Meet the Guy Who Started Racing Bikes and Reached the WorldTour 3 Years Later
The finish of a WorldTour stage is always thrilling. But when Mike Woods crossed the line first at the top of the savagely steep Balcón di Bizkaia last Wednesday, winning Stage 17 of the Vuelta a Espa?a, something special happened.
It was the Canadian climber’s first WorldTour victory. But it was what Woods revealed in his emotional post-race interview that inspired headlines in cycling and mainstream sports news outlets alike.
“My director Juanma [Garate] was on the radio and the last 500 meters, he just said, ‘Do it for your family,’” Woods says, his voice starting to crack. “My wife and I… had a stillbirth two months ago. We lost a little guy, his name was Hunter. The whole time I was just going up the climb, I wanted to win so bad for him, and I did. I did.”
Even without this unforgettable win, the 31-year-old, who races for EF Education First Cannondale-Drapac, has a background worth writing about. The former elite runner (he still holds the record for fastest mile-3:57!-run by a Canadian on Canadian soil) only started riding road bikes in 2011, when repeated stress fractures forced him toward retirement from running. He did his first bike race in 2012 and went pro in 2013, when he joined the UCI Continental team Garneau-Quebecor. Just three years after that first race, in 2015, he signed with UCI WorldTour team Cannondale-Drapac at age 29, making him one of the oldest neo-pros to ever race the WorldTour. In just three seasons, Woods has become a contender on cycling's biggest stage, taking second place at Liége-Bastogne-Liege earlier this year, and representing Canada at the Rio Olympics in 2016.
A colorful depiction of Woods’s unusual talent comes from the memoir, Draft Animals, by former pro cyclist Phil Gaimon. At a training camp in Santa Barbara, California, for Optum Pro Cycling, Gaimon found himself head-to-head with his new teammate on the famed Gibraltar Road climb-much to the veteran racer's surprise and dismay. When they reached the steep section, the “rookie” dropped him, dealing Gaimon a hit to the confidence. “When Woods stood up on his bike, something strange happened,” Gaimon wrote. “He was still attached to the pedals and holding his handlebars, but Mike wasn’t riding a bike at all-he was running.”
Fresh off the Vuelta, the 5’9”, 139-pound climber got on the phone with Bicycling from his home in Girona, Spain; to talk about his unusual background and what it feels like to win his biggest race yet.
Bicycling: Your childhood dream was to play for the Toronto Maple Leafs, but as you recall in your blog, when you were 14 you realized you could never be a pro hockey player. A week later you walked onto the track team, determined to be a pro runner. Where did this ambition come from?
I was a very ambitious kid, and I wanted to be great at something. I always performed well at sports, and I was terrible at school because I just had so much energy. If you had me on a treadmill, I could focus. But to make me sit down in one place for along period of time was just awful for me. So I figured the only realm I could succeed in was sports.
Did your parents think that becoming a pro runner was a realistic goal at the time?
My parents are my biggest supporters. I was very fortunate for that. When I started having success in running, I remember telling my dad, “Don’t worry, you won’t have to pay for university. I’m gonna get a full scholarship.” I was pretty arrogant saying that at the time, but I ended up doing it.
They were always really encouraging, but I think sometimes my ambitions were so high that they were like, “Oh, those are really big goals!” They didn’t discourage me, but my dad did try to temper my expectations. I told him, “I’m gonna break a 4-minute mile,” and he was like, “Maybe focus on breaking 4 minutes in the 1500 first.”
My dad is from a farm town. His dad was a farmer. His ambitions were different-he just wanted to get a university education. My mom came from a tough background too. They just didn’t have the same opportunities as me, and were never able to dream as big.
You’ve said that you started stealing your dad’s bike and going for rides when you were injured from running. What was your headspace like at this time?
