by Jens Voigt
I also compiled a little playlist that I rode to, to help push me along. I can’t remember the entire playlist and didn’t hear it half the time. But I do remember that I started with “Ready to Go” by Republica and finished with “The Final Countdown” by Europe. The playlist was very theme oriented, as every song had something to do with cycling or my last ride.
But I did hear the crowd. I understood later that they gave me a standing ovation for much of the hour, especially in the last 20 minutes. To be honest, I couldn’t see them while I was out on the track, because it would have taken too much effort to move my head and turn it to the side. But I could hear them. And I could feel them!
I separated the attempt into three 20-minute segments. I knew I was ahead of schedule after the first 20 minutes and was worried that I might be going into the red, so I backed off a bit in the second 20 minutes. And then, in the last 20 minutes, I just really opened it up. By that point, I knew I was two-and-a-half or three laps ahead of the record, and I knew that I was in control and that I wasn’t going to go into the red. And the last 10 minutes were all about blurring out and just giving everything I had left. By that point, my biggest concern wasn’t the hour record, but the enormous saddle sore that was burning my butt! Everything I could physically feel was in pain.
With a few laps to go, I knew I had the record. Yet, I still went as hard as I could to raise the bar a little higher and to really give it all I had. There was no reason to hold back. This was it! This was the last race of my life, the last all-out effort I would do for the rest of my life.
Knowing I was going to have the record and I was going to retire in the fashion I wanted, I had a few instants to reflect on the moment. As you can imagine, the feeling was one of absolute, overwhelming emotion, one of pure joy and happiness. An absolute feeling of pride in knowing that I achieved what I wanted, that my last effort was worthwhile, and that the time, pain, and sacrifice were not a waste. But there and then, with four or five laps remaining, I also felt a tinge of sadness, because my days of performing in front of thousands of fans live, not to mention millions more on television, would be over the second the gun went off, signaling the end of the 60 minutes.
Already, in the middle of the most intense hour of my life, it hit me that a major life change was coming my way. But I pushed that thought back as far as I could. There was no time to wax philosophical here. Soon it would be a time to celebrate with my family and friends.
When the gun finally sounded, I instantly felt a burden lift from my shoulders. First there was the immediate burden of pain that I was in. There was just an immense sense of relief after racing for a full hour in that cramped-up position. Everything was aching. My neck ached from holding my head low in that aerodynamic position. My elbows hurt from holding my upper body in that position. My lungs hurt after burning and screaming for oxygen for so long. My heart hurt from the constant pounding. My back was on fire, and then there was my butt! I was really and truly in a world of pain.
But another burden also lifted: the burden of constant suffering, sacrifice, and stress; of training and racing hard; of risk taking; of missing my family; of chasing another contract for another year.
I must have had the biggest and happiest smile on my face for the next two laps, the time it took me to slow down, before landing in the arms of my teammates and parents. Everybody was smiling and hugging. It was a rare moment of pure happiness.
It was crazy. I ran across the track, jumped over the barriers, and started hugging random strangers. I was giving high fives and taking a million selfies with my fans.
Then we had the ceremony with UCI president Brian Cookson in which I was awarded a certificate saying that I was the official world-record holder. Me! Stupid little Jensie was the official UCI world-record holder!
After the anti-doping control, my team prepared a place where I could officially hang my bike up for good. I still have that photo of me putting my bike into retirement. Then I went back to my room and showered. Alone for the first time with no more soundtrack, no family, no team, fans, or cameras, I just sat on my bed for a while and let it all sink in. I just sat back as a steady stream of images flashed through my mind.
I thought about winning exactly 65 races. I thought about crashing at least 75 times. I thought about my 17 Tours de France. I thought about seeing some of my best friends succeeding and winning races. And I thought about losing my friend and teammate Wouter Weylandt in a fatal crash.
I won a lot of races in my career, but I lost far more. Still, I always knew I was in a lucky position to turn my passion into my profession. And now, at 43, I was closing the largest chapter of my life. Something I’d done passionately for 33 years had come to an end. Getting out of the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror for a second and just thought, “Okay, I will never be this fit, strong, skinny, and well trained for the rest of my life, never ever! It’s only downhill now.” I just passed the highest point of my physical strengh and fitness. I will never, ever be Tour de France fit again, period! That was hard to swallow.
But, again, there was happiness and pride, because I finished my career on a high note. I finished my career with the support of my friends, family, and team. And I finished it on my own terms, which I knew was critical to my peace of mind moving forward.
Knowing what I know today, I probably backed off too much in the middle 20 minutes of the record. Chris Boardman once said, regarding the hour record, “If it’s easy to hold your speed, then you’re going too slow.” And in the middle section, I would say I played it too conservatively. But I was still just ecstatic once I crossed the line. What a great night. What a great event. What a great way to end a career!
LIFE AFTER CYCLING
“Don’t cry because it’s over;
smile because it happened.”
