A year recap!

2025 was the hardest year I’ve had since I started riding a bike. I know. It does sound silly and selfish. And also, that’s not an easy thing to admit, especially considering that, at the same time, I travelled more than ever before. Bikepacking, racing, scouting, route building – everything was there. I explored some of Pamir, scouted Kazakhstan’s Tien Shan, followed the amazing Jordan Bike Trail, and bikepacked some beautiful parts of Romania. On the surface, it should have been a year of pure satisfaction and fulfilment.

So why does it feel like it wasn’t?

Hunger

I started the year hungry. Hungry to correct my TCR No.10 start. Some people say that 11th place was amazing. For me, it wasn’t about the number. I was dissatisfied because I knew I could do better. Smarter.

When the Transcontinental No.11 route was announced at the end of 2024, I knew immediately that this would be the main goal for 2025. The longest route in the race’s history – starting in Spain (I love Spain), crossing the Balkans (it is always exciting), with long distances and demanding terrain (we all love it when it’s a little bit harder right;)). It’s supposed to be a perfect fit for me. More importantly, it was a chance to repair the mistakes I made a year earlier and to race in my natural style, guided by flow, continuity, and intuition rather than numbers and calculations.

From January, everything was aligned towards this race. Structured training again, long-term focus, discipline. There was no room for randomness. Less social media – more work.

Letting go

To make this focus possible, I made some difficult decisions. After seven years, I stepped back from the work I had been doing for the local cycling community. I stopped organising small local events, stepped away from Gravel Attack, and decided not to run local rides, gravel alleycats, or other community projects I had poured so much energy into.

I loved this work, but I knew how much of my free time it consumed. At this stage of life, I chose to redirect that time towards my family and my professional work. But also the Race Through Poland as my ultimate baby, and my training. It all came at a price. Some people understood; others turned their backs. Every choice excludes something else.

Preparing the body

Another plan was to take part in a few shorter races before the main event. Not to chase results (although, of course, I did anyway), but to accumulate fatigue and remind the body what discomfort feels like. To stay longer on the bike. To struggle. To suffer.

I have to be honest that I feel my age. What once felt natural, riding for days or without sleep, now comes with clear signals from my body. It knows exactly what it needs, and it demands it much more strongly than before. Ignoring those signals is no longer an easy option.

The idea was simple: remind the body who is in charge, and remind myself what riding truly means.

First races

The season started with three very different races. Dales Divide showed me the limits of my equipment. Traka confirmed that so called „gravel racing” is not my world. Kotlina400 reminded me why we ride our bikes in the first place.

None of these races went perfectly, but all of them added both physical and mental fatigue. I told myself that this was exactly what I needed before the Transcontinental.

TCR No.11

What exactly happened there, nobody really knows, but I was supposed to be ready for the Transcontinental. I wasn’t.

A month before the race, I had a bacterial infection that I couldn’t shake for some time. Antibiotics, stomach issues, and digestion problems. I didn’t talk much about it then. I tried to push it away and pretend it wasn’t there. I think I didn’t even admit it to Ian, my ultimate coach and friend. In a way, it worked. I made it to the start line.

I also chose a new bike, yes, as silly as it sounds, a super-light carbon LOOK frame I had always wanted to try. There was a chance for it, so I took it. That’s me! 🙂

Getting to the start was supposed to be easy, but it wasn’t. My Di2 didn’t survive the flight. Luckily, I met good people along the way. I got there, I was given the chance to race hard, and that’s exactly what I did.

The start of the Transcontinental is never fireworks for me. I usually need a day or two to settle in, clear my head, and get rid of doubts. I still believe that’s fine for a 5,000 km race.

We crossed Spain first, and it went surprisingly well. Of course, I have some small issues after the first two days, but we all had them. I felt generally good. My first proper sleep came in France, where I overslept and started the next day frustrated, but at least rested. I was convinced I would catch up.

Then came the climb towards Col du Tourmalet. For no clear reason to me, I had no legs from the very morning, and mentally it hit me hard. That night, I decided not to sleep. I pushed through. By morning, I felt mentally better. I crossed Montpellier well, passed Mont Ventoux, and took the long but steady climb towards Gap. That’s when my knee started to hurt.

I booked a hotel in Gap. I knew I had to. I slept a few solid hours and rolled out at sunrise. The knee was fine again.

The rest of France was tough from the start. Endless climbing and then the infection returned. I knew it immediately. Still, my legs felt good. I started to find consistency and felt like I was finally settling into the race. I believed things would only improve, including my saddle sores and the infection. Even if I was keeping everything clean and using extra creams, Italy had other plans.

My saddle pain kept getting worse. At CP2 before Torino, I cleaned up again and decided to push through another night. The plan was simple: ride through and grab a short nap somewhere in Torino, and that night was inspiring. It felt like the old days. Big roads covered through the night. Distance disappearing under the wheels. Flow. Control. Coffee. Losing touch with reality for the sake of crossing the continent.

After the morning, the opposite came in. Rain and showers made everything worse. My saddle sores and the infection became dramatic. I started antibiotics again and relied on painkillers, which I rarely use. Deep down, I already knew what this meant. The only smart decision was to stop, heal, and maybe continue later with shorter days just to finish the race. No more racing.

But I didn’t listen.

I pushed through the rest of the day and another night, with a short hotel stop of four hours. In Pisa, before sunrise, I started one more day, which became my final day. From the first pedal strokes, it felt wrong. Sitting on the bike was painful. Still, I told myself to try. Maybe it would get better.

It didn’t.

The pain became overwhelming, and the frustration even greater. I was sure that „only finishing” is now on the table, and also scared that this infection could affect my plans for later in the season, especially the Pamir ride planned for the end of August.

That was the moment I decided to stop. My first deliberate scratch from a race.

I still struggle to forgive myself for that decision.

What remains

That scratch wasn’t the end of the story. It was the moment I finally had to listen.

When I write this in January 2026, and I’m still in recovery from the physical problems that surfaced during TCR No.11. It will take time and some additional medical treatment to bring my body back to balance. But this story isn’t about what exactly went wrong.

It’s about learning that control is sometimes an illusion, that experience doesn’t protect you from your own limits, and that listening can be harder than pushing.

It stripped things down to what really matters, and I will take these lessons into 2026.

To be honest, all of it could be simply explained in this simple but pretty smart phrase: „It is only a bike ride”.
And yes, I do agree and let’s not forget that people suffer around the globe in some extremely difficult ways.

But on the other hand, when we do have the privilege to do what we love, why not use it while it lasts? I believe that we are even obliged. This is why racing will still stay as one of the main objectives for 2026!

Bring it on, baby!