24 hours of science

Well more like 26. A while back i stuck up some info on my next research project: here. The project basically involves 20mins TT's every 8 hours (ish) at the max power output you can sustain for the 20mins. So in real world you are trying to cover as much distance as you can.

Being the scientist i am i hate getting subjects to do a study/protocol i wouldn't do myself. Being a cyclist who wants to race 24hours better i of course want the data i can get. Funny how these studies work out isn't it....ahhem.

So we started yesterday @3pm. Blood, saliva, resting lactate; HR, blood pressure, core temp, tympanic temp, USG: all taken to see what my body was doing. Then an hour of cognitive tests to get a baseline for me at normal levels, and at that time point. 10mins self selected warm up on the cycle erg, off and stretch for a min, then 20mins of pain.

Self selected time trials are hard. I feel that i can be biased from using a power meter sometimes, but it helps me pace my best efforts. Out hard for 2mins, pull in a bit, then build up to 16mins, then bin myself for 2, then step it up again. 305W for 20mins, 14.46km (42.8kph avg??). Not a bad baseline.

So 4:30 and all finished up. 11pm it starts again (296W avg). Then i was allocated an 8 hour sleep window from 1am. Managed to get 5hrs 21mins according to the Senseware armband we had to measure sleep. Not bad i suppose. Up again t 9am to start again (294W avg) for the worlds most horrible TT. Felt terrible for the warm-up, then the first 4mins i just wanted to pull the test, values lower that 280W avg. Uuugh glycogen depletion. Happy i clawed it back.

Breakfast was epic, felt so good after it. Easy afternoon, stretching, drinking, talking shite with Waggers (other subject in) and just relaxing. 3pm last bout of testing. Knew i had to get this one on the head. Cognitive tests felt slower, couldn't concentrate (lack of sleep). Felt great on the WU. Hit the first 4mins over 306W, next 4mins still at 306W, feeling very good. BOOM, power dropping very very fast, held on until 16mins to sit at 280W avg. Build up over the last 4 mins pushing as hard as i could with over 400W for the last 2 mins. 299W average. RAGING. So close.

Next week i repeat, but with no sleep. Should be fun.

Death of an Ergometer

Bit of an issue in the lab last week. The cycle erg we use for all the performance testing in the lab died a sad and painful death at the hands of a rugby player.

Bad news; over 5 projects including my own research are now on long term hold. Not so worried about my own, but the 4th years who were hoping to graduate this summer...well they are in a different state of affairs.

Good news; well there has to be something...i have some time to think??

Hopefully we can get this resolved, although i fear Racermate won't believe us.

What will it take?

Always a good start to the week:

'How does it feel, to treat me like you do, when you laid your hands upon me an told me who you are'

Wise words. Just not sure why, but they have always made me think that my bike calls to me. Cross is gone. MTB is back (not that it ever went away). But triathlon has raised from its winter slumber and its calling again. The TT bike looks sad, why have i neglected it. 'I'm so fast' she says, 'so narrow, so light'. Normally i can ignore the temptress, but not now, not when its bright in the morning and the birds are calling me.

What this means is time, more time than i can probably give, more time than i should give to any one thing that's not human.

'Tell me how do i feel? Tell me how, how do i feel?'

Obsession is not a word i use, but there is something to be had from the utter pain you get at the end of a cross race. It feels like nothing i can describe. Your lungs are trying to crawl out your eyes, your brain gave up hours ago and is lying in a rut crying to itself, and yet you want to know why they wont let you get in just one more lap. 6 more minutes of pain, 3 km more of torture, one more tenth of hell for your brain to get away from it all.

The summer equivalent for me is tri, the last kilometre in a race, all out sprinting on my feet as hard as i can. Ignore the last 2 hours of racing. There will be people. They will judge you. You must look strong. You must impress. All thoughts of a misguided green and black suit that i will not be wearing this summer. A Phoenix from the ashes.

140km it took to savage the beast, 140km on a bike i haven't ridden since August last. 140km in a position that will try to make your eyes leave your knees cause its the closest way out. The carbon tubs look at me even as i write. 'Use us, make us make you fast. Love us, treat us well.'

Worst of all. The power is calling. The Powertap has awoken. It calls me. Shouting for the excess weight i've put on. '5kg over race weight, tut tut, how will that impact your FTP fattie.'

Not for long. I want you. I need you. You can make me strong for 24 hours. I just need to tame the beast and it will be mine.

