Are the dreams of Olympic glory yours or theirs? Here's how not to be a pushy parent

As my seven-year-old son turned his first ever laps at our nearby velodrome, it was immediately clear that he was a natural. It was even clear to some of the other coaches, timers and racers at the track, one of whom, a USA Cycling official, leaned in and said to me, "He really gets it, huh?"

My lizard brain took over: immediately, I saw my son as a young man winning in velodromes around the world. I saw myself cheering him from the stands as he stood atop the podium as an Olympic medal was placed around his neck. Gold, of course. I urgently needed to remind myself that whatever became of his cycling future would be his story, subject to his motivations, not mine.

On the long drive home, as my little boy dozed in his seat, I wondered, as I often do, whether or not I'm doing a good job as a father. Specifically, I thought about my influence on my son's cycling. My wife and I have had countless hours of conversations about his natural competitiveness and how best to harness it, not tamp it down in the name of good sportsmanship.

We've also discussed ad nauseam the other side of that coin: how do we foster an environment that allows our kids to stoke their competitive fire while also teaching them to be good, humane people. Let's face it, the likelihood that they'll actually become pro cyclists is very small. Competitiveness can be helpful in many facets of life, and so I wondered: where is the line?

How do I encourage my son to be unafraid to achieve greatness while also remembering that he is, after all, just seven? How do I maintain this love of bicycles without beginning to see them as a tool of work and career ambition?

Unfortunately, as in most aspects of parenting, there is no clear answer. But the first question I had to answer was, when? As in, when do I start pushing him and allowing him to push himself? When do I start concerning myself with his performance?

According to elite youth and junior coach Jez Cox, I don't need to start asking the big questions for another half-decade at least. "Around 12 years old," Cox tells me via video call. "Get someone to assess them at that point and, if they're in the top four of five nationally, you might want to get a coach involved. Until then, just remind your child that you're there for him, that this is his journey."

Pressure on a youngster, says Cox, does far more harm than good. He explained how, during his near-decade coaching as many as 10 juniors each year at the Oakland Wolves Sports Academy, in Hertfordshire, he has heard several riders admit that they were there because of their parents' cycling dream, not their own.

Some of his charges have explained to Cox, through tears, how they feel burdened by the pressure put on them. "They say, 'I don't even know why I'm here. I just feel so bad for my parents. They've invested so much in me and I don't want to let them down.'" Cox says.

Ever since my son started racing BMX when he was three, my wife and I have done our best to be vocal and open with our son about how none of this is required, and how he can stop the minute he's no longer having fun. Then again, it's not like he doesn't notice how much time, effort and money we have put into supporting his love for racing bikes.

Still, listening to Cox talk about the athletes under his purview, it's clear to me that, not only do I need to keep the love of riding bikes at the fore for the next several years, I also need to ensure that my little boy knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's under no requirement to do any of this. One way to do that is by not putting all of our eggs in one basket.

As a kid, I played all sports, Ben Wiggins tells me. Rugby, basketball, boxing. But football was my first love. Despite having a Tour de France champion as a dad, Ben was encouraged by his parents to try as many different activities as he could. Though he started racing at six, Wiggins didn't take the bike seriously until he was 16.

It was only then, having realised that his footballing talent wasn't sufficient to turn pro, that Wiggins had to choose where to focus: rugby or the bike. It was during the Covid-19 pandemic, as he began training more concertedly on the bike to stay in shape for when rugby matches resumed, that Wiggins's ability attracted the attention of British Cycling.

Wiggins Snr was still a bit gun-shy about the idea. "Given everything that happened to my dad when he was starting out he was quite reluctant for me, to begin with," Ben says. "It unlocked a lot of memories for him." Still, Bradley offered unwavering support as a sounding board, while cautioning Ben about the hazards inside pro bike racing.

As such, he allowed his son to make his own decisions. According to Ben, Bradley did not seek to control his destiny in the sport, thanks to which their relationship continues to thrive today. Anxious of being too great an influence, Bradley has sought to keep a clear line of delineation between his and his son's careers, even deciding against coaching him at one point a few winters back. "He never wanted to be the person to tell me to get on my bike," Ben says. "I think he just wanted to play the role of dad."

