To Race or to Train? (The Modern Training Approach of Vojtěch Hačecký)

Pogačar raced 60 days, Roglič only 52, while the first Grand Tour winner of the season, Bernal, logged 66 race days. On the opposite end of the spectrum stands another record-holder—Italy-born, Poland-adopted Benedetti—who raced more than anyone else last year: 90 days in total, despite the UCI’s official recommendation that a pro rider should not exceed 85 race days per year. So, what’s better: racing or training for the races?Is there even a clear answer?

The shift toward racing less has been happening for several years. But ironically, the UCI calendar stretches across ten months, pulling in the opposite direction. Teams have to manage workloads evenly across their squads—which is a good thing, as long as you don’t have an outlier like Roglič, who simply refuses to race that much.

Whether a rider races more or trains more depends on their approach—and how they think about preparation. Some athletes need dedicated training time to address specific weaknesses. That requires space in the calendar. If you’re racing all the time, you might still improve, but there’s no room to work on limiting factors. Racing becomes a substitute for structured intervals.

The beauty of racing is that you don’t have to overthink training. You can align with your coach on how to approach each race, using some as form builders, others as key targets. But the reason we see fewer race days today is because training is being taken more seriously. The old-school mindset—“just race into shape”—no longer applies.

I remember the days when I’d do over 100 race days a year—combining road and track. It was a path, but it left no time to train. High race volume delivers a high baseline—but the downside is that you stay stuck there. You don’t collapse, but you don’t peak either. You ride fast, but never quite fast enough. That’s one reason why today’s younger generation is thriving: they’ve trained better, more methodically.

Race-day volume also depends on how often a rider gets sick or injured. These days, athletes are closely monitored. Teams require daily wellness questionnaires—how you slept, how long, how you feel, even your weight (though that’s a stressor for many, so often skipped). All of this is to prevent burnout, illness, or injury—none of which serve a team’s investment.

If you race year-round, you’re left with about two months for recovery and base building. Mid-season becomes a blur of travel and racing, with no time to truly train. That’s why high race-volume riders often serve as domestiques, not team leaders. Domestiques get plugged into races constantly—leaders, on the other hand, train more deliberately and race selectively.

Yes, you can prepare through racing, but only if your calendar is well designed. Domestiques rarely get that luxury—they’re always on call. Training one day, then suddenly told, “You’re flying out tomorrow.” That doesn’t happen to leaders. Their peak races are set, and if things don’t go as planned, their schedule is adjusted—everyone else adapts to them.

Can you train through racing? Yes—but races are chaotic. You can't guarantee the specific physiological stimulus you're aiming for. You can’t control intensity like you would in structured intervals.

Take Zdeněk Štybar at last year’s Vuelta. He used it to prepare for Worlds—riding in the grupetto, pulling when needed, and tailoring the effort to his needs. But that only worked because he chose to race that way, with his coach’s guidance. They handpicked a few stages to target. He rested beforehand, then went hard when it mattered. But Štyby hadn’t done a Grand Tour that year. If he had, the cumulative fatigue might have been too much.

A three-week Grand Tour is a massive load. Used wisely, it’s a goldmine of adaptation. Even pros say: stop doing Grand Tours, and your performance drops. You can’t replicate that effect in training. That’s why top riders combine Grand Tours with highly targeted preparation blocks.

Pogačar wins from spring through fall. What he’s really training is his mind. Of course, physiology matters—but winning is still mostly mental. Constant failure chips away at confidence. One bad prep race can spiral into doubt. But the best athletes trust their plan and peak on the big day.

Mentality matters. Training solo for weeks isn’t for everyone. Some riders thrive alone—like Štyby or Uran. Others need race stimuli. Or just an excuse to not be home. Niki Terpstra, for instance, was known for simply riding his training—not really racing or training with focus.

If you have a rider who’s mentally exhausted by solo training, let them race—and build your training plan around the race calendar. Then there are riders like Roglič, who came from ski jumping. His competitive season used to last three months—the rest was preparation. His mind is wired to train.

The advantage of not racing all the time? You can train at altitude. Riders with packed calendars don’t have time for Teide or Sierra Nevada. But altitude is a huge asset—if you can go. The higher your rank in the team, the more freedom you have. Domestiques don’t get a say.

Roglič raced just 52 days last year. He’s one of the few who can handle that. But he’s also taking a risk—he may crash out before peaking. Still, he’s capable of racing at full gas on Day 1.

That’s only possible because he knows his body perfectly. Younger riders don’t have that luxury. If you’re going to skip races and peak in July, your self-knowledge must be elite.

More racing helps you ride the bike better—positioning, tactics, pack movement. Especially for younger riders, racing teaches what the radio can’t. The brain still matters—otherwise, we’d all just ride ergometers and race virtually. But again, don’t overdo it. Older riders don’t need as many race days—but are they willing to train solo for two months straight?

For those with gaps in technique or tactical awareness, racing is vital. It fills holes that training can’t. Teams signing riders for only one season must decide: do we go all-in on one peak race, or do we use this year to teach?

If a rider races less, there’s more time to address physiological or technical limiters—like TT position. It takes time to adapt to the TT bike. High race volumes leave no room for that. You need both: kilometers in aero, but also the race craft.

The ideal scenario? Two or three stage races to sharpen the engine, followed by tunnel work or track sessions to refine movement. Because time trials aren’t just about watts—they’re about minimizing drag with the watts you have.

Let’s flip it: who climbs better—a rider doing intervals with a race number on their back, or one training solo? Depends on mental makeup. Some need the stimulus of racing to push their limits. Others are fine hitting targets in training—no need to test the absolute edge.

Racing, though, teaches the brain to tolerate pain—something few achieve in solo training.

Some riders leave it all out there every race. Others lose in their heads. For them, working with a sports psychologist is key—teaching new strategies for internal dialogue. But even that takes races. You can’t simulate the emotional stakes in training.

Many athletes train better than they race. That’s another place for psychology to step in—decoding stress reactions, building coping strategies. Pain is stress. And if your brain decides it’s too much, performance shuts down.

And if you don’t fix that with targeted work, you’ll reinforce the problem with every disappointing result.

That’s why Pogačar would rather go for the win—even at the cost of overreaching—than coast in anonymity. Meanwhile, some riders finish in the top ten ten times in a season, and nobody remembers them. Why? Was it worse physiology—or did the mind just not let go?