When I launched this comeback in mid-July, my instinct was to dig into past data and benchmark my current state against old highs. As my readers will recall from the early posts in “The Art of the Comeback 2025” series, the reality hit hard—I was profoundly out of shape. Those great power numbers from years ago now felt like distant memories, perhaps forever out of reach. The disappointment was real, and it dented my motivation, making me question if the fire could ever fully reignite. My coach Tim Rucker, my wife Mary Lou, my son Alex, and daughter Emmanuelle all advised a shift in perspective: accept that I might not fully recapture those exact past performances and instead ride for the pure joy of it. To me, that sounded like defeat, a concession to time and age that I wasn’t ready to make.
The initial phase brought some encouragement—quick progress in the first two to three weeks, largely from increased blood volume and basic aerobic adaptations as my body remembered the demands of training. But as I transitioned into more structured training sessions, the improvements slowed. Gains became incremental, and doubts crept in: Would I ever ride with real strength and speed again? That plateau phase tested my resolve, echoing the frustrations I’ve shared before about aging, weight gain, and the gap between who I was and who I am now. Every ride felt like a reminder of how far I’d fallen, and it was hard not to dwell on the power numbers that once defined my identity as a cyclist.
Arriving in Tucson for my winter getaway changed the script. This desert oasis, with its endless blue skies, warm temperatures, and cyclist-friendly terrain, has always been a sanctuary. Memories of past camps and rides here flood back—those early CTS sessions where I first built the foundation for bigger challenges, the long climbs up Mount Lemmon that taught me patience and pacing, the group rides where I learned to trust my legs and my instincts. This time, I decided to experiment: I removed the power meter from my bike. For the first month, I rode purely for the sake of riding—no metrics, no targets, just the open road and the rhythm of the pedals.
I joined groups of riders around my age two to three times a week—steady, enjoyable packs where the focus was on camaraderie rather than competition. Conversations flowed mid-ride, stories were swapped, and the shared effort made longer days feel easier. Miles and smiles. Kilometers and pleasures.
I also ventured out solo for long rides, with no agenda beyond spending quality time on the bike, soaking in the saguaro-lined landscapes, the warmth of the sun, and the long sight lines across the valley. For the first time in years, cycling felt light, fun, and unpressured. I wasn’t chasing watts or intervals; I was simply moving, breathing, and being present. It was liberating.
Yesterday, curiosity got the better of me. After a month of this joyful, unstructured approach, I wanted to see how it had shaped my fitness. I reinstalled the power meter but covered the power numbers on my Garmin 520 during a Mount Lemmon climb, riding on feel and heart rate alone. I targeted a 30-minute effort at a heart rate range I’d previously sustained for over an hour on the same ascent. Reaching the top, I uncovered the power data and sensed something positive brewing—subtle but undeniable.
Today, I went all in: a full one-hour effort up Lemmon with power visible to test my fitness level. I set a conservative target—10 to 12% above my best one-hour power of 2025, achieved in the competitive heat of the Victoria Gran Fondo. From the start, I felt the goal might be underselling my progress. Riding mostly on feel, I aimed for a steady, sustainable pace rather than obsessing over the numbers on the screen. When I finished the one hour effort and looked at the numbers, I realized I’d shattered that previous 2025 benchmark by 19.5%. It wasn’t an all-out max, but it was far from easy cruising. My one hour power is now above the number I achieved on my first lactate threshold test consisting of an all out 20 minute effort up Cypress Mountain back in July.
No matter how you slice it, this is a major breakthrough. I’m now within striking range of my top 15 one-hour efforts of all time. There’s no question that riding in groups and simply enjoying myself has allowed me to build “time on the bike” which boosted my fitness in profound ways. Coming from the CTS training philosophy I’ve followed for years, I’ve always believed a strong aerobic base is foundational. What they now call Zone 2 training—the low-to-moderate intensity where fat oxidation is near maximal, lactate production stays very low, and the body builds mitochondrial density and endurance—was always there; it just went by different names back then (base training, endurance rides, aerobic development and Tempo). A month of consistent, low-intensity volume —without the stress of constant training and data analysis —has delivered results I didn’t fully anticipate. It reminded me that enjoyment, consistency, and patience can move the needle just as powerfully as structured high-intensity work.
Of course, the familiar refrain lingers: if only I could lose weight, I could be faster on those climbs. That extra weight still nags, a reminder of aging’s unyielding math. But as an older rider on a recent group outing wisely asked, am I ready to upend my lifestyle—diet, intensity, sacrifices—for that? No, not anymore. Balance with family, friends, and life’s other joys takes precedence. The real victory is that I’m riding strong, feeling good, and still improving—without the self-imposed pressure that once defined my cycling.
This update from Tucson reinforces the series’ core theme: comebacks aren’t linear, and sometimes the biggest leaps come from letting go. Joyful, high-volume low intensity riding has quietly rebuilt my aerobic engine in ways I hadn’t expected. With goals for 2026 taking shape—stay tuned—I’m excited to build on this momentum. Thanks for following along; your encouragement keeps me pedaling.