Archive for September, 2008

Them Dry Bones

First published September 21, 2007

My next stop for Canyon Ranch’s peak performance program was to the dual-energy x-ray absorptiometry (DEXA) scan machine. As I understood it, the machine would pepper me with gamma rays and turn me into a superhero.

Dr. Brewer punctured my balloon by explaining the machine would simply measure my bone density and, as a side benefit, my body fat. Oh joy.

“This generally doesn’t hurt,” said Dr. Brewer, which of course is the money quote they’ll print in the newspaper story describing my grisly death and charred corpse. Fortunately my fears were groundless and the scan only took a few minutes. Soon we were looking at the enchanting picture you see here. Control yourselves, ladies, but that’s me with nothing on—not even skin, fat, muscles or internal organs.

The readout showed I had 20,945 grams of fat on me—about the same amount as a porterhouse at your local Sizzler. My body was 30.7 percent fat.

I was freaking out for the better part of the day until exercise physiologist Mike Siemens explained that the DEXA scan measures all the fat in my body, including the thin threads throughout the lean, or, as I unappetizingly called it, my marbling.

To demonstrate the difference from a normal body composition test, he used the calipers on me and measured out 23 percent fat. Still not good, but at least I had a better reference.

Mike explained that even though I’m a thin guy (5′11″, 154 lbs.), I’m lacking in lean mass, or, in layman’s terms, muscle. Mike had to throw a net over me as I tried to lam out of there. I knew where this was heading: the weight room.

But I got a short reprieve. I had to take one final test before the remedies began: an aerobic capacity test, better known by runners the world over as a VO2 max test.

Inflaming Opinions

First published September 14, 2007

I can’t say my second day in Canyon Ranch’s peak performance program started the way I like. After a 12-hour fast I had a 7:30 a.m. appointment for a blood draw.

Dr. Stephen Brewer, Canyon Ranch’s medical director, kindly invited me to attend the peak performance staff meeting at 8 a.m. I readily agreed, but wondered whether I would be tested while in a state of keen hunger.

I was introduced around, but names and faces began to blur as I spied the bagels and cream cheese (obviously contraband) on the conference room table. No doubt fearing the ravenous look in my eyes, I was told to help myself. I’m not proud to confess the meeting commenced amidst a blizzard of bagel crumbs.

The topic of discussion was shin splints, in honor of my presence and my recent bout with same. Dr. Richard Gerhauser, like most of the peak performance staff, is an impressive athlete in his own right, and explained the fundamentals of medial tibial stress syndrome.

I explained how I had treated my shins with ice and ibuprofen when Dr. Gerhauser suggested that reducing inflammation was not always the best approach to take.

Heresy! I thought. Thou shalt treat shin splints with rest, ice and Advil, sayeth the Mayo Clinic and every other shin splint advice column on the Internet.

But Dr. Gerhauser explained the role of inflammation in healing. Reducing inflammation brings relief, but it can also extend recovery time. Assuming you have no immune system complications, this makes some sense and may help explain the findings of the British Journal of Sports Medicine about ice baths. Participants who soaked in ice baths after activity reported more pain than those who did not.

I can’t say I’m entirely convinced, but a little research did determine that inflammation is a lot more complicated medical topic than I had imagined. My brilliant plan is to simply avoid it whenever possible.

Next up was my dual-energy x-ray absorptiometry scan. Find out next week how much I charge to haunt a house!

My Legs Are Eccentric

First published September 7, 2007

My peak performance package at Canyon Ranch in Tucson, Arizona, began almost immediately after arrival with a trip to the nurse to check my blood pressure (116/64) and resting pulse rate (64). Then a program specialist went through my action-packed schedule with me.

My first stop was a small room where exercise physiologist Mike Siemens greeted me. After providing him with my vital statistics, I boarded a leg press machine that was hooked up to a computer and monitor.

Normally you wouldn’t need a computer to see how well you can lift, but it would be difficult if your physiologist were directing you to lift 63 percent of the way, then down to 30 percent, then back up to 85 percent, and so on. So the computer converts the exercise into a series of video games for your legs.

For someone like me who never lifts weights, this was good news. The games kept me entertained so I didn’t notice that I was absolutely torturing my quads, glutes and other muscles I didn’t know I had.

One of the first games resembled Breakout!, a Pong-like game that involves keeping three balls in play by moving a paddle back and forth across the bottom of the screen. The twist is that you don’t move the paddle by turning a knob with your wrists, but by pushing the weight up and down with one leg.

I was pretty good at this but Mike wouldn’t let me go for the high score.

The next one was like Frogger, requiring sharp movements to keep from smashing into the obstacles. I was mostly roadkill.

After about 30 minutes, I was ready to try Asteroids or Super Mario, but Mike decided to show me what it all meant instead.

Using a series of color-coded printouts, Mike first explained that my left leg was 11 percent stronger than my right leg. They should be within 3 to 10 percent of each other, so it confirmed my theory that I’m slightly unbalanced.

The coordination, endurance capacity and proprioceptive results all indicated that my eccentric contractions were much more efficient than my concentric contractions. OK, so I’m unbalanced and extra eccentric. Tell me something I don’t know.

Mike patiently explained that pushing the weight up was concentric and letting it down was eccentric. Translating this to running, it meant that my transition from footfall to push-off was not as efficient as it could be. In short, I’m not getting the maximum propulsion from each stride.