Hit the North, CX or MTB??

Cyclocross or mountain bike, the eternal question. Which is better? Which is more fun? Which do i prefer?

I've been a mountain biker since i first heard of it as a wee lad climbing in Glendalough. Watching the old boys of Irish mountain biking descending the zig-zags wondering where they had come from and where they were going. All i knew at that time was that i had at least an hour walk out from the crags, and they would be drinking a beer in my name.

Several years later i had been mountain biking for a few hours when i saw a few lads (Robin Seymore, Joe McCall, Dave Gill) descending off the top of 3 rock down a run called Bone-shaker on what looked like road bikes. This route i considered a DH run, and used to hit it dressed head to toe in armour and donning a full face to save my gorgeous looks.

Three years ago i got my first cross bike after doing a few races on my MTB. An old Flanders beater i bought for €100 off a mate. I loved it, i thought i was Sven Nys.... albeit it 94kg and couldn't run up hill to save my life. This also corresponded with the lowest point in my personal life. I was in my final year and i pretty much opted to drop training for a year

.

Cross in a way was a saviour, an eye opener to a new world of potential and what i could do on a MTB. Along with triathlon and a fair dose of help from Pauline, i ditched most of the weight by the start of the next season. A summer of MTB and track, and 7 or 8 triathlons (god knows how many duathlons) left me eager for cross.

Roll on the Team WORC club cross sessions on Tuesday nights. Hard training, with the best, no bullshit, no place to hide, but more help than i ever imagined. The cross season rolled by, did the 3 peaks, i did ok, had a few top 30 races finishes, and a 24th in the national champs. This cross thing was addictive. The summer spent typing Dugast/tubular/Tuffo into ebay looking for that ever elusive deal, and yet roll on 3 peaks 2009 and i still hadn't coped on to how to train for cross. Still training like a MTBer who likes to run and swim.

Another cross season rolled past, entered more races, got a 6th place, ran a national champs and finished 15th. Getting better, nearly getting money in races. But alas all things have to come to an end. HTN it was to be. The race, the challenge, which is better? Race the 2 hour hilly course on a MTB, or do it on the CX bike. 'll take the CX. The bike that i'd done well on, the one i knew how it handled better than any other.

Was taking a leak when the riders were called up, buggerit, managed to get in about 4 rows back, not my normal starting position by any means but sure its a long race. Starters orders, clipped and ready to roll. Shivering in my skinsuit with anticipation and cold. Usual hammer for the first section, people who have no idea how to race in front of me get barged, sorry lads, but if you dont like it get out of my way. Elbows, knees whatever it takes. Running the sections people are trying to ride at the start gets me into the first 20 riders. OK, keep it down, draw a gap then settle in.

lap round and i see Jason standing at a corner marshalling and shouting at me. Glare at him, i currently want to kill him as its taking all i have to stop my stomach contents erupting. Must keep precious fluid in! Few laps later and its all settled, not going to loose any places unless i mess up. Every lap i get a cheer from locals and a few comments along the lines of 'go token Irish bloke' and 'you've come along way' also the kind words of Ed to another rider 'GET OUT OF THE WAY OF THE FAST BLOKE!' Precious.

One crash later, that has cost me quite a few Euro it looks like, and the race ended with me in 16th. I'd wanted top 20 as i'd heard there was a better list of riders this year. Happy with my result, not ecstatic, but happy. Unfortunately now the cross bike goes back into road mode, the TT bike come out for the long rides, and the MTB comes out for the even longer rides.

24 season is on the way. Take HTN, repeat by 12.

The Race

*turn off organising brain, turn on race brain*

Ok why am i at the back? This sucks, normally second row. This start is going to suck. Ok, roll with it, you can make time up you're ready to rock. No wait you didn't get a warm up. What gear am i in? Whistle? WTF where is the god damned warning!

Clip in, clunk clunk clunk, sprinting hard, on the brakes again. Ok that's 10 places easy. Left, tight right cut it wide, grip on the grass sprint again. Cut the corner at the bush, go in high to the tree, tight cut back left. Ok that's another 5 places. Into the tunnel, watch number XX shoulder a guy into the wall, give out shit to him as i ride past. Bad sportsmanship makes me sick.

Sprint along the banking up and over getting another place as i take the alternate root behind the tree after the descent. Tunnel, left turn (watch for snakebites, hit the little gap), sprint uphill, tight right with massive cheering crowd, right into the trees cut it high cut it tight. Singletrack, bermed right hander, rutted left (slippery over roots, high on the right), tight slippy left powersliding both wheels as you hit the tarmac, onto the main straight to recover.

