Keep Pedaling

A story of midlife, menopause, and the unexpected magic of moving forward—slowly, imperfectly, and on your own terms.

It started with a restless night—one of many, thanks to perimenopause insomnia. I reached for my phone in search of a distraction and found it: a Substack mentioning Feisty Menopause , a trip just for menopausal women to cycle through golden fields, around ancient towns, and up winding roads with the Pyrenees rising in the background.

I was about to turn 50 and craving something radical to mark the moment—something far from the routines of my everyday. The itinerary promised a “gravel bike adventure for non-pros,” in Girona, Spain, and I thought: Yes. This is it. Movement, solitude, maybe some new friends. I cycle for fun. I’ve done 1/2 ironman triathlons. I figured I’d be in good company.

In a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity, I booked it.

Girona called to me not just for its postcard charm—cobblestone streets, Romanesque churches, the River Onyar glinting under wide stone bridges—but for its cycling culture, which became well-known once Lance Armstrong started using it as his hub to train for the Tour de France. (In hindsight, this should have been my first clue that this wasn’t going to be the dreamy Euro escape I imagined.)

A few weeks later, I arrived excited, but jet lagged and depleted mentally and physically from a few weeks of unexpected travel for work. Our hosts treated us to a three-hour lunch while we waited for our rooms to be ready, and then set a time for us to meet back in the lobby for our very first ride.

Our hotel sat atop a picturesque hill, and as I watched the women in the group clip into their pedals, careen down the road, and navigate pin-tight turns with ease, reality set in: These women weren’t occasional cyclists, they were serious — Lycra-clad, precision-pedaling, gravel-goddess-level serious.

And it wasn’t just their skill level that surprised me—it was my body’s response as I ticked off the days and logged more challenging rides.

I had arrived already drained (a bummer — this was definitely not my plan), and mid-trip, my period started unexpectedly (thank you perimenopause). On top of that, my digestion went haywire from the sheer physical exertion of daily five to seven-hour rides, most of them miles and miles uphill. Let’s just say I became intimately acquainted with every restroom in Catalonia.

And yet.

Even through the slow climbs, the gut discomfort, and the persistent feeling of being the last one to the top (because I was), I didn’t give up. Not once.

That’s not to say I pushed through every mile. Some days I chose the shorter route, or bowed out early to wander Girona or the medieval town of Besalú with a few equally spent companions. But I kept showing up. I finished every ride at my own pace, in my own way.

A few sight-seeing adventures in Girona and Besalu on and off the road. I even found Blue Moon ice cream #IYKYK.

I learned a lot about cycling on that trip, but the takeaway I treasure most had nothing to do with gears or cadence.

I learned how to get curious when things go sideways.

There were moments when I could’ve easily slipped into frustration. My body wasn’t cooperating. The terrain was tougher than I expected. And frankly, I was often alone in the back.

But instead of spiraling, I kept asking myself:
What can I learn from this?
Or better yet:
What is there to love about this moment, even if it’s not the one I planned?

Because there was so much to love.

Just a few of my fellow riders and guides — all inspiring people who have chosen vitality for the last third of their life.

The women I met were vibrant, strong, and full of grit. Many were deep into menopause or beyond, riding harder and faster than I ever have. They weren’t just kind—they were inspiring. We swapped tips and snacks, and war stories. We cheered each other on. They reminded me that vitality doesn’t vanish with age—it can expand if you let it.

And the landscape? Unreal. We pedaled past fields of poppies and grazing sheep, through ancient villages with Romanesque churches, and along winding roads with the snow-capped Pyrenees in the distance. It felt like riding through a dream, albeit more slowly than I’d planned.

We stayed in two exquisite hotels: one tucked among golden fields, the other perched in a hilltop village. My favorite was the Font Vella Hotel Balnean in Sant Hilari with its thermal spa circuit. After our longest ride (47 miles, most of them uphill), I floated in a warm saltwater pool, then moved between a sauna, cold plunge, and steam room until I felt reborn.

Yes—I even dunked my whole body, head and all, into the freezing plunge pool. I normally avoid cold like the plague, but something in me needed that reset. Brisk doesn’t begin to cover it. Invigorating is better.

For recovery each night I did yoga stretches and series designed to loosen my back and legs, but the thermal spa circuit at this hotel was next-level good.

And the food. Most meals were at our hotels, lovingly prepared and locally sourced. The fish courses were delicate, surprising, and sublime. But the showstopper? A goat cheese ice cream floating in a berry sauce that nearly made me cry. (Yes, I was probably just tired, but still.)

Incredible local seafood and indulgent desserts. The perfect balm for a long day on the bike.

We stole a few hours for sightseeing—just enough to fall in love. I found some chocolate in Girona so rich and velvety, I still regret not buying ten bars. I think it was from Casa Cacao, a bean-to-bar workshop by the Roca brothers of El Celler de Can Roca—rated among the best restaurants in the world. The kind of chocolate that makes you stop mid-bite and just ... stare at the wrapper.

But mostly, we rode.
And I recovered.
And I thought.

This trip wasn’t the easy escape I had envisioned. But in many ways, it was better.

It reminded me that even when expectations crumble—and your stomach decides not to cooperate—there is beauty in showing up anyway, adjusting your pace, and staying curious.

It reminded me of the journey to build my Phosis, my skincare line for women in perimenopause and menopause.

Much like this trip, the road to bringing our formulas to life has been filled with unexpected moments: Labs telling me my dream products were impossible. Vendors printing the packaging wrong, twice. Trying to dial in the perfect color of our glass bottles (which took years). Negotiating IP. Manufacturing delays — and on and on. So many moments that could have been the final straw.

But I don’t carry a “give up” gear. I just don’t. Not in cycling. Not in business. Not in life.

Instead, I stay curious.
I ask: What is this moment here to teach me?
And I keep going.

To those of you in the thick of your own unexpected climb—whether it’s a midlife transition, a physical challenge, or something quieter and less visible—I see you. I’m with you. And I hope this reminds you that progress isn’t always fast. It isn’t always graceful.

But it’s always worth it.

Even in the slowest lane.
Even at the back of the pack.
Even when your gut says “stop,” but your heart says: keep pedaling.

Cheers to looking and feeling your best,

Susan

Susan Campbell
Founder & CEO, Phosis