The purity of numbers: why I love inner training by David Desjardins

There is something beautiful and simple about a screen that shows me the day's training program. A table with columns rising along a line of watts following the line of time.

30 seconds at 130%

3m @ 90%

45 seconds at 50%

No cheating on my weight (hello to all the liars on Zwift... which is pretty much everyone), no fuss. Just sweat and watts.

I am driven by a conviction that is confirmed in the spring: each successful step brings me closer to a summer where I will perform better.

It's the principle of delayed gratification. You pay now to reap the benefits later. It takes patience. But that patience pays off.

I also love the idea that you can assess your progress throughout the winter season. Because numbers don't lie. Because even if the seconds seem to stretch out unbearably slowly in a 5-minute test, time is a constant, and the result obtained during that period is a measure of my strength at that moment. Like a snapshot of my fitness on a given day.

Some people balk at this type of work. I see it as a tool. A lever that will allow me to go faster on the road or on the trails. And speed is an exhilarating pleasure that I must maintain.

I also do fat biking and a lot of skiing. Even a little running. I work on long activities and that way I stay in touch with the outside world and the many sensations that delight me when I'm in nature, even in the cold. But the quality of the effort I put in on the roller sharpens me and confronts me with my strengths and weaknesses in a very specific way.

It mimics what I can do outside on my bike.

And I work on my weak points there.

Are my VO2 max and anaerobic abilities declining with age? So I'm taking this opportunity to get back up to speed after a summer of riding haphazardly, depending on my mood and that of my cycling friends.

I also like the Spartan aspect of it. I train my mind as much as my body to endure the minutes of pain when every cell in my body tells me to stop. I learn not to give in to panic, even when I feel like I'm in a diving suit whose glass seems about to crack under the pressure. Six thousand leagues under seas of suffering.

My progress is personal: by lining up photos of my fitness over the months, I know what I'm worth and what it takes to achieve my goals.

I find it pure and beautiful. It's like a perfectly designed Excel spreadsheet, or a concise but crystal-clear sentence: it speaks for itself. The message is clear. Am I in good shape, or not? Am I making progress, or am I stagnating?

Skills are built up and years of effort accumulate. I learn to know my limits and push them back. And if I fail one day, I start again the next.

They say that things that are valuable and make us fundamentally happy sometimes require us to go through difficult times. I couldn't agree more. Because even if I don't always feel like working hard on the treadmill, once I'm done, I never regret putting in the effort to get closer to the goals I've set for myself.