Ruby James: Finley’s Mum, Back on the Start Line
I thought this blog would be me shouting from the rooftops that I was “back on the bike,” back racing, back to feeling like me again.
But another part of me — the quieter, more vulnerable part — needed a little more time before I could say those words out loud.
Because this journey didn’t begin at a start line.
It began long before that.
Before I held my little boy in my arms, I had a miscarriage. I’ve written before about that experience, and like many who’ve walked this path will understand — loss changes you. It settles deep. It lingers in the background. And when joy finally arrives, it colours that joy too.
When we finally met Finley, the gratitude was overwhelming — but so was the vulnerability. My body had already carried so much. I wasn’t “bouncing back”; I was knitting myself together slowly, gently, and sometimes tearfully.
Becoming Finley’s Mum
I had a C-section… not ideal for someone who once hopped on and off a bike at speed because it was fun.
Then, just as I thought recovery was going in the right direction, I developed a post-op infection.
So the timeline shifted again, and patience became the only training plan available.
I didn’t even think about structured exercise until seven weeks postpartum — and even then, it was the most delicate entry-level version of training imaginable. A little stretch. A bit of core activation. A lot of pausing to ask, “Is this okay?” to a body that felt unfamiliar.
At nine weeks postpartum I finally got back on my bike. Even then, it was less “let’s go tear up some trails” and more “please don’t fall apart, Ruby.”
The Race Plan
My sensible, measured, mature plan (so unlike me) was:
Don’t race until the National Cyclocross Championships in January.
Build up slowly.
Rebuild the core.
Take my time.
Except I had one tiny problem:
Zero motivation.
The kind of tiredness that comes from life with a newborn — the deep, foggy, brain-melting tiredness — flattened every good intention I had. Any time I thought, “I should train,” my brain whispered, “Or hear me out… nap?”
And honestly, the nap usually won.
Back on the Start Line
Eventually, I entered a race “just to see how it felt.”
Well.
It felt… slow.
Comically slow.
So slow I genuinely wondered if someone had secretly let the air out of my tyres.
But something shifted that day.
As I slid around corners, wheezed up small inclines, and attempted to remount with all the elegance of a tranquillised flamingo, I remembered something important:
I was racing again.
Not fast.
Not gracefully.
Not particularly well.
But I was back.
And that was enough to spark the motivation I’d been hunting for. Not to bounce back to who I was before — but to reconnect with who I still am.
And Then… Somehow… I Won Welsh Cyclocross Champs
Here’s the plot twist I absolutely did NOT see coming:
On just my third race back, with sleep deprivation as my main training partner, remounts still questionable, and fitness that could generously be described as “in progress”…
I won Welsh Cyclocross Championships.
I’m not sure who was more shocked — me, the spectators, or my legs.
It was the most unexpected, surreal, joy-filled reminder that even when you feel slow, wobbly, stitched-together and a bit fragile… with a bit of determination, you can still surprise yourself.
Of course, everyone’s journey is different, and I know how lucky I was to still be riding up until a week before giving birth — which definitely helped me recover and get back on the bike sooner than I could have imagined.
So… am I ready to be back?.
Is my body fully ready?
Depends on the day.
Am I ready?
More than I expected.
Because readiness isn’t about speed, finesse, power numbers, or perfect remounts.
(Thank goodness, because mine are still highly questionable.)
Readiness is showing up — slow, stitched-up, sleep-deprived, wobbly, but present.
Readiness is honouring the whole journey: the loss, the healing, the surgery, the exhaustion, and the joy.
Readiness is celebrating that I can ride, even if I’m not quite as smooth as I used to be.
So yes… I think I’m ready.
Ready for the mud, the chaos, the laughs, the slip-ups, the slow climbs, and the beautifully messy joy of racing again.
And if Nationals ends up being a comedic slog?
At least I’ll have a cracking Hope WMN blog to show for it.
Words & Pictures: Ruby James