Motor Doping: Where Do We Draw the Line?

Would you call it cheating if I installed a tiny electric motor in my bike that produced 5W of free power? Of course you would. But would you call it cheating if I raced with a $12,000 super TT bike that saved me 10W of power? Hmmm. Memberships can be had at www.patreon.com/thelonelytriathlete TRANSCRIPT So, there's been a story in the triathlon world recently that I find really fascinating. And it's not fascinating because I think it's funny, or because I enjoy watching somebody get caught cheating. Actually, quite the opposite. It's fascinating because it raises a much bigger question about what we're actually trying to accomplish when we race triathlon. The story involves an age-group triathlete who had some remarkably fast bike splits, which eventually resulted in anonymous whistleblower complaints and allegations of motor doping. And I want to be careful here, because this whole thing apparently became a bit of a nightmare, and I don't think it's my place to declare somebody guilty based on what I've read. But the story got me thinking about motor doping. And then it got me thinking about technology. And then it got me thinking about what the heck we're actually doing in this sport. Because here's the thing. We all understand why motor doping is cheating. If I put a little electric motor on my bike and use that motor to propel me down the road, I'm no longer relying entirely on my own physical ability. That's pretty obvious. But here's where I start to get philosophical about it. What exactly is the objective of triathlon? Is it to go the distance as quickly as possible? Or is it to go the distance as quickly as you are capable of going using the power of your own body? Those sound like almost the same thing. But I don't think they are. Because if the objective is simply to cover 40 kilometres on a bicycle as fast as possible, then why would we have any rules about equipment? Let's just remove all the restrictions. Put a motor on the bike. Put a giant fairing around the rider. Give everybody an aerodynamic shell. Give them whatever technology is available. And let's see who can get from point A to point B the fastest. That would be a competition. But it wouldn't really be the sport of triathlon anymore. Because triathlon isn't supposed to be a competition between machines. It's supposed to be a competition between people. And that got me thinking about something that we don't question very often. Why do we allow technology to improve our performance at all? Now, I love technology. I'm a triathlete. I have a power meter. I have an aero bike. I have aero wheels. I have a wetsuit. I have very expensive goggles. I use training software. I have GPS. I have all kinds of technology that didn't exist when I first started doing triathlons. And obviously, I don't think all of that is cheating. But where is the line? And why is that line where it is? Take the bicycle itself. A modern triathlon bike is vastly more technologically advanced than the bicycles we were riding 30 years ago. It's more aerodynamic. It's lighter. It's stiffer. The wheels are more aerodynamic. The helmet is more aerodynamic. The clothing is more aerodynamic. The position we're riding in is more aerodynamic. All of those things make us faster. And we accept that. In fact, we celebrate it. We spend thousands of dollars trying to save a few watts. And I'm one of those people. I love this stuff. But here's the uncomfortable question: At what point does technology stop helping the athlete and start becoming the athlete? Because there is a continuum here. At one end, you've got something like a better pair of running shoes. Nobody would argue that wearing a good pair of running shoes means you're not actually running. At the other end, you've got an electric motor. Nobody would argue that the motor is your athletic ability. But somewhere between those two extremes is a whole lot of grey area. Super shoes. Aero helmets. Deep-section wheels. Electronic shifting. Aero frames. Power meters. Carbon-plated shoes. Wetsuits. Training software. Altitude tents. Cooling systems. Nutrition technology. Recovery technology. And on and on. And I'm not saying any of those things are bad. I'm just asking the question: Why do we allow them? And I think part of the answer is that technology has always been part of sport. Human beings have always tried to make better equipment. We made better running shoes. We made better bicycles. We made better swimsuits. We made better skis. We made better boats. And there's something really interesting about technological innovation. It makes the sport faster. It makes it more exciting. It makes people want to buy things. And, let's be honest, there's an entire industry built around convincing triathletes that the next piece of equipment is going to make them faster. And sometimes it does. But there's another consequence. Money. Because the more expensive technology we introduce into the sport, the more the playing field can become separated by who can afford the best equipment. Now, I know we're not talking about professional sports here. We're talking about age-group triathlon. But