I may have had an entire year to get my head around the idea that was I retiring, a whole year to prepare. Still, though, there were plenty of surprises. I guess in my naive little world, I thought that I would have more time to relax and do the things I hadn’t really been able to do much as a cyclist. Finally, I thought, my life as a fisherman could start! I could just see myself sitting on the banks of one of Berlin’s many lakes every other day. And after 33 years of cycling, yes, I thought I deserved at least some time to relax.
But, that didn’t happen, and soon I found myself traveling as much as when I was racing. First off, since I knew that I would retire after the 2014 season, I had fielded quite a few requests and offers to do things like charity rides and gran fondos and other such events. And knowing that I would have more spare time, I agreed to many, always saying, “Yeah, I want to do that. Let’s plan it after the 2014 season!” So, when my season and career came to an end, I sat down and wrote down all the rendezvous and appointments I had agreed to. I had charity rides in England and Luxembourg; Trek Travel in California; gran fondos in Germany; a trip to Perth, Australia; and a team training camp in Spain. The list was just unending!
Fortunately, at least, I like to travel. And now that I’m no longer a professional cyclist always focused on racing, I can actually enjoy the places I travel to. I can actually do something called sightseeing! I’m no longer obliged to stay in my hotel to conserve energy.
When I woke up jet-lagged at four in the morning at the Tour of California in 2015, I didn’t need to stay in bed and try to sleep. Instead, I just brushed my teeth, went out for a walk, and did a little geocaching. I just enjoyed the nice, quiet streets in the early hours of the morning.
In the Tour Down Under I actually had time to visit the Adelaide Zoo, where I got to see their brand-new panda bear space. As an active cyclist, the idea of walking around a zoo for hours is just unthinkable.
And then, of course, there was the fact that I didn’t have to wake up every morning and think, “Okay, what’s my training program today?” That alone was a huge change after 33 years.
But the changes were both good and bad. It was great not to have to
think about how many intervals I was going to do, and it was great not to have to ride in the rain. But what was not so great was the lack of purpose. For the first time in my life, I didn’t actually have to get out of bed at all!
I worked hard to avoid falling into that famous hole that so many others told me about after they stopped their own careers. It’s a universal problem. It doesn’t matter if you’re a car mechanic, an opera singer, or an athlete. If you’ve been doing something passionately for a long time, there’s going to be a big void in your life whenever it is that you call it quits.
It’s challenging, and I must admit that I did struggle at first. There were new emotions, new thoughts, new projects, and the unknown. What helped me there was having a great and functioning family with strong bonds. My wife and my children helped me to survive this initial period of struggle. They were always there to listen to my thoughts and my problems. There were days when I felt as if someone had amputated a limb from my body, like I wasn’t whole anymore. There were days when I thought retirement was the biggest and best invention ever made by humans. There were days when I wondered why I hadn’t retired earlier. There were days when I felt empty without cycling. It was a real mixed bag of emotions. And while it was great not to have the obligation to train, it was clear that I needed new objectives.
In the first year after retirement, I basically told myself that I would accept any job offer that came along, be it a charity ride, TV commentating, blog writing, working as an ambassador for races such as the Tour Down Under or the Tour of California, or working with Trek bicycles in some way. And then, of course, I had this book to finish!
Believe it or not, I never had a manager throughout my whole career. But now, more than ever, I needed one. So, for the first time in my life, I have a management company, and that really helped me transition into a “normal” life.
And it has been good! I was a really experienced bike rider, but suddenly, I was confronted with a need for new and different skills. And I was struggling. So I reached out to people who were able to help me get my new life started. And so far, it’s working out well. I’ve learned a bunch of business things, corporate things, and legal things. And I’ve learned how to deal with my new freedom and my new life.
I’ve only just realized the obvious, that there is life beyond cycling, a whole new world outside of being a professional athlete. And now more than ever, I’m excited to see where my future takes me.
I made an appearance to help raise money for stem cell research in Germany. I did the Tour de Cure in Australia to help raise money to fight cancer. I’ve been involved with the Soldier On veterans organization. I’ve been working with ASO, the Tour de France organizer, to have greater involvement in women’s racing at the Tour de France. And I’ve been working with my business partner here in Germany to further develop the Shut Up, Legs brand.
And I’m also very excited to have passed the tests so I can be a team director. Many of my old teammates are a lot less excited by that possibility, though, because they’re scared that I’ll be too hard on them. My Spanish friend and longtime teammate, Markel Irizar, joked about my being a director by saying, “Jens will tell us to chase down a break or close a gap, but if we can’t do it, he’ll just start yelling, ‘What? Are you kidding me? I did that for 20 years all alone! Do you want me to get out of the car right now and show you how it’s done?’” We all had a good laugh at that one.
But actually, my teammates shouldn’t be worried. I’ve been getting practice with my son Julian, who has been racing. And I have to say that when I’m not racing myself, I can be pretty relaxed at the races.
Last but not least, I’ve been keeping busy with my six children, who are happy to finally have Daddy around. And just in case they don’t keep me busy, my wife, Stephanie, has a to-do list that stretches from Berlin to Paris. So there are plenty of things to occupy my time and attention.
