Lightweights
I alluded a few posts ago to Lance Armstrong's recommendation that his rival Jan Ullrich begin the Tour a few pounds lighter. What follows is a noted triathlon coach's thoughts on body weight, how best to reduce it, and athletic performance:
Around the time of the Tour de France there are often questions about how an athlete should go about losing weight in order to climb better. There’s little doubt that being lighter means climbing faster. Pro cyclists who contend for the yellow jersey, the polka dot jersey or who need to support their team leader in the Alps and Pyrenees try to be lean by the time the terrain turns upward. The best climbers are generally less than 2 pounds of body weight for every inch of height (divide your weight in pounds by your height in inches to find this number). It’s rare to find a rider in the pro peloton at 2.5 pounds per inch or greater. A lot of them who are not climbing specialists are around 2.1 to 2.2. The latest average I have for the TdF field shows an average of 2.151 pounds per inch (thanks to Gregory Byerline for providing that data).
Every pound of excess fat shaved from your body saves you about 3 watts in a climb. In running it is something like 2 seconds per mile per excess pound in a race. For most endurance athletes, a 1-point shift in weight-to-height ratio means about 5 percent loss of weight—around a 7- to 9-pound loss of love handles. That can be done safely over a two-month period if there is a big A-race with lots of climbing or the need to run faster on the calendar a couple of months from now.
How is it best for an athlete to lose weight? Unfortunately, there have been few studies of serious athletes that looked at this question.
One group of researchers, however, has examined the issue in an interesting way. They compared eating less to exercising more to see which was more effective in dropping excess body fat.
They had six endurance-trained men create a 1,000-calorie-per-day deficit for seven days by either exercising more while maintaining their caloric intake, or by eating less while keeping exercise the same. With 1,000 calories of increased exercise daily—comparable to running an additional 8 miles or so each day—the men averaged 1.67 pounds of weight loss in a week. The subjects eating 1,000 fewer calories each day lost 4.75 pounds on average for the week.
So, according to this study, the old adage that “a calorie is a calorie” doesn’t hold true. At least in the short term, restricting food intake appears to have a greater return on the scales than does increasing training workload.
Notice that I said “on the scales.” The reduced-food-intake group in this study unfortunately lost a greater percentage of muscle mass than did the increased-exercise group. That is an ineffective way to lose weight. If the scales show you’re lighter, but you have less muscle to create power, the trade-off is not a good one.
How can you reduce calories yet maintain muscle mass? Unfortunately, that question hasn’t been answered for athletes, but it has been for sedentary women. Perhaps the conclusions are still applicable to athletes.
In 1994, Italian researchers had 25 women eat only 800 calories a day for 21 days. Ten ate a relatively high-protein and low-carbohydrate diet. Fifteen ate a low-protein and high-carbohydrate diet. Both were restricted to 20 percent of calories from fat. The two groups lost similar amounts of weight, but there was a significantly greater loss of muscle on the high-carbohydrate, low-protein diet. It appears that when calories are reduced to lose weight, which is more effective than increasing training workload, the protein content of the diet must be kept at near normal levels. This, of course, assumes that you’re eating adequate protein before starting the diet, which many athletes aren’t. When training hard, a quality source of protein should be included in every meal, especially when trying to lose weight.
--Joe Friel, Ultrafit.com
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Gone Fishing
It is starting to make sense, the instruction from the swimming manual to be "fish-like" in the water. Long and fluid. Sleek. Knifing through the water. OK, I'm the clumsiest, klutziest fish in the pond, but I'm starting to feel it. Three and a half years after taking up swimming, thousands and thousands of torturous laps later, I'm starting to feel it. And the confirmation is on the clock, where I see myself clicking off an endless string of 55-second 50s without tiring a bit. Slow as that is, it's faster and easier and clearly more efficient than before. What to explain this transformation? Lots of swimming. Three or four days a week in the pool all summer, then six days last week and already three days this week. Plus, as I mentioned, those three-plus years. You live in the water, you get fish-like. A little bit, at least.
