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Outside magazine, May 1995
Tom's JourneyBy Tom Balf
PONDERING THE WORTH OF MAIL-ORDER FITNESS It's at once disconcerting and reassuring to come home from work, open the mail, and discover that 23 days from now I'll ride my bike for 48 minutes at a heart rate of no more than 149 beats per minute. And that in 46 days I'll be running 24 minutes' worth of sprints. And that in 85 days I will do no exercise whatsoever, but I will conduct a taste-test between Gatorade and Exceed in the name of improving my race performance. The regimen is all part of a package sent by my Vermont-based coach, Rob Sleamaker, who has promised to make me fit. Unfortunately, the concept also brings with it the excitement of a Jiffy Lube maintenance schedule. The good news, Sleamaker reassures me when I call him to say that my packet has arrived, is that I don't need to think about getting fit. "It works for about 98 percent of my clients," he says. "Read through everything; you'll find that it's a worthwhile system. It's like painting by the numbers." Actually, I've been awaiting the 12-week recipe. Sleamaker, who owns and runs SportsAdvantage, a mail-away personal-training company that for the last nine years has serviced professional athletes like triathlete Ray Browning as well as amateurs, sent me a searching nine-part questionnaire some time ago. There were some queries to which I couldn't respond: "What is your race-pace heart rate?" "How much time do you train in a low-volume week and in a high-volume week?" I hadn't really trained for anything since my soccer days in college, and at 36, with a wife, a baby, and a consuming job, it seemed like a bad time to be getting back into the swing of things. The one question I could answer was, "Which areas do you feel need the most improvement?" I wasn't in the poor shape of some of my gut-laden friends, but the survey had me feeling self-conscious. I jotted down, "My heart, my lungs, my muscles." But now, after jabbering with Sleamaker for a while, I feel better. Even though I'm an environmental manager and Sleamaker is a physiologist, there is a common thread: We're both interested in efficient use of resources, maximum productivity, and reducing waste. Besides, Sleamaker says, I have been staying at least somewhat active (I put in two and a half hours of exercise a week), and his plan won't keep me from everything else. He also assures me that our occasional conversations will help me get through the rough spots, even if I'm in St. Paul and he's in Williston, Vermont. Finally, he convinces me that the regimented schedule will work. "You can follow a plan like mine, or you can follow the one where you decide what you're going to do five minutes before you walk out the door," says Sleamaker. "Either way, you're going to have to follow something."
I SUFFER FROM A SHOW OF STRENGTH I've never taken a fitness test, but what worries me more than running to exhaustion on a treadmill is the indignity I may suffer at the mercy of skin-fold calipers. Indeed, the body-fat percentage test is one of the first I have to endure, and my flesh is pinched at no fewer than seven different spots. The conclusion is that I've been indulging in too many post-softball buffalo wings: More than 28 of my 178 pounds are fat--15.9 percent of my total body weight, which puts me out of the "athletic" range for my age and into the "average" category. I'm given the same rating for the results of my treadmill test: My VO2 max measures only 46.5 milliliters per kilogram of body weight per minute, and it's a worry. The way my twerp brother always rides and runs, there's no telling what he posted. My strength tests serve as a temporary redemption. I can pull my weight in the seated row (considered pretty decent) and nearly two-thirds of my weight in the chest press (above average). Though I get an approving nod from Sue Masemer, the exercise physiologist administering the test at the Flagship Athletic Club in Eden Prairie, while pushing a huge amount of lead on the leg press, I also manage to strain my back by keeping it too flat during the lift. I'm told afterward that the right way to perform the exercise is to maintain my back's natural curve and that many people make the same mistake. Unable to go on, I call Sleamaker with the bad news. "Were you warmed up, and did you have the opportunity to stretch beforehand?" he asks. Yes. "Did you have a chance to perform the test where you do dips and chin-ups to exhaustion?" Yes, and I was average. "That's OK. You really shouldn't give a damn what you can max-out on. It's what you can do repeatedly, like the dips and chin-ups--those are an endurance athlete's strength-reference point." My ill-advised stunt puts me out of action for three days. Sue includes a quick note when she faxes me my results: "Thanks--you were a good sport."
