The Morning Pontificator: Why You Are a Pro at Night and an Amateur in the Morning

We have all been there. It is 9:00 PM. You are lying on the sofa, scrolling through Strava or Komoot. You feel fantastic. Motivation is at an all-time high!

You spend an hour crafting the perfect 80km loop. You check the elevation profile, you drag the route to include that scenic climb, and you visualise yourself attacking the segments. You have a PhD in Google Maps Street View. You are ready.

Then the alarm goes off at 7:00 AM.

Suddenly, that 1km section of the route that is "always a bit windy" seems like a massive barrier to cross, and the motivation to do so is, well, lacking. The legs feel a bit heavy. The coffee needs to brew. You look out the window and pontificate.

“Maybe I should go with another route? Just do a recovery spin? Maybe I should rest today and go harder tomorrow?, Maybe, Maybe, Maybe!"

Before you know it, there are more Maybe's spinning in your head than Oasis' Definitely Maybe album sales

Why does this happen? Why is the "Night Before Rider" a Tour de France contender, while the "Morning Rider" is looking for any excuse to stay in the warm?

Start Line Amnesia: The Taz and Van der Poel Effect

But then, a strange thing happens. If we actually make it to an event or a race, the Morning Pontificator vanishes and is replaced by a delusional maniac.

We stand on the start line with a clear plan: "Save the legs. Wait for the first big climb. Do not burn matches early." Then the flag drops.

Before we know it, we have attacked in the neutralised zone with the same force Mathieu van der Poel used to win the Worlds in Glasgow.

The plan evaporates, and we turn into the Tazmanian Devil.

You know the one, a whirling vortex of chaotic energy, attacking the neutralised zone in a cloud of dust and testosterone. We are putting out numbers we wouldn't dream of hitting during our VO2 max intervals on a Tuesday, spinning wildly with zero direction or strategy.

We aren't making the break. We aren't winning. We are just hurting ourselves. But the logic centre of the brain has shut down. We tell ourselves, "Well, my legs hurt now, so I might as well keep pushing" (I spent my entire time as a Junior and well let's be honest also as a senior, using this well thought out tactic). What's the saying... do as I say don't do as I do

We convince ourselves we are having fun, even as our power creates a physiological debt we will never pay back before the finish line.

The Testosterone Trap (The Science Bit)

Why do we swing from hesitation to aggression so quickly?

I know this is a broad sweeping statement. I am not saying this applies to every single male rider... but let's be honest guys, it probably applies to us.

In my experience as a coach, female riders are often far better at sticking to the script. If the programme says "ride at 150 watts for 4 hours," they ride at 150 watts for 4 hours. They are naturally better pacers.

For the men? We have a biological saboteur: Testosterone.

It is a double-edged sword. On one side, testosterone drives Social Dominance and Risk Taking. That is the chemical that whispers, "You can definitely hold 350 watts for an hour" (who cares if all the data in the universe says you can only hold 350watts for 10 minutes, today you are "on it" ). It suppresses fear and inflates confidence, leading to those suicidal attacks in the first 5km of any bike ride, be it, training, riding with mates or racing... testosterone doesn't care!

But here is the kicker: Testosterone suppresses the immune system.

The "Man Flu" isn't a myth; it is evolutionary biology. High levels of testosterone can dampen the immune response. So, while that hormone makes you feel invincible enough to race a tractor, it also leaves you more vulnerable to crashing and burning (and sniffling) afterwards.

Women, on the other hand, generally have more robust immune systems (thanks to Oestrogen). They might not get that same delusional "God Mode" surge on the start line, but they are far more likely to finish the event strong while the guys are in their cave wondering where it all went wrong.

The Bored Ancestor: Why We Need "The Chat"

So, why do we procrastinate in the morning?

We need to understand that the devil on your shoulder isn't just you being lazy. It is an ancient ancestor.

Evolution designed your brain to keep you safe and conserve energy. Thousands of years ago, that voice in your head was designed to make you wonder if it really was a good idea to leave the cave and tackle a Sabre-Toothed Tiger with your bare hands. It was a survival mechanism.

The problem is, in today's society, that ancient ancestor is incredibly bored.

We don't have to worry that to get breakfast in the morning, we could very well become breakfast! The biggest threat we face is usually a passive-aggressive email or an Instagram post of a cat wearing a Christmas jumper. That isn't exactly the threat level our ancestors had to endure.

So, the devil needs a voice. It needs to feel useful. So it tries to sabotage other areas of your life to "protect" you. When you look out the window at a grey sky, your ancient brain screams: "DANGER! Cold air means calorie loss! Stay in the cave!"

How to Implement "The Chat"

This is where the science of Metacognition (thinking about your thinking) comes in. You need to override the ancient hardware with your modern software.

When that voice starts pontificating, acknowledge it. Realise it’s just your bored ancestor trying to save you from a tiger that doesn't exist.

1. Call it out: "I hear you, brain. You're trying to save energy. But we have a fridge full of food, so we won't starve."

   
   

2. Negotiate: "I won't do the full 80km hard. I'll just roll out for 10 minutes and see how I feel." (Spoiler: Once you are out the door, the ancient brain realises there are no tigers, and you will do the full ride).

   
   

3. Trust the Plan: Remember the route you created with your Google Maps PhD. Trust your "Night Before Self."

   
   

So, be patient. Have the chat with your bored ancestor. And save the Van der Poel or Kopecky impression for the final kilometre, not the first.