fall in front of a man who clearly irons his Lycra?
You just commit. Pedal. Pray. And try not to overthink your life choices at kilometre 67.
For me, this ride wasn’t just about covering ground. It was about proving to myself that I’m still in there somewhere.
I finished the ride buzzing on endorphins and full of that delicious delirium only long-distance exercise can bring. My legs were toast, my shoulders were noodles, and I discovered approximately seven new pain points between my sit bones and my soul. But underneath the soreness, something settled: belief.
The Rise and Fall of Strava Syndrome
Naturally, I showered, inhaled a burger that reset my central nervous system, and uploaded my ride to Strava. Because nothing says “proud” like broadcasting your effort to a social media feed that’s basically LinkedIn for endorphin junkies.
At first, I felt triumphant. Look at me! 100 kilometres! Healing! Progress!
But before I could even finish scrolling my own kudos, I got sucker-punched by the comparison algorithm. There they were: friends logging 30k alpine runs, vertical gain that looks like a stock market crash, hill reps like they’ve got unfinished business with gravity. All of them building toward the races I was supposed to be training for. Races I planned my year around. Races I can’t toe the line at. Not yet, anyway.
And just like that, my glorious century ride started to feel … like cardio purgatory. Like rehab with gears. Like the sport you pick up when your main sport sends you to timeout.
But the thing is, comparison is a lazy editor. It cuts out the context, trims the nuance, and always manages to make someone else’s life look like a highlight reel while yours feels like deleted scenes.
The Mind Game
This is the moment where things get sneaky. Because the mind, the very thing that got me through the ride, also started to turn on me.
A few days later, I was spiralling.
I told a friend I felt like cycling wasn’t “real training.” That I was pedalling in circles (literally and metaphorically). That my fitness was evaporating while everyone else was building mountaintop momentum. That I was doomed. That I’d never run again. That I might as well join a knitting club.
He stopped me. And said something that stuck:
“The body listens. If you keep feeding it doubt, it will stop showing up.”
Oof.
That hit harder than a surprise pothole at 35kph.
Because the story I’d been telling myself, even subconsciously, wasn’t one of progress. It was one of loss.
Loss of form.
Loss of identity.
Loss of momentum.
Loss of belonging in a sport that once made me feel like a superhero with really dirty socks.
But here’s the thing: stories shape reality.
Not in a “journal your dreams and manifest a Ferrari” kind of way (though, hey, you do you), but in the real, psychological sense. The narrative becomes the lens. And lately, my lens needed a serious defog.
What the Science Says
There’s real science behind this too. Research from Harvard Medical School shows that patients who believe in their recovery timelines actually recover faster.
Dr. Joan Borysenko, a pioneer in mind-body medicine, wrote that “healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity, and belief.” The mind, quite literally, alters biology.
So obviously, I spiralled into a research rabbit hole to confirm what my heart was already hoping: that belief is a performance enhancer. And here’s the proof:
Four Times Science Backed the Brain
1. Cyclists Who Thought They Were Faster
A study had cyclists perform 20 km time trials. Some saw accurate data; others had their speed overstated by 5% on screen. Guess who pedalled harder? Those who believed they were faster, even though they physically weren’t, slaughtered their own baselines journals.lww.com.
Takeaway: Belief can unlock a new effort the body was holding back.
2. Runners on Placebo
Amateur runners injecting themselves with saline (but told it was EPO) ran significantly faster journals.lww.com. It wasn’t that saline added stamina, it was that belief changed their perceived exertion and motivational intensity.
Takeaway: Perceived edge = real performance.
3. Weightlifters Who “Took Steroids”
Paralympic powerlifters given a placebo (told it was caffeine) lifted more weight than when they actually had caffeine. jissn.biomedcentral.com+1physoc.org+1.
Takeaway: The mind can override limits.
4. Social Placebo in Team Sports
In rowing trials, athletes who warmed up in sync with teammates had higher pain thresholds and faster sprints - even with identical fatigue and heart rate bbc.com. The effect wasn’t mechanical. It was social.
Takeaway: We get stronger together.
Why My 100K Still Matters
So what does all this science and self-inflicted saddle soreness tell me?
Maybe riding 100k wasn’t just a physical feat. Maybe it was a mind game disguised as a workout - a way of saying:
“Hey, body, I still believe in you. I still believe I can do hard things. I still believe I will recover. And most importantly, I still believe I’ll run pain-free again” (preferably without a soundtrack of ‘oof’ and ‘ouch’ every step of the way).
