And yet… here you are. Riding. Uphill.
And somewhere around kilometre 64, as your heart rate flirts with illegal levels and your sunglasses start sliding off your face, a question emerges from the heat haze:
Why do I ride?
It’s not just a passing thought. It’s a full-blown existential reckoning, brought to you by dehydration, fatigue, and the moment your tire makes a strange hissing noise but you’re too tired to care.
This is that journey. Not just a climb, but a philosophical crawl through every reason, excuse, and delusion that propels us to ride when we could be literally anywhere else. Like the shade. Or a cold bath. Or inside an air-conditioned supermarket pretending to shop while standing in front of the freezer section.
Let’s unpack it, one heatstroke hallucination at a time.
1. Is this suffering… fun?
The first wave of introspection usually begins when your body stops producing sweat and starts producing questions. Namely:
“What if I just lay down right here?”
“How is this better than brunch?”
“If my lungs fall out, do I still count the ride?”
Somewhere deep down, you suspect you’re doing this on purpose. That there’s a twisted joy in the burn, the struggle, the fact that your shadow is literally wobbling from exhaustion.
Fun? No. But meaningful? Maybe. Maybe that’s the same thing.
What if I just lay down right here? © Profimedia
2. What am I running from?
You left home this morning to “clear your head.” But now you’re 70 minutes in, 200 metres up, and your head is filled with screaming and a weird craving for citrus.
So what exactly are you clearing?
Deadlines?
That thing your boss said?
The fact that your life is just an endless cycle of working, pedalling, eating questionable carbs, and Googling “how to make friends as an adult”?
At some point, the ride becomes an emotional cleanse. Like therapy, but with chafing.
3. Is this who I am now?
You remember a time, vaguely, when your weekends involved brunch, museums, or lying horizontally without guilt. Now you wake up at 6:00am to eat oatmeal and put on padded shorts.
You used to have hobbies. Now you have a Wattbike subscription.
Is this adulthood? Is this freedom?
Or are you just cosplaying as someone who “loves hills”?
Don’t worry — the next descent will distract you from this identity crisis. Until the next one.
4. Would I be happier if I just bought a convertible?
Midway through a heatwave hill climb, you may begin comparing the cost-benefit ratio of your hobby to other ways people spend obscene amounts of money chasing joy.
Example:
Road bike: €3,200
Kit: €300
Suffering: ∞
Sense of superiority over people driving to the gym: priceless
Still, as your tires squeak over melting tarmac, it’s hard not to fantasise about wind in your hair, seats that cool your butt, and not having to eat energy gels that taste like regret.
5. Is this ride a metaphor?
The climb, the struggle, the unbearable heat… it starts to feel like something more. Something symbolic.
You’re pushing forward, one crank at a time, even when it hurts. Is this… life? Resilience? Late-stage capitalism?
You tell yourself it’s about grit. Or growth. Or proving to your ex that you can in fact commit to something longer than three months.
You wipe the sweat from your eyes and whisper, “I am the hill.”
6. What if no one sees my Strava?
You check your Garmin again. No signal. Your phone is dead. And suddenly, it hits: What if this ride doesn’t exist digitally?
Did it happen?
Will the suffering be acknowledged?
Will anyone see your heart rate zones and validate your pain?
You spiral briefly until you remember, you can manually upload it later. But the moment has passed, and you question how deep your sense of purpose is if it’s built on kudos.
7. Am I free… or just addicted to suffering in lycra?
Somewhere past kilometre 80, the philosophical haze lifts for a second. You ask yourself plainly:
Do I love cycling?
Or do I love who I am when I cycle?
Or do I just not know what else to do with my body and time anymore?
And then you hit a gust of hot wind and forget everything except the fact that your jersey is now indistinguishable from your skin.
The real reason?
Why do you ride?
You’ll say it’s for fitness. Freedom. Sanity. Community. Adventure.
But if we’re honest?
You ride because there’s magic in it.
Because pain has poetry.
Because no one can find you on a hill except yourself.
And sometimes, because it’s just too hot to think of anything better to do.