Mind Over Kilometres: Lessons from My Hardest Ride

“At four in the morning, somewhere between Zurich and nowhere, the rain had become a companion. I had been riding through Switzerland for over 30 hours, my headlamp casting ghostly halos in the mist. The only thing louder than the downpour was the voice in my head asking why on earth I thought cycling 1,040 kilometres non‑stop was a good idea.”

Endurance is usually measured in numbers: how far, how fast, how high. But after years of chasing horizons by bike and on foot, we’ve learned that the most important distance is the one between your ears. Your mind decides whether another climb is a punishment or a privilege.

This isn’t a “how to” guide to mental toughness—we’re not psychologists and certainly not monks. We still swear under our breath and fantasise about warm beds mid‑race. But the story below shows how staying grounded and embracing the absurd can turn brutal days into unforgettable adventures.

Switzerland in Downpour: Racing the Tortour and a Time Limit

The plan was ridiculous from the outset: sign up for the Tortour, a 1,040‑kilometre non‑stop loop around Switzerland, and see if I could finish within the 52‑hour time limit. It was my second crack at ultra racing, and somewhere between Zurich and the San Bernardino Pass I convinced myself it might also be my last. We rolled out of Zurich as a team—me on the bike, a small support crew in two cars loaded with spare wheels, dry clothes, the best nutrition and unconditional cheerleading. My goal was simple: beat the clock; my secret dream was to see where I stacked up among the women.

The reality was even more absurd than the plan. The Rheintal was a sheet of rain, the descent of Susten felt like plunging through a river, and my shoes turned into aquariums. During one long sunrise descent, the cold felt like knives in my back and the fear of missing the cutoff loomed large. Thoughts spiralled: Should I rest? What if I don’t make it? Will everyone be disappointed? Exhaustion makes your brain argue that quitting is rational and noble. That’s why I’d practised my mindset during training—stay positive and the body will follow. When I focused on the rain, it felt heavier; when I thought about my father, who died in a car accident and whose memory fuels many of my rides, the pain softened. When I remembered how lucky I was to be pedalling through mountains with friends cheering me on, the kilometres flew by.

I rolled back into Zurich after 48 hours, soaked to the bone and buzzing on laughter and caffeine, stunned to learn I’d finished as the second woman overall. There were no roaring crowds, just my crew hugging me and handing me dry socks. That quiet moment of shared relief taught me that the brain is both your fiercest critic and your greatest ally.