It is starting to make sense, the instruction from the swimming manual to be "fish-like" in the water. Long and fluid. Sleek. Knifing through the water. OK, I'm the clumsiest, klutziest fish in the pond, but I'm starting to feel it. Three and a half years after taking up swimming, thousands and thousands of torturous laps later, I'm starting to feel it. And the confirmation is on the clock, where I see myself clicking off an endless string of 55-second 50s without tiring a bit. Slow as that is, it's faster and easier and clearly more efficient than before. What to explain this transformation? Lots of swimming. Three or four days a week in the pool all summer, then six days last week and already three days this week. Plus, as I mentioned, those three-plus years. You live in the water, you get fish-like. A little bit, at least.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Vine Times
Why, yes, I do live in Napa and, indeed, I toil in the wine industry. Been a long time since I said anything about matters of the grape. Nothing profound to offer tonight; just three quick items:
1) Tony Hendra has, rather provocatively, reviewed the new McCoy bio of Parker. Fun read.
2) My pal David Darlington writes in the Times mag about Leo McCloskey, who feeds heartily off the wine industry's assumption that Parker has vast powers. Go here for that elucidating piece.
3) Finally, tonight with grilled turkey cheeseburgers, a salad of freshly picked tomatoes, and a pile of rosemary potatoes with diced grilled red bell peppers, I enjoyed Cuvaison's 2001 Merlot Carneros. Based on many tasting experiences now, I am convinced that the region is as exciting for Merlot and Syrah as it is for Burgundian varietals.
Why, yes, I do live in Napa and, indeed, I toil in the wine industry. Been a long time since I said anything about matters of the grape. Nothing profound to offer tonight; just three quick items:
1) Tony Hendra has, rather provocatively, reviewed the new McCoy bio of Parker. Fun read.
2) My pal David Darlington writes in the Times mag about Leo McCloskey, who feeds heartily off the wine industry's assumption that Parker has vast powers. Go here for that elucidating piece.
3) Finally, tonight with grilled turkey cheeseburgers, a salad of freshly picked tomatoes, and a pile of rosemary potatoes with diced grilled red bell peppers, I enjoyed Cuvaison's 2001 Merlot Carneros. Based on many tasting experiences now, I am convinced that the region is as exciting for Merlot and Syrah as it is for Burgundian varietals.
Captured
Recently, my parents, grandmother and Auntie Margaret were over for the day. It was Margaret's first visit to the house so we took her on a tour. In the course of the tour someone pointed out a photograph, taken from the back window of Niko's room, of Niko and me on the hammock. If love could be boiled down to its pure essence, it would be this photograph:
A father and his son in the warm evening glow. Niko is reclined on top of me, his head propped up against my leg. We are facing each other and he is examining something he is holding in his hand and he is (I am sure) spinning brilliant theories about the object and its origins or use. In the photograph, the object is just barely too small to decipher. The stuff of our family life is scattered around us on the ground, brown now in early fall beneath the big oak. On the left edge of the photo there's a wading pool, empty but for a few clumps of leaves. Below, there are a couple of chairs, one wrought iron, another from an old dining-room set. There's a colorful plastic tee with the fat yellow bat nearby. There's a bunched up silver tarp, with Sammy Cat just off the edge, peering -- as he often does -- at something knowable only to him. There's also a bucket of water with one of my winemaking siphons in it. No doubt Niko had been siphoning earlier.
Looking at the photo, it occurred to me: My ex created that. One evening during our allegedly loveless marriage, she stopped what she was doing, grabbed the camera and captured that moment.
Photography is as much art as any other form. Beauty in art rarely comes by accident. And this beautiful photo, this picture of overwhelming tenderness and sweetness, was made by my ex. Could she have created it if she didn't see and feel and hold love for our lives -- for me -- in her heart? A classic technique of abandoning marriage is to revise the history; my ex wants to believe there never really was love between us. I see now where there was pain and poor communication and even meanness -- as in most human interaction. But there was love, as well. Tons of love. The evidence is everywhere, I am sure of it. Which leaves me, where, exactly? Where I was before, where I have been since this started, where I will be, it seems, for a very long time: drifting deep in sadness. Sadness for myself for what I have lost; sadness for her for the pain that drove her to destroy so much that was beautiful.