This information enabled Mike to develop a plan for our upcoming running session. I was pretty jazzed to begin, but I needed to rest my eccentric legs because the next day promised to be extremely taxing.

A Peek at Peak Performance

First published August 31, 2007

Because of my amazing celebrity connections, I got an opportunity this week to try out the peak performance package at the Canyon Ranch health resort in Tucson, Arizona.

I will be spending four days being tested, poked, prodded, analyzed and examined like an alien abductee while expert exercise physiologists, sports physicians and nutritionists try to figure out why I’m so damned slow. Oh, and a behavioral specialist will determine if it’s because I am a generally warped human being.

I’m not the first person to go through this program. Kathryn Bertine tried it out for ESPN.com last year. This is especially daunting for me, because not only is Kathryn a former ice skater and professional triathlete, but she’s a helluva lot better writer than I am.

But while many elite athletes have completed this kind of program and gone on to do great things in the wide world of sports, I will be the first middle-aged, middle-of-the-pack distance runner to undergo the trials and tribulations of body scans and a VO2 max test in order to discover that I’m a middle-aged, middle-of-the-pack distance runner.

In the weeks to come, I’ll provide all the gory details, so stay tuned to this space to find out what happens when an average Joe gets the elite athlete treatment… if I live.

Flexibility: Not Just for Muscles

You’ve heard it a million times. “Don’t try anything new on race day.” It’s good advice, especially for those tempted to wear the new running shoes or apparel they bought at the race expo the day before.

I follow it religiously. Every morning I get up at 4 a.m., have my wife drive me to the local Sheraton, where I hang around in the lobby for 15 minutes, and then take a 45-minute bus ride to the middle of nowhere. I sit on the curb for another hour or so, freezing, while I eat my breakfast out of a plastic bag. Then I stand outside a porta-potty for 15-20 minutes.

Then I start my training run, where I’ve arranged to have total strangers hand me their choice of food and drink along the way.

Yes, the bad news is that race day is unlike any of your training days, so it’s best not to lock yourself so tightly into a habit pattern that you’re unable to adjust on the fly.

I’m a firm believer in meticulous planning for an important race, but all good planning should include contingencies. Maybe you drink only a special mixture of Gatorade, GU2O and pomegranate juice on race day. What if you left it on the bus seat? You’ve got a Garmin, a heart rate monitor and an iPod, and the batteries all die at once at mile one. Are you going to let it ruin your race?

And I know I can’t be the only boob who fell for the “flat and fast!” and “PR course!” descriptions in the race brochure, only to find a long series of undulating hills, or a 300 foot climb followed immediately by a 305 foot drop (”net downhill!”).

So while you want to tailor your training to the specific race you’ve targeted, don’t forget some training for the unexpected. Always be safe, but run in the rain or the heat. Practice on broken or uneven ground. Seek out headwinds. Try different kinds of fluids and replenishment. Leave your watch at home. If you usually eat 15 minutes before running, try waiting for an hour or two. Or vice versa.

Stretch your routine as thoroughly as your hamstrings and you’ll be ready for anything race day throws at you. Well, almost anything.

The Birds, the Bees, and the Yappy Little Dogs

Animal encounters are the price of sharing the great outdoors with God’s creatures, but perhaps because runners cover so much territory we seem to have more than our share.

I’ve had a gash opened on my calf by a nine-pound yapping monster -on a retractable leash, mind you – and had a huge friendly Labrador follow me on my entire six-mile run. I’ve been chased by yellowjackets and a crow. Evidently I’ve only scratched the surface.

A little research turned up runner stories and advice about encounters with birds, bees, deer, coyotes, and rattlesnakes.

And if you’re on the trail in Australia, watch out for wombats.

It’s a serious safety issue, but there’s a comedic side to all the animal do’s and don’ts. Aggressive dog? Avoid eye contact. Aggressive wolf? Maintain eye contact.

Don’t yell, wave your arms or make aggressive movements towards a dog. If it’s a dingo, go ahead and make a sudden loud noise, and continue until it goes away.

Grizzly bear? Play dead. Cougar? Stand and fight.

And then there’s this helpful hint: “A charging polar bear should be interpreted as a bear intent on injuring a person.”

Thanks for the safety tip.

I’m a runner, not Marlin Perkins. I picture myself being eaten alive by raccoons or fruit bats while I rummage through my mental files for the appropriate response.

Women runners have one additional animal nuisance to deal with, but don’t worry. Squirt water in his face and he’ll leave you alone.

Murphy Was a Runner

Your chances of an injury rise proportionally with the amount of the entry fee you just paid.

If a race brochure says “no dogs or strollers,” you will see a dog get hit by a stroller.

You will set a PR the day your chip falls off at the starting line.

If that cute guy/girl is checking out your butt, it’s because you split your shorts.

You will apply Vaseline to your back and BenGay to your … chafed areas.

At Mile 24 of your marathon, the aid station will be handing out espresso-flavored Clif Shots.

Your finish line photo will show you with happy boobs … and you’re a guy.

After waiting in line for 45 minutes, your Porta-Potty will be out of paper … and seat covers … and then the lock will jam.

As you sprint to the finish you will be nosed out by a 10-year-old girl.

Medical research will reveal that eating half-bananas causes sterility.

You win the Boston Marathon and find someone else is wearing the laurel wreath.

You’re mistaken for an elite runner, but it’s Secretariat.

You set the alarm properly, eat a sensible breakfast, stretch, warm up, pack your gear, and get to the starting line in plenty of time … because you forgot the race is tomorrow.