My First 100km
Looking back at three years of conquering the impossible
The road stretched out before me, flanked by vast, otherworldly expanses of black volcanic rock and rugged lava fields. The unbroken horizon felt oddly sinister; the illusion of a destination that you can never quite reach. I had been riding for close to six hours and had long since run out of energy, my head now lulling in the piercing heat of the late afternoon sun. I daren’t take my hands off the handlebars to reach for my water bottle, and what good would it do anyway? I was already massively dehydrated; a few dribbles of water would unlikely quench my thirst. Instead, I kept my eyes fixed on my Garmin, counting down every kilometre to the finish.
“You can do this, Jess” I hissed through gritted teeth, attempting to push harder through the pedals but achieving nothing but further exhaustion. I bowed my head again, trying to shield myself from the sun, the tarmacked horizon rippling under the intense heat. “Keep f**king going” I snarled, frustrated that I’d allowed myself to be dropped by the rest of the group, who were probably already enjoying beers by the pool, whilst I crawled pathetically along the asphalt.
The wind whipped in erratic patterns, forcing me to clench the handlebars even tighter in order to stay upright. I was completely drained and everything hurt. I couldn’t wait to get off the bike. I pictured the road curving to the left, rejoining the route into town, and ticking off familiar bars and cafes as I edged closer to the resort, my final destination. But when I glanced up, all I saw was more road. Was I even moving?
But then, faint against the horizon, the slightest flicker of white. A roof. Was I finally approaching civilisation? I narrowed my eyes in determination, mobilising every non-withered muscle fiber, and willing myself to keep moving. Each pedal stroke felt heavier than the last, my legs aching, my breath shallow, but I couldn’t stop now.
“You’ve got this” I gushed, as I rounded the corner, my eyes scanning left to right. Shopfronts of familiar bars and cafes straddled my periphery as I blinked back tears. “You’ve f**king got this” I whimpered, my voice breaking and my breath jagged. It was really going to happen. More familiar sights now; the sea wall to the left, flags dancing on their poles to the right, and up ahead, the most magnificent sheet of orange as the sun withdrew into the ocean. I looked down at my Garmin through glassy eyes as the numbers slowly came to a halt.
I’d done it. My first 100km ride.
Believe it or not, in just a few days, it will have officially been three years since that fateful ride. The ride that set a whole new life of possibilities in motion. The ride that pushed me beyond my perceived limits and taught me to never forget how wildly capable I am. Since then, I’ve had the privilege of experiencing many more incredible rides, each one shaping me into the person writing these words today.
So, in a rare moment of self-appreciation (call it holiday cheer), I thought I would dedicate this week’s newsletter to reflecting back on that journey - the epic rides, achievements, and milestones - as a reminder of not only how far I’ve come, but how much more there is to look forward to.
April 2022 - My first time bikepacking, my first time cycling solo, and my first 200km
Once I’d returned from Lanzarote, I’d well and truly got the cycling bug. I’d get outside whenever I could - still relatively small distances - and started to slowly build my confidence on the bike. One day, whilst out with friends, I said out loud for the first time that I wanted to ride 200km. A distance that felt so impossible and beyond reach that it was almost laughable. But saying it out loud made it real, and the seed was planted. For the next 48 hours it was all I could think about, and there was one distinct question that wouldn’t leave my mind: “what are you waiting for?”
It didn’t help that I’d been reading Emily Chappell’s book ‘Where There’s A Will’, an inspirational account of her gruelling experience racing The Transcontinental, and found myself fantasying about setting off on a two-wheeled adventure of my own.
That’s probably why, only a handful of weeks later, I left my apartment in London, bike loaded with bags, and pointed my handlebars in the direction of the Cotswolds.
For someone who had started riding less than six months ago, had next to no experience of route planning, and generally fears anything that involves uncertainty and unknowns, this was a huge feat. And yet, three days and 500km later, I rolled back into London, having just completed something that I had absolutely no right believing I could do.
To this day, I still consider it one of my best adventures.
June 2022 - Chase The Sun, my first double century (330km)
That was it. I was hooked. Every second of spare time was spent out on the bike. I couldn’t get enough. So when I stumbled upon Chase The Sun, an event where riders are tasked with cycling 200-miles from east to west before the sun sets, I knew that this would be my next ‘impossible’ challenge.
Starting at 4.40am in Minster, and not rolling into Burnham-on-Sea until gone 8.20pm, it was the longest I’d ever spent on the bike. Not to mention the biblical rain that blessed riders as we descended Cheddar Gorge, the rapid plunge in temperature numbing my hands and forcing me to walk down the final few bends when I could no longer operate the breaks.
I learned a lot of things on that ride: the need to be prepared for all eventualities, the power of a good waterproof, but mainly the appreciation for how much you really need to eat when covering these kind of distances.
July 2022 - Dunwich Dynamo (and back), my first night ride (364km)
A month later I was eager for my next challenge and wanted to put my newfound learnings to the test. Enter the Dunwich Dynamo…
A staple in the London calendar, the Dunwich Dynamo is a “semi-organised” 180km through-the-night ride from London Fields, in Hackney, to Dunwich, on the Suffolk coast.
I’d heard murmurs of the elusive ‘DunRun Double’, where riders would cycle both directions, there and back. It sounded preposterous; not only was it a hideously large distance, but you’d also have sleep deprivation to contend with, having already ridden through the night.
So of course I had to do it.
I ended up riding out to the coast with a fantastic group of women from Islington ICC, snapping a quick photo on the beach, and then turning my wheel west and making the return journey solo, much to the horror of those already packing their bikes onto the bus.