WHY I SHOULD STOCKPILE MITOCHONDRIA Sleamaker's highly comprehensive book, Serious Training for Serious Athletes (Human Kinetics, $15.95), isn't a riveting read, but his philosophy is clear. "An essential ingredient of the systematic approach to training is intensity," Sleamaker writes. "Every workout has a distinct physiological purpose, and the intensity of the training session is directly linked to this purpose." So it comes as no surprise that each of the 80 or so workouts in my regimen prescribes how hard I should be pushing myself and what the purpose of that session is. For the first month, I'll be doing a lot of "overdistance" training, or slow running and cycling. "The overdistance work is all about improving your aerobic plumbing," Sleamaker explains in his easygoing manner. "Your capillary density, your mitochondria--you're building all of that up to deal with greater workloads. You'll then need that plumbing to flush out the lactic acid you'll be producing when I have you working harder." Knowing how hard I'm working isn't something Sleamaker leaves to chance. I buy a heart-rate monitor and am told to wear it every time I ride or run. Armed with the knowledge that my resting heart rate is 69, Sleamaker uses what's called the Karvonen method to figure out how hard my heart should be beating at four different levels of effort. The formula goes like this: (220 - AGE - RESTING HEART RATE) X EFFORT (EXPRESSED AS A PERCENTAGE OF MAXIMUM HEART RATE) + RESTING HEART RATE = TARGET HEART RATE It looks more complicated than it is, and because it takes one's resting heart rate into consideration, says Sleamaker, it gives a far more accurate assessment of maximum heart rate than the old 220-minus-the-age equation. Here's how my numbers worked out, plus what I consider a more tangible measure of effort: Sleamaker's estimations of how much breath you can devote to conversation at each level of intensity.
Level 1
Level 2
Level 3
Level 4 Sleamaker emphasizes that my most important workouts come at Levels 1 and 4. "Besides overdistance, it's the speed stuff that's important," he says. "That's when you're training the heart and lungs. Relatively speaking, the workouts done at a 71 to 75 percent effort have the least effect for your race preparation. And left to their own devices, that's the effort level at which a lot of people exercise." Sleamaker also wants me hitting the gym a few times a week. The plan calls for weight-lifting sessions using high reps and light loads in the name of building my muscles for endurance rather than bulk. During one of our half-hour phone conversations, I can't help but ask the obvious: "Is this a recipe for beating my brother?" There's silence. "You have to look at the improvement as relative to your own standards," Sleamaker finally answers. "Think of it as Tom versus Tom, not as you against anyone else."
I FIND OUT I CAN SKIP A DAY Nearly a month into my training program, I'm fighting boredom. Not only are the Level 1 and 2 workouts mundane, but my physique hasn't exactly been reshaped. "You've barely gotten past the three-week period where your body adjusts to the program," confirms Sleamaker. I can tell he's heard this complaint before. "It takes four to six additional weeks before you'll see anything. Don't expect to reap the benefits without following through." As unaccomplished as I feel after a slow, 35-minute run (Sleamaker always prescribes workouts in time and intensity rather than distance, for precision), I'm feeling worse when I miss a day or two--and it's happening more often than I'd like. There's my job, my family, occasionally an important doubleheader. Sleamaker, surprisingly, is understanding. "Don't try and make up for lost workouts," he says. "Just pick up where you left off. You're not losing much by taking a day off here or there." I learn that in the middle of a training regimen, you can take at least three days off before strength and aerobic capabilities start to diminish. Of course such a factoid brings with it a very quick reminder: "Remember that when you're not exercising," says Sleamaker, "you're not gaining anything, either."
A FAST LEAP FORWARD Sleamaker has had a change of heart. "Are you ready?" he asks. "Because I think you're ready to step things up." It's as animated as I've ever heard him. To this point I've done some demanding Level 4 workouts: 20 to 25 minutes of running speed-work, 30 minutes of hard riding. They were not pretty. But now Sleamaker's telling me that he wants to increase my training time by about 25 percent--and raise the intensity, too. "You're still at a level where there's little fear of overtraining," he says. "If you were already working out 12 hours a week, I'd say such a leap is dangerous--but you're only going from six hours to eight. Plus the base is there." He's right about that. I'd come to appreciate the slow-motion training. After a while my regular-route run and bike times started going down, while my heart-rate stayed at the same clip. Now, however, the coach not only wants me to go harder and longer, but to suffer as I will during the face-off in Killington. Sleamaker prescribes what he calls Up/Vertical Intervals, or hill work. "You need to use the muscles in the same range of motion that you will in the race," he says, reacting to the fact that up to now I've been sticking mostly to the flatlands of southern Minnesota. "When you run uphill, you emphasize your calves, hip flexors, quadriceps, glutes, and more, in a completely different way than you do on flats." So I turn to one of the few slopes I can find in St. Paul and occasionally head out of town to a sandy grade that was once a landfill. Trying to keep the same pace up a medium-steep, 8 to 10 percent grade, I'm told, requires an average runner to just about double his effort--and sure enough, by the last of the first few repeats, I'm sucking wind. Standing atop a mound that is undoubtedly dwarfed by the mountains in Vermont, I wonder how long it will take for my glutes, quads, and lungs to get cozy with the new terrain.
