Writer Niamh Murphy gets out of her comfort zone on a multi-active trip around Cambodia that challenges not only her fitness, but how she measures success.
My dad likes to tell this story about my sister, Megan. One sports day at school, she was coming first in the sprint race. But when she saw our parents, she stopped and waved, letting the other kids take over. She was so happy to see them, she didn’t even cross the finish line. Dad feigns disappointment at my sister’s lack of competitive spirit, but I know he repeats it to show just how good natured she is.
I, on the other hand, always tried to win.
‘Tried’ being the operative word. After years of suffering the shame of wanting to win and failing, and with plenty of fourth places under my belt by the time I left school, I concluded that I just wasn’t a sporty person. So, I just stopped trying.
Then, somewhere in my late twenties, hangovers were replaced with talk of half marathons, and I found myself booking an active group trip: Cambodia: Hike, Bike and Kayak. I felt that mix of nerves and excitement that comes from committing to something challenging. Maybe it was time to push myself again, I thought. Maybe it was time to see if I could face my complex feelings about winning head on.
Meeting the competition
My boyfriend Hugh and I arrive at the welcome meeting at a time that becomes characteristic for us – one minute early, yet somehow always last. If anyone else is mentally ranking their arrival times, they don’t let on.
Our leader, Bo, introduces himself and gives us a rundown of the week: we’ll kick things off with some island cycling, followed by a hike-and-kayak day in the northeastern region of Stung Treng and we’ll wrap everything up with ‘the part people really look forward to’: a 40 km bike ride around Angkor, the ancient Khmer capital.
The group, whose ages span from thirties all the way up to seventies, downplay their abilities, the way people do. ‘I don’t know how I’ll cycle in this heat!’, someone chimes in, while another admits they’ve ‘never kayaked before’. But once we break off into smaller groups and start chatting, I learn that a couple from Minnesota, James and Annie, have trekked the Inca Trail in Peru and climbed Mt Kilimanjaro. Darren, a young solo traveller from the UK, has just completed the Ha Giang Loop, a famous motorcycle route in Vietnam.
I call it an early night after dinner, the next morning’s cycle looming over me.
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One foot in front of the other
A friend once told me that the best first date is a long walk in a park. Her logic? Meeting new people can be scary, so looking straight ahead while putting one foot in front of the other helps conversation flow.
On quiet Koh Dach island, I discover this wisdom extends to cycling and making friends on small-group trips. Setting aside my worries about proving myself, I move through the cycle chain, slowing down or picking up the pace as I get to know everyone. Hugh turns to me after ten minutes on the bike and says ‘This is going to change how we travel from now on,’ putting into words the joy I’m feeling zipping through the Cambodian countryside.
On Koh Trong, a car-free island where cycling is the main form of transport, we bike down to the Mekong Delta to catch the sunset together, looking more like kids in a Steven Spielberg film than cyclists in the Tour de France. Parking our bikes on the grass without locking them feels wrong but, naturally – with only one bike rental shop on the island and a population of just 7000 people – they’re still there when we get back.
‘I wonder who’s going to snore tonight?’, Bo jokes over a heated game of cards on our homestay’s porch later that evening (I’m losing, but let’s not dwell on that). I never find out, as I fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow, pedalling proving to be far better than any sleeping pill.
What goes up must come down
‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’ I say to no-one in particular, halfway through our hike to Sopheakmit Waterfall on the Cambodia-Laos border. Bo turns around and, upon seeing my face – pale Irish skin now bright red from the effort – suggests we take a break.
Hikes usually stress me out. I put pressure on myself to match the fastest person’s pace, which often leaves me breathless, frustrated and red faced. But this time, despite Bo suggesting we stop for not one, but two water breaks after clocking my flushed cheeks, I’m finding the hike perfectly manageable – peaceful, even.
After a short pitstop, we all push forward quietly, lost in our own thoughts. I think about where I normally am on a Monday – hunched over my laptop, coffee in hand – and feel a swell of gratitude. As we reach the waterfall as a group, celebrating with a dip in a safe swimming spot, I wonder: is this what replacing a ‘must-win’ attitude with mindfulness feels like? If so, I can see the appeal.
Later, as we kayak downstream in pairs, Bo calls out that we should race for the last 600 metres, reigniting my drive to compete. ‘Let’s pick up the pace!’ I yell at Hugh in the backseat. But he’s going as fast as he can, he tells me. His arms are sore. I realise he’s been doing most of the work while I’ve been making commentary up front.
As the prospect of winning slips away, the point of powering on goes with it. There’s no need to struggle to our final stop. I put my paddle down and wave to Kiwi couple, Katy and Greg, as they pass us. ‘Isn’t this class?’ I say, for the hundredth time that day.
Hugh and I pull up last, gliding along the Mekong just behind the others. I prepare to concede defeat, but no-one’s even thinking about the race. They’re already out of their kayaks, swimming in the river together. I slip off my sandals and wade in, laughing.
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Feeling fine with fourth place
It’s estimated that the Angkor temple complex was home to just under a million people in the 13th century, making it much larger than I’d anticipated. Luckily, our bikes help us cover plenty of ground, giving us the freedom to stop at hidden ruins along the way. After admiring three of the major temples – Angkor Wat, Bayon and Ta Prohm – Darren suggests we race to the end of the cycling trail. I pedal as fast as I can, but this time, I’m truly in it for the fun. Which is lucky, because true to form, I pull up fourth, just behind Hugh, Darren and Bo.
‘Nice one,’ I say as I high-five the winners, feeling lighter having shed the heavy weight of wanting victory.
And the winner is…
At our final dinner later that evening, Katy leans across the table and asks Bo, half-joking, half-earnest: ‘Are we your favourite group?’ He smiles and says diplomatically that our group all has ‘the same strong energy level’.
It’s likely intended as a throwaway comment, but it means more to me than if he’d just said yes. I’ll take ‘strong energy’. That feels like enough of an achievement. I’ve realised that I don’t need to be the best. It really is the taking part that counts.
Somewhere in between the kayaks and bikes and waterfall hikes, I’d stopped obsessing over how I was doing and actually started being part of the adventure. Physical activity does that. It forces you out of your head and into the world, where you can connect with people without overthinking it. While competition can be a great motivator, when you reach the finish line, it’s important to remember that it’s all made up.
Turns out my sister was right all along. If you stop treating everything like a competition, if you stop pressuring yourself, if you slow down and choose to share moments of joy with others, you’ll always feel like a winner.
Niamh Murphy found a new way to win on Intrepid’s Cambodia: Hike, Bike and Kayak trip.
