Let me be honest about where I started: a maximum sustainable power output that I will not publish here, a resting heart rate that suggested I was at least mildly unfit, and a deep uncertainty about whether I had made a terrible mistake by booking eight days in the French Alps as my re-entry into cycling. The short answer is: I had not. The longer answer is below.
The First Three Months: Building a Base
I started with a simple programme: three rides a week, none longer than 90 minutes, all at conversational pace. This felt embarrassingly easy for about three weeks, at which point my legs started to notice that I was asking them to do something every other day, and they began to have opinions about it. I bought a turbo trainer for the winter months. I downloaded Zwift. I rode up virtual versions of climbs I had booked in real life, which was either excellent preparation or psychological torture — possibly both.
"By month four, something had shifted. I was not fast, but I was consistent. I could ride for three hours without feeling broken afterwards. My climbing pace, while not threatening any KOMs, was at least sustainable rather than survivable."
The Purple Velo team were useful here in a way I had not anticipated. I emailed them two months before departure asking what fitness level I needed and got back a thoughtful, honest response: "You need to be able to ride 60km with 1,500m of climbing comfortably. Not fast. Comfortable." That became my benchmark, and I hit it with about three weeks to spare.
The Reality of the Alps: Day One
Day one of the actual trip was 72 kilometres with 1,800 metres of climbing. I will not pretend it was comfortable. The second climb of the day — a 9-kilometre ascent to a col I had never heard of — nearly defeated me somewhere around the five-kilometre mark. I stopped. I ate a gel. I looked at the valley below and the sky above and I thought: this is why people do this. Then I clipped back in and rode to the top.
By day six I was climbing differently — sitting back, steady cadence, breathing through the effort rather than against it. Whatever those first five days had done to my legs, it was good. I arrived home four kilograms lighter, measurably fitter, and already looking at next year's departure calendar. The couch is still in the garage. The bike is not.