Recently, my parents, grandmother and Auntie Margaret were over for the day. It was Margaret's first visit to the house so we took her on a tour. In the course of the tour someone pointed out a photograph, taken from the back window of Niko's room, of Niko and me on the hammock. If love could be boiled down to its pure essence, it would be this photograph:
A father and his son in the warm evening glow. Niko is reclined on top of me, his head propped up against my leg. We are facing each other and he is examining something he is holding in his hand and he is (I am sure) spinning brilliant theories about the object and its origins or use. In the photograph, the object is just barely too small to decipher. The stuff of our family life is scattered around us on the ground, brown now in early fall beneath the big oak. On the left edge of the photo there's a wading pool, empty but for a few clumps of leaves. Below, there are a couple of chairs, one wrought iron, another from an old dining-room set. There's a colorful plastic tee with the fat yellow bat nearby. There's a bunched up silver tarp, with Sammy Cat just off the edge, peering -- as he often does -- at something knowable only to him. There's also a bucket of water with one of my winemaking siphons in it. No doubt Niko had been siphoning earlier.
Looking at the photo, it occurred to me: My ex created that. One evening during our allegedly loveless marriage, she stopped what she was doing, grabbed the camera and captured that moment.
Photography is as much art as any other form. Beauty in art rarely comes by accident. And this beautiful photo, this picture of overwhelming tenderness and sweetness, was made by my ex. Could she have created it if she didn't see and feel and hold love for our lives -- for me -- in her heart? A classic technique of abandoning marriage is to revise the history; my ex wants to believe there never really was love between us. I see now where there was pain and poor communication and even meanness -- as in most human interaction. But there was love, as well. Tons of love. The evidence is everywhere, I am sure of it. Which leaves me, where, exactly? Where I was before, where I have been since this started, where I will be, it seems, for a very long time: drifting deep in sadness. Sadness for myself for what I have lost; sadness for her for the pain that drove her to destroy so much that was beautiful.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Out There Running
So what in the world's come over you
And what in heaven's name have you done
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness
You're out there running just to be on the run
Well I got a heart that burns with a fever
And I got a worried and a jealous mind
How can a love that'll last forever
Get left so far behind
--John Prine
So what in the world's come over you
And what in heaven's name have you done
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness
You're out there running just to be on the run
Well I got a heart that burns with a fever
And I got a worried and a jealous mind
How can a love that'll last forever
Get left so far behind
--John Prine
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Half Vineman to Me: Here, Pete; I Have Your Ass for You
Today I entered a new realm of triathlon. I sucked. Wait -- don't be alarmed! I'm not brimming with self-loathing. I'm actually proud of my performance. The run was 2+ hours of hell, yet I never stopped. I ran the whole thing. I ran slowly, but I ran it and in the end they gave me my medal and I look at it, right now, and say, "I earned that thing."
But I still sucked.
I'm not sure what my time was. Somewhere around 6 hours, more than 20 minutes slower than last year's 5:38 and 15+ minutes slower than my first Half Vineman, in 2002.
What happened? Two things: First, in my so-called training, I didn't put in the necessary work on the bike. Gordo has said many a time that the bike is the heart of long-distance triathlon. "The bike is the engine," is how he's put it, the idea being that if the engine isn't powerful and well-tuned, the athlete will come out of the bike in no position to run well. My story, in a nutshell. In poor cycling shape, I nevertheless splitted under three hours, making it a typical Half Vineman bike for me. But getting that time zapped me. Typically, I come off the bike and uncorked a couple of 8-minute miles and only slip by about a minute-per-mile over the course of the 13.1-mile run. Today, my first mile was 9 minutes. My second was 10. My legs were shot. It was all I could do to turn out 10-minute miles the rest of the way.
There was also the matter of hydration. My wave was second-to-last of 16 to go, each separated by 8 minutes. By the time we started our swim, at 8:45 a.m., the fog deep in the Russian River Valley was already burning off. On the bike, I never felt hot and never felt thirsty, so I didn't drink much -- probably about half what I remember consuming in previous Half Vinemans. By the time I began running, I realized I was parched. I drank a couple of cups of water, and sips of Gatorade, at every aid station (every mile). My stomach took it reasonably well, and after each station, I'd feel stronger for a couple of minutes. Then I'd fade. This repeated over and over again.
