Part 1: A gruelling assessment
Part 2: Running tips for race day
The best part of my VO2 max test is the view, and it is not inspiring. I look out at a parking lot on the west side of NAIT’s Main Campus and, beyond that, Edmonton’s City Centre Airport lands, vast, empty and brown.
But compared to where I am, it still looks pretty good, because the VO2 max test is, by design, a state of prolonged suffering.
It’s being administered by Personal Fitness Trainer instructor Dr. Tim Just, who’s measuring how much oxygen my body can use during intense exercise. I’m on a treadmill set to 12 kilometres per hour, my nose and mouth are covered by a mask resembling a plunger, and my chest is banded by a heart rate monitor. Every two minutes, Just raises the elevation by 2%.
“Doing great, Scott,” he says as he watches data pile up on the computer that’s monitoring the operation. The treadmill climbs another notch, like a torturer turning a crank on the rack.
But the torturer isn’t Just. It’s me.
But the torturer isn’t Just. It’s me, motivated by a single question: What is this body capable of?
To some extent, I know. I started running a decade ago, initially attracted by its simplicity: lace up, pick a direction, and leave your stress in the dust. But after my first half-marathon in 2011, I felt more confident and competitive with each passing year – to the point where I’d set a goal of a top-three finish within my age category in the half (21K) at the 2018 Edmonton Marathon, which I’d missed by two spots the year previous. And I wanted to do it despite surgery to repair veins in my leg the following week my VO2 max test.
Just, however, saw a bigger goal. Using the tools and theory of the classroom, he was gathering information that would make clear a link between fitness and long-term health that often goes missing in fad diets, protein shakes and, yes, long-distance running. Ideally, Just wanted me to look beyond race day.
“Still good?” he asks. Lungs burning, legs growing heavy, I nod. The treadmill ratchets up to 8%. Ten seconds later, I give up and tap out, reaching a physical limit that, really, is only a starting point.
The meaning of fit
Cardiorespiratory fitness, even when measured by a spirit-breaking VO2 max test, could be defined as the ability to do any sustained activity – walking to a bus stop, mowing the lawn or shovelling the walk, playing with the kids – without gasping for breath. It reflects how efficiently the circulatory and respiratory systems supply muscles with oxygen, and how well those muscles use it.
It’s also something of a fortune teller. Cardiorespiratory fitness improves the effectiveness of insulin, body composition, blood pressure and much more. Because of that, fitness and lifespan are linked, as one review of existing evidence shows. When mortality starts calling in loans, it’s like money in the bank.
“For the general population, we want to get [VO2 max] as high as possible before age catches up,” says Just.
At my age, 42, mine’s in decline (when I did this test five years earlier, the results were irritatingly better). But it’s still an important metric, in that it’s a point of peak oxygen use, when the body’s engine revs to near-breaking point. Just works back from there, knowing that fatigue sets in ahead of this limit, sooner than later for most of us.
An elite athlete can run at 80% to 90% of their VO2 max for a long time, he tells me. Then he breaks the news: I am not an elite athlete.
"Some people take this the wrong way: [you’re] a weekend warrior type."
“Some people take this the wrong way: [you’re] a weekend warrior type, where you’re working really hard two or three times a week to improve performance. You’re not just running for health. You’re looking to compete in an event, which is good, because it has all these benefits associated with it.”
Whether those benefits include that top-three finish, Just doesn’t know.
“That’s an ambitious goal. Let’s see where you’re sitting and start working towards it.” He pauses to count back from race date: Aug. 19, 2018. Minus two weeks’ recovery for surgery, Just sees eight weeks of training.
“That’s plenty of time to improve,” he says, sounding almost believable.
Down the rabbit hole
“How the body adapts has always fascinated me,” says Just. “I just love going down that rabbit hole. With training, especially endurance training, it’s really methodical. You’ve got the numbers you need to hit, you’ve got a specific plan for getting you there, and it’s about how scientific you can be in applying that to your own life.”
Given its myriad variables, increasing VO2 max will take more time and energy than I will ever have. Instead, Just wants to boost my anaerobic threshold – that point during exercise when cramp-inducing metabolites such as lactate build up faster than the body can clear them. After analyzing the data, he figures that’s 70% of my VO2 max, or a heart rate of 160 to 165.
To raise that threshold, Just creates a plan to force my body to meet new demands, and to build on training I'd started before the surgery.
