There I was, heading home . My 30-minute asphalt road journey from the park and the back streets of Brixton was technically complete, but my internal energy levels were skyrocketing. The raw, untapped energy vibrating in my system was too loud to ignore. My adrenaline was at an all-time high.
Instead of turning off toward my driveway, I made a sudden, instinctual command to join the multitude of cyclists swiftly moving through the streets .
Ahead of me, a massive band of corporate city cyclists appeared, the elite city riders who execute high-level data in the boardrooms by day, and pedal by night with their next executive contract in mind. These are the operators who move through the capital chasing the next £750,000 corporate deal.
I wanted to see how my three months of conquering the exhausting, steep hills of Brixton's parks would fare against their specialised gears and high-end carbon frames.
Out I slipped from a minor B-road, merging directly onto the main A-road pipeline.
[ Exhausting Park Hills Training ] ➔ [ Slipped Onto the A-Road Pipeline ] ➔ [ Bypassing the £750k Corporate Pack ]
"Here they come," I said to myself. I paused, tracking the rhythm of the street, waiting for a clean break in the pack. Fifty or so riders whizzed past me in the lingering summer heat, their legs spinning rapidly as they flew up the street.
This was my slot. Feet locked to the pedal. I focused my mind as if I were sprinting for an Olympic gold medal.
Whoosh. I positioned my racing green, fixed wheel single speed bike into the momentum of their slipstream. The very same bike that so many people see and say, "that's a really nice bike" (it's the very same bike in the picture in this very post). I was now catching the cyclists up, and the momentum of the road was catching me up. Yet, as my legs began cutting through the headwind, a strange, sovereign stillness took over my physiology. The inhale and exhale of my breath wasn't breathing heavily. My heart felt so steady and in a state of protected peace, however I was pushing down and through the high intensity evolution spin in perfect, relaxed, and rhythmic timing, as if I were taking an evening stroll. Even though my legs were turning over at a ferocious cadence, it felt as effortless as sitting at my executive desk, eating my way through a plate of my favourite Spanish grapes.
I had officially bypassed the peak zone of my past limitation. Just three weeks ago, this road would have triggered the old injuries that took four grueling weeks to heal. But tonight, under a blanket of pure gravity-defying grace, I felt as if I were gliding.
We hit the Clapham high street, the tarmac tilting upward into another sharp incline.
[ SINGLE SPEED. ZERO GEARS. INTENTIONAL MOMENTUM. ]
I was operating on a single-speed bike.. No gears to rescue my muscles. No mechanical escapes. Just strict, unadulterated, intentional momentum. My legs felt zero gravity burn, and zero pain. I was entirely in my zone, I felt completely at home.
This was the very same high street I walked for five years as a teenager, navigating my way to secondary school in Clapham Common directly opposite the duck pond, that was once many moons ago, only occupied by tadpoles, I can see myself with the bamboo handle fishing net to this very day. The school is a foundation I honor with absolute respect—a deep hunger for achievement that far outweighs the fleeting temptation of a late-night donor kebab. I needed no physical food right now.
My spirit was fully fed by the sprint
Internal thoughts “Keep pedaling”.
I shifted my weight, accelerated past an electric bike, and broke entirely away from the back of the pack. Within moments, I had bridged the gap, pulling myself up front to ride shoulder-to-shoulder with ten or so elite, high-fitness adult men cyclists..
The traffic lights ahead flashed from red, to amber, to green, off I went. After three miles of constant rushing adrenaline, I was matching the bikes with their 15 gears, pace for pace, stride for stride.
In that split second, the true purpose of the journey hit my steering wheel. I wasn't just pedaling for myself. This wasn't merely about personal fitness or raw endurance. It was about the community. It was about the collective sprint, the timeless spirit of the athlete, and honoring the streets that raised us.
Suddenly I felt a sudden wave of gratitude for the lesson I learned at the age of seven: be stubborn for the things you are passionate about. Stick to your vision. Never give up, and never give in. There are so many invaluable prizes waiting to be claimed in this life, and the greatest one of all is called a profound sense of personal achievement.
To all the cyclists out there reading this from the pavement to the boardroom: be safe, be careful, and always show respect for your fellow riders. Ring your bell, wave to your community, remain focused inside your designated lane, and always be ready to extend a helping hand to someone who needs it.
A True Story: Written by Profit Paul