The Ride That Was More Than a Race

Some races begin on the starting line.
Mine began on 11 July 2026, the day I registered for the “Hatirjheel Cycling Challenge”.
Unlike many riders who trained with expensive equipment, dedicated schedules, or professional coaching, my preparation happened in between food deliveries. Every kilometer I rode to deliver someone’s food became another kilometer of training. On my days off, I rode alone to different roads around Chattogram, learning to push myself without anyone beside me.
On 21 July, I made a scary decision that would change my preparation. I replaced my 48×18T gear ratio with a 48×16T setup. It was noticeably harder, but I believed it would make me faster on race day. There wasn’t enough time to adapt properly, so almost all of my practice with the new gearing happened while delivering food. Every order became another interval. Every climb became another lesson.
The race wasn’t my only challenge.
I still needed enough money to travel to Dhaka, courier my bicycle, and return home afterward. Every delivery mattered because every taka had a purpose.
By 28 July, I had 1,500 BDT in my bKash account.
That afternoon I sent my bicycle to Dhaka with Team FnF Racers for only 150 BDT. Then I returned home and booked a train ticket, Chattogram Railway Station to Kamalapur Railway Station. The fare was 705 BDT for the 3:00 PM Mohanagar Godhuli Train, F-Seat.
That night I couldn’t sleep peacefully.
I kept asking myself the same question:
“How am I going to return home if I don’t have enough money for another train ticket?”
Then, at exactly 1:30 AM, something unexpected happened. “BSMe2e” sent me 40 USD as a prize money I earned from a competition.
I stared at my phone in disbelief.
The relief was indescribable.
Sometimes life tests you until the very last moment before opening another door.
—
Early morning on 29 July, I packed my backpack with everything I would need for the journey.
At 12 PM I had my lunch and at 1:45 PM, I left home, making sure I wouldn’t miss my train. I reached the station around 2:45 PM, found my platform, located my coach, and settled into my seat.
It had been thirteen long years since I had last traveled by train.
The train departed late about 15 minutes or more, turning what should have been a 5-hour and 45-minute journey into roughly 6 hours and 15 minutes.
Across from me sat a kind couple. We started talking, and before long they were offering me food as if we had known each other for years. Their journey ended at Bhairab Bazar, but their kindness stayed with me much longer.
When I finally reached Dhaka, I discovered another surprise.
The courier office only released bicycles between 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM.
There was nothing I could do except take a rickshaw to my relatives’ home in Amtola Mosjid Goli.
My mother’s elder sister, her children, and her grandchildren welcomed me warmly. After a long journey, that feeling of being welcomed made Dhaka feel a little less unfamiliar.
—
The next morning, 30 July, I left at 9:00 AM to collect my bicycle from Kamalapur Railway Station.
The moment I had it back, I rode straight to Hatirjheel.
I wanted to understand every corner of the course before race day.
After studying the route, I returned home at around 11:00 AM, locked my bike, took a bath, and enjoyed lunch.
At 3:00 PM, I rode back to Hatirjheel to collect my race kit.
On the way back, I rode with the team until I could inflate my front tire properly. I reached home at around 6:30 PM, carefully cleaned my bicycle, checked every bolt, prepared my jersey, helmet, shoes, and everything else needed for the biggest race of my cycling journey so far.
That night, sleep came with excitement.
—
31 July 2026. Race Day!
I left home at 3:00 AM, and joined with Team FnF Racers so we could comfortably reach Hatirjheel before the 4:00 AM reporting time.
Before leaving, my cousin handed me two chocolate buns and a banana.
“You’ll need something before the race,” he said.
It was a small gesture, but one I will always remember.
After reaching Hatirjheel, we rested for a while before pinning our bib numbers onto our jerseys.
I checked my brakes.
Checked the chain.
Checked the tire pressure.
Checked everything once again.
Soon, I rolled toward the start line.
At 4:30 AM, the countdown began.
Three.
Two.
One.
Go.
Everything I had trained for—every food delivery, every solo ride, every sacrifice, every financial worry—came together in those next thirty-one minutes.
When I crossed the finish line, the timer showed:
31 minutes 23 seconds.
It wasn’t just a finishing time.
It was proof that determination can carry someone further than perfect circumstances ever could.
I received my finisher’s medal, collected my snacks, and finally allowed myself to relax.
Then something unexpected happened.
Among the crowd, I saw someone I had only known through Facebook.
“My Crush”
Meeting her in person for the first time made me both excited and nervous.
I wanted to say hello, yet I hesitated.
What if I interrupted her?
What if it felt awkward?
So I waited.
After the prize-giving ceremony ended, I finally gathered enough courage to walk over and start a conversation.
We talked for quite a while.
It felt natural.
Comfortable.
Sometimes the hardest race isn’t against the clock.
Sometimes it’s simply finding the courage to speak.
After the event, our paths overlapped once more.
Together with Team FnF Racers, we rode until near Eskaton Garden Road, where we finally separated and headed toward our own destinations.
Looking back now, I’m glad I took that first step.
—
Later that evening, reality caught up with me.
Standing under the sun throughout the event had left me with an unbearable headache.
Because of that, I couriered my bicycle earlier than planned. My return train was scheduled for 1st August at 7:30 AM, and all I wanted was to rest.
Sometimes I wonder…
If I hadn’t developed that headache, perhaps I could have met her once again while couriering the bicycle with Team FnF.
But life doesn’t always follow the stories we imagine.
Before leaving Dhaka, I sent her a message on Facebook.
Simple words.
But genuine ones.
—
During my stay, my relatives gave me another piece of advice that stayed in my heart.
They told me it was time to think beyond food delivery.
Foodpanda had helped me survive, but perhaps it wasn’t where my future should end.
“If you can find a better job in Dhaka,” they said, “stay with us. Don’t worry about rent. Just contribute a little for groceries. That’s enough.”
It wasn’t merely an offer of accommodation.
It was an offer of hope.
—
When I look back at the Hatirjheel Cycling Challenge, I don’t only remember my finish time of 31:23.
I remember training while carrying food deliveries.
I remember counting every taka.
I remember wondering how I’d afford the journey home.
I remember the unexpected payment that arrived when I needed it most.
I remember the couple who shared their food on the train.
I remember my relatives who welcomed me with warmth, packed me breakfast before dawn, and encouraged me to dream bigger.
I remember the medal around my neck.
I remember finding the courage to introduce myself to someone I admired.
And I remember returning home with something more valuable than a race result.
I returned with belief.
Because sometimes victory isn’t standing on the podium.
Sometimes victory is simply refusing to give up when life gives you every reason to stop.
And perhaps this race wasn’t the finish line at all.
Perhaps…
it was the beginning of a much longer journey.
————————————————————————–
Poem Title: A Ride to Remember
I chased the dawn on borrowed dreams,
With tired legs and hopeful seams.
Each pedal stroke rewrote my fate,
Though every mile arrived with weight.
A medal rested on my chest,
Not proof that I had been the best—
But proof that courage crossed the line,
When heart and hardship learned to align.
Among the cheers, I caught a glance,
A quiet moment born by chance.
My crush stood smiling in the light,
Turning an ordinary race into something bright.
Hatirjheel gave more than speed,
More than medals riders need.
It gave me memories I’ll always hold—
A story worth far more than gold.