Cycling

Triple Bypass, 2018

I had never before felt so ready for a big bike ride. I had trained hard and even set a few personal records on some climbs around my home away from home here in Evergreen, Colorado. And at 70 years old, personal bests on the bike are generally behind me, unless I’m sucking the wheel of a sprite 50-year old.

But the Triple Bypass presents some monumental challenges for me. Just the sheer scope of it, 117 miles with more than 10,000 feet of climbing, is daunting for a guy who usually doesn’t like really long rides and lives at sea level with only bridges that exceed 1%. And at 187 lbs., I’m not built for climbing. But I felt ready.

Not ready enough. The first climb, through Juniper Pass, is the toughest. I had set a goal of one hour and 50 minutes for this nearly 15-mile, 3,300 ft. climb. Power meters on bikes allow you to measure watts, which is the power you are expending. It’s probably the best way to measure your effort. I wanted to average 150 watts of power. I missed my time goal by six minutes, but my wattage was on target. Problem was my target was too ambitious. By mile 50 I was beginning to flag. My wattage was dropping precipitously. People were passing me like I was standing still—young guys, old guys, skinny guys, fat guys, big gals, little gals. It was humbling. One guy, obviously very fit, was wearing a body suit with padding that made him look fat. Rub it in, pal!

From Georgetown to the top of Loveland Pass, the continental divide at nearly 12,000 feet, is relentless. While the average grade over that 16-mile stretch is 4%, there are many sections in double digits and few flat or downhill spots to recover. After that, Vail Pass, at 10,500 feet, seemed easy—if it didn’t come after the 87 miles before it.

At times I wondered why I was doing this. Yes, we bike riders love to challenge ourselves, compare ourselves and, for reasons psychiatrists could have a field day, “suffer.” I was questioning my own sanity.

I estimate I came in somewhere down in the top 60-70 percentile of the 3,500 riders. It looks like about a third of the cyclists posted their rides on Strava, a cycling app that allows you to record your ride and compare your efforts to others’. About 15 who completed the Triple Bypass and posted on Strava were over 70.

After I finished I had a chance to watch others come in. Virtually all of them had smiles on their faces (like me in the attached photo at the finish). Many whooped it up and raised their arms as if they’d just won a Tour de France stage. As I walked through the crowd, riders were exchanging stories about something funny that happened along the way or where they were really “suffering.” Sometimes I think we ride just so we can talk about it afterwards. After all, that’s the usual topic of conversation at my St. Pete coffee shop every morning after our group rides. At Nottingham Park in Avon, if you caught a stranger’s eye for a second, he or she would invariably ask, “How was your ride?” Even if they didn’t know you, they seemed to want to know that you were OK.

My overall time was 28 minutes faster than when I did this ride four years ago, but that was because I didn’t dawdle at the rest stops. My moving time, according to Strava was, coincidentally, 28 minutes slower. But then, as we get older, we tend to move slower.

I got some chicken and rice at the food tent, took a shower at the nearby rec center, and then my wife, brother and I headed back to Evergreen. Part of the Triple Bypass route runs along I-70. We could see quite a few riders still on the course. I hope they didn’t get swept up by the SAG cars. I hope they got to raise their arms at the finish and let out a primal scream.

They deserved it, even if they moved a little slower. finishing TBP 2018

Altitude training may not be all it’s cracked up to be

My friends in St. Pete expect me to return in top shape after a couple of months at altitude. But it didn’t really happen last year, my first extended adventure riding at seven, eight, nine thousand feet and above. In fact, when I first returned I was exhausted after a relatively easy ride. The Florida air felt like a brick wall, or at least a gel I had to plow through. It took about a week to get back normal sea level riding.

So I decided to research the issue as I returned to the hills this month. When I started with a few Google search terms, most of what I found was what you would expect. At altitude your heart beats faster. (I also learned that blood pressure increases, though it returns to normal after a few weeks.)

Yet, I’ve noticed when I ride at altitude my heart rate rarely reaches beyond 145 beats per minute (bpm) for sustained efforts. (My max heart rate is about 175 bpm.) One hundred fifty beats per minute feels like I would not explode so much as fall over as my legs crumbled and I gasp for air. Even at a heart rate of 125 bpm, my breathing is fast.

Turns out that may be normal. At extremely high altitudes, researchers found that maximal heart rate decreases as much as 30 bpm. While your resting heart rate is faster, and climbing stairs can put you out of breath, you can’t get the ticker pumping as fast during hard exercise.

