Three weeks of watching the Tour from my sofa led me to one conclusion: Tadej Pogačar isn’t just a great cyclist. He’s becoming wise.

The Slovenian cyclist Tadej Pogačar, from the Alpine town of Komenda, has just won his fourth Tour de France out of six participations. In the two others, he finished second. Beyond his remarkable physical and physiological strength, this year he also revealed a new dimension: mental strength. I would argue that Pogačar has become wise.

Some background is helpful. Pogačar won his first Tour at just 21 years old, dramatically defeating fellow Slovenian Primož Roglič in the final time trial. That victory—young, bold, and unexpected—immediately thrust him into the spotlight. He won again the following year, but then lost the Tour in 2022, partly due to overconfidence, partly due to the rise of another extraordinary talent: Jonas Vingegaard. In 2023, an injury disrupted Pogačar’s preparation—a broken wrist—and he suffered another loss. Then, in 2024, he made a comeback. He was 25.

Psychology and Sports Performance

Psychology is a significant factor in determining performance in sports. It shapes how an athlete (and their team) prepare for, respond to, and recover from challenges. This year, Pogačar was mentally tested in new ways. He had to prove once again that he was the best. He lost his most crucial support rider, João Almeida, to a crash before the mountains. Then he was criticized for winning too much—and later, paradoxically, for not winning enough in the third week. “When you win, people start already to think about the next big win, or they say you’re winning too much,” he said. It echoed the Rolling Stones lyric: “You can’t always get what you want.”

Throughout the Tour, Pogačar responded with striking honesty—a rarity in a sporting world where athletes often say nothing or fall back on clichés about “good days” and “bad legs.” In interviews, he was introspective and emotionally open to the point of being vulnerable. This level of introspection is a key factor in his personal growth and is something the audience can relate to.

Early in the race, Pogačar was still his usual self—the young man who fears only one thing: not winning. In Stage 4, in Rouen, he earned his 100th careervictory. In the press room, he described it just like any of his other wins—with the intensity and drama you might expect from a manga hero: “There are so many good riders in the final, you are always a bit on the edge and nervous. You never know what is going to happen, and you never know until the final. Like today, you get this adrenaline and it is pure racing – I really enjoy it” (Cyclingnews).

Then came the Pyrenees. On the first day there, almost by accident, he sealed the Tour. At the foot of Hautacam, according to Carlos Arribas in El Pais, teammate Tim Wellens half-seriously suggested, “What if we do what we did in the Dauphiné and launch you from the bottom?” Another teammate, Jhonny Narváez, took it seriously and launched an attack. Pogačar, caught by surprise, had no choice but to follow—and in a moment of pure serendipity, he discovered that Vingegaard was struggling. The Dane cracked, losing 2 minutes and 14 seconds. Combined with earlier setbacks in the Caen time trial and on the Peyragudes climb, the Tour was effectively decided.

The younger, more aggressive Pogačar briefly reappeared on Peyresourde after his fourth stage win. As he put it in a post-stage interview: “I’m not here to make enemies, but it’s the Tour de France. You cannot just back off. The team pays you to win, not to give away. If there’s an opportunity, you go for it.” He added, “When I finish my career, I probably won’t talk to 99 percent of the peloton anyway. I’ll focus on my close friends and family” (Velo).

Could this be the first sign of wisdom?

Wisdom, Intelligence, and Intuition

Wisdom is not the same as intelligence. A person can be intelligent and still lack wisdom, especially if they use their intellect only to reinforce their own beliefs. True wisdom includes recognizing one’s own limitations—something Pogačar seemed to do during this Tour, while his rival Vingegaard often appeared to be convincing himself. Pogačar became more introspective—not robotically, as in Vingegaard’s stoic “It’s not over”—but in a way that felt alive, spontaneous. As if he were thinking out loud. You get the sense he’s actually reflecting—not performing a role.

Also, wisdom isn’t the same as intuition. It may draw on intuition, but it goes further: it adds critical thinking, emotional elasticity, and moral reflection. It’s a careful weighing—even of things that cannot be easily measured. As cognitive scientist John Vervaeke and others argue, wisdom blends two dimensions: cognitive and moral. It means being able to tolerate uncertainty, to grasp complexity, and to balance emotion with perspective. It involves putting the common good ahead of self-interest, knowing what can and can’t be changed, and remaining flexible—intellectually and emotionally. Above all, wisdom is not theoretical; it results in action.

And that’s what Pogačar did.

With the Tour essentially won, something shifted. He discovered the fear of losing it. A feeling not of youth, but of age. Young athletes—or young people in general—are rarely scared of losing, because they have little to lose. But this acknowledgment changed how he raced. On two stages, he rode defensively. Or wisely.

He showed vulnerability again at the top of the Tourmalet, saying, “At one point, I got pretty scared descending. I could only see Sivakov wrapped in white fog. I couldn’t even see the road” (Cyclingnews). Later, reflecting on what it all meant, he added: “What’s the point of anything? … I built my life around the bike. I met my closest friends and my fiancée through cycling. You just have to enjoy the moment – not just the victories” (L’Équipe).

The confession deepened a week later, after the dreaded Col de la Loze.

“I’ve reached a point where I wonder why I’m still here…” he said aloud. “It’s three very long weeks. You just count the kilometres to Paris, and yes, I can’t wait for it to be over so I can do some other nice stuff in my life as well” (Velo).

Alongside his extraordinary physical and physiological gifts—and a relentless will to train, prepare, and sacrifice—Tadej Pogačar has become wise. Wisdom comes along with doubt and vulnerability that then becomes an existential strength. He places his performance within the context of his life. He asks himself, “How do I want to live?” 

Perhaps, without knowing it, he passes that question on to us—the fans. “How do you want to spend your life?” It makes me recall Annie Dillard, who once wrote: “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives” (The Writing Life).

Wisdom is not necessarily flashy or marketable. It is often quiet, grounded in patience and self-awareness. It culminates in action, not just analysis. And that’s what Pogačar showed: not just brilliance, but balance. Not just ambition, but depth. Becoming wise at 26 adds a philosophical layer to his sporting performance—one that makes it all the more authentic, difficult to beat, but still easy to admire.

First published in Psychology Today.