It’s a trope to say that cycling is a sport of numbers. Cycling is not unusual in this regard, because most sports use numbers to quantify and classify success or failure. Points scored, averages and other data points have become so ingrained in popular thing that we even use them in contexts that have nothing to do with the original sport. Anyone can “bat a thousand”, even the insufferable acquaintance who assumes that you give a hobo’s dump about their Wordle streak (Wordle is fun and all, but seeing those shared images of squares look like you’re sharing a screen share from a game of Tetris—no one cares that you spelled “alert”, Gary, it’s just not that impressive.); others understand “par for the course”; or even “scoring a perfect ten”.

Cyclists also have their own set of numbers to describe their sport. These numbers quantify bikes—they say how fast, how hard or how far you’ve ridden. They are also the numbers we cyclists use to bore the life out of our friends and family. These numbers form the special language of mightiness that we cyclists speak with one another. 300 watts at threshold? A 4,000 KJ weekend? Hitting 4 watts per kilogram? Yes, these are all things. But you don’t just start out bloviating about these numbers, there’s a process involved, a process I like to call:

The Numerical Descent into Cycling Madness

Distance

The first number that any rider obsesses over is their distance covered, whether in miles (like people) or kilometers (like some people trying to sound sophisticated—I wonder if any Euros use miles to describe their rides to seem more hip, can you imagine? “I did an old school century ride, that’s actually 100 miles, Lars, you should have been there, we had Twinkies.) As soon as a rider gets a bike computer, they keep track of miles. So when you hear someone tell you how many miles they’ve ridden, you should say, “That’s fantastic.” because chances are that they are relatively new to the sport, and there’s no need to crap all over their accomplishments yet—wait until they shave their legs—that’s the sign that they can be taken down a peg.

Average Speed

So you’ve done a few 25 and 50 miles rides, now what? Well, it’s time to keep track of how fast you rode. So you start using your bike computer to record average speed. You get giddy when you do a group ride and it bumps your average speed up by a few miles per hour. Sure, you were drafting the entire time; but you went faster, and that is all that matters. You’ve now had your first nefarious taste of profiting from the work of others, it’s all over for you now.

Duration

By now you’ve realized that a hard ride might not always be that fast. If you ride uphill all day, your average speed and distance covered will be negligible when compared to the effort required to ride uphill all day (and you’re riding uphill all day you flippin’ maniac). You realize that an hour of effort is an hour of effort, whether it’s at 25 mph or at 12 mph. You begin recording your weekly riding hours, probably with the aid of a digital platform like Strava. You’ve just become a shade duller at dinner parties.

Heart rate

Sure, you’re keeping track of what you bike does, but what about what your body does? Does that sound interesting to you? Sure it does, you obsessed fool. You now keep track of all the thumps of your heart when you straddle your bike. Average HR, max HR—these combinations of letters make sense to you now. You begin licking your heart rate strap before you put it on.

Watts

Now you’ve done it. You’ve got a machine that can measure, quantify and aggregate every single pedal stroke of every single ride. Does that sound like a recipe for serenity? Of course it isn’t. You start hoarding kilojoules, you try to explain to your loved ones what kilojoules are, but they don’t care. “Watts are for light bulbs”, they say. “No they aren’t.”, you whisper to yourself, “They are what separate us from the recumbents.” You have a moment of concern as you try to remember the last time you bought CR2032 batteries for your power meter.

FTP

Functional. Threshold. Power. You’re serious now. You took a test on Zwift, and while your FTP number isn’t all that impressive, you’re pretty sure if you commit to a 12 week training plan, you can get that number up to a level that shows your true potential. Surely bucket loads of high intensity intervals will inflate that number. You start taking about recovery, and people think that you’re talking about a 12 step program. You’re not, what you’re addicted to is the sweet sensation of ripping off watts. You start saying things like “ripping off watts”.

VO2 Max

This is it, this is the end of the road. There’s medical stuff involved. There’s no hiding. Either you blow a big number or you don’t—and you’re willing to shell out a couple hundred bucks to find out. There’s no where to hide, VO2 measures natural talent and there’s no socks you can buy to make that number bigger. The news is almost always sad. You’re average. There’s no diamond inside your rough. You’d need to have another lung grafted to your back to have any hope of keeping up with elite athletes. 

You get sad, you get desperate. You turn to gravel.