What Mont Ventoux Taught Me About Leadership…
…(That 25 Years in Corporate Life Didn't)
I got a tattoo this week. Four and a half hours in the chair, and yes, it hurt. But here's the thing - the pain wasn't the point. The story was.
It's Mont Ventoux. The Giant of Provence. The mountain that nearly broke me, and the climb that taught me more about leadership in six hours than I learned in 25 years of corporate life.
I know what you're thinking. Another middle-aged man in lycra waxing lyrical about cycling. And you're right. I am that guy now. But bear with me, because what I learned on that mountain - and what I've spent the past year understanding - is something that every senior leader grappling with complexity, uncertainty, and the weight of expectation needs to hear.
The Climb That Changes You
Mont Ventoux is 21 kilometres of relentless gradient. From BĂ©doin, you climb through forest, then suddenly you're above the tree line and it's just you, the white limestone, and whatever's left in your legs. The temperature swings wildly. The wind is brutal. And there's no hiding from it.
When you're halfway up in 35-degree heat, legs screaming, lungs burning, there's no corporate theatre. No performance management. No carefully crafted image. Just you, the road, and a choice: keep going or quit.
Sound familiar?
If you're a senior leader right now - carrying the weight whilst everyone looks to you for clarity, navigating change you didn't ask for, expected to have answers you're still figuring out - you know exactly what that feels like. The gradient never seems to ease. The summit feels impossibly far away. And everyone's watching to see if you'll make it.
What You Don't Do Alone
Here's what I didn't expect about Ventoux, and here's where the leadership lesson really lands: you don't do it alone.
Even when you're climbing at different paces (and we were - three of us, three completely different rhythms), there's something about being on the same mountain that changes everything. Someone drops back to pace you when you're struggling. Another rider shares their water. The group slows just enough to keep you in it. Not because they have to. Because that's what gets everyone to the top.
And isn't that what we're missing in most leadership teams?
We've created this myth that strong leaders are the ones who power through on their own. Who never show weakness. Who lead from the front with unwavering confidence. But that's not what gets teams up mountains. That's what creates isolation, burnout, and leaders who are too proud to ask for the support they desperately need.
The best climbs - and the best leadership teams - understand something crucial: everyone has a different rhythm. Everyone hits their low point at different moments. And the strength isn't in pretending you're fine when you're not. It's in creating the conditions where people can admit they're struggling, ask for help, and receive it without judgement.
Reading the Road Ahead
On Ventoux, you learn quickly that it's not about one heroic burst of effort. It's about reading the road ahead, managing your energy for the long haul, and understanding when to push and when to conserve.
You look for the bends that give you a moment's shelter from the wind. You spot the gradient changes before they arrive. You learn to pace yourself through the forest knowing the exposed section is coming. You become intimate with the rhythm of your own breathing, your own limits, your own capacity.
This is strategic thinking at its most visceral.
And yet, how often do we encourage our leaders to develop this kind of self-awareness? How often do we give them permission to say "I need to conserve energy here because I know what's coming"? How often do we create environments where reading the conditions and adjusting accordingly is seen as strength rather than weakness?
Most organisations reward the hero who sprints up the mountain and collapses at the top. But what happens when there's another mountain tomorrow? And another the day after that?
Leading From Different Positions
Here's something else cycling teaches you that transforms how you think about leadership: sometimes you need to lead from the front. Sometimes from the middle. And sometimes, the most valuable thing you can do is drop back and support from behind.
On a climb, the strongest rider doesn't always stay at the front. They read the group, sense who's struggling, and position themselves where they're most useful. Sometimes that's setting the pace. Sometimes it's sheltering someone from the wind. Sometimes it's simply being present so people know they're not alone.
What would it look like if we applied this thinking to leadership teams?
Instead of the model where the most senior person always speaks first, always has the answers, always sets the direction... what if we got more comfortable with fluid leadership? Where you read the situation, understand what the team needs, and position yourself accordingly?
I've watched this play out in the leadership development work I do. The breakthroughs don't come when leaders finally have all the answers. They come when leaders get comfortable with not knowing, with asking better questions, with creating space for others to step forward.
The Invisible Emotional Toll
Can we talk honestly about something for a moment?
The thing about big climbs - whether mountains or leadership challenges - is the invisible emotional toll. The doubt that creeps in. The voice that says "maybe I'm not cut out for this." The exhaustion that's not just physical but existential.
You know this feeling. You've probably felt it this week. The sense that everyone's expecting you to be fine, to have it together, to lead with confidence... whilst inside you're questioning everything.
On Ventoux, there were moments I genuinely didn't think I'd make it. Not because my legs gave out (though they wanted to), but because my head was telling me to stop. That the pain wasn't worth it. That I had nothing to prove.
But here's what got me through: I wasn't climbing for me. I was climbing with my mates. We'd planned this together. We'd trained for it. And even though we were at different points on the mountain, we were in it together.
When you're a senior leader, who are you climbing with? Who are your people? Who can you be honest with about the moments you want to quit?
Because here's the uncomfortable truth: if you don't have those people, you're going to burn out. Not maybe. Not eventually. You're going to burn out.
What I'm Building in 2026
This past year, I've been learning that the principles that get riders up mountains are exactly the ones that transform leadership teams. And it's becoming clear to me that there's something powerful in combining the two.
So I'm building something for 2026 that brings coaching and cycling together. Not in a gimmicky way. But in a way that uses the physical challenge, the shared experience, and the metaphor of the mountain to help leaders develop the capabilities they need for the complexity they're facing.
More details to come. But if you're reading this and something's resonating - if you're feeling the weight of leadership right now, if you're questioning your next move, if you're craving space to think with someone who gets it - let's talk.
Sometimes the Summit Isn't the Point
Here's what I've realised since getting this tattoo: it's not really about Ventoux. It's about what Ventoux represents.
It's about choosing the hard thing because it matters. It's about vulnerability and strength coexisting. It's about finding your people and climbing together. It's about understanding that leadership isn't about having all the answers - it's about having the courage to keep going when you don't.
You don't need a mountain to learn these lessons. But you do need to create the space to learn them. To reflect. To get honest about what's working and what isn't. To find your people. To admit when you're struggling. To ask for help.
That's what coaching does at its best. Not fixing what's broken (you're not broken). But creating the conditions where you can handle the complexity, see the road ahead more clearly, and climb with more confidence.
So yes, I'm that middle-aged man in lycra now. But what I bring to leadership development work is this: I understand what it feels like to be completely out of your comfort zone, relying on others whilst they're relying on you, pushing through when everything says stop.
And I know that sometimes the best leadership insights don't come from business school. They come from knowing what it takes to get to the summit.
If you're on a climb right now and you need someone who understands both the strategic view and the human reality of what you're navigating, I'm here.
