Get on My Wheel! The Gift of Someone Who Believes in You

Everything in my life seems to come back to something I learned on a bike.

There’s a saying among cyclists: Get on my wheel. It means tuck in close behind another rider, catch their draft, and let their energy carry you for a while. When you ride together like that, you go farther with less effort. Alone, you can burn out fast.

When I first started cycling, Jim recognized that I was a decent rider. I improved quickly, but there weren’t many women riding at my level at the time. So I rode with the guys.

There were a few elite women in the area whom I admired and tried to learn from whenever I could. If I were lucky enough to find myself behind one of them, I’d hang on for dear life,  pedaling hard, heart pounding, just trying to stay in their draft. I wanted to be where they were. But I also wanted someone beside me. Another woman to trade places with, to push and pull, to learn and grow together. Equal parts challenge and support.

I had the endurance of a long-distance runner. More than twenty years of marathons and miles taught me how to suffer, which translated to being strong on the climbs. I could dig in and go uphill for a long time. But downhills? Corners? That’s where I slowed down. That’s where others could easily drop me.

Still, I had grit. If I got dropped, I could usually surge back and “close the gap,” catch up to the front group again. But every time I did, it cost me energy. Cyclists call it burning matches. Each effort uses one, and you only have so many to spend.

I remember one race at Bear Mountain. I got dropped on the downhill but caught up again on the long climb that followed. I closed the gap alone. But I burned too many matches, too soon. Forty miles into a fifty-mile race, I was spent. Alone again. No man’s land.

In another race, a small group of elite riders broke away from the main pack. I was in the group behind them, frustrated and itching to close the gap. So I surged forward, determined to catch the leaders. I didn’t realize that the entire pack was right on my wheel, letting me do the work while they conserved energy. When we caught the leaders, I had nothing left. I’d pulled everyone up with me… only to watch them surge past as I fell to the back.

Those experiences taught me something I’ve been thinking about again lately. Not just about cycling, but about leadership, purpose, and pace.

There’s a moment in every ride where you have to decide: do I surge ahead alone, or do I slow down long enough to bring others with me?

These days, I find myself in a familiar position somewhere between two groups. The executives out in front, and the rest of us, the middle managers, the emerging leaders riding behind. Sometimes I push hard to close the gap, and sometimes I feel the fatigue of trying to hold both worlds together.

That’s where I am right now: halfway between where I am and where I want to be. But this isn’t just my story. I think it’s the story of many of us. The ones doing our best to bridge the distance between vision and reality, leadership and life.

This summer, something shifted. I reached out to a leader I deeply respect and asked her to be my mentor. 

And she said yes. 

We meet every other week and have the most amazing conversations. She sees my soul, not just my role. She pours her belief in me so fully that my confidence rises every time we talk. She validates that my dream, my work, my writing, and my heart all have a place in this world. It’s invaluable and precious. It’s as if she were out front in that elite group and slowed down just enough…still close to her peers, but turning back to call out to me, “Get on my wheel!” She sees my potential and is helping me get there faster and with far more grace than I ever could on my own.

Maybe that’s what leadership really is: slowing down just enough to make space for someone else to catch your draft. Offering encouragement, guidance, and belief. Because we are all stronger, safer, and more sustainable when we ride together.

Inspired by my upcoming book, Cycling Shorts: All I Really Need to Know I Learned While Riding My Bike.

©2025 Lori Ann King