Blood, Sweat, and Bacon TT

This weekend I learned the hard limits of racing to heart-rate. Delightfully, though, I still got to enjoy some bacon.

Sunday was supposed to be the start of a mini TT season within the VA Cycling road season: 3 races over the course of 4 weeks, mixed with a couple of crits to bring the whole season to a close. Alas, an entire weekend got canceled, and that left us with just 3 points-scoring opportunities.

From the BAR perspective, the cancellation meant that I'm the only contender who can possibly unseat the guy in 1st, but it also meant I'd have to average roughly 4th or higher over the remaining 3 events. Sunday's race suddenly had more on the line than just "show up & score points".

I'd trained only a little on the TT bike: my road racing season from April thru June included no good compelling reason to ever touch the thing, so when I pulled it off the rack and commuted on it on July 9, it had been untouched for quite a while...and it showed. Braking was terrible, and the front derailleur had to be moved by hand.

I worked out the cabling issues and did a couple of bigger rides on the thing in our worst heat wave of the year, and was pretty satisfied with my speed. I even took a 21-mile segment by 2+ minutes near the end of a 56-mile ride, so I knew I could maintain power and focus on it.

Except I also had no idea what "power" meant on the thing, because it lacks a power meter. No worries, said I: I know roughly how my power equates to heart rate because of countless hours of measuring both on the race bike and in Zwift!

Would that that were true...

I started Sunday's TT strong, with a clear focus to work up to max power, not go too hard in the first 5 - 6 miles, and aim for a negative split. There was very little elevation on the 24-mile course, but it was hot hot hot. My goal was to go under an hour, and of my competitors, I was genuinely worried about 3.

But within 3 miles, my heart was already over the limits of what I wanted. And then at the first turn a corner worker didn't see me coming and released a truck straight at me. I let off the gas and probably blew about 3 or 4 seconds, and after that I stopped trying to stay out of Z5 heart rate.

At mile 5, there's a fast descent followed by a loose-surface sharp left turn across a low bridge. The run up to the turn is blind, but everyone had been cautioned to get on the brakes. Someone didn't, and when I came around to view the turn, it was 100% blocked by emergency vehicles. I slowed almost to a full stop and picked my way around the 7(!) different trucks, losing huge time (though it turns out everyone else in my class did, too). That was the first time I've ever had to unclip and drag a foot in a TT. I hope the other rider(s) is(/are) ok.

There were no further interruptions, and while I caught 3 of my competitors in the next 2 miles, the other two (who started just before me) were just GONE. My Garmin was telling me that I was racing my brains out at 180+BPM, but after a while I started to feel that maybe that wasn't quite true: there was no lactic build-up, and honestly I felt like I was just turning in a middling Z4 ride. Without power, though, there was just no real way to know.

Except that the two guys ahead remained invisibly far ahead.

I started to pick up the tempo a bit in the last few miles, but I knew I was beaten. I even gave it a middling sprint effort at the end, pushing my heart over 185, but while I felt tired, I didn't come anywhere close to how I should have felt after an hour at max effort.

I ended up finishing in 3rd. Enough for a podium, bacon, and enough points to keep the BAR dream alive, but really frustrated to have given up more than a minute to both 1st and 2nd place.

So I did what any reasonable competitive cyclist would do: I ordered a power meter for a bike that I only need for one more event this season.

[For giggles, last night (day after the event) I got on the trainer, and instead of doing a recovery ride decided to do sprint efforts in Zwift. I was able to dump some of the biggest power numbers of the year, which frankly shouldn't have been anywhere close to possible.]