Fit for cycling – what I’ve learnt by getting almost everything wrong

Cover photo: Salzkammergut Trophy / Erwin Haiden

My first major goal was the E-route of the Salzkammergut Trophy, covering 54 kilometres with around 1,700 metres of elevation gain. It was a real challenge for me back then; I didn’t know if I’d be able to manage it at all. My motto was simple: taking part is everything. Just get through it. No matter what.

I started training more regularly – three times a week. Not perfect, not particularly sensible, but consistent. I cycled even when the weather wasn’t ideal, and slowly learnt to understand my body a little better. I realised when I wasn’t feeling my best, when I still had reserves left, and when I was pushing myself too hard.

Race day itself was something special. The weather was lovely. Over 900 runners on my course. At the start and all along the route, there were countless people cheering everyone on, whether they were at the front or far behind. That atmosphere carries you through the whole race. It gives you energy, even when you’re already tired.

Crossing the finish line was emotional. I’d done it. I was drained, exhausted – and at the same time incredibly proud. On the verge of tears. At that moment, for the first time, I consciously thought: ‘If you can do this, then you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for.’ It was clear to me: this wouldn’t be my last marathon.

The following winter, I fell into the classic trap: more is better. I went on lots of ski tours, often pushing myself to the limit, constantly on the move. Hardly any proper rest days. Hardly any deliberate recovery. I felt I was working hard and was convinced that I was building the perfect foundation for the summer.

The reality was quite different. I was constantly ill that winter. One cold after another. My immune system was constantly under strain. The infamous ‘open-window effect’ reared its head. No sooner had I got back to being halfway fit than the next infection struck. In the summer, my performance stagnated – despite my enormous effort in the winter, I made no progress.

Through conversations with experienced cyclists and professionals, I began to understand what I’d been missing: building a solid foundation, patience and, above all, recovery. Not constantly going flat out, but structure.

In winter, relaxing rides at a low heart rate. Exercise, yes, but not constantly pushing myself to the limit. Alongside this, targeted training at the gym, not just for the legs, but also for the core and back. Stability rather than pure strength.

Then, in spring, long, relaxed sessions on the road bike I’d bought. Hours in the saddle, almost always on flat terrain as far as Lake Chiemsee, sometimes all the way round and back again without wearing myself out. Building up rather than burning myself out. The focus was no longer purely on climbing, but on balance. Around two-thirds gentle endurance riding, one-third targeted intensity on the mountain bike. Long rides where you could hold a conversation. Short, clearly defined bursts of intensity and deliberate recovery.

The effect wasn’t immediate. And that, perhaps, was the most important lesson. It took months. At times, it felt as though nothing was happening. But gradually I became more stable. More consistent. More resilient. I now approached long mountain bike rides with great composure, although I still made mistakes, particularly when it came to hydration and energy intake during the ride.

Every year, I managed to improve slightly at the Salzkammergut Trophy. The race suddenly felt manageable. I had reserves. I could pace myself. I could now enjoy it – rather than just trying to survive.

One point is particularly important to me here, especially for beginners: I only started mountain biking in earnest at the age of 48. Before that, I was always on the move, did sport and enjoyed being outdoors – but never in a really structured or consistent way. I wasn’t a classic endurance athlete, I wasn’t naturally gifted, and I wasn’t a ‘natural runner’. I had to work my way up step by step.

Perhaps that’s exactly what taught me to be more patient with myself. Today I know: Progress doesn’t come from sheer grit alone, but from a clever balance between exertion and recovery. From realistic goals. From the joy of being active. And from the willingness not to see setbacks as defeats, but as part of the journey.

That’s exactly why I’m writing this post. Because I want to show that it’s never too late to start – and that you don’t have to be perfect to get better.

Cycling, whether on a mountain bike, road bike or gravel bike, is one of the most versatile sports there is. It is gentle on the joints, builds stamina and is mentally liberating. It combines nature, exercise and personal development. And it forgives mistakes – if you’re willing to listen.

At the start, I rode almost every ride in the same way: not relaxed, not pushing myself to the limit, somewhere in between. It felt like a training session. In reality, it was usually just exhausting – and not very effective.

It was only when I started to consciously differentiate between the levels of effort that my training improved. For beginners, four simple categories are enough:

At this level, you should be able to hold a conversation without any difficulty. Your breathing is steady and you have plenty of energy to spare. This zone corresponds to approximately 60–75 per cent of your maximum heart rate.
You can roughly estimate your maximum heart rate using the formula 220 minus your age. For example, if you’re 40, your maximum heart rate is theoretically around 180 (a fitness test carried out by a doctor can determine this more accurately).

In this zone, you build up your base fitness. Your body learns to use energy efficiently and to keep going for longer. It’s unspectacular – but crucial.

Here, it starts to feel noticeably more strenuous. You can only hold a conversation in short sentences. Around 75–85 per cent of your maximum heart rate.
You become more efficient, steadier and more resilient. Ideal for longer climbs or sections where you need to pick up the pace.

Now it’s getting tough. You’re breathing heavily; it’s almost impossible to speak. Around 85–90 per cent of your maximum heart rate.
This zone is useful – but only when used strategically. If you ride at this intensity all the time, you’ll build up fatigue rather than make progress.

Short, intense bursts of exercise at over 90 per cent of your maximum heart rate – always with deliberate breaks.
This is where you create strong stimuli for speed and performance. But only if you have built up a solid foundation and start out well-rested.

A good sports watch with a heart rate monitor – whether built into the wrist or, more accurately, with a chest strap – can be a huge help when you’re starting out. Not to drive you mad, but to help you get a feel for your pace. Many people instinctively cycle too fast. The watch shows you when you’re really taking it easy.

Over time, you’ll need it less and less. By then, you’ll know for yourself what your ‘base pace’ feels like.

What I’ve learnt:
Most of your training time should be spent in the GA1 zone.
A portion at a brisk pace (GA2).
Only a little really hard (GA3 and interval training).
And don’t train every day; make a point of building in recovery – that’s an essential part of your training.