Pedals & Pulse – Chapter 2
If the first post was about how I became a paramedic, this one is about something that quietly became just as important in my life: cycling.
Not in the professional sense.
Not in the “I always dreamed of racing bikes as a kid” sense either.
Cycling entered my life in a far simpler way.
I needed to stay fit.
And it turned out to be the beginning of something much bigger.
If you haven’t read the start of this story yet, you can read the first chapter about <a href="/blogs/pedals-and-pulse/how-i-became-a-paramedic">how I became a paramedic</a>.
The First Bike
In 2011 I had just finished my paramedic transfer training and had finally been given a regular station placement in South East London.
For the first time I had some stability in my rota and routine.
Around the same time, I was also in the process of joining the Army Reserves, which meant one thing: I needed to stay fit properly.
Running had never quite stuck with me. Gyms felt repetitive and sterile. But commuting by bike seemed practical and straightforward.
So I bought my first proper road bike.
A Boardman race bike, which at the time cost me about £600.
It felt like a serious investment back then.
My commute was around 10–12 kilometres each way into South East London.
At the time it took me about 40 minutes.
And I thought that was pretty impressive.
I genuinely believed I was quite fit.
In reality, I had absolutely no idea what real cycling looked like.
2011: The Year Cycling Hooked Me
My shifts often involved nights, which meant my days were slightly inverted.
I’d wake up late morning or midday and slowly get ready for work in the late afternoon.
Somewhere in that routine, I started turning on the Tour de France.
At first it was just background television while I drank coffee.
But the more I watched, the more it pulled me in.
Here I was feeling proud of my 12-kilometre commute, while on television riders were covering 140–200 kilometres in a single day, climbing mountains and racing across France for three straight weeks.
The early 2010s saw the rise of Team Sky and the famous “Sky Train” that reshaped modern professional cycling.
Average speeds of 30 miles per hour.
For hours.
Across mountains.
It completely recalibrated my understanding of endurance.
At the time Team Sky were dominating professional cycling.
Their famous “Sky Train” formation was incredible to watch.
A line of riders climbing mountains in perfect formation, each rider pulling at the front before peeling away one by one.
It looked controlled.
Precise.
Almost mechanical.
But you could see the suffering in every pedal stroke.
The Peloton in Motion
One of the images that stuck with me most was the helicopter shot of the peloton winding through the mountains.
A long ribbon of riders stretched across a valley road.
It looked almost unreal.
<img src="tour-de-france-peloton-alpine-valley.jpg" alt="Tour de France peloton snaking down an alpine valley road on a hot summer mountain stage" />
The peloton winding through mountain roads during the Tour de France is one of the most iconic images in sport.
It’s one of my favourite moments in cycling broadcasts.
The motorbike camera pulls away from the riders and suddenly you see the entire group from the front.
Dozens of cyclists pedalling in perfect rhythm.
A moving machine powered entirely by human effort.
Every rider suffering.
Every rider trying to hold the wheel in front.
It’s one of the most beautiful images in sport.
Discovering the Brutality of the Classics
But while the Tour introduced me to cycling, something else made me fall in love with it.
The Spring Classics.
The first time I watched Paris–Roubaix, I was completely hooked.
If the Tour de France is beautiful endurance, Paris–Roubaix is raw brutality.
<img src="paris-roubaix-cobbles-pave.jpg" alt="Professional cyclists racing across the cobbled pavé sectors of Paris Roubaix in northern France" />
Paris–Roubaix is known as “The Hell of the North”, where riders battle brutal cobbled farm roads.
Riders hammer across centuries-old cobbled farm roads.
The bikes bounce violently beneath them.
Dust fills the air.
Riders crash, puncture, and somehow keep going.
The race is often called The Hell of the North.
And watching it, you understand why.
The Scale of Professional Cycling
The more I got into cycling, the more I realised how extraordinary professional riders really are.
At first glance cycling looks simple.
Two wheels.
A road.
Pedal as hard as you can.
But when you start riding seriously yourself, you quickly realise the difference between amateur and professional is enormous.
Even now, as a relatively strong Cat B amateur on Zwift, I can push around 400 watts.
But only for a few minutes.
Professional riders can hold that level of power for 20–30 minutes on a climb.
Some can sustain over 6 watts per kilogram for extended periods.
That’s a completely different level of human performance.
Suffering One Pedal Stroke at a Time
One of the things I’ve come to appreciate about cycling is how simple the world becomes during a hard effort.
When you’re deep into a climb or trying to hold a wheel during a fast group ride, your brain strips everything back.
There are no complicated thoughts.
Just the basics.
Breathe.
Hold the wheel.
One pedal stroke at a time.
It’s something I recognise from other areas of life too.
In stressful situations, whether in medicine, the military, or endurance sport, the mind simplifies everything.
Focus on the next action.
Then the next.
Then the next.
Cycling teaches that beautifully.
From Commuting to a Cycling Journey
What started as a simple commute slowly turned into something bigger.
The rides got longer.
The speeds got higher.
The training became more structured.
Before long cycling wasn’t just a way of getting to work.
It had become a serious part of my life.
I started documenting more of https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EfweSUwyjI4 from training sessions to racing and endurance challenges.
These days I still race regularly during the winter through , which brings a competitive edge even when the weather outside is terrible.
Why Cycling Still Matters to Me
More than a decade later, cycling still plays a huge role in my life.
It keeps me fit.
It clears my head.
And it gives me something to aim for.
It has even inspired the designs and ideas behind https://admin.shopify.com/store/tweede-adem-cycling-core/themes/183256154446/editor?previewPath=%2Fcollections%2Ftweede-adem
This year I’m training toward the Army Gravel Championships, alongside regular Zwift races and long outdoor rides.
Even after thousands of kilometres on the bike, that original feeling hasn’t disappeared.
The rhythm of pedalling.
The focus of a hard effort.
The simple satisfaction of finishing a tough ride.
Cycling started as a commute.
But somewhere along the way it became something much more important.
What Comes Next
In the next chapter of Pedals & Pulse, I’ll talk about the moment cycling stops being casual riding and starts becoming a lifestyle
The first races.
The first structured training.
And the realisation that cycling fitness has levels far beyond what most of us imagine.
About the Author
Ben is a paramedic, Former Army reservist and amateur cyclist documenting his endurance journey through the Pedals & Pulse series.
When not working on the road or riding outdoors, he races regularly on Zwift and is currently training toward the Army Gravel Championships.