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Slob
or Superman? Are
you wasting time, money and energy?
A fitness test will tell you whether the work-outs are working. How fit
are you? Seriously, can you give
me a number? Because unless you
occasionally measure your fitness, you cannot be certain all the jogging,
swimming, cycling or trips to the gym are actually delivering improvement. Many of us will resolve to become
fitter this year, but we simply canÕt know how far weÕve come unless we know
where we started. It would be
like trying to loose weight without weighing yourself. However, it takes more than bathroom
scales to measure fitness, it requires a bank of computers at the Sports
Medicine Centre, based in ScotlandÕs National Stadium in Glasgow. ÒImagine your fitness as a roomÓ,
explained Sports Scientist Andrew Murray when I rang to book an appointment,
Òthen the volume of that room is your VO2 max. ThatÕs the number the test will give youÓ. I booked, and then wondered if I
really wanted to know. LetÕs be
honest, we sometimes lie to ourselves about how much exercise weÕre
doing. Good intentions mean we
start well, perhaps motivated by new trainers or new gym membership. But over time, our enthusiasm can
shrink and with it the intensity of our work-outs. A run might drop from six miles to six kilometres. A set at the gym can become rushed. ItÕs easy to convince ourselves weÕre
doing more training than we really are.
But you
canÕt kid the computers. The
VO2max test is clinical appraisal of fitness. It shows the maximum amount of oxygen a cardiovascular
system can carry to the muscles which they then use to produce energy. Measure this at the start of the
year, then again six months later, and youÕll know precisely how much youÕve
improved. If you havenÕt, then
frankly youÕve been wasting your time, effort and of course, your money. It becomes the end-of-term exam that
reduces all those work-outs to nothing more than sweaty revision. Just like a school exam, the
naturally gifted may scrape through, but the rest of us must put in the hours
or fail. And like every exam,
itÕs not a pleasant experience.
The whole point is to flog the victim (sorry, candidate), on a stationary
bike or treadmill, up to the point of utter exhaustion and beyond. Throughout this, they are plumbed
into machines which analyse every wheeze and pant, and every electrical
flutter of a heart working overtime.
Oh, and then thereÕs the shave. ÒYouÕll
thank me for this when I remove the sticky electrodesÓ, Andrew promised as he
dragged a dry razor over my chest, removing the hair. He explained what would happen next. ÒSince itÕs your first time youÕll
probably find the mouthpiece uncomfortable and your throat will become very
dry. You wonÕt be able to talk,
so use these hand signals.Ó
Thumbs up means OK; I should waggle my hand when I felt I had less
than a minute of effort left; and thumbs down meant I wanted to quit. ÒExcept I wonÕt stop on your first
thumbs down, because you can always give a little more.Ó So there
I stood, ten electrodes stuck on my shaven chest, from which wires ran to one
computer. A snorkel-style
mouthpiece was lodged between my lips and connected to another computer by
two tubes, one measuring gas volume, the other measuring its content. A nose-clip shut off any other source
of air. And any second now IÕd
have to run until I dropped. ÒJust try to relaxÓ, said Andrew. Yeah, right. He
started me jogging at a gentle pace of eight kilometres per hour. Two minutes later, the pace went up,
and kept doing that until after eight minutes I was running at 11kph. ThatÕs slightly above my 10k pace,
but on the road and in the gym I can sustain this pace for some time. But this was different. Not only was this an exam with all
the stress that entails, I felt like I was sucking air through an inner
tube. My throat seemed to have
been sandpapered, stung by each rasping gasp through the alien rubber
mouthpiece, and I couldnÕt fill my lungs. Worse, just as the photographer moved in for a close up, I
started to drool. I focused on a
spot on the wall. The gradient
of the treadmill rose and rose again.
I found myself giving the waggling hand sign, showing that I was
nearly done. ÒCome on Simon, try
to make one more gradientÓ, urged Andrew. Twelve minutes after starting, the treadmill rose
again. I drove up the hill, but
my head began to droop. I gave
the thumbs down sign. ÒYouÕve
got moreÓ, Andrew encouraged. I
had, but not much. Thirteen
minutes after I started, my body packed in and Andrew agreed with it. This test
is stressful. It canÕt take
place without a doctor, oxygen and a heart defibrillator close at hand. Sessions have been halted when the
ECG reading revealed a problem.
But almost as soon as itÕs over, everyone wonders whether they could
have gone longer. The numbers
confirmed my body was ready to stop.
The rate I was sucking in oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide, my
heart-rate and my appearance all revealed I was ready to stop. After IÕd showered, Andrew delivered
my exam results. In fact,
he had just three numbers for me, which doesnÕt seem much for £100 and a
bucket of sweat. But used
properly, these numbers can make all the difference to the quality of my
training. First is
the maximum heart rate, 174 in my case.
Andrew advised that by wearing a heart-rate monitor when I run
normally, I can keep my heart rate at 90% of this figure for relatively short
speed sessions, and make significant improvements. ÒRun for four minutes at 90-95% of your maximum, then run
easily for three minutes in between at around 50-60%Ó, he suggested. ÒRepeat
that set four times, and overall, thatÕs just 28 minutes of running, but
research shows three of those sets each week will raise your anaerobic threshold,
the level at which you start to tire fast.Ó More of which in a moment. Second is
my all-important fitness measure.
VO2max is expressed as millilitres per kilogram, but itÕs the numbers
that matter. Most 47 year old
blokes would be around 36, and most younger professional athletes ought to be
above 60, so it was no surprise to discover my 45.7 was somewhere
between. (Seven times Tour De
France winner Lance Armstrong has a VO2max of 83.8). The crucial point, and my whole
reason for taking the test, is that I now have a baseline, a starting point
for future tests. Six months
from now, when I take this test again, IÕll know whether the running and
cycling has been worth it. The third
figure is something called the Òaerobic thresholdÓ or AT. To the sports scientist, this is the
percentage of VO2max at which the body begins to accumulate build-up of
lactic acid and is delivered a s a percentage of my VO2max. To you and me, itÕs where your legs
turn to rubber. Once again, my
AT was between slob (40%) and superman (80%), but the point of this number is
that itÕs even more sensitive indicator of fitness than VO2max. ÒRemember I compared your VO2max to a
room, the size of which was a measure of your fitness?Ó Andrew asked. ÒNow imagine that room has a false
ceiling Ð thatÕs your AT, the point where you start to fail. Training can increase the size of the
room, but itÕs easier to raise the false ceilingÓ. ItÕs
easier to increase the VO2max of relatively untrained people. Their hearts start working more
efficiently, pumping more oxygenated blood around the body each time it
beats. So the chances are IÕll
score higher six months from now.
But in the back of my mind thereÕs the nagging doubt Ð what if my
numbers go down? The sneaky
thing about this test is it comes with built-in motivation. Only after taking it did I realise
the extent to which it will encourage me to do better next time, because I
now simply refuse to contemplate the possibility of not getting fitter. Never mind the dark nights, I will
get out on the bike and I will run in the rain. I have to. I
have an exam in six months. A Bronze
Package at Hampden Sports Medicine Centre (VO2max & ECG) costs £100. Silver,
Gold and individually designed packages are also available. Tel: 0141
616 6161 |
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