Knowing When to Stop or Caleb Ewan's Lesson in Courage

There comes a day when what made the heart beat, what animated each waking, each pedal stroke, no longer thrills. The bicycle, this companion of route, becomes silence. Not for lack of legs, nor from physical wear and tear. But because the flame, the one inside, flickers and then goes out...

By Jeff Tatard – Photos: dall-efree.com

This is what just happened to Caleb EwanAt 29, the Australian sprinter has decided to turn the page, without a final hurrah or final laps. He stops abruptly, honestly, lucidly. The motivation is no longer there. What yesterday gave meaning to everything no longer has any today. And he is not the first. Peter Sagan, before him, had already put words to this invisible erosion: this pleasure that disappears, this sport that has become a constraint.

Among professionals as well as amateurs, this switch is more common than one might think.It marks a pivotal, intimate moment, often overlooked: the moment when the flame is lost. The subject is delicate, but essential. Because it touches the very heart of what drives a man or a woman to surpass themselves... or to let go.

A fatigue of the soul

In elite sport, we talk a lot about watts, VO2 max, and marginal gains. We rarely talk about emptiness.. Of this fatigue that we cannot measure. The one that takes hold of you in the morning when you wake up, when getting on your bike no longer makes your heart beat. The one that transforms routefamiliar chores into repeated chores.

Caleb Ewan, like Sagan, Tom Dumoulin, and Taylor Phinney before him, didn't just end a career. He put words to a fracture that thousands of amateur cyclists are also experiencing, away from the cameras.

Car This evil is not reserved for the eliteIt also affects the 35-year-old engineer who got up every morning for ten years to go riding at dawn, the hyper-talented junior who no longer feels anything on the line, or the former cyclosportive rider who turned pro too quickly, burned out by the demands.

The sacred fire is not eternal

We enter sport out of passion. But we often stay in it out of habit, out of identity.Cycling, like other disciplines, gives structure to existence. It channels, sets rhythm, and provides direction. It almost becomes a backbone. But what happens when the energy that fueled it disappears?

For the pros, it's the infernal pace of the calendar, the expectations, the fear of no longer winning, the injuries. For the amateurs, it's sometimes the pressure we put on ourselves, the obsession with performance, the constant comparison. Strava becomes stress. Pleasure becomes a race against oneself.

And then there's age. Responsibilities. A tired body. Changing priorities. The feeling of running to tick off the boxes, not to thrill.

Knowing when to stop, an act of courage

It's hard to admit that you don't want to anymore. It seems shameful, almost guilty. As if the love of sport should be unalterable. As if one should always be hungry. And yet, knowing how to put the bike down is perhaps one of the most dignified gestures there is. Because he says: " I gave. I loved. But I respect myself enough not to force myself. »

Caleb Ewan had this lucidity.It's worth as much as any Grand Tour victory. It shows that an athlete isn't defined solely by their results, but by their ability to listen to what they feel—even when it means they have to say stop.

An invitation to rethink our relationship with sport

What if this fatigue wasn't a failure, but a signal? A chance to take stock. To rediscover another way of riding. Less competitive, freer. More organic. Riding for the scenery, for yourself, without pressure. Perhaps the flame never completely dies. It transforms. It burns elsewhere.

In clubs, among young people, in support structures, it is time to talk about itTo teach not only performance, but also balance. To learn how to protect yourself, to listen to yourself. To say no, too, when necessary. This is not betraying sport. It is loving it differently.

Because deep down…

The hardest part isn't giving it your all. The hardest part is being happy on a bike... and not being happy anymore.. So to those who, today, like Caleb Ewan, like Sagan, like so many others, feel the flame fading: this is not a renunciation. This is not a failure. Perhaps it is the beginning of something else. A return to the essential. A return to oneself.