IN SEARCH OF A LITTLE SPIRITUAL (AND PHYSICAL) FLEXIBILITY For the past few weeks, I've been doing the Cat and Cow stretches of the Sun Salutation exercise. I've also been working on my diaphragmatic breathing. I expect Sleamaker to bristle at my taking up a little yoga. "I feel like I've needed an edge," I explain to him. "I always knew Todd's strengths and weaknesses in basketball, but this is different. I've never seen him on a mountain bike. At least I know this is something he won't have. He wouldn't go for this kind of stuff." Sleamaker is encouraging, as long as I don't swap his workouts for time spent attempting the lotus position. What he doesn't know, says my friend Gala, the yoga instructor, is that yoga provides some tangible benefits. I learn from her that runners, cyclists, and generally most other athletes have stronger quads than hamstrings, and the imbalance causes a compromise in performance and a better chance of injury. The idea is that even if I don't specifically strengthen my hamstrings, I should at least stretch them regularly; I'll get improved use from more elastic muscles. "In the race, you're going to be putting a lot of pressure on your legs," she warns me. "Do the yoga. It'll open channels and decompress things." By now I'm pretty good at isolating my hams during my sessions (the key: do forward bends with a straight back) even if I can't honestly say I've opened any channels. I'm also breathing more from my belly to take in additional air, and arching my back and inverting it from a hands-and-knees-on-the-floor position (Cat and Cow, respectively) to relieve it of some of the soreness I get from all that riding. Whether or not it puts me over the top come race time, the yoga is a nice break from what's become a regimented existence. There are also, Gala mentions, the lifelong benefits. She tells me there are yoga masters in their nineties who have perfect posture and are still instructing. "One of the most famous lines from yoga," Gala says, "is that you are as young as your spine is flexible."
THE SHOWDOWN Not only is this my first chance to see Todd since the contest got underway, but it's my first encounter with the mountain. I perform my prerace ceremony, just as Sleamaker has taught me: I eat (yogurt and a bagel), drink (a water bottle's worth of carbo-rich beverage), and quickly hit the Porta Potti. After a 15-minute Level 1 jog--Sleamaker reminded me that without a good warm-up my body will spend the first five minutes of the race producing the dreaded, anaerobic-based lactic acid--I get to the starting line and nervously say something lame to Todd about some impressive quads. The race starts, and I'm going to stick with my plan, which is to keep my heart rate at around 170 beats per minute. That's about 90 percent of my max, and Sleamaker has warned me that if I go out much faster, I'll pay later. Unfortunately, with about a half-mile left in the first leg, I continue to run my race, while Todd runs away from me. I repeat to myself not to stray from the readout on my wrist. "Don't race his race," Sleamaker has told me. "Stick to your strategy." However, after a couple of miles and what seems like endless climbing on the bike, I'm over the magical 170. This despite the fact that I'm pushing my bike up some of the nasty switchbacks (I'm not alone, thank you). Though I pass many of the racers who went out too fast, and though I get back on my bike for each of the ten times I dismount, I don't spot Todd. A quick descent (heart-rate: a relatively comfortable 159), and I arrive at the transition zone, where Todd's wife, Patty, tells me my brother is just ahead. Patty, whom I love dearly and who is terribly supportive of everyone, is lying. Todd, I soon see, is finishing the race while I'm starting the final leg. He's even in the crowd, cheering me on, as I cross the finish line, totally disoriented and exhausted.
I MAKE A VOW TO COMPETE--SOMETIMES Barring the missed flight home and the ensuing lousy food and airport accommodations, I felt invigorated after the race. I was fatigued but not really sore, save a lower back that I took care of with some Cat and Cow work. As for the final results, my 1:58:56 put me nearly 19 minutes behind my brother. But when it comes to relative fitness gains, I think I've come out on top. My second test shows that I shed a lot of baggage: The 11-pound weight loss impresses Sue Masemer, my fitness examiner, less than the body-fat test--I've dropped from nearly 16 percent body fat to just over 10. I lift a bit more weight in the leg press--and in nearly all of the other strength tests--without hurting my back. And my muscle endurance is way up. The dips and chin-ups come effortlessly. Try again next year? Doubtful. It's not that I couldn't give my little bro more of a race--it's the commitment. Exercise I'll do, but maybe a big event is something I'm up for only every so often. Sleamaker supports me. "Just remember how well you did in the race and keep that whole process in mind--wasn't it satisfying?" he says. "If it's not duathlons, find some other form of exercise you're passionate about. Don't deny yourself the benefits." As for the Slush Puppy that's always been a post-brotherly-competition fixture, it tasted a lot sweeter than I remembered. I got about halfway through before handing it to my two-year-old son, Sam. Let him carry the Balf tradition into the next century. Tom Balf, a former soccer player at Tufts University, is now an environmental consultant at ML Strategies in Boston, where he can keep better tabs on his baby brother.
Copyright 1995, Outside magazine
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