Thoughts from an FTP Test

FTP also stands for: F**k This Pain.
FTP also stands for: F**k This Pain. Image from http://www.slideshare.net/TrainingPeaks/power-terminology-1.

Forgive me, data junkies, for I have been an FTP slacker. It has been just shy of 2 years since my last FTP (functional threshold power) test. Yes, 2 years.

I’m not a fan of frequent testing, not only because I don’t like them (which I do not), but also because they require a re-organization of the training schedule. In my training and coaching, I prefer to use prep races and key weekly sessions to gauge improvement and to set “A” race targets. But, even still, some baseline and ongoing testing is needed from time to time.

My time had come.

I’ve begun my “official” training for the Florida Double Anvil (March 18-19, Lake Louisa State Park, Clermont, Florida). Trouble is, I’ve spent a scant few hours on the bike since most of my focus through the summer and fall was on running (see the Javelina Jundred race report by clicking here).

As I’ve been re-introducing myself to the velo over the past few weeks, I tried to convince myself of two things: 1) Cycling is not all that poopy, and 2) I can totally figure my zones out just by doing some steadier state rides.

The first stage is denial.

But, as a coach and an athlete, I knew I had to do a threshold effort in order to round out the data I have. While the steady state rides give me important information – they don’t tell me everything I want to know.

So, I scheduled the FTP assessment in my calendar for December 8th. And, then there was acceptance. Sort of. 

Even into the warm up for this session, I was trying to convince myself that I didn’t need to do it. The voices were chattering.

C’mon Coach, is this really necessary? whined the emotional brain.

You know that it is. Suck it up buttercup, barked the hardass brain.

There were quite a few gems of observations and chatter from the various parts of my brain before during and after this process. People often ask me what I’m thinking when I train. Welcome to the inside…

The anxiety for an FTP assessment is worse than the actual FTP assessment.

In the days leading up to the assessment, I would look at my training calendar with a mix of curiosity and dread.

Rationally, the coach in me was curious because I wanted to know what my numbers were so that I could schedule and assess future workouts accordingly. I wanted my training metrics to be based on actual testing numbers, not my best guestimate of what I thought my FTP just might be.

Emotionally, I felt dread because I knew it was going to hurt like a mofo, and because I love oxygen.

Oxygen is amazeballs.

And, by the time you are 10 minutes into an FTP test, you feel your friendship with oxygen just slipping away from you, and all you can do is grasp at air as your throat closes into a tiny fun-size straw.

No-Oxygen-3231

Asthmatics should probably pre-treat with a rescue inhaler before they decide to go near or at anaerobic levels.

While I was getting the bare minimum of air, I’m pretty sure I could have mitigated the fun-size straw effect with my rescue inhaler.

It’s been a while since I’ve done any sort of top end – way top end – work like this. So, I kinda forgot that my lungs can shrivel and collapse like they do. Oops.

Perched atop my death machine, I eyeballed the garage for the inhaler about 12 minutes into the test. But, of course, it wasn’t in the garage. And unless I collaspsed, which I realize was a possibility, I was not going to stop the test and then have to reschedule it another day.

Repeat the curiosity dread cycle for another week or two? No thanks!

I’ll just get that drool later. 

At one point, I recognized that I was holding tension in my face. So, I let my facial muscles relax. After all, facial muscles don’t make any watts. Useless!

As I released my jaw, my mouth opened, bottom jaw gaping. Within a minute or two, a line of spittle escaped from the side of my mouth. Rather than waste the energy to wipe my face, I let it form a line from my mouth to the towel that sat across my handlebars.

I’ll just get that later, I thought.

What am I $#@!% listening to?! 

I knew I would want a little motivational music for this test. So, I grabbed my MP3 player, without giving much thought to the fact that I had scrubbed it before Javelina, and put only those songs that I wanted for running my first 100 miler.

I will walk 500 miles and I will walk 500 more!  (Naturally, during the race I changed these lyrics to: I will run 100 miles and I will run 100 more!)

16 tons and whaddya get? Another day older and deeper in debt… 

Just a small town girl… (you know the rest!)

These gems plus an assorted mix of bluegrass and songs with inspirational lyrics (Unstoppable! It’s all about the climb! How you ever gonna know?) – all of which are generally moderate to slow in beat. Good songs generally but not super helpful when you are bleeding from your eyeballs.

Just focus on the watts! I told myself.16 tons and 500 miles of WATTS WATTS WATTS. 

It’s just 5 minutes…on repeat.

If I thought about just how long in TOTAL I would have to bleed from my eyeballs, I would have had a challenging time making it through the “dead zone” in the middle. Instead, I thought of this assessment as a series of 5 minute segments.

I can do anything for 5 minutes, I repeated. And, since my music sucked for the context, this mantra on repeat was as useful as anything I was listening to.

The trick, of course, was to keep doing anything once each 5 minute segment was up. But, it’s funny how the mental trick of segmenting the effort works. Brain games 🙂

The FTP number may not be as high as I want (is it ever big enough for any of us?) but I had a consistent graph in Training Peaks, and was even able to build my effort a bit in the second half (rather than fade). I attribute this to the segmentation approach. No dead zone :). Can you guess where the test was? (Pink is POWER!)

Screen Shot 2015-12-14 at 7.22.25 AM

All the foods.

In case you were wondering, a hard and short effort can produce more hunger than 5 hours in the saddle. I should know because I rode 5 hours just a few days after this test – so it’s a scientific study and all that.

My dog is probably the cutest dog ever.
My dog is probably the cutest dog ever.

After the assessment, I did a short transition run with my dog Pace. We were only 10 minutes or so into this effort, when the monster in my belly began to grumble and roar. By the time we made it back to my house – just a mere 30 minutes later, I was ripping through the cabinets and refrigerator like a gastrointestinal savage.

It was all very primal from start to finish.

The funny thing about an FTP assessment – or any other key hard workout – is that you can carry so much anticipation and anxiety going into them. Then, when they are over, you are filled with all of the happy endorphins and the feeling of well-being that comes from a solid effort.

You can’t help but think: Eh, that wasn’t so bad. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean that I’ll be eager to schedule another one of these. I’ve got the numbers I need for now. We’ll circle back to these observations in about 2 years.

Comments are closed.