Last week, I climbed Jebel Jais — the UAE’s highest peak — for the very first time. I carried myself up 1,450+ metres of climbing gear fueled not by kale smoothies or beetroot lattes, but by Haribos, Snickers bars, a Coca-Cola surprise mid-ride, and fruit-salad-flavoured carb gels. Pure adolescent rebellion meets aerodynamic knicks. Efficiency disguised as sugar coma.

Surprisingly, I didn’t find the climb physically brutal. I held a mild Zone 3, felt confident, no fatigue. The legs ticked over, the lungs whispered rather than roared. It was… almost easy. But — and this is the kicker — it was so damn long and boring. Hour after hour of the same gradient, the same cadence, the same internal monologue: Why are we doing this? The brain asked every pedal stroke. The altitude didn’t hurt; the monotony did.

And that made me realise: there is no growth without suffering. In the world of endurance sport, climbing mountains isn’t just about elevation. It is about ego, mind, body, time, silence. It is about crossing mental borders, punching your brain’s exit button, discovering that you are stronger than you thought when you are bored, when you are steady, when the gradient doesn’t kill you but time does.

When you climb, you stare at two things: the road ahead and yourself. The wheels turn, the landscape shifts slowly, and you ask yourself simple questions: Are you paying attention? Are you present? Are you stronger than your fear of descent? The gradient is mild, yes — but the hours stretch, the scenery changes slowly, your mind wanders. That is where the real work happens.

Scientifically, mountain stages in cycling kick your physiology into a different gear. Studies show that long climbs improve mitochondrial volume, capillary density and aerobic threshold — key elements for endurance optimisation. The extended duration at moderate intensity (often 60–70 % of Vo₂ max) stimulates Type I muscle fibres and promotes metabolic efficiency, so when you think you are “just riding,” you are actually rewiring your body. A paper in the Journal of Applied Physiology found that low-intensity long-duration work increased fat oxidation and improved endurance performance more than short high-intensity efforts when the total volume was equal.

But science alone doesn’t explain why we do it. The emotional logic is simpler: we climb so we can descend. We climb so we can prove we didn’t quit. We climb so we can show our brain that pain is manageable, that monotony is conquerable, that time doesn't always atrophy ambition.

There is a contract your body signs when you commit to a climb: I will ascend, you will keep ascending. But there is another contract — signed by your mind: Why are we doing this? Somewhere around hour two on Jebel Jais, I wasn’t tired — just bored. My legs kept turning, heart rate steady, mind restless. I caught myself thinking, Is this punishment or pilgrimage? Because physically I was fine; mentally, I was begging for a plot twist. The mind whispered let’s turn back. The body said keep pedalling. I sided with the body.

For endurance athletes — cyclists, Ironman triathletes, ultra-runners — the real race is not against others. It is against the gates in your own brain that say “Stop, this is enough.” The mountain forces you to wage that war quietly. There are no shortcuts. You can’t sprint your way to the top (well, you could, but your heart will fire you for it later). You have to pace, persist, endure. That is where growth hides.

Yes — there is joy. My summit moment wasn’t a bubble of euphoria; it was a quiet exhale. The 360° view from the top of Jebel Jais, the Gulf sun dropping, the wind whispering, and me standing in Lycra thinking: I actually did it. The joy was subtle because the effort was subtle. It wasn’t agony; it was an achievement. Achievement in persistence.

There is psychological research around “eudaimonic well-being” — the satisfaction that comes from using your highest potentials, not just from feeling good. A climb like this delivers eudaimonia, not hedonia. It is the difference between a Netflix binge and finishing a novel you didn’t know you had in you.

In a world where we optimise everything — sleep, calories, steps, HRV — the mountain remains analogue. No algorithm benchmarks boredom. No app tracks mental resilience in the long hours. That is why we need them.

Here is what a mountain gives you:

For people outside sport: treat your mountain like a metaphor. A hard project, a creative block, a relationship you rebuild. You climb, not because it is fun, but because you will arrive changed.

So what did I learn?

So next time you ask yourself — Why climb mountains when the flat is faster, easier, more social? — remind yourself: Flat is comfortable. Mountains deliver revelation.

I will pedal again. I will climb again. Because in the long hours, I find the me I forget in the sprints.