“I didn’t need emotions, they were just going to get in the way” – Philipa York reflects on isolation, identity, and life after the peloton

Philipa York has long been one of British cycling’s most influential figures, known first for what she achieved on the road, and now increasingly for the story behind it. At 66, York is reflecting on both in The Escape, a new book written with journalist David Walsh.

Walsh, best known in the cycling world for his role in exposing Lance Armstrong, brings his forensic eye and deep knowledge of the sport to this collaboration. But the real power of the book lies in York’s voice, in particular within her honesty.

“There was no LGBTQ community in the Gorbals where I grew up,” she tells The Guardian. “If I saw David Bowie on Top of the Pops, I thought: ‘Oh, that’s interesting,’ but he wasn’t a role model. It didn’t make me think I could be whatever I wanted.”

York raced professionally from 1980 to 1995 under the name Robert Millar, and for years was one of Britain’s most accomplished climbers. Her finest performance came at the 1984 Vuelta a España, where she finished second overall, then a groundbreaking result for a British rider. That same year she won the mountains classification at the Tour de France, adding to a career that also included stage victories at both the Tour and the Giro d’Italia.

She announced her gender transition in 2000, following years of personal turmoil. “I knew I was different from the age of 5,” she says. “You realise the others are going to beat you up. Then there’s the fear of being outed and the shame of not fully fitting into the group that you’re meant to be part of. Now, they have Pride marches, but I felt very little pride.”

The debate around transgender athletes is deeply complex, often walking a tight rope between inclusion and fairness. Scientific understanding of how hormone therapy affects athletic performance is still evolving, and policies differ widely between sports and governing bodies. For many, like York, the discussion is not just theoretical, it’s personal.

Framing trans women solely in terms of physical advantage ignores the profound physiological, emotional, and social transformations they undergo. At the same time, concerns from female athletes about the fairness of competition deserve to be acknowledged without becoming a platform for exclusion or hostility.

The book and interviews offer a rare insight into what York’s isolation felt like. She doesn’t know if her parents ever understood what she was going through. “I don’t know. It was the 1970s. I can’t ask my father because he’s not here. Even now, you don’t want your kid to be different, because you know there’ll be a stigma attached.”

Racing became a refuge. “You have no time to dwell on any other stuff,” she says. “If you’re in the race, you’re not processing the outside world.” But York acknowledges that being in the sport didn’t insulate her entirely. “People would throw out homophobic slurs, that kind of verbal intimidation, but it just washed over me. I learned to deal with it. I gave it back. I could swear in most languages.”

The defence mechanisms helped her cope, but at a cost. “I didn’t need emotions. They were just going to get in the way. I learned to do that quite well. The shield I put around me allowed me to function.” Eventually, that shield cracked. After retiring in the mid-90s, York fell into a deep depression. “It got worse when I stopped racing. I thought: ‘Who am I?’ The bike rider was gone. I had to deal with that. But I was also dealing with: ‘Am I going to transition or not?’”

It took years before she sought professional help. “I was in a bad place, really, really depressed. I had no idea if I would fully transition or not. But I had to find out where on the transition journey I would end up. I never felt suicidal, but I understood why people did.”

The journey was uncertain and slow. “You think: ‘I might be OK with a little bit of therapy, with counselling, or hormone replacement.’ But you don’t know where you’re going to stop. I just about got through the millennium, but it wasn’t sustainable. I wasn’t functioning and I couldn’t continue as I was.”

Eventually, she began piecing together a new identity. “It became: ‘What kind of woman am I going to be?’ It was stuff I had to learn. I learned that as an adult, all the small social clues. I had to learn them very quickly so I didn’t appear vulnerable.”

Today, York is one of the most respected analysts in the cycling media and an important voice in discussions around trans inclusion in sport. “It’s more understood now,” she says, “but I don’t think it’s more accepted.”

She doesn’t shy away from the complexities of the debate. “I would wonder if they did have an advantage, but I would look at their performances. ‘Are they better than me because they were born male, or are they better because they’re more talented? Or have more time to train, or better equipment?’”

York argues that much of the conversation overlooks biology. “People don’t understand the physiological changes. Your testosterone basically drops to zero. Testosterone doesn’t make you stronger, it’s part of the system which repairs the damage done by exercise.”

UK Sport, however, has stated that “there is no solution which balances the inclusion of trans women in female sport while guaranteeing competitive fairness and safety.”

She is critical of the direction British Cycling has taken, even if she stops short of using the word “transphobic.” “They have had people, employees, who have signed a letter to the UCI, demanding that trans women be excluded … In any other organisation, those people would be fired.”

British Cycling has pushed back. “We strongly believe that cycling is for everyone and are committed to welcoming as many people as possible into our sport,” said a spokesperson. “Our competition policies, in line with most other sports, intend to safeguard the fairness of competitive cycling … Anyone can compete in our ‘Open’ category, including transgender women, transgender men and non-binary individuals.”

“British Cycling takes allegations of homophobic and transphobic behaviour extremely seriously and has a zero-tolerance approach. We are proactively working to ensure that cycling is as accessible and welcoming as possible.”

The tension remains unresolved, not just in policy but in the public mood. York’s visibility has made her a target, but also a resource for others navigating the same path.

She’s not the only athlete to transition while in the public eye. Others, like New Zealand weightlifter Laurel Hubbard, American hurdler CeCe Telfer, and Canadian cyclist Kristen Worley, have helped push the conversation forward, often amid intense scrutiny.

But York’s story is unique because of its timeline, the silence that surrounded it, and the way she carved out space for herself despite it. That she’s doing it now, publicly and unapologetically, makes her one of the sport’s most enduring figures, regardless of the name on the results sheet.