That seems logical because at altitude, the thin air makes it more difficult to get the oxygen you need to work hard. The heart simply doesn’t have much to work with.

But heart rate is less important since I bought a power meter. I brought it with me to the mountains. But again, at certain power levels I felt I was working harder than I do at sea level in St. Pete.  Additional research led me to several articles that suggested that power levels need to be adjusted downward to coincide with the grater exertion you experience in thin air.

The most widely cited study suggested a formula: Percentage of power held at altitude = -1.12(altitude in km)^2 – 1.90(altitude in km) + 99.9. For example, at an altitude of 2.286 km (a little lower than where I live), power zones need to be about 89.7% of what they are at sea level. My functional threshold power (FTP) would drop from 210 watts to 188 watts, and the zones based on the FTP by the same percentage.

But training at lower power levels has consequences, according to exercise physiologists Ben Griffin and Michael Chiovitti.

The issue here is that the cyclist may in fact de-train due to never actually training at the physiological level of their [anaerobic threshold]. So when this cyclist returns to sea-level after altitude exposure and tries to ride the AT @ 300W it is going to feel extraordinarily hard as they have never actually pushed 300W since prior to going to altitude.

Maybe this is why I was exhausted the first week back in St. Pete last year.

I also found that “altitude training” is not the simply a weeks-long vacation in the mountains riding your bike. There are three basic varieties of altitude training:

  1. Train high, live high, which is what I do and what I think most pro teams do.
  2. Train high, live low, which literally means ride your bike at altitudes and then come down from on high to spend the rest of your day.
  3. Train low, live high, the exact opposite of #2 and a seemingly the preferred method these days.

The idea behind train high and live low is that training at altitude increases red blood cells, or the amount of hemoglobin, but you recover better at lower levels. Train low, live high advocates say simply living at altitude increases your red blood cells but you must train at higher power outputs. More on the three methods here.

Few of us can live high and train low or vice versa. Even those of us who can spend time at altitude must make a commitment as it takes at least three to four weeks to get any benefit from altitude training. Pro racer Michael Rogers says it takes at least a week to acclimate. Virtually his entire first week was easy (for him) riding.

But given that living and riding at 7,000 feet and above as I do here for a few months may actually hurt me when I return to sea level, what training methods can mitigate the loss of power (in spite of increase red blood cells)? Acclaimed trainer Joe Friel has a couple of strategies. The first is shorter intervals with longer recovery periods.

Something on the order of work intervals of two minutes or less followed by two minutes or more of recovery intervals will allow you keep power and pace high. The intensity of these two-minute-or-shorter work intervals needs to be above anaerobic/lactate/functional threshold. Ten to thirty minutes of total high intensity time within a workout, depending on the intensity, your fitness and your purpose, is probably about all you need two to three times a week.

Secondly, Friel says, is to give yourself a break and return to lower levels to recover your sea legs.

At altitude there is a loss of muscular fitness since the workouts can’t be as intense as at sea level. Coming back down for a few days (perhaps as much as two weeks) allows this muscular fitness to be re-established by higher-intensity training.

I can’t do that, so I’ll need to pay t20170715_120523he price when I get back to my flat land habitat. So, St. Pete friends, don’t expect much. Riding the hills may not be all that it’s cracked up to be. But it sure is pretty!

A Cyclist’s Catharsis of Walking

I had hoped that despite temperatures never seen in Florida I could ride while staying in the Rockies for the holiday season. It’s not happening. There is too much snow along the shoulders and lanes filled with sand that can destroy a bike’s paint job, to say nothing of creating a braking hazard.

So I’ve been walking almost everyday. Not hiking or trekking but walking the hills of my western neighborhood. The weather has been invigorating, mostly in the 30’s or 40’s but usually with a bright sun that keeps me warm.

I find that cold weather inverts the exercise experience from that of cycling. In the latter, in Florida certainly, I feel like I’m trying to expel the byproducts of exercise. I sweat and drink to keep cool. I’m trying to release the toxins exercising is creating, or so it seems.

Walking in cold weather it feels as if the heat I generate is plowed back into my body to not only keep warm but to fuel my systems.

And whereas in cycling I must keep my wits about me, scanning for cars, potholes and the phone-gazing pedestrian, with a walk my mind can freely wander, risking only a trip over a rock. I find a greater Zen component to walking.

I supposed walking could lead to greater clarity or insights to my world. Alas, I am as deficit in attention as I am any other times. Even walking has its limitations.