My first indoor training ride for the Mallorca 70.3 last weekend was supposed to be a preview; it felt more like an immediate lesson in brutal humility. The screen glowed with the sunny promise of the island, but the virtual course proved to be a silent ambush.
The first long climb up the mountain drew a heavy toll, immediately emptying my tanks. By the last half of the course, the internal battle began: every fiber of my being screamed for surrender. My legs weren’t just sore—they were burning, heavy anchors refusing to fire, and the small voice of quitting became a loud, persistent siren in my ear.
With Kat’s steady help and encouragement, I pushed through and crossed the finish line. It was an uncomfortable, necessary revelation—far more difficult than I’d anticipated. I clearly under-fueled, letting my body run on fumes, but I kept pedaling. I gritted my teeth and continued, reinforcing the simple race-day truth: quitting is a language I will not speak.
I finished, not because I felt great, but because I was practicing the one essential skill: the will to finish is stronger than the urge to surrender.
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