In his whole career, says San Millán, one athlete stands out in particular, a young Spanish rider he tested almost 10 years ago. When the test got really hard, this rider stood up on the pedals, desperate. “Most of the time, that means the guy’s done, like in a minute or two,” San Millán says. This kid kept going out of the saddle for a full 25 minutes longer. His name was Alberto Contador, and his signature is on a yellow jersey in a frame behind San Millán’s desk.
To no one’s surprise, the results show that I’m no Contador. I never even stood on the pedals, and at one point I ripped the mask off because I felt like I couldn’t breathe. (“Everybody hates the mask,” consoles physiologist Allen Lim, who has worked for Garmin and RadioShack.) San Millán shows me that when I quit, I carried 7.2 millimoles of lactate per liter of blood—a tiny concentration that, nonetheless, made me feel like I was going to die.
“Contador would have been here,” San Millán says, pointing at another chart. I look more closely: It says 0.8. With a zero. “Like he was sitting on the couch, watching TV.”