Clara's Gravel Blog: "My First Real Altitude Training Camp"
Three weeks at 2000 metres. 18 days on the bike, 55 hours of riding, 1,800 kilometres, 31,400 metres of climbing and eight hours of strength training. One cold, one sunburn, a few thunderstorms, a lot of good food – and probably more time to myself than I have had in a very long time.
When I headed to the Alps for my altitude camp, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what to expect. Altitude training wasn't completely new territory for me. I had already spent time sleeping in hotels with simulated altitude, so I knew what it felt like when your body must work a little harder at night to get enough oxygen.
But living, training and recovering at around 2000 meters for three weeks is a very different experience. The altitude isn't just there while you're sleeping. You feel it when you get up in the morning, when you walk around, when you train and, occasionally, when a climb that would normally feel perfectly manageable suddenly seems to have developed a personal grudge against you.
I arrived with my road bike, my gravel bike and a clear training plan in my head – and probably a little more motivation than common sense in my suitcase.
Looking back, I learned a lot about altitude training, even more about recovery, and something that, as a sports scientist and professional athlete, I probably already knew but occasionally choose to ignore:
Sometimes it is not particularly clever to try to prove to yourself how fit you are.
The numbers look good. The average speed didn't.
By the end of the camp, I had spent 18 days on the bike, accumulating around 55 hours, 1,800 kilometres and 31,400 metres of climbing, plus roughly eight hours of strength training.
On paper, that looks like a substantial training block. And it was.
But the numbers don't tell the whole story
1,800 kilometres in the Alps are not the same as 1,800 kilometres somewhere flat with a tailwind and an average speed that makes your Wahoo feel proud of you.
The climbs are long, the descents can be technical, the roads can be busy, and the altitude adds another layer of physiological stress. As a result, the average speed can look surprisingly modest despite a very demanding training load.
I had to adjust to this mentally.
I know perfectly well that power output and maximal aerobic performance can drop at altitude because of lower oxygen availability. I also know that heart rate can be elevated for a given workload, particularly during the initial acclimatisation period.
Knowing that scientifically and accepting it emotionally are, however, two slightly different things.
There were moments when I looked at my bike computer and thought:
Surely that cannot be right.
But it was.
And that was one of the first lessons of the camp: you cannot judge an altitude session by average speed alone. Power, heart rate, elevation gain, duration and perceived exertion all must be considered together.
Mistake number one: I wanted to get started straight away
My first big mistake was predictable.
I was motivated. Very motivated. I'm a little too motivated.
I arrived, saw the mountains, saw my bike and thought: Three weeks here—time to train.
My body apparently had a different opinion.
After the first few days, I came down with a cold and had to take three full days off not exactly how I had planned the opening chapter of my altitude camp.
As a sports scientist, I knew that the first days at altitude should be approached carefully. The body is suddenly exposed to lower oxygen availability and must adjust its ventilatory, cardiovascular and metabolic responses. Exercise can therefore feel harder than it does at sea level, even at relatively moderate intensities.
Apparently, knowing this academically was not quite enough to stop me from learning it personally.
After the three forced rest days, I restarted much more cautiously. Looking back, that was exactly what I needed.
The first days of an altitude camp are not the time to prove how much training you can survive. They are the time to give your body a chance to adapt.
I was worried I would get bored
Another thing I was slightly worried about before heading to an altitude camo was that I might get bored of cycling.
It sounds almost ridiculous. I had three weeks in a beautiful place, with mountains in every direction and both a road bike and a gravel bike. But I knew that, realistically, I would end up riding many of the same roads more than once.
The gravel bike became my little escape whenever I wanted exactly that – adventure. I could head out without a specific plan, take a different turn, explore a gravel road I hadn't ridden before, and simply see where it would take me. It felt completely different from structured road-bike training and became a wonderful way to escape the busier roads.
