As I mentioned in my winter training summary post, my plan this year is to ride my normal outdoor events on the indoor trainer, thanks to the Covid-19 pandemic situation causing event cancellations and making long outdoor solo rides inadvisable.

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The first big event on my calendar was the Pittsburgh Randonneurs’ Meanville-Greenville 200k brevet, scheduled for Sunday April 19th (but subsequently cancelled). This was the same route out of Zelienople that I rode last July: my seventh century of 2019 and the first in an impressive streak of six centuries in six weeks.

My intent was to ride the same distance and climbing on Zwift as I would have done in the IRL event. The easiest way to do that was to find existing Zwift routes that added up to the required 123 miles and 7,700 feet of ascent. In the end, I settled on doing the difficult Mega Pretzel, followed by Big Foot Hills, and finishing with Sand & Sequoias.

For the Zwifters out there, that meant doing the Volcano climb twice, the Epic Climb in both directions, the Hilly KoM four times (twice in each direction), Titans Grove three times, and the jungle in both directions, plus a bunch of connecting bits.

The first four hours were tolerable. I had covered a metric century—half my total distance—and two-thirds the climbing, got a ton of supportive “Ride Ons”, and achieved Level 38. I took a three-minute break to refill my bidons.

But it got increasingly difficult thereafter. Ride Ons came less frequently, there was no one on Discord to chat with, and my right calf started bothering me. I needed another 5-minute break at 150k, and again at 175k. As I reached five, six, seven hours, my power dropped, but I’d wisely front-loaded all the climbing, so my final sections were sort-of flat.

In the end, I finished in exactly 7h30m, tallying 202km (125 miles), and an unexpected 8,400 feet of climbing. It was my first 200k on the trainer, and my longest indoor ride by 18 miles. And I received 176 Ride Ons!

After five centuries, I’ve gotten a good grasp on the plusses and minuses of doing endurance rides on the indoor trainer. Here are some of those lessons.

Starting with the downsides:

  • Boredom. If you don’t have both a meaningful goal and something to keep your mind occupied, six or eight hours on the trainer will seem like a complete waste of a day.
  • Frustration. Zwift’s pretty good, but it still can crash, and the stakes are raised when you’re six hours into a ride when Zwift chokes, leaving your log file corrupt.
  • Fatigue. In the real world, you get little micro-rests when you stop for traffic lights, turns, filling bottles, ice cream, and so forth. In Zwift, there’s no reason to stop… ever!
  • Fatigue II. In the real world, you get even more little micro-rests when you’re descending. In Zwift—believe it or not—they have intentionally reduced how much gravity helps you when descending, so that you can’t coast downhill much. Hey, Zwift is a training platform, not a simulation, and if you aren’t pedaling, you’re not training!
  • Temperature regulation. You generate a ton of heat riding indoors, raising your core temperature. You offset that by having a fan blowing cold air on you. So when you finish a workout, your core is overheating, your skin’s surface is freezing, and your body’s ability to regulate its temperature is completely broken. For me, this is probably the most difficult problem I have training indoors. After a ride, I’ll spend 45 minutes in a steaming hot shower, only to be shivering again five minutes later.

Now for the upsides of doing endurance rides on the trainer:

  • Safety! A complete absence of distracted, intoxicated, negligent, violent monkeys piloting multi-ton murder machines at ludicrous speed... Need I say anything more?
  • No mechanicals! For the most part, you don’t get flats or other mechanical difficulties on the trainer. And when you do, your entire home workshop is immediately available. You never need to worry about being stranded at the side of the road in the middle of the woods or some hick town.
  • Comfort! You have immediate access to anything your stomach wants, from pizza to sausage subs to cold ice cream. If you need your favorite cheering section, call them in from the other room. And where else can you find a water stop complete with your own queen-sized bed?
  • Easy, Breezy, Beautiful! Zwift's lack of micro-rest stops has one positive side: riding the same distance takes less time on Zwift than in the real world. Plus there are lots of other riders to draft, and Zwift assumes you’re riding great equipment on an ideal surface. Although my Zwift 200k had 10 percent more climbing than my IRL Greenville ride, I finished it 35 minutes faster.
  • Company! It’s difficult being social on a long IRL ride. Not everyone wants to do a 125-mile ride, and those that do often ride at different paces. With cars around, it’s hard to hear what people are saying, and riding two-abreast would be inconsiderate to those murderous monkeys I mentioned earlier. But indoors, using Discord allows you to easily converse with anyone who wants to stop by, even if they’re not riding! It’s the one thing in Zwift that I wish we could port to the real world.

