Cycling is a passion, a lifestyle, and for many, an identity. But what happens when the very heart that fuels this passion falters? It’s a question no cyclist wants to face, yet it’s one that’s all too real. Heart problems can strike anyone, regardless of fitness level or experience, and the consequences can be life-altering. But here’s where it gets controversial: while cycling is often touted as a heart-healthy activity, could it sometimes push the heart to its limits in ways we don’t fully understand?
It’s supposed to be challenging—the burn in your legs, the rush of adrenaline, the satisfaction of pushing through pain. That’s part of the allure. But what if the pain feels different? What if it’s not the familiar ache of effort but something foreign, unsettling? That’s when alarm bells should ring. Take my experience, for instance. During one of my first track sessions of the year, I could barely push 150W, yet it felt like my chest was under siege. Something was undeniably wrong.
The heart is the unsung hero of every cyclist’s journey. It pumps oxygen to our muscles, keeps us moving, and sustains our endurance. Yet, when it falters, so do we. And this is the part most people miss: heart issues in cycling aren’t just a rarity—they’re a recurring theme, often with devastating consequences. From the tragic death of 21-year-old Michael Goolaerts during the 2018 Paris-Roubaix to Sonny Colbrelli’s career-ending collapse in 2022, these stories are a stark reminder of the sport’s risks. Even Nathan van Hooydonck’s sudden cardiac arrest while driving his wife serves as a sobering example of how quickly life can change.
Last year, British rider Anna Shackley’s promising career was cut short by arrhythmia, a condition where the heart’s electrical signals misfire. While her case was serious, it’s important to note that many heart issues are treatable. But what happens when they’re not? Is cycling pushing some athletes beyond their heart’s limits? It’s a question worth exploring, especially as more cases emerge.
For many, cycling isn’t just a hobby—it’s a source of identity. When that’s taken away, the loss can be profound. Van Hooydonck’s words after his accident are haunting: ‘I really had this feeling that my life was over.’ Similarly, Shackley’s devastation was palpable: ‘Cycling has been my entire life… and it has come to a premature ending.’ These stories highlight the emotional toll of losing something so integral to one’s sense of self.
Take Ryan Short, a 35-year-old amateur cyclist from Washington State. During a race, he experienced a terrifying sensation—like a fish flopping in his chest. It wasn’t the familiar fatigue of a hard ride but something entirely different. Despite his concerns, doctors initially dismissed his symptoms due to his age and fitness. It wasn’t until later that he was diagnosed with supraventricular tachycardia, a condition where the heart beats abnormally fast. Even then, treatment wasn’t straightforward. Like Shackley, he underwent a catheter ablation procedure, but it failed to resolve his arrhythmia. Is the medical community fully equipped to handle these cases, or are cyclists being let down by the system?
My own journey with heart issues began with what I thought was long Covid. I brushed off the symptoms, attributing them to fatigue or a rushed return to riding. But as the discomfort persisted, I finally sought medical advice. After a series of tests, including a CT scan with a dye that left me feeling like I’d wet myself, the verdict was in: a 50-70% blockage in my left anterior descending artery. Happy 40th birthday to me—I had heart disease.
The diagnosis was a wake-up call. Medication became my new normal, and riding was off the table. ‘Nothing fun,’ my specialist instructed. It was a crushing blow. Cycling wasn’t just exercise; it was my escape, my community, my identity. But here’s the real question: How do we balance our passion for cycling with the very real risks it may pose to our hearts?
Months of waiting, medication, and uncertainty followed. I volunteered at track leagues, spectated races, and even defied doctor’s orders for a 40k gravel ride—anything to feel connected to the sport I loved. Finally, an angiogram revealed that the blockage wasn’t as severe as initially thought, and I was given tentative approval to ride again. But the experience left me changed. I’m more aware of my fragility, more grateful for every ride, and more determined to listen to my body.
Van Hooydonck’s story offers a powerful lesson: ‘If I stay in bed every day and don’t make something happen, nobody else will.’ It’s a reminder that while we may lose our ability to ride as we once did, we don’t have to lose ourselves. But is the cycling community doing enough to support athletes facing these challenges?
As I returned to the track, my endurance was shot, but my spirit was intact. The pain of riding hard felt right again—a reminder of why I love this sport. Yet, I can’t shake the question: Are we doing enough to protect cyclists’ hearts? And if not, what needs to change? What’s your take? Should cyclists be more vigilant about heart health, or is the risk just part of the sport? Let’s start the conversation—because every heartbeat matters.
