How it started
For years, I didn’t care much about segments. Living in Prague, most of the popular routes are so competitive that getting anywhere near a top 10 seemed out of reach. Then I bought a new mountain bike after decades of road cycling and decided to explore the local forest trails. One day, I uploaded my ride and found myself in the top 10 of a segment I had no idea was there. That tiny badge of validation was thrilling. I thought, maybe if I really try next time, I can even get the KOM.
That’s where it started.
I went back a few days later. A fallen tree blocked the trail mid-ride, but I scrambled over it and still improved my time. A week later, I rode it with a lot of mud on the trail and still managed to be a bit faster. On my fourth attempt, I finally did a clean run I was happy with and claimed 3rd place. It was addictive in the best possible way. Progress! Proof! And you can bet I’ll be back next season to chase that top spot.
When motivation turns into obsession
As I explored more routes and got fitter, the leaderboard became my compass. My new cycling computer even showed segment starts in real time, so I could truly start hunting down segments I thought I had a chance at winning. It felt like a game.
The first warning sign came when I realised I was designing rides purely around segments. It sounds like structured training, intervals with purpose, but it wasn’t. Connecting segments meant every ride contained several all-out efforts, with no real recovery in between. Great for a week or two, disastrous for the long term. After a while, the legs stay heavy, recovery never finishes, and enthusiasm quietly fades.
For someone balancing training with a full-time job, the maths doesn’t work. Constant high-intensity efforts mean fatigue, more frequent colds, and occasional minor injuries. I learned that the hard way. The more I chased those digital trophies, the more breaks from cycling I had to take, and the less I actually rode.
The bigger problem
Beyond the physical fatigue, something else happened. Segment hunting subtly changed my idea of what made a ride good. If there was no segment to aim for, the ride felt flat. If my legs weren’t fresh enough to post a new time, I questioned the point of even going. That’s the real trap, the dopamine trap. The small hits of reward make ordinary rides feel dull by comparison.
Learning to let go (sort of)
Eventually, I decided to tone it down a bit. I didn’t quit Strava, I still enjoy tracking rides and seeing progress, but shifted how I use it. I started riding for different reasons again: to explore new trails, to commute, to ride with my girlfriend and friends. Those rides give me something even if my legs are tired and I go slow. It’s about stories and experiences instead of statistics.
But don’t get me wrong, I’m still chasing segments. The Strava itch still flares up when I spot a segment where I might have a chance. But now I decided to treat it like a mini-race: something to build up to, not a constant habit. When I’m rested, motivated and ready, I go for it, and when I’m not, I find other reasons to ride. Do I still overdo it with segments? Yes, but hopefully less than in the past.
How about you? Have you felt that same pull to turn every ride into a race? Do you plan routes around segments? And how do you stop yourself from letting an app decide when you’re having fun?