OK, so how dehydrated was I. Well, three hours and a probably a half-gallon of fluids later, my weight was still down almost 6 percent. This is serious dehydration, friends. (Check out this link; I was shocked.) Now, another hour and a sandwich and a liter of water and a beer later, as the cooling evening breeze kicks in and blows into the office here, I still feel very hot.
So, OK, I sucked and I was stupid.
But hey, as I said above, that's OK. I started, I finished, I learned. Now I'm going to get ready -- really ready -- for a cool local half coming up in October. Half Vineman handed me my ass today and the Napa Valley Vintage Half is going to pay for it!
UPDATE: Official numbers are in.
--0:40:30.9 on the swim (fantastic, a PR);
--3:03:11.5 on the bike, but they didn't have a T1 for me, so it looks like they folded my usual 5-minute transition into the bike time, which means I biked a 2:58;
--a 4 1/2-minute T2 (awful; couldn't find my bike for a full minute, then when I tried to put on my tri shirt I found I'd pinned my race number through the front and back of the shirt, making it impossible to put on);
--and the aforementioned hideous run, 2:15:45.6, between 20 and 25 minutes slower than my previous Half Vineman runs.
--total time was 6:03:54.7; this left me a surprisingly high 144th out of 234 in my age group, which suggests I wasn't the only guy to suffer from a, uh, drinking problem.
Today I entered a new realm of triathlon. I sucked. Wait -- don't be alarmed! I'm not brimming with self-loathing. I'm actually proud of my performance. The run was 2+ hours of hell, yet I never stopped. I ran the whole thing. I ran slowly, but I ran it and in the end they gave me my medal and I look at it, right now, and say, "I earned that thing."
But I still sucked.
I'm not sure what my time was. Somewhere around 6 hours, more than 20 minutes slower than last year's 5:38 and 15+ minutes slower than my first Half Vineman, in 2002.
What happened? Two things: First, in my so-called training, I didn't put in the necessary work on the bike. Gordo has said many a time that the bike is the heart of long-distance triathlon. "The bike is the engine," is how he's put it, the idea being that if the engine isn't powerful and well-tuned, the athlete will come out of the bike in no position to run well. My story, in a nutshell. In poor cycling shape, I nevertheless splitted under three hours, making it a typical Half Vineman bike for me. But getting that time zapped me. Typically, I come off the bike and uncorked a couple of 8-minute miles and only slip by about a minute-per-mile over the course of the 13.1-mile run. Today, my first mile was 9 minutes. My second was 10. My legs were shot. It was all I could do to turn out 10-minute miles the rest of the way.
There was also the matter of hydration. My wave was second-to-last of 16 to go, each separated by 8 minutes. By the time we started our swim, at 8:45 a.m., the fog deep in the Russian River Valley was already burning off. On the bike, I never felt hot and never felt thirsty, so I didn't drink much -- probably about half what I remember consuming in previous Half Vinemans. By the time I began running, I realized I was parched. I drank a couple of cups of water, and sips of Gatorade, at every aid station (every mile). My stomach took it reasonably well, and after each station, I'd feel stronger for a couple of minutes. Then I'd fade. This repeated over and over again.
OK, so how dehydrated was I. Well, three hours and a probably a half-gallon of fluids later, my weight was still down almost 6 percent. This is serious dehydration, friends. (Check out this link; I was shocked.) Now, another hour and a sandwich and a liter of water and a beer later, as the cooling evening breeze kicks in and blows into the office here, I still feel very hot.
So, OK, I sucked and I was stupid.
But hey, as I said above, that's OK. I started, I finished, I learned. Now I'm going to get ready -- really ready -- for a cool local half coming up in October. Half Vineman handed me my ass today and the Napa Valley Vintage Half is going to pay for it!
UPDATE: Official numbers are in.
--0:40:30.9 on the swim (fantastic, a PR);
--3:03:11.5 on the bike, but they didn't have a T1 for me, so it looks like they folded my usual 5-minute transition into the bike time, which means I biked a 2:58;
--a 4 1/2-minute T2 (awful; couldn't find my bike for a full minute, then when I tried to put on my tri shirt I found I'd pinned my race number through the front and back of the shirt, making it impossible to put on);
--and the aforementioned hideous run, 2:15:45.6, between 20 and 25 minutes slower than my previous Half Vineman runs.
