It was December. Repeated lockdowns and canceled plans had created a gloomy atmosphere. So I searched the internet for a new horizon—even if it was uncertain—and I stumbled upon it: La Baroudeuse, a self-supported ultra-cycling event. The name made me smile, and the concept had me hooked: no stated performance goals, no organized, ultra-safe adventure—just pure, unadulterated resourcefulness in the mountains I love so much. I told Jo about it, and we treated ourselves to the registration as a Christmas gift.
Six months later. We finished La Baroudeuse in 62 hours and returned to our mountains—tired but filled with confidence, momentum, and a sense of our own strength. That’s what I want to talk about most of all. I’m less interested in the technical or even physical details; for me, the Baroudeuse is first and foremost a human experience, an exploration of who we are, of our relationship with ourselves and with the world.
A journey toward ourselves, together
Not that it isn’t a massive physical challenge, a major athletic feat. It’s hard—very hard at times—unpredictable, sometimes cruel, often magnificent, and always thrilling. I don’t see it as “pushing beyond one’s limits.” In fact, I hate that expression—I don’t even understand what it means. Instead, I see this self-supported ultra as a path to oneself, a place of unconditional self-acceptance regardless of our physical or mental state at any given moment. Of course, my butt, knee, and back hurt; I was hungry, thirsty, too cold, too hot, and didn’t get enough sleep… but it’s precisely in those moments that I was able to tap into my inner resources, because I know that adventure is never ideal. What I enjoy most of all is knowing that I can fend for myself, adapt, make do, persevere, manage, and keep moving forward. I love feeling that I can work with whatever happens in the moment—not against it. A space of possibility can then open up, and the inevitable discomforts naturally become part of a broader experience. A shared experience for this adventurer.
Jo and I make a solid team. We’re used to being out in nature together, exploring new trails; we’re comfortable with silence and the little annoyances each of us causes the other; we often smile at each other during the effort, and we always support one another. Jojo is methodical and ultra-organized. I’m a bit of a slob and make fun of any attempt at organization. We complement each other. Above all, we’re on the same page about how we approach our sports. We rarely feel like we’re training; it almost always feels like we’re exploring. We’ve created little adventures as part of our preparation—overnight camps on mountain peaks, a marathon around our house, impromptu multi-day bike rides. All of this without a watch. At 50 and 60 years old, respectively, our competitive years are behind us; sports aren’t something we do to prove anything to ourselves or compare ourselves to others—they’re a way of life. And the Baroudeuse resonated with that: no rankings, a backpacking camp in the heart of nature, authentic and passionate organizers, and a simplicity that’s rare in the growing extreme sports industry.
We have some experience—or rather, a variety of experiences—that make us curious about any new adventure. Jojo has done many multi-day, even multi-week treks in every corner of the globe. I love ultra-trail running, mountaineering, and long expeditions at very high altitudes. In short, we’re used to things going wrong and falling apart, to things that hurt and discourage us. But it’s powerful to share this experience as a pair. We admire each other’s abilities—a true gender equality that’s so rare in sports.
On that note, ladies—and gentlemen, too—I’m going to speak my mind on a topic close to my heart, in the hope of inspiring some female readers to give La Baroudeuse a try. I don’t believe there’s physiological equality between men and women. At least, that’s what I’m learning from Dr. Stacy Sims, the world-renowned expert in this field with whom I’m currently training. During the luteal phase or perimenopause (in my case), female athletes objectively struggle more than men: higher body temperature and delayed, less profuse sweating; reduced ability to mobilize carbohydrates even though their stores are at their peak; less leucine reaching the brain, which in turn sends fewer signals to the muscles, and a greater need for protein to curb the catabolic process that slows down and delays muscle recovery. In short, it’s kind of a bummer. And for the record, the Baroudeuse race fell at the worst possible time in my cycle in terms of performance potential, but I finished it—and rather respectably, at that.
Because while there may not be physiological equality, that doesn’t mean we can’t strive for gender equity—that is, equal access to this type of race. Women can also dream big by participating in the Baroudeuse, because they, too, have the ability to navigate both discomfort and moments of euphoria. I don’t have any special talent for gravel biking—I started a year ago, and I’m not very used to highly technical terrain; I’ve always been very athletic, but I’m also 50 years old. What matters most is that I believe in myself—not out of arrogance, but out of honesty. I know I can manage the effort at my own pace, moment by moment, and truly appreciate my human potential—not just my athletic or feminine potential. I’d love to see more women participate in the years to come, not to prove a performance but out of love and a genuine appreciation of their own worth.
La Baroudeuse is demanding; it forces us to face ourselves, and that’s why we’ve loved it so much. For me, the 317k is the perfect balance between challenge and accomplishment. Rocks as far as the eye can see that an exhausted body must tackle under a blistering sun, but also a plate of pasta in the village square of Pigna. Lack of sleep, but also a few hours of rest under the stars and a short night’s sleep at Nadia’s—whom I met by chance when I was utterly exhausted. A fall, a few scrapes—but also majestic landscapes at dawn.
Arriving in Peille and being welcomed by Cédric and Coralie after 62 hours in the wilderness is a bit like arriving at a friend’s house. We feel fully and simply appreciated for our effort and, above all, for our humanity.