Towards the end of April, I was finishing up a big racing block, ending with a great result at BWR. I was starting to fire up my training for one of the biggest gravel races in the world: Unbound. I had been thinking about the race since I was selected for the lottery last year.
Then, in the middle of my training block, I was involved in an accident that took me out of the fight for Unbound. I was devastated to say the least. I had been riding this incredible momentum I built, and all of a sudden, I came to a grinding halt.
I had to take some time off the bike earlier in the year due to pneumonia and my IT band injury, but this time felt different. For once, I was pulled out of my bubble I’d been in for the last two years.
I was so immersed in my bubble of training, racing, and hurrying to become a professional before time ran out. During that time spent confined to the couch, it hit me that I still wasn’t a professional, and I was running out of time chasing this title.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, being so caught up in my bubble led me to develop this pressure in the back of my mind. I had this pressure building from the fear of failing to become a professional. I felt like I had to achieve the title of professional in these two years because that’s what I set out to do.
I had to think back to the beginning and remind myself that going pro was the label I put on this journey, but it wasn’t the goal. I set out on this journey to learn how I would change and improve as a person if I fully dedicated myself to this endeavor.
The main goal of these two years was to feel content, because that’s more important to me than any title. It took the fear out of failing because in my eyes, there was no room for failure. If I were continually growing as a person and a cyclist, then that was the only success I needed.
Reminding myself why I was on this journey in the first place brought a wave of acceptance, and that pressure faded away. Instead of “ I have to get a good result to become successful, “ it became “ I accept that I probably won’t become a pro, but I wonder what I can do”. Curiosity replaced pressure in the driver’s seat and encouraged me to see just how far I could go in this short period of time I had left.
I was no longer scared of getting dropped, if I failed a workout from pushing too hard or getting a less-than-desirable race result, because it didn’t feel like so much was riding on my place on the results sheet. Without fear, my confidence that I’ve slowly built over these two years has been able to shine through.
I knew I could do anything I put my mind to; it was just a matter of figuring out how to get there. Confidence with my newfound sense of curiosity has allowed me to reach further than ever before. During the last half of my season, I got some of the best results of my career. Recently, I placed 6th at Lost and Found, 4th at Truckee Gravel, and 3rd at Fish Rock.
This journey became so much more than just chasing professional cycling; it became my mechanism of self-exploration with adversity as my greatest teacher.
Every time the journey would throw me a curveball, the workout backed me into a corner, or I didn’t place how I wanted to at a race, the bike would hold a mirror up to my soul. Reflecting everything back at me, showing me the parts holding me back and the new things I needed to continue onwards. I came to appreciate this feeling of having to consistently evolve from adversity to keep moving forward.
I was so worried about how I would feel in this moment at the end of these two years. I thought making the switch back to normal life and starting to let go of my full-time cyclist life still would be incredibly difficult. It’s definitely going to be hard because I love what I do, but I feel ready to make the switch.
If I had infinite time, resources, and my long-term life laid out, I could keep this up for a few more years and possibly be a full-fledged pro. However, after two years, I learned the sacrifices required to live this lifestyle. It’s a lifestyle that requires lots of traveling, little social life, and a strict life.
While I didn’t finish this journey with the title of pro, I received a different conclusion to my journey. That conclusion being I don’t want to live the professional cyclist lifestyle, and that I want a more balanced life. In the end, I was starting to crave a sense of normalcy in my life. I want to be more flexible, social, see my friends more, and go back to working towards my long-term goal of becoming a nurse.
This conclusion I reached is equally, if not more valuable to me than becoming a professional. At the end of these two years, I wanted to have an answer to my question of “what happens if I dedicate myself to becoming a pro cyclist?”.
With all of my personal growth and learning what’s important to me in life, I can say with confidence that I’ve been given a concrete answer with my journey. I feel ready to turn the page on the next chapter in my life.
As I write this without the title of professional cyclist, I feel incredibly content with these two years. I learned so much about myself in these two years, and I know these experiences will be etched into my soul forever.
At the end of this journey, I reached a full-circle moment. Even without the title of professional, I’m able to look back on these two years fondly. I realized I ride bikes for the same reason it’s always been: for my pure love of riding. I’m not turning the pedals to prove myself to the world, become one of the best, or make money. I’m pedaling because I love the feeling, personal growth, and experiences that riding gives me.
Which brings me to the biggest lesson I’ve learned: I’ll never be the next Keegan Swenson, but I will be the one and only Jacob Velasco. During these two years, I know that cycling will always play a large role in that definition. However, I want that definition to span all areas of my life, and I’m excited to spend the rest of my life defining what my name means.