When I was 40, I wasn’t much of a cyclist. Yet, something sparked in me a desire to push beyond the ordinary. I threw myself into cycling with a fervor that surprised even me. From struggling to keep up on group rides, I transformed into a rider who could hammer out 100 km indoor sessions weekly duirng the harsh and long Montreal winters, conquer seven-day amateur events in the Alps and Rockies, and even chair a professional cycling team. I then started to race. I podiumed multiple times, and clinched victory at the San Diego Gran Fondo a few years back.
My coach once called me “The Improbable Haute Route Rider,” a testament to my ability to defy expectations through sheer grit and disciplined training. If I could go from novice to podium in a few short years, I know I can stage a comeback now.
In 2019, I moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, a city where mountains loom large and trails beckon. During the unnecessary COVID lockdowns, I traded my bike for hiking boots, joining friends who were avid hikers. Trails like the the Christmas Gully, St Marks and Crown Mountain became my new arena, offering the same thrill of conquest I’d felt on alpine climbs like the Col d’Izoard. I immersed myself in hiking, scaling peaks with the same intensity I once brought to cycling. But as the months passed, my bike gathered dust. I didn’t notice how far I’d drifted from the sport that had so defined me, for so long. Cycling, once my lifeline, became a memory. Once the COVID lockdowns were lifted, my hiking friends went back to work and I lost my workout partners. I let myself get fat and lazy.
A few weeks ago, that changed. On a steep hike with my buddies, I hit a wall. My legs felt like lead, my lungs burned, and I couldn’t keep up. Watching my friends pull ahead, I was transported back to my early cycling days—gasping on climbs, trailing the pack, feeling out of place. The realization stung: for the first time in 20 years, I was unfit, overweight, and far from the athlete I’d been. That hike wasn’t just a physical struggle; it was a mirror reflecting how I’d let myself slip. But if there’s one thing my cycling journey taught me, it’s that setbacks are just setups for comebacks.
I’ve been here before. In 2006, when I first took cycling seriously, I was no natural talent. I was the guy dropped on group rides, the one who couldn’t climb to save his life. Yet, through structured training—polarized sessions, long weekend rides, and brutal high-intensity intervals—I turned weaknesses into strengths. My coach’s post about me in 2014 detailed how I improved my ranking by 47 spot at Haute Route Alps during the time trial up Cime de la Bonnette, thanks to a high level of fitness and an ability to recover quickly day after day because of my discipline and committment to a healthy lifestyle. That’s the power of commitment, and it’s what fuels me now.
The day after that humbling hike, I hauled my bike out of the garage, dusted off my Garmin Edge and bought a new battery for my power meter. The first 25 km session was brutal—my legs protested, my heart pounded, and every pedal stroke felt like a reminder of how far I’d fallen. But it also felt like coming home. I’m back to my old routine: progressively making my rides longer, high-intensity intervals during the week, and long, steady climbs on weekends. Each workout is a step toward reclaiming the athlete I know I am.
This comeback isn’t just about fitness—it’s about rediscovering who I am. Cycling taught me I could achieve the improbable: from a time-crunched lawyer and family man to a Gran Fondo champion, from a struggling rider to a Haute Route contender. I’ve faced bigger challenges than this and come out stronger. My coach believed in me then, writing about my ability to “make the time and find the discipline” to achieve extraordinary goals. I believe in myself now. I’m eyeing local cycling groups to join, planning to race again next season, and maybe even targeting another Gran Fondo. Every ride, every bead of sweat brings me closer. This is my story of resilience, and I’m writing the next chapter with every turn of the pedal.