Because I was good at a young age at running, I set high expectations for myself. A lot of people would tell me, “You’re gonna make the Olympics.” When I started getting injured, my career started falling apart. That was really a difficult time. I really identified as a runner, so I felt like I was falling apart as a person. As an 18, 19, 20 year old, you’re constantly getting validated, getting friends, because you’re running fast. I thought, “I’m a better person ‘cause I’m running fast.” But from about ages 20 to 24, I was just constantly injured, and pretty sad.
What did you like about cycling when you started riding?
One of my favorite things about running was that even if something really stressful happened, it was a real release. I started riding as cross-training and as an opportunity to blow off some steam, and it was cathartic. I’d been missing the high of running pain-free for so long. When I got on the bike I got those highs again, and I wouldn’t have pain in my foot. It was just wonderful.
Was there a moment or incident that convinced you to try to go pro as a cyclist?
Yeah. It was my wife, Elly. In 2011, after I broke my foot [for the last time], I was so upset. I had gone through another surgery, I had this story in my head that I was gonna make this massive comeback, and I broke my foot my first race back. Elly [who was Woods’s girlfriend at the time] could see that I was hurting, and she told me, “Why not make a go at cycling?” She said to me, “You were meant to be a great athlete. I’ll support you whatever you do.”
Looking back, it’s crazy how much she believed in me. So I was like, "I’m gonna try to be a pro cyclist." We were both totally naive to how hard it’d be.
Right, it’s easy to see your trajectory as this Cinderella story, that you’re just this phenom. But I’m sure there were struggles and challenges.
In this case ignorance was bliss. Knowing what I know now, there’s no way I’d try to become what I am. It’s so difficult to be in the WorldTour. The risks are massive. The wind could’ve blown the wrong way and I could’ve never got the result that got me on a team. Or I could’ve had a crash that debilitated me. I didn’t realize how much luck was involved. I really thought, I’m one of the best runners for my age, therefore I should be able to be one of the best cyclists-completely ignoring the skills, tactics, the tough politics of being chosen for a team.
Also, there was my age. It’s weird to be 26, 27, and not be developing a career. When I was 27 there was one point when I was in Italy, lying on a cot in a moldy hotel room, riding for this Continental team, thinking, What the hell am I doing with my life? But I ultimately had faith, and also a lot of people had faith in me.
Besides your family, who were some of these people?
My coach Paulo Saldhana is one of them. I was still working full-time in 2013 at a bike shop when I was riding for Garneau. Paolo offered coaching services to the team, and I went to Montreal to do some testing with him. When he saw my numbers, he said, “Dude, quit your job. You could be pro.” I was like, “I don’t know, man, I have no money so I need to work.” He managed to get a personal sponsor lined up for me, and that enabled me to focus full-time on cycling.
Can you just walk us through the insane process of going from a runner to a cyclist with the handling skills and the tactics needed to be competitive at the WorldTour?
It’s still a work in progress. I’m not Peter Sagan, that’s for sure. When I first started, because I had such a big engine I found myself in places I had no business being in. But in bike racing that you learn a lot more at the front. I was able to learn faster than a lot of guys because I had the engine to be there and to see what was going on. That being said, I’d come over the top of a mountain and be in amazing position but be the biggest risk to everybody, including myself, on the descent. I have a lot of scars to prove how bad I was at the start.
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Did you feel fear at all in those first races?
Yes. I was constantly terrified. I was scared every bike race I started [laughs]. But because I did so many sports, I was not a bad athlete. As a kid, I was screwing around on a mountain bike, I played hockey, I did downhill skiing. Those sports really translated well to bike racing. I wasn’t completely out to lunch all the time. But yeah, there was a steep learning curve and fear was a big factor.
Most people freeze up when they feel that much fear. Did you have any tactics or strategies to push through it?
I would do a lot of self-talk-trying to convince myself that it wasn’t that scary, or that I wasn’t going to crash. I also think fear often stems from the unknown, and the more you habituate yourself to a scenario the more comfortable you become with it. It’s amazing the things I do in a race that feel completely banal now, but used to feel insane.