Dad: it's a role laden with expectations, anticipation and, perhaps above all, emotions that are impossible to escape.

For the average seven-year-old, a BMX race takes about 40 seconds. For the average BMX dad, those 40 seconds feel like an eternity. With every turn of my little boy's pedals, my body twists and contorts as mentally I try to pilot the bike for him. I can only imagine how much more acute these feelings will be if and when my son starts racing track bikes, where I have 10 times more experience than I do in BMX.

Former pro George Hincapie assures me that those feelings never go away. Despite having won Ghent-Wevelgem, a trio of American championships and a stage at the Tour de France, and finished on the podium at Paris-Roubaix, Hincapie [who later admitted to doping during his career] is still just a nervous dad when he watches his son battling for position in a peloton.

Seventeen-year-old Enzo Hincapie has spent the last few years with the EF-Onto development team and currently races for the German club team Grenke-Auto Eder. "I get nervous when he races," says George. "Similar nerves to when I was first racing."

Much like his friend and longtime peloton counterpart Bradley Wiggins, George Hincapie did not foist a bike on any of his three children. Naturally, they cycled frequently as a family for fun. "I just wanted my kids to get into some kind of sport, no matter what it was," he says, mentioning how his oldest child, daughter Julia Paris, took to tennis rather than the bike.

"I was never disappointed. As long as they were doing something [sporty]." And while Enzo matriculating onto the bike in a more serious way made his father happy, George has always regarded himself as a father first and foremost.

"I loved the fact that he started loving to ride more, started taking his nutrition a lot more seriously, wanting to race," George says. "For me, it was confirmation that I made the right decision to keep pushing him on the bike." While recognising the need not to meddle too much, George naturally imparts whatever useful knowledge he can to Enzo as the youngster tries to navigate the trials and tribulations of professional cycling. "[Enzo's] had coaches for a few years now, so I'm more of an adviser or a sounding board for things like lifestyle, nutrition, even tactics," George says.

The reality is that I do not have the cycling expertise to coach my son; I am no Bradley Wiggins or George Hincapie. But one thing the three of us share - along with millions of dads around the world - is that we all want what's best for our kids. And while our natural inclination might be to keep them as close to us as we possibly can, according to Jez Cox, letting them go is often the better choice.

"I didn't love those kids," Cox says of the youth cyclists he worked with at Oakland Wolves. "I invested fully in them and I wanted to work hard with them. I wanted what's best for them, but I didn't love them the way their parents do or the way I love my own kids."

A degree of emotional detachment can be invaluable, in Cox's view. "That separation is important. You have to get to that point where you've handed them over to someone who cares for them but who has that separation." Cox highlights as an example two of the biggest successes to come from his tutelage at the Oakland Wolves: NSN's Joe Blackmore and British national track champion Rhianna Parris-Smith, both of whose parents shared a common trait - they stepped back.

"Both of those sets of parents were people I hardly ever spoke to," Cox says. "They were incredibly polite; they dropped off their kids and they said, 'It's their dream, we're going to leave it to you'."

At seven, my son isn't worried about his long-term future or how far he'll progress as a cyclist. In light of the conversations above, I too have stopped worrying about his times on the track.

The message from coaches and former pros was remarkably consistent: what matters right now is fostering my son's love of bikes - and taking pleasure in developing our shared interest. Even so, as a dad in early middle-age, it's impossible for me not to think about the Big Tomorrow. Right now, bikes are a vehicle of bonding for my son and me, a shared love, passion and joy.

Maybe someday he'll decide to pursue cycling in a more serious way - or maybe he'll turn around tomorrow and say he never wants to race his bike again. In either case, all I can do is tell him that I love him, that I have his back, so that he knows I'll support whatever path he chooses to follow. And if ever he needs me, he'll know where to find me - alongside him on the bike.