Who do you think will win?

A photo from Collegiate Track Cycling Nationals.

I didn’t come into cycling looking for shortcuts or quick validation. I’ve been racing bikes since I was 11 years old, and over time the sport has taught me things that don’t always show up on results sheets — patience, restraint, and the importance of thinking clearly under pressure. Cycling has a way of revealing who you are over years rather than moments, and that long view is what has kept me committed to it. What draws me in isn’t just how hard someone can ride, but *when* they choose to do it. I pay close attention to how races unfold beneath the surface — how positioning matters long before the decisive moment, how energy spent too early is rarely recovered, and how composure often matters more than aggression. I’m interested in timing, efficiency, and decision-making — the quieter parts of racing that separate strong riders from effective ones. Today, I race as a Category 2 cyclist on the track, continuing to refine my craft while building toward higher levels. I approach training and competition deliberately, with a focus on fundamentals, repetition, and consistency. I believe real progress happens quietly, through preparation and discipline, long before it becomes visible. I’m currently in a phase of intentional construction. Learning the track more deeply. Learning the road with patience. Learning myself through repetition and reflection. I’m interested in understanding *why* things work, not just copying what looks impressive. Every race, every training block, every setback is data — something to learn from rather than rush past. In April, I turn 29. I don’t see that as a limitation — I see it as clarity. I understand my motivations better now than I did when I was younger. I’m more disciplined with my time, more deliberate with my effort, and more realistic about what long-term development requires. I’m comfortable with long horizons and delayed outcomes. My long-term vision is clear. Over the next five to ten years, I’m working toward becoming an Olympic Omnium rider, an Olympic road race rider, and eventually a Grand Tour cyclist. Not because those goals sound impressive on paper, but because they represent the highest level of mastery in this sport — physically, mentally, and strategically. They demand patience, adaptability, and years of focused work.

The biggest races in cycling are not decided by perfect execution in perfect conditions. They are decided when conditions deteriorate—when fatigue accumulates, tactics become unclear, and decisions must be made without certainty. Predictability in training can create confidence, but predictability in racing is often exposed. Grand Tours, stage races, and high-level track events rarely reward steady output alone. They demand repeated changes in rhythm, responses to unexpected moves, and the ability to perform after efficiency has already declined. Riders are forced to sprint after long efforts, climb after poor positioning, and make tactical choices under pressure. These moments don’t favor the rider who trained for ideal scenarios—they favor the rider who trained for disruption. Training systems that prioritize control can unintentionally limit adaptability. When efforts are always smooth, planned, and repeatable, the nervous system becomes efficient but rigid. Racing, however, is inefficient by nature. Power spikes, pacing breaks down, and positioning matters as much as physiology. Without exposure to these stressors in training, even strong riders can hesitate or overreact when races become chaotic. This is why variability matters. Sessions that include surges, interruptions, tactical simulations, and fatigue-based decision-making are not random—they are deliberate preparation. They teach the body and mind to stay functional when conditions are less than ideal. They reduce panic, sharpen instincts, and preserve effectiveness deep into competition. Predictability is useful for measuring progress. But adaptability is what sustains it. Racing doesn’t reward perfection—it rewards responsiveness. The goal is not to eliminate chaos, but to be comfortable inside it.

I think Remco may have hit the physiological ceiling for himself in endurance cycling. He is an amazing rider but he only wins when the conditions of the race he is in are one dimensional and the pace is steady. He seems to get heavily fatigued from other riders going off the front and he does not have good repeatability with applying his time trial efforts in a race setting when it counts. He seems to be more of a very long distance sprinter who can't deal with pace fluctuations very well from the peloton. I'm writing an analysis about this observation I made Saturday, stay tuned.