--total time was 6:03:54.7; this left me a surprisingly high 144th out of 234 in my age group, which suggests I wasn't the only guy to suffer from a, uh, drinking problem.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Warming Up
The temperature shot up to over 100 in the valleys around the Bay today. I got in my workout -- 45 flat miles of steady, hard pedaling-- early enough to avoid much heat, but I couldn't avoid wondering what might happen next Sunday, at Half Vineman, if we have another day like this. My age group hits the water at 8:34 a.m., which means I'll probably begin the half-marathon run portion of the race sometime between noon and 12:30. Yikes.
One other quick tri-related thought: Saw a quote from Lance that Ullrich's problem has been that he isn't in quite the shape he needs to be as the Tour begins. Specifically, Lance said the big German needs to be a kilo and a half less-big when the race starts. This was a reminder of how important Lance sees body weight. I've seen many references from him regarding his own weight. Clearly, he works harder than anyone to find that sweet spot of maximum power and minimum weight.
Me? I could easily be six or seven pounds lighter without sacrificing any strength. How much time would that cut off my 56-mile bike split?
The temperature shot up to over 100 in the valleys around the Bay today. I got in my workout -- 45 flat miles of steady, hard pedaling-- early enough to avoid much heat, but I couldn't avoid wondering what might happen next Sunday, at Half Vineman, if we have another day like this. My age group hits the water at 8:34 a.m., which means I'll probably begin the half-marathon run portion of the race sometime between noon and 12:30. Yikes.
One other quick tri-related thought: Saw a quote from Lance that Ullrich's problem has been that he isn't in quite the shape he needs to be as the Tour begins. Specifically, Lance said the big German needs to be a kilo and a half less-big when the race starts. This was a reminder of how important Lance sees body weight. I've seen many references from him regarding his own weight. Clearly, he works harder than anyone to find that sweet spot of maximum power and minimum weight.
Me? I could easily be six or seven pounds lighter without sacrificing any strength. How much time would that cut off my 56-mile bike split?
Friday, July 22, 2005
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Road Trip
Niko and I are back from our southern sojourn, our jolly jaunt to San Diego County for my sister Liz's wedding . We drove 1,100 miles in just over four days, did a night-before-the-wedding party, the wedding, Legoland and I snuck in a 9-miler on foot and a 40-miler on the bike. It was all grand, even the 400 miles of I-5 that we conquered Monday evening/night. Fellow cyclists will want to know I found the ride on the excellent website of the local Sierra Club chapter and while it was never stunning or even lovely, it provided plenty-interesting exploration. It seems so obvious but it bears repeating: You see so much more on the bike than you do in the car. What stood out most starkly about this harsh and brown part of the world is how relentless, god-awful and phony the development is. I noted this as well on my long run, conducted in post-noon blazing heat up in southwestern Riverside County, in Murrieta -- everywhere you turn you find a new housing development going up with some cheesy name intended to suggest that the tract is unique from the one to the north, south, east or the west. Rancho This, That Bluff, Some Crest, Quite-A Canyon.... It all just reeks of cheap, stupid marketing. But I guess in California, you don't have to market a housing development well, do you? There are plenty of prospective buyers making the rounds in Lexuses and BMWs, not troubled at all by signs that say, "Starting in the low-800s."
Back to the ride: Mostly it was on wide roads snaking their way through the canyons, softened by grading. Bike lanes and wide shoulders everywhere -- good. Aggressive drives and lights always turning red every mile or so -- bad. I made a wrong turn that added a few miles to the trek, but no big deal. I got close enough to the ocean to enjoy the seabreeze and I went hard at the steady climb up Pomerado, well into the ride. Good stuff. Thanks to the grandparents and great-grandma for watching Niko while I played!