So that’s Zentury #4 of the year—and IRL substitute ride #1—in the books. I don’t have another (cancelled) real-world event until June, which begins with my only two-day event: an imperial century followed by a metric.

Until then, you can look for me on Zwift...

Cyclists come in many flavors: roadies, commuters, mountain bikers, racers. Then within the ranks of roadies, you have sprinters, climbers, all-rounders, endurance riders, and more.

It might sound odd then that after such a long time—exactly 1,000 weeks, in fact—I still struggle to find where I fit in that spectrum.

Cycling Roman legionnaires

It’s obvious I’m not a sprinter. My top-end power is perfectly described by the term “pedestrian”.

Does that mean I’m a climber: a grimpeur, as they say? Not if you judge by my build, or my performance in the Dirty Dozen! True climbers are much lighter than my (reasonably scrawny) 77kg, and usually much shorter, too. My best strategy for becoming a climber involves losing 6kg of weight and nine inches of height by cutting my head off at the neck.

But I do drop people on short, steep climbs. Perhaps that makes me a puncheur. Tho to be honest, rolling hills wear me out and leave me more exhausted than any other kind of terrain.

I might be a rouleur, an all-rounder: another word for someone who sucks equally at all elements of the sport. Not exactly a flattering image to have of oneself.

Fifteen years ago, I considered going down the very, very, VERY long road to becoming a randonneur: a long-distance rider. I enjoy spending a day in the saddle as much as anyone, but for a randonneur, 125 miles is the shortest ride they’ll do. Their normal rides run 250, 375, or 750 miles at a time, and sanity (at least my sanity) has its limits!

But enjoying (moderately) long rides is what defines me as a cyclist. The label “endurance cyclist” would fit perfectly, except that an “endurance ride” might be 400 miles for a randonneur, or maybe just 30 miles for a casual rider. That’s so vague that the title “endurance cyclist” is essentially meaningless.

I define an endurance ride—and the type of ride I enjoy—as 100 to 125 miles (200km). The ride that matters to me most is the 100-mile imperial century. That’s what I do, what I enjoy, and how I judge my success. So if I were to give myself a label, it would have to reflect that.

That’s where things have stood for the past twenty years: no real resolution, and no real identity. But last week I was thinking… If the sport didn’t provide me with a category, maybe I should come up with one myself. What word would convey the idea of a person with an affinity for centuries?

Once I thought about it, the answer was pretty obvious: a centurion!

By leveraging the common term for a 100-mile ride, it’s instantly recognizable among cyclists, denoting a long-distance cyclist while removing the ambiguity associated with “endurance riding".

It also has the positive connotations of a warrior—strength, experience, self-discipline, and leadership—which translate equally well to cycling.

So if you ask me what kind of rider I am, I can finally answer you: I’m a centurion!

Until five months ago, I didn’t have a power meter, so training with power just wasn’t possible. Even today, I don’t have a power meter on the bike—just on the indoor trainer—but that’s enough to start drawing inferences from the power data I’ve generated over the winter.

One analytical tool for interpreting a cyclist’s power data is their Power Curve. Thankfully, it’s conceptually simple and easy to explain: it looks at your power data and plots your maximum power output (in watts) over every duration, from one second to an hour or more.

All riders can sustain maximum power for very short intervals (think finish-line sprints), but lower power at durations of one to five minutes, and less still for sustained efforts of 30 to 60 minutes or more.

That means the Power Curve looks similar for all riders: starting high, sloping sharply downward, then tailing off gradually. Plot a novice rider and a professional cyclist on the same chart, and there wouldn’t be much difference in the shape their lines, other than the pro’s being shifted higher due to their higher power output.

For insight into how it might be useful, let’s look at my current Power Curve (click for full-size):

Ornoth's Power Curve

There are essentially two ways of looking at this information: how much power can I expect to produce for a specific duration; or conversely, how long can I expect to hold a specific power level?

In my case, for a 10-second sprint I can produce 800W, but for a 60-second sprint I can only sustain half that. For a 10-minute max effort I could expect 260W, about 235W for an hour, dropping down to 165W for anything longer than two hours.

Those estimates all hold whether I’m trying to figure out how much power I could hold for a specific time, or how long I might be able to sustain a specific power output.

That’s great information for planning a workout or figuring out how to pace yourself on a max-effort ride; however, it doesn’t tell you anything about my individual strengths and weaknesses or how I compare to other cyclists. To do that, we need to introduce comparative data, which is provided by additional research.

