I’m running as fast as I can on a treadmill in a bright white room at theU.S.
Olympic Training Centerin Colorado Springs.
A long glass wall allows tourists and sports scientists a view of the sweaty human lab experiment inside.
Access is reserved forTeam USAathletes, many of whom compete in the World Cup and the Olympics.
Not that I have anything in common with these Olympians.
Now, I’m about to find out.
During my first visit to the center, Team USA Swimming is here for a three-week camp.
She’s unmistakable, standing a ropy 6 feet tall with a mass of long braids.
In fact, studies show VO2Max can be boosted by up to 50 percent, according to Epstein.
But I’m hoping to break 25 minutes in my 5K, which means running 8-minute miles.
To get there, I’ll need to improve my efficiency with a running coach.
The turf that separates the equipment from the 125-meter, three-lane running track simulates the feel of natural grass.
The track is made of Mondo Super X, the same surface that’s been used at the Olympics.
I watch them do a series of sprints up the steep ramp, heckling and laughing.
2012 Olympic gold medalistClaressa Shieldscheers them from the top.
When she spies me, she shouts, “How you doing?!”
and I walk a little taller.
Maybe I’ve just passed for an actual athlete.
We reach the weight area, containing a reported 19,200 pounds of barbells, weight plates and dumbbells.
I spot 11-time Olympic medalistRyan Lochteat the squat rack doing dead lifts.
When I do single-leg vertical jumps, she spots an imbalancemy right leg is stronger than my left.
I excuse myself to the restroom, where I barely make it before burping up vomit into the sink.
Within seconds, my skeleton avatar appears on a big screen.
I hop on the treadmill and watch my skeleton running from three angles, Tron-like.
Under the platform, thousands of sensors generate a pressure map of my foot strike.
It details key gait parameters, including side-to-side force output and joint range of motion while running.
Nabhan says he’s looking for symmetry and gait consistency.
Physiologists alluringly call this phenomenon “free speed,” and I’m ready to collect on it.
I need a coach, but I can’t find a USA Track & Field pro in Boulder.
Straight up, she pronounces my 25-minute goal a stretch, but not impossible.
To get there, Fairchild creates four weekly running workouts.
She notes that most amateurs train at an unproductive pace.
It’s a dead zone, physiologically speaking.
Distance runners need both.
“you’ve got the option to’t run fast without running slow,” she says.
She teaches me to unlock my whole rib cage to catch a deeper breath.
I imagine lifting my chest and a line of energy radiating from my back, like wings.
The first two weeks of training are the toughest.
I feel tired all the time and sore all over.
She says I need to boost my daily protein intake now that I’m exercising at endurance-athlete levels.
(I’d been getting just half of that.)
She urges me to add a daily protein bar and more fish to my diet.
I slowly start to jog when she presses a button that removes 10 percent of my body weight.
Suddenly, my sore legs move faster.
I feel like I could go on forever.
Back at home, past the halfway point of my training, my body is adapting.
I’m no longer sore or tired.
My LT improves by 10 seconds, and my heart rate is five beats lower at LT.
The numbers show I’m getting fitter.
But will it be enough to reach my goal?
On race morning, I arrive an hour early, as instructed.
I bounce from one leg to the other to keep my heart rate up.
The race starts fast, as Fairchild said it would, and I settle into an 8-minute-mile pace.
I clock mile 1 at 8:02.
Problem is, I have 2.1 miles to go.
Apparently the LT test doesn’t lie.
I fly across the finish line in 25:54.
Technically, it’s a fail.
(Any true Olympian would regard it that way.)
But I’m far from bummed.
I’m in the best shape of my life.
I just set a personal record.
That podium is almost within reach.
Just give me eight more weeks.
Top: Sneakers, APL, $150;APLRunning.com
Photo Credit: Nigel Cox
