I’ll set the scene. It’s the morning of my longest race of the year – the 360k Traka through the winding dirt roads of Girona, Spain. It’s 4:30 in the morning, and I’ve laid out everything I’ll need for the full day of racing. Every scenario has been considered and accounted for– the weather, the fueling, the gear, the route. I am prepared. Cue the proverbial curveball.
My curveball came in the form of my first period. My first one in 15 years.
The path of the period is a personal one for all people who have periods. There isn’t a playbook, there aren’t rules, there are barely even any guidelines. In sports, it becomes even weirder. We’re at the mercy of our body’s chemical fluctuations while also trying to regulate them. I’m going to stick to my experiences here because that’s the only one I truly know.
If you’re American and over the age of 29, you probably sat through a mediocre health class in your early teens. We didn’t have the internet full of information (and misinformation). We’re talking ‘condoms on the banana’ level of education, where the only thing we left knowing (incorrectly) was that at any moment, in any scenario, you could become pregnant. As a young woman, I knew two things: I loved sports and I didn’t want to get pregnant. Enter birth control.
Since the age of 16, I’ve been on some form of birth control, from the pill to the copper IUD and, later, the hormonal IUD. I found that the hormonal IUDs worked really well for me as an active person and as a professional athlete. I never got cramps, and my period became one less thing for me to worry about. But IUDs don’t work for everyone, so before you march into your Gyno’s office demanding an IUD because ‘Sarah Sturm said…’ Make sure you consult with your doctor first. I’m not trying to write an ad for IUDs here—just sharing what worked for me.
As an elite-level athlete, as a woman, and as a person who might want to have children someday, I decided to get my IUD removed. I wanted to see how my body would respond and whether I could still have a normal menstrual cycle.
So there we were. In Spain, in the wee hours of the morning, the sun wouldn’t rise for another few hours, and, of course, finally, after 15 years, I got my period – ahead of a race that would take anywhere from 12- to 16 hours to complete. It may seem funny now, but honestly, in the moment, I remember feeling sheer panic. I hadn’t used a tampon since I was in high school, and I felt like a teenager all over again, except now, there was pressure, results and money on the line, not just some high school embarrassment.
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I honestly had no idea what to do, which is why I’m writing this piece. I’m here to discuss the things that are often awkward to ask about. So what did I do? Well, I decided to put the chamois to the test—it’s basically one big pad, after all. Here’s the thought process that led me to that decision:
- No Potty Breaks – I knew I wouldn’t have time to stop during the race. The Traka is like the European Unbound and the competition level is high. I had a shot at the podium so a bathroom break was out of the question.
- Chafing? Pass. – Given the length of the race, I didn’t want to risk using a tampon. Let alone dealing with the biomechanics of having a potential for chaffing.
- Bike Racing is Harder than Bleeding – I figured I’d have a lot of other things I’d be focused on other than my period during the race. The best way forward was to let my body do its thing and approach the day like I was planning.
- GO GO GO – Approach it like I do everything – just send it.
Here’s how it went:
At the start line, I confided in some of my peers and discovered that two of them had had their periods last year for this very race. They also chose the same option that I’d chosen. Really, a big part of being a pro bike racer is asking your competitors what their choices are, whether it’s tyres or tampons. Everyone does what works for them, usually, I’m assuming, as a result of trial and error. After a long race day, I crossed the finish line in third place, having shaved about five hours off my previous time – some may say it was the power of the period.
I was grateful for the muddy start because I had been nervous about the potential of having a visible period – mostly for the hundreds of men to see it as I passed them, making me vulnerable and judged.
Eventually, I caught a friend and asked him if he could see anything, and then I joked how I was going to re-insert an IUD myself at the end of the day. Joking, because nothing about my race actually changed, other than potentially some extra period power.
I may have been bloated, I may have had some cramping, it may have been a little “icky” but really it wasn’t any different than suffering through 360k without a period. Let’s be real: bike racing is kind of gross. Bodily fluids are everywhere—salty sweat is caking on, bloody knees and elbows happen, and sometimes, there’s even a little pee and barf. Have I grossed you out yet? Have I turned you off from endurance racing?
But being human is inherently a little icky. So why not normalise one of the most normal things humans experience? A period. We tiptoe around it, we give it cutesy synonyms or we just don’t talk about it at all. But this is a very normal process that half the population experiences and, honestly, it’s a real factor for women in sports.
It took time to get here, but I’ve now had 13 months of a somewhat regular cycle, and I can confidently say that, sometimes, it just feels unfair. I feel my absolute worst during ovulation, right in the middle of my cycle, and two weeks before my period even starts. It’s something I have to consider for key races, and I’ve even bailed on tough training days that coincided with ovulation. By the time my period arrives, I’m mostly just relieved that the luteal phase is finally over. I’m literally celebrating when it comes because dealing with it is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil that PMS and the luteal phase seem to bring me.
But deal with it, we must, so here are some of my hacks to get through it:
- I use the Natural Cycles App to help track my cycles. I use the digital thermometer to take my temperature every morning for accuracy. It also syncs with the Oura ring and Apple watches. This lets me know when I might ovulate, when to expect my period and how to work with my phases for training.
- I have never tried a menstrual cup but I am a big fan of a product called the Flex Disc – a disposable menstrual disc designed to sit at the vaginal fornix. Once inserted, I truly forget about my period for a full 12 hours. And, crucial for bike racers, you cannot feel it whatsoever.
- Often, I’ll get really bad cramping on the first day of my period. Now that I know that, I just prepare with Aleve or Ibuprofen, depending on where I am and what I’m doing.
I conducted my ‘great period experiment’ for two reasons: one, for potential future childbearing, and two, to gain insights into my performance and health. I’ve learned just how much a period can teach you—it’s an incredible health indicator, revealing your stress levels, weight imbalances, and even underlying hormonal conditions like POTS or endometriosis. A lot of women in sports—endurance athletes especially—experience irregular periods or lose them altogether. For a long time, this was seen as a sign of peak fitness or athletic readiness. However, the latest thinking challenges those ideas, recognising menstrual health as a key marker of overall well-being, not just an inconvenience to be suppressed and silenced.
Now, I work with my coach and we use my menstrual cycle, or lack thereof, as another data point for training at the highest level. We use the different phases to optimise the type of training I’m doing. It really starts to feel like a superpower.
If you don’t have a period and you’re not actively using hormonal birth control, you should talk to your doctor and/or coach, and if they say that’s good, find a new one.
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