Mathematics, when fully understood, offers the illusion that chaos can be tamed. Vittoria Bussi, a graduate of Sapienza University of Rome with a PhD from Oxford, has always been accustomed to moving through equations and perfect geometries. Yet in her mid-twenties she came face to face with the one variable that escapes even the strictest algebraic logic: the unpredictability of life itself. In that moment, the bicycle became an unexpected answer to everything: especially to the pain of loss. On two wheels, Vittoria discovered the ideal kinetic space in which to apply her brilliant scientific mindset while embracing extreme effort, transforming it into liberation, purpose, and ultimately a new direction for her life. 

It is within the timeless, almost magical theater of the velodrome that Vittoria learned to channel an extraordinary combination of inner strength and rationality. A unique determination that has made her the first woman in history to simultaneously hold two world records at opposite ends of track cycling’s spectrum: the Hour Record and the 4 km Individual Pursuit World Record. Milestone after milestone, her achievements reveal a form of excellence rich with layers, meanings, and interpretations: built through a journey that has been anything but conventional.

Vittoria Bussi’s human and athletic awareness unfolds here as a stream of consciousness, accompanied by the visual reflections and aesthetic sensibility of Marcello Mannoni, who followed one of the most remarkable figures in contemporary Italian sport through a process of revealing and translating the knowledge acquired in the saddle: a process that ultimately contributed to defining new Seka Bikes prototypes. 

What follows is a dialogue between science, determination, cycling at its highest level, and visual storytelling.

Vittoria Bussi

“There was never love at first sight between me and the bicycle. Looking back, sport and I didn’t immediately get along. My first experience was through dance, but my childhood physique wasn’t particularly suited to that world. Still, practicing sport was something I deeply wanted.

It took me a while to find the right discipline. Eventually, I gravitated toward individual sports. I liked the fact that responsibility rested entirely on my shoulders. Managing myself was, and still is, more than enough. I have always been fascinated by the ambition to push beyond my limits, knowing that success depends solely on me and no one else. First came swimming, then athletics. In high school, my PE teacher encouraged me to enter a cross-country race. I finished on the podium in my very first event. I remember that day as if it were yesterday: the damp pine forest, the scent of the woods around Ostia. Running was my first true sporting love. In many ways, it still is.

My studies in mathematics amplified the rational and analytical side of my personality. Numbers and data, when fully understood, create the illusion that everything can be controlled. And that need for control, sometimes a strength, sometimes a limitation, has always shaped the way I approach life. I am constantly driven by an unconscious search for control. It leads me into a kind of squared, algebraic solitude. A physical solitude, an external one, not an internal one. Control allows me to remain in balance with the world around me. It allows me to spend a great deal of time alone without ever truly feeling lonely.

Cycling arrived late in my life. I was twenty-seven. No one in my family followed cycling. We never watched the Giro d’Italia. It entered my life unexpectedly, at a moment when I was desperately trying to find myself again. My father’s death coincided with my PhD at Oxford. For an entire year I lived between England and hospitals in Italy. It was a period that forced me to make important decisions despite lacking the awareness or experience necessary to make them. I often describe it as being asked to play a card game whose ending had already been written.

To this day, I still struggle to forgive myself for some of the ‘yeses’ and ‘nos’ I gave during that time. When I eventually returned to my life, without my father, there was nothing I truly recognized anymore. You spend years convincing yourself that everything can be controlled, only to realize that neither time nor life bends to our will. The present is the only dimension that truly belongs to us.

The bicycle appeared during that period almost by chance. Because of my academic path, athletics had long since been set aside. At Oxford, triathlon was popular. Swimming and running were already part of my identity; all I needed was the third element. After only a few months of training, I found myself producing a particularly strong cycling split during a race. A former Italian professional cyclist noticed me. I was powerful, despite having virtually no technical background. Before long, I was racing some of cycling’s great classics with different teams. But that wasn’t the world I was looking for.

What truly captivated me about cycling was the almost irrational pleasure generated by effort, endurance, and suffering. Even today, I continue to seek those sensations. From the beginning, it was a relationship built on both love and conflict. When you first get on a bicycle at twenty-seven years old, it can never become entirely part of who you are. You build a relationship with it, but one made of separate elements that never completely merge.

I live within that tension between two identities, in a constant dialogue between the opposing poles of my personality: science and instinct. The same dynamic defined my pursuit of the Hour Record. On one side, it was a decision driven by intuition, courage, and emotion: leaving everything behind to pursue a world record from the very beginning. On the other, it was an intuition supported by mathematical models that suggested the attempt was actually possible. After studying myself and studying the challenge itself, I wrote down everything I would need on a single sheet of paper and started knocking on doors that never truly opened. I did everything on my own. In 2018, in Mexico City, I rode 48.007 kilometers. When that record was eventually taken from me, I convinced myself that breaking the 50-kilometer barrier was possible. I won’t deny it: chasing that next step became an obsession. I had to see horizons where others saw limits. Twice, I managed to push beyond that barrier, setting two more world records. The latest, 50.455 kilometers, remains unbeaten today.