After two weeks of rest and light exercise, the first three weeks of training involve alternating between short, slow runs at a mildly winding pace, and ones punctuated by chest-heaving sprints. He slots in weekly long runs, 10 to 18 kilometres, also at an easy pace. Because we’re short on time, there are very few rest days.
Physiologically, the idea is to widen the network of oxygen-carrying capillaries, as well as strengthen ligaments, muscles, bones and blood vessels before upping the pace. “Right now your short-term goal might be to get back into your groove,” says Just.
When I finally ease into training after surgery, sustained speedy runs aren’t an option anyway. My legs feel unfamiliar, as if trust between them and me needs to be re-established.
My legs feel unfamiliar, as if trust between them and me needs to be re-established.
Which, probably, is a good thing. My previous, self-designed training plan was to run fast, period. Just’s data, however, gets me thinking about how putting down one foot in front of the other, done properly, can build a better a body, not just a faster one. Slow, for once, makes sense.
In comparison to nailing a personal best, logging the miles needed for long-term functional fitness is about as exciting as that parking lot I stared at during my VO2 max test. But without it, pulling up in a Ferrari (or at least, say, a Corvette) isn’t even possible.
Just believes that running is its own reward. Inherent in his approach to training is the idea that it’s a privilege to be able to explore and attempt to improve our physical capacity. The journey’s the thing, because there really isn’t a destination. Except when there’s a finish line, of course.
As for a top-three finish in my cohort at a half-marathon?
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t try,” says Just.
We’ve done the math. Now let’s see what this body can do.
Around week four, when the miles began to pile up in the half-marathon training plan that Tim Just made for me, a link developed between jelly beans and self-doubt.
Scrambling to find a just-in-case energy source for long runs, I took to raiding the kids’ candy stash for five or six “gourmet” beans. While I could manage less than 12 or 13 kilometres jelly bean-free, distances approaching the 21.1K of a half-marathon were marked by mixes of lemon-lime, cola, cotton candy, popcorn and other unlikely pairings.
Not convinced I could make it through without, I checked with Just to see if I was on track. The Personal Fitness Trainer instructor offered me five tips, and passed no judgement on my questionable sugar intake – other than to say that, in all likelihood, it wouldn’t hurt to leave them for the children.
1. Focus on footwork
Early in the training program, Just recommended exercises to improve running economy and make movement require less energy. “A lot of people try to run faster by taking longer strides,” he says. “It’s more efficient to take shorter strides.”
Count strides and aim for consistency (I shot for 90 right-foot strikes per minute). Eventually, the body will default to that cadence, says Just. Be patient with this, he adds. Developing economy “is a lifelong thing.”
2. Trust the plan
“We train hard so you can race easy,” says Just (pictured below). In one run, he had me cover more than the distance of a half-marathon. In another, he split an 18K into slow, medium and fast segments. The latter was a five-jelly-bean run with two unsanctioned one-minute walking breaks.
“We train hard so you can race easy.”
Just said not to sweat it (I did, though, literally. And a lot). He took the struggle to mean I was adapting to the anaerobic threshold he’d hoped for, that my body was getting better at exerting itself while clearing out rapidly accumulating, performance-limiting metabolites. Trust the training plan despite any concerns. “The idea is that you peak at race day.”
3. Adopt race routines
Start long training runs close to the same time of day as your race. Eat the same way, too. Just recommends a balanced meal the night before, including whole grains, followed by something easy to digest at breakfast.
As for water, stay hydrated during training runs. How much you drink is up to you, says Just, but he points out that an inactive person needs about two litres of fluid a day. During exercise, you'll need to replenish 0.5 to one litre of water per hour, weather dependent.
4. Don’t change a thing
Once you learn how your body will react under certain conditions, don’t introduce new ones. If jelly beans have become a psychological crutch, don’t kick it out from under yourself. “Race day is not a day to experiment.”
“Race day is not a day to experiment.”
5. Look beyond the race
Despite being wholly focused on a single event, looking beyond it can lead to a positive outlook. The finish line of one race is just a starting point for the next.
This is particularly helpful if you’ve set challenging goals.
Just’s plan crammed about 12 to 18 weeks of training into eight due to my early-summer vein-stripping surgery. Is a top-three finish in my age bracket still a reasonable expectation? While we needn’t contemplate failure, Just gave the impression that we should be flexible in how we define success. “[The race] should be for fun. You’re going to do the best you can.”
And then, perhaps, better in the next one.
“Whatever happens,” he says, “you’re more than young enough to improve. You’re going to run well but I would contend that in a month you’ll be able to run even better.”
To be continued later this summer