Did you wake up the morning of Stage 17 at the Vuelta thinking you wanted to go for the win?
I started the Vuelta with very low expectations. I had just come off a bad crash in Tour of Utah, my leg was infected, and I didn’t feel great. But as the race progressed I started feeling better. That morning I woke up thinking, This is a day when I can win, if I can get in a break and it survives.
What was going through your head in the final kilometer of the stage?
Dylan Teuns [of BMC] attacked me with 700 meters to go. I didn’t know it was 700 meters. I thought, We’re so close to the line, if I can just make it to him and come over the top he’ll crack mentally. I managed to get to him, I came over the top, and I saw his head drop. I knew, I got this. But because there was so much fog and so many fans, I couldn’t see the finish. I assumed I only had 150 meters left. Then I saw a sign that said 500 meters to go. It was so steep that 500 meters at that point was well over a minute, maybe 2. And I was attacking as if I only had 30 seconds left.
I blew up. I tried to sit down and pedal but my legs were hardly turning over. My director was in my ear and he screams, “You have 20 seconds left!” I counted in my head: 20, 19, 18. I counted down to zero and looked up and I couldn’t even see the 300-meter sign yet. I’m like, oh my god. And he started yelling, “You’re living the dream!” I’m like, I’m not living the dream. It hurts so bad. I looked back and I could see Dylan coming back.
Then Juanma said into the radio: “Do it for your family.”
We lost our son 2.5 months ago, it was a stillbirth. My wife was 37 weeks pregnant, and a month prior to that my wife lost her dad as well. It’s been a really tough year for us. After Hunter’s death, I really wanted to honor him, and do something big for my wife. So when Juanma said that, all of a sudden I got tunnel vision. I just pushed. I knew Dylan wasn’t going to come back.
I’ve never won a race before and been that cracked. At the line, I was only able to put one arm up. When I finished, instead of being super happy I just put my head on the bars and and suffered for another 30 seconds. I couldn’t think of anything else but how much I was hurting. Then finally it faded away, and I was like, I did it.
I saw that video. I thought you were doubled over with emotion but now I realize it was with physical pain.
As the pain was fading, I was starting to be able to realize what I did. But I still hadn’t fully grasped it until I got into the podium room after. Over the phone, Juanma said, “You did it man.” I felt this insane flood of emotion. I started to bawl.
What made you decide to open up about the experience of losing Hunter?
When Juanma said, “Do it for your family”-it was what drove me over those last two hundred meters. I’m not sure I would've been able to hold Dylan off had I not had that. It was the reason I think I won. It just came out.
Have you seen a big response from people?
It’s been overwhelming. After Hunter passed, quite a few friends and family members came up to Elly and I and and told us similar things had happened to them. It made the grieving process a lot easier. It’s been incredible how many people have reached out after the [race]. The stories that have come out through social media and email, even people coming up to me post-race in Madrid saying, “Thank you, I’m going through the same thing.”
You have a very different background than most pro cyclists. You’re older, this is your second pro sport, and you’re relatively new to cycling. Do you think your background gives you a different perspective?
Completely. In some instances I still have this impostor syndrome-I feel like I don’t necessarily belong in this world, just because everyone around me has been in it since they were a kid. But I do think it’s been an advantage in a sense that, because I’ve ruined one athletic career, I realize how fleeting and fickle sports are, and how you as a person are defined not by how you perform but by your character. The person you are around your family and friends, that’s what’s important to me. It also makes me enjoy what I’m doing much more. I realize cycling is so small in the grand scheme of things, and I get paid to do it, and it’s super fun.
If fans could take one thing away from your win at the Vuelta, or your story, what do you hope it is?
I think the big thing is to just be unafraid to try something new. It’s so easy to get set in your ways and to think you’re defined as one thing. There are no rules in life. You’re not relegated to one thing. And it’s okay to fail, to experiment, and to try new things. I think the most exciting and rewarding thing to do in life is to challenge yourself.
This interview was edited for length and clarity.
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