That ride back to London was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I made every mistake in the book, and found myself absolutely crawling the last few kilometres home, completely void of energy and morale.
I’d like to say that was the last time I failed to pay adequate attention to my fuelling, but I’d most definitely be lying.
July 2022 - London to Land’s End (500km)
A mere ten days later, I set off on another multi-day adventure, this time one that involved riding my bike all the way from my apartment in East London to Land’s End, the most westerly point of mainland England. It felt significant, and it felt impossible - two of the things I looked for most when scouting new challenges.
Whilst I eventually made it to Land’s End, this was to be my first taste of the darker side of long-distance cycling; I was plagued with knee issues for the full three days, which made for extremely painful riding.
I remember when I eventually caught my first glimpse of the sea as I crested a hill about three kilometres from the finish, all of the pain I’d been suppressing for the past seventy-two hours came spilling out in floods of tears. My dad was waiting with anticipation in the car park at Land’s End and I fell into his arms, sobbing snottily onto his shoulder.
I’d done it, but at what cost?
December 2022 - HHV 500, my first Festive 500 (500km)
It was now twelve months since my first 100km ride, and I had wanted to mark the occasion with something big.
That’s why, on December 27th I embarked on my biggest challenge to date - cycling the annual "Rapha Festive 500" in one go around Herne Hill Velodrome. Yes, you read that correctly: 500km in under 24 hours, covering 1,000+ laps of an outdoor circuit. In December.
This ride will forever hold a special place in my heart; it was the first time I had completely lost all sense of self whilst on the bike. Time ceased to exist, and my life - past, present, and future - had only been, and would only ever be, riding in tiny perfect circles around the edges of that velodrome. The concept of a finish line, or of ever not riding my bike, was completely inconceivable.
It was only when I eventually stopped, that I remember feeling such a strong, inherent recognition that this wasn’t a ride I ever wanted to repeat again.
April 2023 - London Wales London (411km)
2023 started with a new bike, and a new attitude toward adventure. The first few months of the year were spent exploring far-flung places (Yorkshire) on two-wheels, and falling in love with cycling all over again.
But I was soon ready to see what else I was capable of, and found myself at the start-line of London Wales London, another hugely popular Audax that would once again put me to the test.
400km is often seen as one of the most challenging distances; anything above usually requires some form of nap, and anything below can usually be covered without invoking severe sleep deprivation. 400km is that annoying middle-distance where you can get really, really tired and question your ability to go on, as well as your sanity.
I was having an absolutely lovely time during this ride, until I wasn’t. The tiredness hit after twenty hours of solid riding and I remember facing myself in the mirror of a Petrol Station toilet, face gaunt and eyes bloodshot. When I eventually rolled over the finish line at 4am, the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. And so sleep I did, curled up on the hard wooden floor of a community hall, with my arm for a pillow, and my down jacket for a duvet.
It was the best sleep I ever had.
May 2023 - All Points North, my first ultra (1,053km)
If only that girl who punished herself for being dropped on her first 100km ride knew what she was going to be capable of, and what she was going to achieve.
Dipping my toe into the world of ultra-endurance racing really was a whole new level of impossible, and one that I was convinced would finally push me over the edge.
To this day, I still believe it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. A grand total of nine hours sleep over the best part of four days, coupled with unbearable saddle pain, meant that I’d rolled back into Sheffield a delirious, shaky mess and didn’t return to ‘normal’ for weeks, or questionably ever.
There’s something about these kinds of events that fundamentally changes you. At some point you know that you’re going to hit a low patch; a crucial moment where your mind will have to battle through some pretty dark places and be forced to face the discomfort. I always say that this is where the growth happens. When you strip back all of the layers and finally come face to face with your raw, unprocessed self. There’s often a decision that’s made here. You can hit the panic button and make it all go away, or you can keep staring into the depths, challenging them to try and break you, pushing further to see what, if anything, is on the other side. During All Points North I chose the latter.
July 2024 - North Cape 4000 (4,207km)
My journey to the end of the world, and the end of my journey so far.
Twenty days after I left Italy, I finally took my feet off the pedals. It had taken 4,207km, eight countries, five ugly cries, and a hideous number of calories, but I had finally arrived at North Cape, the Northernmost point of Europe. All I can remember is sobbing uncontrollably at how overwhelmed I felt; I didn’t need to be strong anymore.
The tears soon gave way to a smile - one that represented so much more than just the happiness of finishing the race, but the realisation that, once again, I had surpassed my limits and accomplished so much more than I ever thought I could.
December 2024 -
Just like a jigsaw puzzle, we often become absorbed in the tiny details, searching for pieces that fit, finding meaning where we can, but often unable to see the bigger picture. Each fragment seems insignificant on its own, yet collectively they contribute to something far greater than we realise in that moment.
Reflecting on these moments and milestones now feels like stepping back from the puzzle for the first time - suddenly, the scattered fragments begins to reveal a clear image. And in this moment, I am reminded that even when life feels disjointed and incomplete, every piece is essential, and every detail purposeful.
Just as I wish the girl battling the endless, barren road in Lanzarote could have known the incredible things she would eventually go on to achieve - the mountains she would climb, the finish lines she would cross, and the resilience she would discover - I try to offer that same compassion to my present self. A reminder that this version of me, facing her own challenges and uncertainties, also has a future filled with achievements that will one day leave her in awe. Whether on the bike or off, there are victories ahead that I can’t yet imagine, experiences waiting to unfold that will shape me in ways I don’t yet understand. And just like before, I’ll look back one day and marvel at how far I’ve come.
P.S if you’ve enjoyed my writing so far and think others might quite like it too, it would mean the world to me if you could spread the word 💜
I’m so so proud of you Jess!!!!