Born in Bedfordshire in 1980, cyclist Victoria Pendleton is one of Britain’s most decorated athletes. As well as winning nine world championship golds, she won the gold medal in the sprint at the 2008 Olympics and the gold medal in the keirin (a sprint following a speed-controlled start), as well as a silver medal in the sprint in the 2012 Olympics. She retired from cycling in 2012 and is now a jockey. Her new book, The Fear Opportunity, is published on 21 May.

This was taken when cycling was a hobby and nothing more. My family were on holiday in the south of France, not far from Saint-Tropez. That was my first solo racing bike – it was secondhand and Dad got it custom sprayed. My twin, Alex, had one, too. We were very proud of them.

My dad was in love with cycling and he wanted us to experience that refuge. It was his therapy and his community. We started on a tandem, but as soon as Alex and I were old enough to get our own bikes, aged nine, we started grass track racing.

At this age, I was very shy and timid, but I was content because I had a nice upbringing. My parents raised me not as a little girl, but as a twinny. They gave Alex and me gender‑neutral gifts and Dad would take my brother cycling the same number of times as he would take me. I’m grateful, because it gave me a sense of capability, but I soon discovered things are not quite as fair in real life as they were at home.

Nowhere was I more aware of the limitations of being a girl than in the school playground. It was segregated into boys’ sports pitches, and the girls were pushed to the peripherals to avoid being hit by a football. I found break time boring. Girls weren’t encouraged to pursue sports at all, and I always thought what the boys did looked more fun and interesting – more physical and less psychological.

I also soon discovered that the traits that make an Olympic champion do not make for a popular teenage girl. I would play sports hard, always with full confidence and the intention to win. There was a lot of “Get out of my way!” I took everything seriously. Perhaps too seriously.

For most of my teenage years, I was an outcast socially, which was painful, because I really wanted to fit in. I was a people pleaser, and have since worked very hard to shift that habit. At the time, the loss of control I felt from not belonging ended up manifesting as an obsessive compulsive disorder. I was obsessive over my food intake, and always hand-washing, often until they were red raw. I would especially enjoy art classes because there were lots of giant sinks, so I could go off and wash my brushes and my hands without anyone noticing.

Then, one afternoon, aged 16, my life changed. The landline rang and a guy called Marshall said, “I’m from the British Cycling Federation and we noticed your name popping up in the results of Cycling Weekly. Would you like to come and try out for the team?” Dad was delighted. I was, too, but worried that making a career out of being an athlete was far-fetched – a total fantasy. Luckily, I was wrong.

I felt like such a fraud when I started cycling professionally. On the plane to my first European Championships, I sat next to Bradley Wiggins. We were the same age, but he was an expert in his field and had already made a name for himself. I felt like I shouldn’t be there, and thought, “At any minute, they’re going to realise and kick me out.” It wasn’t until I won the world championship title a decade later, in 2005, that I stopped feeling like that.

As my career progressed, I was surrounded by voices telling me I was too small, too puny, too feminine. While my dad’s fierce belief in me kept me going, I retreated into the shadows, quietly absorbing every slight. My coaches compounded this, mistaking my smile and lightheartedness for a lack of seriousness. They never understood that I was already hard on myself internally – I didn’t need anyone else to do it for me. I even got told off for reading a book once in the track centre when I was on the mat stretching, because it looked like I wasn’t focusing. Everything in my life was so controlled. In retrospect, I know they were trying their best with the skills they had, but I would love to explain to some of them what an impact their negative comments had.

Even though I had struggles along the way, some of the individuals that I got to train with were remarkable. A lot of the older cyclists looked after me like I was their little sister – Jason Quealy, Chris Hoy, Craig McLean. They were role models and gave me healthy aspirations. Being part of that golden era of cycling in Beijing was a blast.

By the time the 2012 Olympics came, however, I wanted the world to swallow me up. Being reigning world and Olympic champion running into home games was a lot to cope with. A complete privilege, but terrifying. My face was all over billboards and magazines. Everyone was asking, “So you’re going to win?” I’d reply, “I’m going to try my best. Please forgive me if I don’t!”

Then came the aftermath of winning gold. Life felt flat because I’d put so much energy into this one goal and there was so much adrenaline pumping through me, and then suddenly it was over. I was lucky that I was kept very busy with sponsorship and corporate work. I would just say yes to everything, as I wanted to feel preoccupied.

The transition into retirement was tough, and I experienced a lot of lows. It was like losing part of myself. For so long, my cycling performance was the only thing I felt I had to offer, and untangling that from my identity felt almost impossible, especially when the people around you make it so clear they love you more when you’re winning. To avoid those feelings, I decided to climb Everest, but I suffered from hypoxia and had to pull out. At the same time, I was also going through a divorce. It was more than I was capable of dealing with. In the end, I disappeared into the jungle and started surfing. It was the best therapy I could have asked for.

I’ve since taken up extreme sports. I attribute the fearlessness I have when it comes to my hobbies to a childhood spent alongside a twin brother. Having this brilliant person next to me going through life has given me so much confidence in my physical abilities. After Alex passed away [in 2023, of a brain tumour], I wanted to do something positive and explore that confidence twindom gave me. I got into horse racing and motorcycling. Horse racing in particular has been life-changing – it is both dangerous and exciting, and now I can’t imagine life without horses, being nose-to-nose with a big, soft, velvety creature.

The girl in that photo would never have believed what she was capable of. Given how little I thought I had to offer the world, I’ve done so much more than I ever dreamed possible.