I’m not particularly a fan of Zwift. It’s a computer game that’s a bit of fun and much safer than driving through the wintry roads of Ireland.
For me, cycling is about meeting the local group for our mid-week summer ride, where we solve the world’s worries, laugh, chat and have fun. Sprinting to the finish line, a sign just outside of town, means bragging rights until the next night.
Sunday tours are longer, normally involving a few local climbs, with a coffee stop at the finish, the icing on the proverbial cake.
This year though, I invested a bit in my Zwift setup. I bought a new smart trainer, an iPad, connected everything to a big screen HDTV, and most amazingly, I got it all to work.
I’m starting to enjoy the Zwift rides, I’m getting stronger and the weekly events are a lot of fun. I climbed “Ven Top” and managed to complete “Alpe Du Zwift” and its 21 switchbacks, in just under an hour.
Last month Irish governing body Cycling Ireland and RWB (Racing Without Borders) announced plans to create a winter league and for the first time ever, I signed up.
There were a few prologue laps, giving people a taste of what road racing is like and I have to say I enjoyed it. There was no doubt that I wouldn’t win, but a Friday night race would be a good way to start the weekend.
My first race was a shock to the system. These people are fast and despite watching a few videos online about what to expect, especially the frenetic first few minutes, I was well and truly blown away. I finished a long way back, but in a masochistic way I enjoyed my first ever real race.
During the second race there was a problem with my equipment and my internet connection. As the countdown ticked down, I was sitting at the start line. While the other riders disappeared into the distance, I was still there, motionless. If Eurosport showed the results I would be a DNS (did not start).
The third race was my time to shine. I finished in third place, my FTP increased, I had points on the board and I was even elevated to Category B for the remaining league races. Not bad for an almost sixty-year-old, whose sporting pedigree would fit on the back of a very small postage stamp.
For a few hours, I basked in the glory of a good performance in a Zwift race. It felt good to see my name appear at the end of the results.
Unfortunately, deep down I knew something was wrong, that this couldn’t be possible. An example was my sprint, which in real life is non-existent. Before this race, hitting 500 or 600 watts had me draping over the handlebars, out of breath. This time I hit 800 watts, with more in the tank.
I was fighting among people much more talented than me, which was incredible, because my previous best cycling performance was a 5.th in a local league a few years ago.
The following Monday evening, I put on my commissioner’s hat and investigated to see where my newfound ability came from.
Over the previous week, I had connected my Assioma Uno power meter to my Zwift setup. It was a pretty simple process, and researching online assured me that the results from a power meter will be much more accurate than those from a smart trainer.
On race night I used my new setup for the first time and it was more than a coincidence that my new ability and power meter were linked somewhere.
It didn’t take long to find the problem and I realized I had cheated. My results were due to a tweak in my power measurement app, which meant all my efforts were doubled.
Many people will understand this, but for me it was new.
An Assioma Uno means you have a power meter on your bike. (Assioma Duo, means two, so that’s today’s Italian lesson over). To compensate, the APP doubles the power reading of the single power meter, giving you a result, as if you had two.
However, on Zwift this is already taken into account, so it doubles the power for you. Therefore, before use, you must enter the application and deactivate the “double power” option.
I hadn’t done that, so Zwift doubled my power, while the Assioma app doubled it again.
I felt uncomfortable. I was leading the race, competing against runners much better than me, but it wasn’t based on merit, I was cheating.
I had to grit my teeth, contact the organizers, explain to them what had happened and ask them to have my result deleted. I could have continued, perhaps achieved better performances, but it was a hollow victory.
The organizers were really good and I managed to get a few kudos for my honesty and integrity. It was a little better than charging towards victory, based on deception and lies.
These days, I can’t help but think about the professional athletes found guilty of cheating. How did they feel when they stood on the podium, knowing it wasn’t real? When speaking with young children, who view them as heroes, do they feel at all uncomfortable?
I guess these are questions we’ll never be able to answer, but I do know one thing, as my late father used to tell us, “If your name isn’t good, you’re worthless.”