After about twelve days, something changed
After roughly twelve days, I had the feeling that I had finally adapted to the altitude. I noticed it particularly in my breathing. During the first few days, breathing under load had felt unfamiliar, as though I constantly needed just a little more effort to maintain the same rhythm.
Then, gradually, it became easier.
I felt much more comfortable breathing at altitude, and I no longer had the same sensation of constantly fighting against the environment.
That experience fits quite well with what we know about altitude acclimatisation. Over the first one to two weeks, endurance athletes undergo a range of physiological adaptations, including changes in ventilatory control and cardiovascular responses. Haematological adaptations can also occur with sufficient exposure, although the magnitude and time course vary considerably between individuals.
And that last part is important.
There is no magical day on which your body suddenly says, Congratulations, you are now acclimatised.
It is a gradual process.
For me, though, around day twelve was when I genuinely noticed a difference.
And it wasn't just physical.
Mentally, I had also become completely settled. I had found my routines, and I realised how much I enjoyed having so much quiet in my day.
The quiet was almost as valuable as the training
One of my favourite routines was getting up early and going for a 30-minute walk through the forest before the day really started. Sometimes I saw deer. I heard cowbells and, every now and then, a marmot somewhere in the distance.
There really wasn't much else.
And it was amazing how quickly my mind started to slow down when the only sounds around me were coming from the forest, the mountains and the animals rather than from emails, messages and endless to-do lists.
There is something incredibly calming about that kind of environment. You don't necessarily have to actively “switch off”. You simply stop being switched on all the time.
The sauna became another little ritual, especially on those afternoons when the weather suddenly changed.
Because, as you quickly learn in the Alps, the weather has a sense of humour.
One day it was bright sunshine and hot enough for a sunburn.
The next day: four degrees, heavy rain and thunderstorms.
Instead of complaining about the weather, I eventually found myself sitting in the panoramic sauna, watching the storm roll across the mountains.
Suddenly, a thunderstorm wasn't a problem anymore.
It was entertainment.
The mountains change the way you train
Another thing I found fascinating was that I didn't feel the need to train at maximum intensity all the time to create a significant training stimulus.
The sheer amount of climbing already creates a huge amount of work.
During the first two training blocks, I deliberately did less high-intensity work than I normally would at sea level. The hardest sessions were mainly FTP-level intervals, which were still very painful.
The short, max. effort 40/20 intervals came only in the final block.
And those felt completely different.
Even before that, however, I never had the feeling that my body wasn't being challenged.
When you spend hours climbing, accumulate large amounts of elevation gain and do all of that while your body is adapting to altitude, the overall stress is already very high.
That was another important lesson for me: the training load of an altitude camp shouldn't be judged only by how many maximal intervals you complete.
The entire system matters – training duration, elevation gain, intensity, altitude, sleep, nutrition and recovery all interact.
Why strength training belongs in a cycling training camp
Alongside the 55 hours on the bike, I completed around eight hours of strength training.
For me, that was not an optional extra. It was an important part of the training block.
Cycling is obviously an endurance sport, but being a good cyclist is not simply about having a large aerobic engine. We also need to be able to produce force, maintain muscle mass and strength, and recruit that musculature effectively when the race becomes hard.
This becomes particularly relevant during a high-volume training camp.
If you're spending many hours on the bike, the body receives an enormous amount of endurance stimulus. Maintaining adequate energy and protein intake, together with an appropriate mechanical stimulus from strength training, helps support the maintenance of muscle mass and strength.
Altitude itself should not be blamed for automatically causing major muscle loss at 1,800 metres – the evidence is much more nuanced than that. However, prolonged hypoxic exposure can affect appetite, energy balance and protein turnover, and the situation becomes more relevant when altitude is combined with a very high training load and insufficient energy intake.
That is why strength training was important for me during that altitude camp.
It provides a targeted mechanical stimulus, helps maintain strength and muscle mass and supports the neuromuscular qualities I need for cycling.