age-group triathlon can be incredibly competitive. And especially when you're racing for a podium, or trying to qualify for a world championship, the difference between first and fifth place can be very small. So if one athlete has a $12,000 superbike with $3,000 wheels and another athlete has a five-year-old road bike with clip-on aerobars, are they really competing on an equal playing field? Well... No. They're not. But we've decided that's okay. We've decided that the athlete with more money is allowed to buy some performance advantage. And that's where this gets uncomfortable. Because we draw the line at a motor. But why? Because the motor provides too much assistance? Because it's hidden? Because it replaces human effort? Probably all three. But if that's the principle, then maybe the question we should be asking isn't: “Is this piece of technology legal?” Maybe the question should be: “How much of the performance is actually coming from the athlete?” Now, obviously, that's impossible to quantify. And I'm not suggesting we try to ban every technological improvement. That would be ridiculous. I like technology. I don't want to go back to racing in a cotton T-shirt and riding a 25-pound steel bicycle. But I think it's worth recognizing what we're doing. We're gradually moving the sport toward a place where athletic performance and technological performance are intertwined. And that isn't necessarily bad. But it does change the nature of the competition. And then you get to motor doping. And suddenly, we're looking at something that's different. Because the motor isn't making you more aerodynamic. It isn't reducing rolling resistance. It isn't helping you train. It's actually producing power. You can be sitting there pedalling away, and some of the work is being done by a machine. And that's where I think we all intuitively say: No. That's not you. That's the motor. And maybe that's the simplest definition of cheating in sport. You're getting performance from something that isn't you. But then again... Isn't that happening in tiny amounts all the time? My aero helmet isn't me. My wheels aren't me. My wetsuit isn't me. My bike isn't me. My running shoes aren't me. So maybe the distinction is not whether technology contributes to performance. Of course it does. Maybe the distinction is whether the technology is passive or active. Does it allow my body to use its own energy more efficiently? Or does it actually add energy? That's probably where the line needs to be. And I think that's a pretty reasonable line. But there's another issue with all of this. And that's trust. Because age-group triathlon is supposed to be recreational. We're amateurs. We're not making a living from this. We're not getting paid millions of dollars to win races. And yet we take this stuff incredibly seriously. We train for months. We spend enormous amounts of money. We travel around the world. We qualify for world championships. We stand on podiums. And when we're racing, we want to know that the person beside us is playing by the same rules. That's part of what makes competition meaningful. If I beat somebody, I want to know that I beat them. Not their bank account. Not their equipment manufacturer. Not their hidden motor. And not their ability to find some loophole in the rules. And that's why I think the motor-doping story is worth talking about. Not because I want to pile on one athlete. Not because I think age-group triathlon is filled with cheaters. And certainly not because I think we should start policing every person who rides a little bit too fast. It's because it forces us to ask a much bigger question. What are we actually competing at? Are we competing to see who can cover the course fastest by any means available? Or are we competing to see what human beings are capable of doing? Because I think most of us, if we're honest, chose triathlon for the second reason. That's what makes it satisfying. You swim the distance because your body can swim that far. You ride the distance because your body can produce the power. You run the distance because your body can keep going. And when you cross the finish line, there's something incredibly satisfying about knowing: That was me. Not the bike. Not the shoes. Not the technology. Not the training software. Me. And maybe that's why motor doping bothers us so much. Because it doesn't just violate a rule. It violates the underlying agreement we're all making when we line up at the start. We're agreeing that we're going to find out what we're capable of. And I think that's what makes sport different from simply transportation. If the goal were merely to get from here to there as quickly as possible, I'd take a motorcycle. I'd get there a hell of a lot faster. But that's not why we're doing this. We're doing this to find out what we're capable of. And perhaps that's the line we should keep coming back to as technology continues to evolve. Not: “Can we make this legal?” Not even: “Can this make us faster?” But: “Does this still allow the athlete to be the thing producing the performance?” Because once the answer becomes no... I'm not sure we're really talking about triathlon anymore.