More singletrack, grass exit, down the steep, into the tight RH over the very slippery grass. Into the crux of the course, mud alley, two rutted sections about 5m long with a break in between, followed by a bumpy mud exit. Stay central, stay loose, the tubs will take care of grip. Exit to fast downhill, RH turn to long uphill (watch the stones on the right, stay left its harder ground), over the bridge (RHS will snakebite), up to LH turn, tighter LH turn, mud section off camber grass, through tunnel, over roots (Gonna get slippery later), tunnel, tight RH, (use the berm to exit), tighter LH, super tight right (try to keep speed) onto slip sliding hell and sprint up to the steps.

36 steps to my bike again, run them run fast, split after the tunnel to the right, over take, back on bike long straight to RH turn into singletrack again, up/down/left/right onto the main straight.

Repeat x 9, puke, wonder why i do this sport. Pat people on back. Collapse.

Memories of the race: Flanders flags, BBQ, Shouting crowds, playing tag with Niall, Dave and Will.

Stress level: 0

I love to race my bike.

Cyclocross National Championships (In the manner of 24)

*intake of breath*

Yesterday was probably one of the most stressful days in my life. Trying to run a national championships and compete in one on the same day. In my head in the lead up i thought; 'Sure if Robin can do it, so can I'. Suffice to say i was wrong.

The weeks leading up to the event were hard, postponing an event like this did not go down well, either with me or the cycling community as a whole. Not much could be done with the country under snow. But i digress.... The rescheduled dates clashed with another event that meant i lost half the marshals that said they would work on the day. Stress level 1.

Rock on the week before and people start dropping like flies , random statements coming out in the press about licence conditions that had no grounding in the truth, and the park still frozen in ice. Stress level 4

Day before, have scrounged enough marshals through emails/twitter/beer promises. Getting all the last bits sorted, meet the park, walk the course, de-flood the section 2 foot under water (bet you cant guess where that was). Everything was in place except my head. Stress level 5

2am, before the race, up in 5 hours to start marking the course. Cant sleep, cant eat, stomach in bits. Stress level 7.

7am Breakfast time...ooh food. Stress level 5. 7:30am arrive at the park and start taping out in the dark. Stress level 4.

9am marshals and helpers arrive, keep taping; stress level 5.

10am Phone call from Ollie, timing computer is not working. Ring Dave for spare. Stress level 7.5 ish. 11am, timing still shagged. underage race to start in 30mins, only 2 but gotta get them out. Stress 8.

11:45am underage race goes, only 2 riders. Get sent the wrong way by the 'leader'. Bodes well.....

12pm Timing is still down, tell the MTB race we are going to be at least 15 mins late. 12:30pm MTB race starts....god i feel bad. Stress level 8.

12:45 i leave my race radio down, and ride over to the room where my kit is. Race is starting in 15mins. No time for warmup time to get into kit, cram a gel in, grab a glass of water, get Stu to pin on my number and 'race'. Stress 3, this was the calmest moment of the whole day and at this point i almost thought about just leaving and going home.

1:10pm On the start line with people i thought i knew acting like idiots. This moment goes into my mental trove of times i will remember for the rest of my life, and one that has changed opinions of people for me for ever. You know who you are.

1:15pm Race starts, gridded at the back with no stress.

8 laps later race over. I'll write about that later.

The Night before Cross Nats, by me

Twas The Night Before Cross Nats,

Not a rider was stirring, except in one house;

The skinsuit was hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that cold weather soon would be there;

The tubs were nestled all snug on their rims,

While visions of mud rut danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long summers nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen rain

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature rider, and 9 tiny gears,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Slick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, O'Neil! now, Ryan! now, Delahey and Ferguson!

On, Convil ! on Boyd! on, Galloway and Clougher!

To the top of the steps! to the top of the hill!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As wet muds that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the bike full of carbon, and St. Slick too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and posing of each little hoof.*

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Slick came with a bound.

He was dressed all in lycra , from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with blood dannk muck;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were so gaunt, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as cool as the snow;

The stump of a Torq bar he held tight in his teeth,

And the smell it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was skinny and ripper , a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the kit bags ; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his bike, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"No Seymore, no Aitken, we're in for a fight!"


*you try find something that rhymes with hoof....good luck tomorrow all