Fuel the training, not just the ego
Nutrition was another area I paid particular attention to during the three weeks.
With a body weight of around 55–60 kg, I aimed for roughly 1.6–2.0 g of protein per kilogram of body weight per day, which corresponds to approximately 90–120 g of protein per day.
The exact requirement depends on training load, energy availability and the individual athlete. Around 1.6 g/kg/day is already well supported for athletes aiming to optimise muscle adaptation and maintenance, while higher intakes can be useful during particularly demanding training periods or when energy availability is limited.
But protein is only one part of the equation.
You cannot simply eat enormous amounts of protein and expect that to compensate for not eating enough overall. With 55 hours of cycling, adequate total energy intake and sufficient carbohydrate availability were just as important.
So, I tried to fuel the training properly, eat enough, prioritise good-quality food and give my body what it needed to recover.
And yes, I had a small dessert every evening.
I am a sports scientist, after all.
I know that recovery is important.
Including mental recovery.
Iron: important, but not something to supplement blindly
Iron is another factor worth considering when spending extended time at altitude.
Adequate iron availability is important for the body's response to hypoxia, particularly because iron is involved in processes related to red blood cell production and oxygen transport.
But that does not mean that everyone going to altitude should simply start taking iron supplements.
For me, the sensible approach is to know your iron status before a longer altitude camp and discuss supplementation with a doctor or sports physician if necessary.
As a professional athlete, I don't want to take supplements simply because someone somewhere said they are “important at altitude”. I want to know whether I actually need them.
More is not automatically better.
Hydration: drink more than you think
Hydration was another thing I became increasingly conscious of.
At altitude, ventilation increases and the dry mountain air can contribute to greater respiratory fluid losses. Add several hours of cycling and sweating on top of that, and it becomes quite easy to underestimate how much fluid you're losing.
So, hydration needs to be planned rather than treated as an afterthought.
The weather: the Alps have their own sense of humour
If I had to give one practical piece of advice to anyone heading for an altitude camp in the Alps, it would be simple: Pack for everything!
Sunscreen, rain jacket, warm layers, gloves, gilet – all of it.
Mountain weather can change incredibly quickly.
One day I was riding in brilliant sunshine and ended up with a rather impressive sunburn.
The next day I was standing in four degrees, heavy rain and thunderstorms.
The lesson was simple: an altitude training camp is not a summer holiday.
Even if your Instagram feed occasionally makes it look like one.
Gearing and lights: two small things that matter
Climbs in the Alps are long, hard and can be very steep. I would much rather have one gear too easy than one gear too hard.
A climb that looks perfectly harmless on paper can suddenly contain a section where you start wondering who approved the road gradient in the first place.
Especially in an altitude camp, I don't want every climb to turn into an unnecessary strength test. The goal is to train well, not to prove that my smallest cassette cog is merely decorative.
The other thing I would strongly recommend is using front and rear lights, even during the day.
Motorcycles, cars, tunnels, narrow roads and changing light conditions are all part of cycling in the mountains.
Being visible isn't just about seeing where you're going. It is also about making sure other road users see you.
For me, front and rear lights are now simply part of the standard equipment.
And then there were those rides
For all the science, training load and recovery strategies, it is important not to forget the obvious:
It’s beautiful out there!
There were days with perfect weather when I was riding my road bike and thought:
This might be one of the best offices in the world.
And then there was the gravel bike, which gave me a completely different experience.
Getting away from the main roads, discovering new trails and simply following a route because it looked interesting made some of those rides feel less like training and more like exploring.
That contrast worked perfectly for me.
The road bike gave me structure, comparison and focus.
The gravel bike gave me freedom.
And somehow, having both made three weeks of cycling feel much more varied than I had expected.
The final block got properly spicy
Only during the final training block did I really bring back the short, maximum efforts.
The 40/20 intervals were all-out, and they felt exactly as unpleasant as they are supposed to.
