How I ended up here

I grew up in Lausanne after moving from the Netherlands, and for nearly twenty years my life revolved around hockey. Youth national teams, then Germany at 18 with Mannheimer HC. I trained with Olympians, learned patience as a substitute, chased minutes in Belgium and Hamburg, and helped win promotion to the 1. Bundesliga. Just before the season started, the club signed a more experienced keeper. Overnight, the role I’d worked towards disappeared.

I went back to Lausanne to study, and slowly realised hockey had shifted from my future to my past. Letting go was harder than I expected. When I finally stepped away, it felt like closing a door without knowing whether another one even existed.

In 2020, a last-minute bikepacking trip across Norway, 2,400 km to the North Cape, opened that door. Soon after, I entered the Swiss Ultra Cycling Challenge: 1,000 km across all 26 Swiss cantons, self-supported. We finished in 64 hours, and something clicked. In 2022 I returned solo and finished 8th. Two years in, I started to understand that I might actually be competitive.

2023 was the first real step forward: 4th at Pedalma Madrid–Barcelona, 12th at Race Across France 2500, and my first ultra win at SUCH. In 2024 I levelled up with coach Loïc Lepoutre and sports psychologist Mattia Piffaretti. I fought for wins in every race, scratched late at RAF after a strong start, and finished 2nd at SUCH. Even when the results weren’t perfect, the direction was clear.

2025 was a breakthrough, and a reminder. I won the Race Across France, covering 2,615 km and 37,000 m of climbing in 5 days and 13 hours. Four years after taking up cycling, I’d won one of Europe’s biggest road ultras. It didn’t feel like a finish line. It felt like confirmation: the work works. Later that year, I lined up for SUCH for the fifth time. I arrived underprepared; my head wasn’t there. The road made it obvious: DNF after 400 km. Brutal, honest, and useful. Ultra has a way of telling the truth whether you want to hear it or not.

For a while I wasn’t exactly sure why I was doing this. I think I know now: I find real fulfilment in preparing deeply and searching for a solution to a problem no one has truly solved yet. In self-supported ultra there’s no fixed reference point, no tidy checklist that says you’re ready, and no room for complacency. Every decision shows up on the road: pacing, sleep, fuelling, route, weather, headspace. You can’t bluff your way through 2,500 kilometres; it strips everything away until only you and the truth remain.

Self-supported ultra is still an unsolved problem. We don’t yet know the ceiling, or the “ideal” approach to nutrition, sleep, bike set-up, equipment, or physical preparation, at least not in a way that consistently translates to performance in week-long racing. We borrow ideas from traditional cycling and other sports, but ultra is its own ecosystem and much of it remains unknown. We have fragments, not a formula, and that’s exciting. I want to be at the forefront of that discovery. I’ve raced my way to the pointy end; now I’m part of the group exploring the boundaries and pushing the limits further. I like the process. I like solving problems. Ultra is a brutally honest audit where every detail matters. Limits exist, and they move. That chase, the continual redrawing of what’s possible, gives me purpose. I’m on that journey, and I’m not ready to stop.

The next chapter is built around the Transcontinental Race, a ~5,000 km self-supported crossing of Europe. I want to see how close I can get to racing for the win at the sharp end of one of the hardest events in the sport.

I collaborate with a few partners who align with the way I approach the sport. If you’d like to explore this, more information is here:

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