A Japanese Cyclist’s Ride to British Racing Glory
From Osaka to Manchester: A Japanese Cyclist’s Ride to British Racing Glory
On a rainy morning at the Manchester Velodrome—home to Britain’s legendary cycling team—29-year-old Yuki Tanaka leans over her carbon-fiber bike, adjusting her helmet strap. The track’s wooden surface glistens with moisture, but her focus is unshakable: eyes fixed on the starting line, hands gripping the handlebars, legs tensed to launch. Just five years ago, she was a unknown cyclist in Osaka, Japan, struggling to afford a decent bike. Today, she’s a two-time British National Omnium Champion, the first East Asian rider to win the title, and a contender for the UK’s Olympic cycling squad. Her journey isn’t just about speed—it’s about shattering stereotypes, proving that an Asian woman can thrive in a sport dominated by British and European athletes, and turning a childhood dream into a career that inspires others.
A Dream Born on Osaka’s Backstreets
Yuki grew up in a working-class neighborhood of Osaka, where her first bike was a rusted hand-me-down from her older brother. At 12, she joined a local youth cycling club, drawn to the freedom of racing through the city’s narrow streets after school. “I loved the feeling of the wind in my hair, the way the world blurred when I pedaled fast,” she recalls. Her coach noticed her talent early—she had a natural ability to maintain speed on long stretches and a relentless work ethic—but opportunities in Japan were limited. “Women’s cycling wasn’t taken seriously there,” Yuki says. “Sponsors preferred male riders, and races for women were rare and underfunded.”
After high school, Yuki worked part-time at a convenience store to pay for training and bike repairs, often skipping meals to save money. She competed in local races, winning most of them, but felt stuck. “I knew I had more to give, but there was no path forward in Japan,” she says. That changed in 2018, when she watched a YouTube video of the British National Cycling Championships. “The velodrome looked like a cathedral of speed,” she remembers. “I thought, ‘That’s where I need to be.’”
She applied for a scholarship at the Manchester Cycling Academy, a program for promising international riders. The application required a video of her races, a training log, and a personal essay. Her English was minimal—she’d learned most of it from cycling forums—but she poured her heart into the essay: “I want to race where cycling is loved, where talent matters more than where you’re from.” To her shock, she got accepted. But moving to Manchester meant leaving her family, her friends, and everything familiar. “My parents cried when I told them,” she says. “They worried I’d be alone, that I’d fail. But my dad said, ‘If you don’t go, you’ll always wonder what if.’”
Battling Prejudice and Homesickness on the Track
Yuki’s first months in Manchester were brutal. The language barrier made it hard to communicate with coaches and teammates; she often misunderstood training instructions, leading to frustrating mistakes. The British cycling culture was intense, too—teammates trained twice a day, six days a week, and expected her to keep up. “I’d collapse after sessions, my legs so sore I could barely walk,” she says. “And there were moments when I felt like an outsider. Some riders would whisper when I passed them, or ignore me in the locker room. One coach even said, ‘You’re fast for a Japanese girl—but British cycling is a different level.’”
Homesickness hit hard, too. She missed her mother’s okonomiyaki (savory pancakes), the sound of Osaka’s street vendors, and late-night talks with her sister. She considered quitting several times, especially after a crash during a training session left her with a broken wrist. “I sat in my tiny apartment, staring at my bike, and cried,” she says. “But then I thought about all the sacrifices I’d made—my parents’ support, the scholarship, the dream I’d chased for years. I couldn’t give up.”
Yuki fought back by outworking everyone. She woke up an hour earlier than her teammates to practice English with a language app, then stayed late to review race footage with her coach. She modified her diet to fit British ingredients—trading her usual miso soup for porridge and spinach, but keeping a jar of Japanese soy sauce in her bag for comfort. She also found a community: a group of Japanese students in Manchester who invited her to weekly dinners, and a retired British cyclist named Dave, who volunteered to mentor her. “Dave told me, ‘Racism and doubt are just headwinds—you don’t let them stop you, you pedal harder,’” Yuki says.
Breaking Barriers, Winning Races
In 2019, Yuki entered her first British National Championship, competing in the omnium—a four-event competition that tests speed, endurance, and strategy. No East Asian rider had ever made it to the final. She finished third, a surprise to everyone except herself. “That race showed me I belonged,” she says. The following year, she won her first national title, beating the defending champion by 0.8 seconds in the final sprint. The crowd roared, and Yuki collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “I called my parents right away,” she says. “My mom was screaming into the phone—she’d watched the race live online. My dad said, ‘I always knew you’d fly.’”
Since then, Yuki’s career has taken off. She won her second national title in 2022, set a new British record in the 500m time trial, and was invited to train with Team GB’s Olympic squad. Sponsors finally took notice—she now has deals with a Japanese sports brand and a British energy drink company, allowing her to focus full-time on racing. But she hasn’t forgotten the struggles she faced. “I still hear the whispers sometimes,” she says. “People still ask, ‘What are you doing here?’ But now I have an answer: ‘I’m here to win.’”
Inspiring the Next Generation
Yuki now uses her platform to support young Asian cyclists in the UK. She founded a youth program called “Ride Like Yuki,” which offers free training sessions to Asian kids in Manchester and London. “When I was young, I had no one who looked like me to inspire me,” she says. “I want these kids to see that they can do this too—no matter where they’re from.” She also speaks at schools, sharing her story of perseverance and encouraging students to chase their dreams, even when they seem impossible.
One of her protégés, 14-year-old Mia Chan, a Chinese-British cyclist from Birmingham, says Yuki changed her life. “Before I met her, I thought cycling was just for boys, for white people,” Mia says. “Now I want to be a national champion like her.”
In 2023, Yuki returned to Osaka for the first time since moving to the UK, where she was invited to speak at the Japanese National Cycling Championships. She stood on the stage, holding her British championship medals, and told the audience: “Don’t let anyone tell you where you can or can’t race. Your dream doesn’t have a nationality.”
Back in Manchester, on a sunny day after training, Yuki rides her bike along the River Irwell, taking a rare moment to relax. She looks at the city skyline, at the velodrome in the distance, and smiles. “This isn’t just a place I race,” she says. “This is home. I came here with nothing but a bike and a dream, and Britain gave me a chance to turn that dream into something real.”
She speeds up, the wind in her hair, just like she did as a kid in Osaka. But this time, she’s not just racing for herself—she’s racing for every Asian kid who’s ever looked at a sport and thought, “That’s not for me.” And she’s winning.