It was a completely different sensation compared with the longer FTP-level intervals I had been doing previously.
But that was also the point.
I wanted to give my body time to adapt before adding those highly demanding, race-specific efforts.
And now I am curious to see what happens once I am back at sea level.
Did it actually work?
This is probably the question I am asking myself most now.
I spent three weeks training above 2000 metres, gave my body a substantial endurance stimulus and allowed it time to adapt. After roughly twelve days, I could clearly feel that the breathing had become easier and that I had become much more comfortable at altitude.
At the same time, I deliberately did less high-intensity, race-specific work than I normally would at sea level, with the hard 40/20 efforts only coming towards the end.
So, I would not be surprised if I don't immediately feel incredibly sharp when I return.
I might even be missing a little bit of that explosive race feeling – the ability to go very deep for a few seconds, recover quickly and do it again.
And that's okay.
I don't expect to come home, clip into my pedals and suddenly destroy everyone in the sprint simply because I spent three weeks at altitude.
The real question is what happens over the following weeks.
Can I turn the adaptations from this training block into better performance?
Will the aerobic benefits show up?
How quickly will my race-specific sharpness return?
That is the part I am really looking forward to finding out.
So, did it make me faster?
Honestly?
I don't know yet.
And I think that's an important part of being honest about altitude training.
There are clear physiological adaptations to living and training at altitude. Ventilatory responses change, the body adapts to the lower oxygen availability and, depending on the altitude, duration and individual response, haematological adaptations can also occur.
But translating those adaptations into better performance at sea level is not as simple as the equation “more altitude = more performance”.
Individual responses vary, and the effectiveness of altitude training depends on how the entire training process is managed.
I don't want to claim that an altitude camp has magically made me faster.
I hope it has.
I think it has given me a really strong training stimulus.
But ultimately, the races will tell me.
What I already know it gave me
Regardless of what eventually happens to my power numbers and race results, I know that these three weeks did me an enormous amount of good.
Before, I had realised that I was getting close to my limits, both mentally and physically. The time around the Tour de France as a commentator, my own training, racing, travelling and constantly moving between different commitments had gradually added up.
I was coping.
But I was also tired.
Then suddenly I had 21 days in one place.
No travelling, no packing, no grocery shopping, no household chores, no appointments and no need to constantly organise the next thing.
Just me, training, food and recovery.
And I realised how much I had needed that simplicity.
There was something incredibly calming about having the same rhythm every day. I could train, eat, recover, stretch, go to the gym, sit in the sauna and go to bed without feeling like there was another ten-item to-do list waiting for me.
The mountains, the silence and the simplicity created a kind of calm that I hadn't realised I was missing.
And now I am ready for the chaos again
As much as I loved the quiet, I am genuinely looking forward to getting back to normal life as a professional racer.
I am looking forward to my Team mates, to Jan, to the other gravel riders and to that very particular atmosphere that builds up before a race.
The nerves. The anticipation. Those final minutes before the start when you are trying to figure out whether your legs feel good or whether they have decided to keep their opinion to themselves.
And then the moment the race starts and there is no time left to overthink anything.
I am looking forward to being uncomfortable again, to pushing myself to the limit and, occasionally, a little bit beyond it.
What I am taking home from this camp:
If I had to reduce the whole experience to one lesson, it would be that altitude training is not about doing more simply because you are at altitude. It is about understanding that the environment itself is already adding another layer of stress and giving your body enough time, energy and recovery to adapt.
I would approach the first few days more cautiously next time, pay even more attention to resting heart rate, HRV, sleep and how I actually feel, check my iron status before a longer altitude block, stay on top of hydration and nutrition, and make sure my equipment is ready for everything the mountains can throw at me.
After three weeks, I came for the altitude and the training, but I am leaving with something I didn't quite expect: stronger legs, a quieter head, and an appreciation for mountains, sauna and dessert.
Whether I also got faster…
Well, the races will have the final word.