Niko and I are back from our southern sojourn, our jolly jaunt to San Diego County for my sister Liz's wedding . We drove 1,100 miles in just over four days, did a night-before-the-wedding party, the wedding, Legoland and I snuck in a 9-miler on foot and a 40-miler on the bike. It was all grand, even the 400 miles of I-5 that we conquered Monday evening/night. Fellow cyclists will want to know I found the ride on the excellent website of the local Sierra Club chapter and while it was never stunning or even lovely, it provided plenty-interesting exploration. It seems so obvious but it bears repeating: You see so much more on the bike than you do in the car. What stood out most starkly about this harsh and brown part of the world is how relentless, god-awful and phony the development is. I noted this as well on my long run, conducted in post-noon blazing heat up in southwestern Riverside County, in Murrieta -- everywhere you turn you find a new housing development going up with some cheesy name intended to suggest that the tract is unique from the one to the north, south, east or the west. Rancho This, That Bluff, Some Crest, Quite-A Canyon.... It all just reeks of cheap, stupid marketing. But I guess in California, you don't have to market a housing development well, do you? There are plenty of prospective buyers making the rounds in Lexuses and BMWs, not troubled at all by signs that say, "Starting in the low-800s."
Back to the ride: Mostly it was on wide roads snaking their way through the canyons, softened by grading. Bike lanes and wide shoulders everywhere -- good. Aggressive drives and lights always turning red every mile or so -- bad. I made a wrong turn that added a few miles to the trek, but no big deal. I got close enough to the ocean to enjoy the seabreeze and I went hard at the steady climb up Pomerado, well into the ride. Good stuff. Thanks to the grandparents and great-grandma for watching Niko while I played!
Monday, July 04, 2005
Making the Grade
"No breaks, no shade, no fun" -- that's what earned Oakville Grade the top spot on one man's list of the toughest Napa climbs. After tackling the hill today for the first time this year, I concur. Six-hundred and fifty feet in a mile in the afternoon sun. Man. But I made it, and continued on up to the Veeder summit. (One of the fascinating aspects of riding Mt. Veeder Road is the microclimates you pass through. I'm talking micro, tight 20- or 30-yard redwood-shrouded stretches that get no sun ever and the temperature drops 20 degrees, only to rise 30 when you pop into a perpetually sunny spot around the bend. Just one more thing you notice on the bike.)
Today's ride marked the beginning of a big week as I try to pull things together for Half Vineman on July 31. This is my fourth year in a row doing the race and I've improved my time each of the past two years. Despite the sketchy nature of this season's workouts, I have it in my head that I can take last year's 5:38:23.4 down to 5:30. Here's the recipe, with last year's times and this year's goals:
Swim…….42:58.7 / 41
T1…………4:48:6 / 4:15
Bike……2:54:58.0 / 2:52:30
T2…………3:25.7 / 3
T2……...1:52:12.2 / 1:48:15
Total…...5:38:23.4 / 5:30
Yeah, I've got myself saving a minute in the transitions. I've done no special training or practicing in order to make that happen; I just know that in the past, I've made no effort to be quick in the transitions. This year I will.
Anyway, the key to preparing myself for a good race-day effort: Getting in three rides of 50+ miles in the next two and a half weeks.
"No breaks, no shade, no fun" -- that's what earned Oakville Grade the top spot on one man's list of the toughest Napa climbs. After tackling the hill today for the first time this year, I concur. Six-hundred and fifty feet in a mile in the afternoon sun. Man. But I made it, and continued on up to the Veeder summit. (One of the fascinating aspects of riding Mt. Veeder Road is the microclimates you pass through. I'm talking micro, tight 20- or 30-yard redwood-shrouded stretches that get no sun ever and the temperature drops 20 degrees, only to rise 30 when you pop into a perpetually sunny spot around the bend. Just one more thing you notice on the bike.)
Today's ride marked the beginning of a big week as I try to pull things together for Half Vineman on July 31. This is my fourth year in a row doing the race and I've improved my time each of the past two years. Despite the sketchy nature of this season's workouts, I have it in my head that I can take last year's 5:38:23.4 down to 5:30. Here's the recipe, with last year's times and this year's goals:
Swim…….42:58.7 / 41
T1…………4:48:6 / 4:15
Bike……2:54:58.0 / 2:52:30
T2…………3:25.7 / 3
T2……...1:52:12.2 / 1:48:15
Total…...5:38:23.4 / 5:30
Yeah, I've got myself saving a minute in the transitions. I've done no special training or practicing in order to make that happen; I just know that in the past, I've made no effort to be quick in the transitions. This year I will.
Anyway, the key to preparing myself for a good race-day effort: Getting in three rides of 50+ miles in the next two and a half weeks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