Turns out, that stubborn little thing called belief? Yeah, it might just be the secret turbo boost my recovery’s been begging for.
Negotiating with Yourself
So this week, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. Not just about sport, but about how the mind, our inner dialogue, can either stall us or save us.
I’m currently dusting off an old favourite of mine: “Can’t Hurt Me” by David Goggins.
Now, I love Goggins. I admire his toughness. His relentlessness. His utter refusal to feel sorry for himself. But there’s one line in his book I’m no longer buying:
“Negotiating with yourself is the root of all evil.”
When I first read that 2 years ago, I lapped it up like it was a pre-race gel.
No excuses. No mercy. Stay hard. GO.
But now? I think he’s missed the point.
Negotiating with yourself isn’t a weakness. It’s human.
And if you don’t learn how to do it well, you’ll either burn out or break.
Lately, there’s been an internal battle going on in my brain.
One voice says: “You will get through this injury and come out stronger.”
The other whispers: “What if you never get back to where you were?”
I’m starting to realise I can’t ignore either voice. The best I can do is talk to them.
To steer the conversation rather than silence it.
Kobe Bryant understood this deeply.
“How do you negotiate with yourself? That’s the biggest thing.”
And he was right.
Because life is just one long internal tug-of-war.
Whether it’s the snooze button, that third glass of wine, or the urge to rage-scroll yourself into oblivion, there’s always a mental debate going on.
One voice says quit. One says push. One says maybe we need a croissant and a nap.
This isn’t failure.
This is standard human operating procedure.
Psychologists actually back this up. Your mind is made up of different modules, like sub-agents, each with their own goals. One voice prioritises safety (slow down, this hurts), another craves performance (push harder), and yet another just wants to fit in (don’t fall behind).
Once you understand this, the goal isn’t to mute the voices.
The goal is to moderate the debate.
You don’t need to “stay hard.”
You need to get good at listening, at setting boundaries and becoming the chairperson of your own internal boardroom.
And like any good negotiator, you can get better with practice. Here’s how:
5 Ways to Get Better at Negotiating With Yourself
Label the Voices
Give each voice a name or identity. Is it The Critic? The Coach? The Protector? Naming them helps create space between you and the thought.Don’t Argue - Acknowledge
If one part of you says, “You’re falling behind,” respond with curiosity, not combat. “I hear you. But what’s the rush?”Use 'If-Then' Planning
Anticipate inner resistance. “If I don’t feel motivated tomorrow, then I’ll just suit up and ride 10 minutes.” It reduces negotiation friction in the moment.Zoom Out
Ask yourself, “Will this matter in a week? A year?” It helps reset the stakes and avoid emotional overreaction.Choose the Conversation You Want to Live In
Your thoughts become the stories you inhabit. Choose ones that fuel movement, not paralysis.
Wounds into Blessings
This week, a friend gave me a book called Wounds Into Blessings by Fred Mitouer (yep, another book because I’ve got so much free time I might as well start a book club for injured athletes). Clearly, my friend figured that physio and stupidly long, soul-crushing cycles weren’t quite enough therapy.
In it, Mitouer writes that “pain is the teacher we never ask for but always learn from.” That our injuries (physical, emotional, existential) are not mistakes to be fixed, but invitations to be felt.
He describes the body as “the densest expression of spirit.” I’m not 100% sure what that means. Honestly, I think this book might be a bit too high-level spiritual for my brain, but, weirdly, it triggered something in me. So maybe I did get it after all.
Because for months, I’ve treated my body like it failed me. Like it broke. Like it got in the way of who I was supposed to be.
But maybe…
My body didn’t betray me.
Maybe it’s just going through its own awkward teenage phase, trying to grow stronger, but still tripping over its own feet.
Becoming, Not Behind
The body hears everything the mind says.
And lately?
I’ve been tired.
Tired of cheering myself on when progress is invisible.
Tired of pep-talking a body that doesn’t always listen.
Tired of keeping the faith without proof.
Some days I can fake the optimism.
Other days I can’t even fake that.
But maybe that’s not the failure.
Maybe that’s the practice.
To keep showing up anyway.
To keep believing, not because you're certain, but because you want to be around when certainty finally arrives.
I don’t know how this ends. I wish I did.
But this week, I rode 100 kilometres.
Not to win.
Not to impress.
Not to prove anything.
Just to remember what it feels like to move forward, even without a finish line in sight.