Through empirical testing, a team of researchers—including the well-regarded physiologist Andrew Coggan—calculated expected athletic performance ranges for power output at durations of 5 seconds, 1 minute, 5 minutes, and an hour. Comparing an athlete’s Power Curve against those calculated norms yields an understanding of an individual rider’s strengths and weaknesses.

The research team took riders with similar strengths and weaknesses and aggregated them into commonly-recognizable categories which in true scientific fashion they gave the officious label “phenotypes”. An athlete who excelled at short efforts was a sprinter; whereas someone producing above average power over an hour would be a good time trialist, climber, or steady-state endurance rider; and someone with equal performance across the entire time spectrum would be an all-rounder.

So what can I learn about myself from my own chart?

Ornoth's Phenotype

The obvious first conclusion is that I’m no professional athlete! My 5-second sprint is pretty pedestrian, and my 1-minute power doesn’t even register on the chart! However, my 5-minute power is in the upper half of the “Fair” range, and over 60 minutes I’m a fraction below “Moderate”. In comparison with professional athletes, that’s pretty impressive for a 55 year-old!

The chart shows that although I might lose a two-up sprint with a corpse, I will have unequivocally stronger results the longer an event goes. That marks me as a time trialist, climber, and/or endurance rider: something that shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows anything about my riding style and history. But it’s nice to have that confirmed by quantitative data.

For any athlete who is given this data, the next question is what to do with it; and the answer is a resounding “Do whatever you want.” Do you want to work on strengthening those areas where you are weakest, to improve your overall performance? Or do you want to maximize your strengths to derive the most benefit from them? That’s entirely up to you.

Since my cycling goals are mostly limited to centuries and 200ks, I’m perfectly happy continuing to work my endurance, and living in Western Pennsylvania is guaranteed to build up my power over short, steep climbs.

Armed with this new understanding of the wattages I can sustain over specific durations, I could put a power meter on my bike to get live power readings, which would allow me to perfectly gauge and pace my efforts in real-time. That expense will probably have to wait until the next bike, tho.

Here’s another rule of thumb I’ve developed for endurance cyclists: if you have to use your brake, you’re doing it wrong. That might sound a little silly, but it’s good science.

The only way that a bike moves is through the rider producing the force to propel it. You invest a lot of muscle energy to get the bike up to speed, and then its momentum allows you to keep it rolling along while expending just a little bit more muscle energy. When you stop pedaling and coast, the bike gradually loses momentum and will eventually come to a stop. On an ideal ride, you would only have to produce enough energy for the bike to just make it to your destination.

Since we don’t live in an ideal world, there are times when we need to use our brakes and come to a stop. For the endurance cyclist, stopping and starting is a really expensive operation.

First, the stop. For most stops, a rider uses the bike’s brake, which dissipates the energy built up in the bike’s momentum. That’s momentum that originally came from the rider’s muscle power. When the rider has used more muscle power than needed, he must use the brake to get rid of that excess momentum. Theoretically, he would have been better off expending less energy and coasting to a stop, rather than using too much of his limited muscle power and throwing the excess inertia away.

If you’re just out for a ride around the neighborhood, that’s no big deal, because you’ll never exhaust your stored muscle energy. However, if you’re an endurance rider doing a seven- or eight-hour 130-mile race, running out of energy (bonking) is a real possibility, so conserving every calorie of muscle power is critical.

Then comes starting back up again. As I indicated above, getting a bike up to speed is an investment of energy. It’s costly at first because you’re propelling both yourself and the weight of the bike; however, the investment pays off later in being able to use the bike’s momentum to keep it moving with much less effort. But every time you stop, you use an awful lot of your stored muscle energy getting back up to speed, especially when trying to do so quickly.

There are clear lessons here for cyclists. First, avoid stopping overall, because repeated stops and starts can consume a lot of energy. Second, manage your effort and try to ride in a way that doesn’t require much braking. You might even consider use of the brakes as a warning signal, a reminder that you probably expended more effort than absolutely necessary. I.e. if you have to use your brake, you’re doing it wrong.

Now, obviously the real world is a little more complicated than that. Downhills also put energy/momentum into the system that might need to be dissipated, and road design and traffic control placement usually don’t allow bicycles to gradually coast to a stop. Riders obviously need to apply a modicum of wisdom to these concepts.

But I’ve found it useful, especially on long-distance rides, to be very conscious of how much muscle power I use, which includes riding such that I can avoid using the brake as much as possible.

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