Why Do I Do This to Myself? Cause I Freakin’ Love It Man!
Last time I met up with friends from different cycling worlds, about an hour before midnight - and after a few beers - someone asked me: “Why do you do this to yourself?”
It was simple. Honest. And it’s been with me ever since. I love what I do. I chose it fully aware of what it means. I’ve tried almost everything else. And still - I struggle to explain it.
Ultra cycling is strange. Often painfully irrational. It’s uncomfortable, raw, and addictive. It gives me something that nothing else does. And I don’t want to romanticize it. It’s tears. It’s emotional crashes 80 km from anywhere. It’s a touch of masochism. It’s situations you cannot prepare for - no matter how strong or experienced you are.
This season I called “Whyatta Mountains” in my coffee-stained notebook. Atlas. Hellenic. Silk. Taurus. Four countries. Four brutal races. I had finished the first one just a week before that conversation. Nothing went to plan. And honestly? That’s not a bad thing.
Snow in Africa, and laughing at my own stupidity
This year’s sixth edition was insanely tough. Both in terms of weather conditions and the longest route so far. Snow in Africa sounds pretty absurd until you actually see it, yet the memory of riding that first night on it - and theatrically slipping while dying of laughter on my ass on the ice, right behind another rider who had done the exact same thing a second earlier, with cars stuck on chains on the pass in the middle of the mountains - stays with you for a long time.
Roughly 1,400 kilometers and 25,000 meters of elevation gain sounds like a perfect camper-van road trip for a month off. But what if you do it in a week, on a bike, and add a little warm-up bikepacking from Málaga to the start in Beni-Mellal? In my head, it sounded irresistible.
Let’s ignore the fact that southern Spain and northern Africa were in the middle of a flood at the time. Seeing police and hearing for the umpteenth time, “20 km detour to the right, the main road has been washed away,” only ever prompted a shrug. Because at some point, when you’re already this deep into an idea, inconvenience just becomes part of the scenery. And honestly, sometimes the absurdity is half the fun.
The fever that humbled me A LOT
But back to the race. Preparation had been relentless since winter - almost daily training, gym sessions, sports massages, planning, and hitting the best shape of my life. Starting in conditions that, in a way, were within my standards - pouring rain, cold - no problem. A quick stop to dry my gear before entering the higher mountain sections, where temperatures dropped below 0°C, gave me the realization that next time I order custom perfume, it will probably smell like burnt winter gloves & jacket.
My legs felt fine, but then life decided to write its own scenario titled, “Oh, screw you - here’s a fever” just 24 hours into the race. And checkmate? Well… maybe not checkmate. Mentally shifting from focusing on results to just wondering if I would even make it to CP1 was a strange turn of events, but also a crucial one. Switching from riding at the front to embracing the adventure, the pure experience, and learning to accept reality - something I still struggle with as a 23-year-old girl - became the most important lesson of all.
There’s a weird joy in realizing that sometimes the race isn’t against the clock or the other riders - it’s always against yourself. Against expectations. Against the ridiculous inner voice that whispers, “Why are you doing this?” That voice is loud, persistent, and utterly hilarious when it tries to make you quit quite a few times.
Soaking up Morocco, my way
Soaking up Morocco “my way” over those seven days painted a vivid picture of just how incredible this country is for any kind of outdoor activity - and above all, how much fun a full-suspension bike can deliver when you let go of the brakes here and there, forgetting about the entire load strapped to your bike.
Saltless omelets, tea with six sugar cubes, mint, canned fish, oranges, nuts, coffee, and the endless generosity and willingness to help wherever I showed up - that’s exactly how I’ll remember this race. Nights spent under an absurdly starry sky, with a sleeping bag and still-warm sand beneath me, trigger that endorphin rush I like to call: “I love this shit.”
Riding into the following days, at some point losing track of what day of the week it even was, watching the sunrise again, and seeing in the distance the blinking tail light of another rider, knowing we share the same goal - it’s an indescribable feeling. Meeting at CPs, hitting reset, realizing you’re not alone in all of this, and then spending another several dozen hours riding solo - it builds you up, yet doesn’t weigh you down. You find yourself in places you never imagined setting foot, let alone riding a bike. The Old Colonial Road comes to my mind first and definitely takes the top spot.
Lessons, laughter, and absurdity
The Atlas Mountains Race is not an easy one, and it’s definitely not for everyone. The first 350 km of asphalt tore me apart from the inside - only for the next day, 100 km with no chance to resupply, to become the best day I’ve ever had on a bike. And those sections some call “hike-a-bike challenges”? I ended up calling them funny little walks… even though I rode half of them.
Some days I rode with music in my ears from morning till night, other days it was podcasts, and sometimes I just rode in silence. There was even a full-blown concert day: by the end, I had basically lost my voice, and Nicole - who I’d made friends with along the way and kept bumping into - got to hear me screaming at the top of my lungs: “Mama, just killed a man, put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead.”
This race teaches you lessons in so many ways and gives you a fresh perspective on your own life. But above all, it’s an adventure you just can’t buy at any travel agency - a kind of experience money simply can’t touch. And the jokes. The absurd moments. The shared groans. That’s the community part you don’t realize you’re signing up for until you’re sliding on your butt down an icy mountain in Africa at 5:30 a.m. with another racer.
Why you should ride it too
Am I satisfied with my result? Hell no. But sometimes all you need is to lift your head, look at the road ahead, and realize how much more is still out there waiting.
Right now, my Kona Hei Hei has logged over 2,000 km and 30,000 meters of climbing, and come April, we’re firing up race mode again in the UK.
If you’ve ever wondered why anyone would put themselves through an ultra like this, the answer is simple: the experience is worth it. The friends you meet, the laughs you share, the absurdity you survive - it’s the kind of story that sticks in your bones and your soul. And honestly? There’s nothing more fun than discovering that you’re capable of way more than you thought. Plus, seriously - everything is a win when the goal is simply to experience.
The Atlas Mountain Race is ridiculous. Painful. Beautiful. Humbling. Hilarious. And yes… you should absolutely give it a go. Because this is why we ride. To have a damn good time on the bike.
