The streets of Brittany buzzed like a festival. Families leaned eagerly over barriers, kids waved homemade cardboard signs, and the air smelled of crêpes and sunscreen. For the riders of the 2025 Tour de France Femmes avec Zwift, the opening weekend in Vannes was a mix of nerves and adrenaline. Some were debutantes, pinching themselves that they were lining up for the world’s biggest women’s race. Others were veterans who knew precisely how unforgiving the next eight days would be.
From the outside, it all looks like a celebration. From inside the peloton, the Tour feels like a pressure cooker — equal parts exhaustion, fear, laughter, and fleeting moments of glory.
Crashes, relief, and the edge of disaster
Just three stages in, the Tour showed its teeth. Demi Vollering, the reigning champion, hit the deck hard on stage three. She finished bloodied but upright, and when she rolled through stage four in the main group, the relief on her face told the story. Later, she admitted it was less about pain and more about doubt: once you’ve hit the ground, every corner and every touch of wheels feels sharper.
That tension is something fans rarely see on television. Inside the bunch, crashes echo like warning shots. Riders who weren’t anywhere near the fall still carry the aftershocks in their legs — stiff, hesitant, hyper-alert. For Vollering, surviving those days was as much a mental victory as a physical one.
A hometown hero’s gamble
Every Tour has a rider who becomes the heartbeat of the race. This year, it was Maëva Squiban. At just 22, the Frenchwoman had already endured her share of setbacks: a career-threatening crash, months of rehab, and questions about whether she’d ever return to her best.
On stage six, she answered those doubts in the most defiant way possible — launching a solo attack and holding off the peloton to win. “I thought my computer was broken,” she said afterwards, still stunned that the gap was real. Her disbelief became part of the charm.
And then she did it again the very next day. Two stages, back-to-back, from a rider most had written off. The crowds went wild, her name trended across French social media, and she rode away with the combativity prize and something less tangible: the affection of the peloton.
Pauline Ferrand-Prévot and the weight of expectation
If Squiban was the surprise of the Tour, Pauline Ferrand-Prévot was the inevitability. The French star had returned to road racing after years of focusing on mountain bike and gravel, and from the first mountain stage, she looked like a rider carrying an entire country on her back.
On the Col de la Madeleine, she launched the kind of move that silences helicopters and commentators alike. One minute she was in the group, the next she was gone — climbing alone, legs hammering, face calm. By the summit, she was in yellow. By the final weekend, she was a national hero.
France hadn’t felt this kind of Tour joy in decades. Presidents tweeted congratulations, newspapers ran front-page spreads comparing her to Hinault and Longo, and ordinary fans lined mountain roads chanting her name. From inside the race, though, it was less glamorous: long transfers, endless interviews, and the sheer loneliness of defending the maillot jaune.
Ferrand-Prévot admitted that at times she felt “carved open” by the pressure. Every decision — when to eat, when to attack, when to sleep — felt like the whole of France would dissect it.
French cycling had waited for a Tour de France winner since 1989, and will now, hopefully, reap the benefits. © Profimedia
When the body says no
Not everyone’s race ended with champagne. For Sarah Gigante, the Tour turned in the mountains. She had been flying, second overall, legs sharp, eyes wide, until the road tilted down. The Alpine descents were slick, fast, and merciless, and each bend seemed to take a piece of her confidence. By the time the decisive stage came around, she wasn’t fighting for the podium anymore. She was fighting herself.
“She was truly in no woman’s land,” one commentator sighed, and that’s exactly how it looked: a rider caught between ambition and fear, alone against the course. Gigante still forced her way to the finish, but the strain showed. Tears slipped out before the microphones even reached her. Later, she wrote honestly on social media that she still hadn’t shaken her fear of descending.
The weight debate
In 2025, a debate raged around Ferrand-Prévot’s significant weight loss leading into the event. Some riders praised her discipline; others, like Marlen Reusser, worried about the message it sent. “It puts pressure on all of us,” she said, bluntly.
For fans, it was a glimpse of the razor-thin line these athletes walk. Every kilogram matters in the mountains, but so does health. Balancing performance and well-being is a constant tightrope, and the conversation around it hung over the race as much as the Alpine clouds.
What it feels like inside the bubble
Away from headlines, the Tour is a strange, cloistered existence. Riders wake in anonymous hotels, eat carefully measured plates of rice and chicken, and spend hours in buses shuttling between start towns. Days blur. Messages from family go unanswered. Social media becomes both a lifeline and a burden.
For younger riders, the biggest shock isn’t the speed or the climbs but the relentlessness. There are no easy stages, no chances to truly hide. Even the so-called flat days demand six hours of concentration just to avoid crashes. The Tour is a grind, but inside that grind, bonds form. Teammates swap jokes at breakfast, soigneurs sneak in chocolate bars, and rival teams sometimes share a knowing laugh in the bunch.
That camaraderie is what many say they’ll remember long after the yellow jersey fades.
A race that finally feels whole
By the time Ferrand-Prévot stood on the final podium in Alpe d’Huez, confetti in her hair, race director Marion Rousse’s promise of a more challenging course had delivered. There were long transfers, brutal climbs, and a finale that tested everyone. Critics and fans alike agreed it was the most complete Tour yet.
It wasn’t just about the yellow jersey, either. It was about Vollering clawing back from a crash, Squiban rediscovering joy on two magical days, and Gigante confronting fear in full view of the world. It was about how human the Tour de France Femmes has become — not just a race of watts and tactics, but of vulnerability, resilience, and moments that made even the riders laugh or cry.
The exhale
When the race finally ended, some riders sprinted straight into their families’ arms. Others collapsed on massage tables, appearing genuniuely too tired to celebrate. Ferrand-Prévot, draped in yellow, looked both overjoyed and exhausted.
That’s what it’s really like to race the Tour de France Femmes. It’s glory and heartbreak compressed into eight relentless days. And when it’s all over, the only thought most riders have is simple: I can’t believe I survived that.