The same combination of inner strength, scientific preparation, and physical conditioning led me to pursue the 4 km Pursuit record. In track cycling, the Hour Record and the Individual Pursuit are considered the two most distant disciplines imaginable. It’s the equivalent of competing in both the marathon and the 800 meters. My main motivation was to prove that women, or rather, the female body could perform at that level. As I studied training methodologies, I noticed that almost every reference point was based on male physiology. The female body was routinely described as being limited by too many variables and unknowns. Nothing could be further from the truth. After achieving both records, I spoke publicly about this issue. Yet the attention it received never matched the importance of the topic. It’s disappointing to see how only the times and results entered the historical record. Journalists rarely addressed it. Coaches rarely discussed it. No one asked what type of preparation had allowed me to sustain such radically different demands.

For me, being a professional athlete has always meant something much bigger than results. Treating sport as a profession means giving dignity to your work and refusing to reduce it to mere performance. The person comes before the athlete. In my case, the bicycle became a stage: a space through which stories could be told and inspiration could be created. My records contain a very specific story. They tell of one possible way to process grief. They speak about radically changing your life. About having the courage to start late and to do things on your own terms. When sport becomes storytelling, people pay attention. It reaches young people and anyone who needs to hear those stories. I often say that, in that period of my life, a paintbrush could have appeared instead of a bicycle. Ultimately, sport is a form of art. It becomes art when it reflects the deepest values and beliefs of the people who practice it. 

Achieving goals of this magnitude leaves behind a strange feeling. At least for me. The happiness you experience at the finish line disappears almost at the exact moment you realize you’ve achieved what you set out to do. When you reach the summit of a mountain, you never stay there for very long. You take a breath of relief and immediately ask yourself: ‘What now?’ Today, at thirty-nine years old, holding records means having achieved the goals of a lifetime. The only real sacrifice was time taken away from my family: time I now want to give back. 

Professionally, my current work has become the synthesis of my previous lives: the mathematician and the athlete. I work in artificial intelligence, applying mathematical models to business and sport with the aim of bringing a more scientific approach into these fields. From this vision, and from a meeting at Eurobike 2025, came a partnership with Seka, which led to the creation of Kayroi, a time-trial bicycle engineered for maximum aerodynamic efficiency. Marcello followed the development and testing process with his camera, documenting each stage of the journey: the wind tunnel, the scientific analysis, the practical work on the velodrome. The very same stages through which I built my records.”

Marcello Mannoni – Photographer

“It’s March. Early morning. A small village in the heart of Belgium. Vittoria arrives at work with her curly hair: a reflection of the intricate web of thoughts and ideas constantly moving through her mind. She introduces herself to me and to the crew involved in the project. Then, without much ceremony, she walks straight to a whiteboard and begins giving algebraic form to her thoughts. She discusses technical details with the wind-tunnel technician, her engineers, and her mechanics. 

Seka Bikes has commissioned her to help develop their next time-trial bike. I try to conceal my excitement as I witness moments that feel far removed from anything ordinary. The sessions are about to begin: gathering the data required for the bike’s aerodynamic development. The schedule consists of countless short efforts, each lasting two or three minutes, followed by continuous adjustments and refinements. Eight hours of relentless work. No breaks. 

I’ve always been fascinated by work: physical work, certainly, but above all mental work. I’m fascinated by the power of the mind and its ability to drive an athlete toward their goals. The ability to transform a pastime into a profession, and a profession into a necessity. An obsession capable of producing something extraordinary. From my very first conversation with Vittoria, I could sense that immense inner strength. Multiple world records are never achieved by accident. 

Following her through a project like this, during one chapter of a sporting career that has been both extraordinary and unconventional, was profoundly inspiring. Accompanying her into the wind tunnel in pursuit of engineering perfection, then witnessing the practical application of that work, gave me a complete understanding of her achievements, and of everything that shaped them through study, preparation, and training.

Watching her ride from morning until evening at the velodrome in Aigle, Switzerland, for four consecutive days, revealed a level of determination that is rare to encounter. Listening to the sound of her breathing as she flew past me on the track is an experience that is difficult to describe in words. The same can be said for the countless hours spent refining details measured in mere millimeters, repeating experiments, or filling pages with formulas. For all these reasons, I am genuinely grateful and honored to have been able to bring my lens into her world and her story.”