But life as a fisherman will still have to wait. And what happened to my dream of buying a motorbike and driving all over Europe for three months with no plan, no schedule, just getting out on the road and enjoying the trip? Or my idea of going fishing five out of every ten days? Or that childhood dream of spending one winter in Alaska or Canada in a wooden cabin, living off the land and being totally disconnected from TV, the Internet, and smartphones while making my way through 50 books? Or horseback riding in Patagonia in southern Argentina? Or seeing the Calgary Stampede, Yellowstone National Park, Hadrian’s Wall and the Scottish Highlands and Cape Wrath, Transvaal and Kruger National Park, or the Great Barrier Reef? I’ve got so many ideas and dreams left to chase, and I have not given up on them. I still want to make them all come true.
The challenge of being a responsible family man and still chasing my dreams continues for me. There are still so many adventures ahead, and surely I will explore and learn new things and laugh and cry and struggle and fail and get back onto my feet, raising my six children, and I guess pretty soon my first grandchildren. My life will challenge me, and I will challenge life. So far, I have no reason to complain at all. If my life continues in the interesting way it has until now, I will die a happy man.
By far the most horrifying aspect about retirement for me was the idea of losing the fitness level I’d achieved as an elite athlete. Nowadays, I huff and puff when I carry a basket of clothes from the basement to the bedrooms upstairs. I realize, “Damn, I wasn’t like this before!” That realization is very painful, accepting the fact that I am, in fact, mortal. After all, during all my years as a cyclist, my job was to not be normal. I was paid to do things that were not human. Coming to terms with the new, mortal Jens has been the biggest struggle in my retirement by far.
But on the bright side, Stephanie prefers me a little chunkier, and she’s perfectly happy with the idea that her husband doesn’t look like some emaciated skeleton anymore. And since I love to eat, it’s been easy to maintain my new chunky image with her.
I’m right now at my winter weight, the weight my body was trying to get to every winter, around 82 kg (180 pounds). I would start the season around 78 kg (172 pounds) and go down in the season to 77 (170 pounds) or even 76 kg (167.5 pounds) in the Tour. So with 5 kg more than race weight, I’m happy, but I don’t want to put on any more weight. At my age, putting on weight is like concrete. Once it’s there, it’s really hard to get rid of! Plus, I’m still trying to be a good example for my kids, so I don’t want them to see their dad getting all fat and lazy, right?! But I’m not going to get fat anytime soon. I’m still very busy, just like I was as an active rider.
And when I do look back, I’m the first to say that my sport has been really good to me, and if somehow I found myself at the start of my journey again, I wouldn’t change too many things about my experience.
It was, of course, not always a pleasure cruise for me. I still have a titanium screw in my left hand and steel and titanium in my right hand. I’ve suffered three broken collarbones and endured surgery on my right shoulder to repair ruptured ligaments. About 25 nails and screws have been used in my body. I’ve had 11 broken bones, about 120 stitches, and lost probably half a square meter’s worth of skin in all my crashes, 75 in all. I rode just a little less than 900,000 kilometers on my bike over the course of my career, a distance equivalent to traveling up to the moon, back down to Earth, and then again a good portion back up to the moon. Just saying. I missed the birth of my son Julian because it was during the Tour de France. I missed many of my children’s birthday parties. I hardly ever was at home for my wife’s birthdays, and after missing my plane because of terrible traffic in Paris, I “celebrated” my 30th birthday all alone in an airport hotel in Paris.
But none of that stopped me from loving my sport and putting all the passion I had into it. I learned lessons for life, met great people, made many good friends, met my wife, had the chance to race and ride in close to 40 countries, and experienced many different cultures and religions. Cycling helped me to broaden my horizons, to be open-minded
, curious, and ready to learn new things every day. The fans became a large part of my life, which is a reason why I continued racing and continued to travel the world as I got older.
One thing I’m already looking forward to is becoming a granddad. That will be so awesome, and I will spoil my grandkids badly. And when I get to babysit my grandchild one day, I will build him or her a slingshot, take the child into my kid’s garden, and say, “Here, my grandchild, is a slingshot. Here is a little rock to use as ammunition. Over there is the neighbor’s window. And now Granddad is going to turn around and not watch you anymore.” And then, when I hear the neighbor’s window break, I’m going to say, “Okay, now you run back to Mom and Dad.” Oh, how I love that idea! Maybe I’ll have another book to write 15 years from now, and that story will be in there.
But first I need to finish my transition to a more normal life, my career after my career. And as I said before retirement: Don’t cry because it’s over; smile because it happened.
Fishing . . . I thought I would have more time for this once my career was over. I’m not the most patient person in the world. But if my success rate does not improve, I may have to resort to dynamite. (James Startt)
I would have been nowhere without my family—they are my heroes and my loved ones. They gave me the chance to explore the world and more important they kept me grounded. I would not have been half the man that I am now without them. They have been on my side in good times and helped me through the hard times.(Courtesy of Jens Voigt)