Learning to Lose Before I Can Win

Stepping Into Race Gear – The First Wingfoil Sessions

I knew this moment would come. Just like in kitefoiling, there comes a point where—if you still want to compete (or have fun racing in my case)—you can’t hide anymore. You have to take the leap into race gear. For a long time, I postponed it. I wasn’t sure if I truly wanted to step into that world again. (Read: the details, the perfection – which I am not and will never be).

But the truth is: if you want to keep racing, you can’t avoid it. And yet—here I am. (Applying one more time for the Olympic swimming/crashing team.) It’s no secret I still love speed, challenges, and getting the most out of everything.

Race gear changes everything. Smaller foils, a different board, a different wing in your hands—less forgiving, but more efficient upwind and downwind. In kitefoiling, the shift was the same: smaller, faster foils that demanded precision; kites that were harder to fly but gave unmatched efficiency. For the Olympic kitefoil discipline, I had to relearn everything: riding with a seat harness, bigger kites, short lines, foil kites, a new bar, a new board, long masts. It felt like starting all over. Humbling. Frustrating. But eventually rewarding—I can say that with 100% confidence at this point in my life. And yes I did land my kite in a pole one time and got dragged over the beach a 100 times…

And now, here I am again. Given a chance to try, to discover, and to find out. (at least the wing doesn`t have long lines to drag me into the pole..)

Wingfoil race gear: a new board that finally allows me to mount my kite race foil, a long mast, small front wing, and a high-performance wing that doesn’t care about comfort—just efficiency. I knew the learning curve was waiting for me, but I also knew: this is the next step.

Note: That doesn’t mean I’m fully throwing myself back into racing or committing to compete again. Not yet. I’ve got just one race wing, to test, to see how it feels. Time will tell where this journey goes. Keeping the fun alive!

The First Session – Humbling Beginnings

The memories of endless kitefoil swims came rushing back. Even before I hit the water—I think I’ve never been this slow in my process from the beach to the water.

For my first kitefoil race gear sessions years ago, it was all wet, soaked kites, rolling burritos, paddling back to shore to try again, only to end up with even bigger tangles, bruises, and frustration (this is why I wear an impact vest and helmet).

And just like that, a few days ago I found myself reliving the same story—this time trying to learn race gear for wingfoiling. I didn’t make it easy on myself either: light, gusty wind on a small, shallow lake. New board, new foil, new wing—everything different.

I spent an hour swimming (fighting). Trying to pump up in nothing. Chasing faint gusts (that ones that just might be enough) that disappeared the moment I tried to start. No success. Swimming upwind again and again. Nothing worked.

Finally, one gust had just enough in it. I managed a short ride—just enough to feel something—but then I hit shallow water, had to stop, and swam all the way back again. Starting on the other tack? Not happening. Not today.

An hour gone. Soaked, tired, maybe a little frustrated. But also with a big smile and that stubborn thought: next time I’ll get it. Because you know what? It’s familiar—the messy, frustrating start that always comes before progress.

The Second Session – A Small Breakthrough

This time, with a bit more wind and a slightly bigger foil (to give myself a chance to actually feel the wing and the board), things started to click.

I could finally feel how the new wing behaved—lighter in my hands, sharper, more aggressive. The efficiency was undeniable: better upwind, faster downwind. But it came at a price: constant focus. Just like the performance kites I had to learn years ago. More power upwind, more drive downwind, quicker acceleration—but also more crashes whenever I lost concentration.

It felt like a fight on the water. Every small mistake was punished. Every gybe or tack? A crash—sometimes for no clear reason at all. Somehow, the moment I thought I had it, the wing punished me again (like it decided to throw me just to remind me who’s boss).

The potential is so clear—but it doesn’t forgive anything. I crashed in ways I didn’t even think were possible. Wing slams, awkward body positions, sudden wipeouts where the wing went one way and I went another.

And yet, in between the chaos, there were glimpses of flow—the wing gliding lighter, the foil humming, the speed carrying me further than ever before. The gybes even started working out. According to the spectators on shore, it all looked spectacular and super fast (I`ll take that as a win today).

For someone who normally rides confidently, it was humbling. But that’s the beauty of progression: every crash is part of the process. It reminded me so much of learning the kitefoil discipline, and even my first tricks in wingfoiling last year: uncomfortable, frustrating, and humbling… but also addictive. That backflip might be easier…on a second tought.

Why It’s Worth It?

For anyone who thinks, “Oh, she just picked it up easily”—no. Switching to race gear means resetting, rebuilding, and going through all the awkward stages again. But that’s exactly why I love it. The challenge forces me to grow. And it might go faster with one person than the other, in any case we all follow our own way – look at yourself.

“Why Bother..?”; I can hear you think.

Because here’s the truth: only by stepping into discomfort do you move forward. Race gear may be harder and less forgiving, but it opens the door to new speed, new efficiency, and new possibilities (to go fast in light winds or make the tours around islands and the Dutch lakes/coastline more easy and fun!).

That said, the journey has just started:  In the end that’s what it takes. If you want to learn, if you want to grow, you have to step into the deep. It won’t be pretty. It won’t be easy. You’ll swim, crash, fly, curse, repeat. But then you’ll get those fleeting moments—the first time the gear actually works with you instead of against you—and you know why you’re doing it.

So no, this isn’t a smooth success story—yet. It’s the messy beginning of something new. I don’t know if it will lead me back into racing, or if it will just be another chapter of learning for the sake of learning. For now, it’s just me, one wing, and the curiosity to see where it goes.

Whatever your “race gear” looks like, don’t wait forever. Take the leap, embrace the chaos, and give yourself the chance to discover what’s on the other side. Always! (my “race gear” is still a loooong list of trying, crashing and learning – involving foils, waves and all else)

Curious to know more about my way into wingfoiling like learning tricks in wingfoiling? Find it here – learning tricks in wingfoiling …or my fight against the shore break in this story here- my battle with the shore break(s)

Note: this artikel might be written at a later or earlier date.