The 4-Hour Body Part 39

7. Think of this as trying to heel-kick someone standing three or four feet behind you, aiming for hip height and alternating legs. Think of this as trying to heel-kick someone standing three or four feet behind you, aiming for hip height and alternating legs.

8. For the side shuffle, get into a half-squat and push off with the big toe of your trailing leg. Don't let your head bob up and down, and ensure 20 meters is done to both the right and left sides. For the side shuffle, get into a half-squat and push off with the big toe of your trailing leg. Don't let your head bob up and down, and ensure 20 meters is done to both the right and left sides.

9. See these in motion at See these in motion at www.fourhourbody.com/mobility.

10. For the mountain climber, don't put your heel down on your front foot. Stay on your toes and keep your knees in front of your feet at all times. Putting the heel down encourages a long stride when running, which leads to heel striking and hamstring tears. For the mountain climber, don't put your heel down on your front foot. Stay on your toes and keep your knees in front of your feet at all times. Putting the heel down encourages a long stride when running, which leads to heel striking and hamstring tears.

11. See the demo at See the demo at www.fourhourbody.com/wideouts.

12. Speaker of Xhosa, the famous "click language." Speaker of Xhosa, the famous "click language."

ULTRAENDURANCE I.

Going from 5K to 50K in 12 Weeks-Phase I "Beyond the very extreme of fatigue and distress, we may find amounts of ease and power we never dreamed ourselves to own; sources of strength never taxed at all because we never push through the obstruction."-William James (Quote from e-mail signature of Scott Jurek, seven-time consecutive 100-mile Western States race champion) IN THE SHADOWS OF A LARGE U.S. BRIDGE.

"Drop your b.a.l.l.s onto the bar."

t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es and steel are like oil and vinegar: they don't usually mix well.

But I was being told, not asked, so b.a.l.l.s were dropped.

Kelly Starrett, founder of San Francisco CrossFit, nodded in approval as I set myself up for the "sumo" deadlift. Kelly, nicknamed "KStarr," was echoing the advice of powerlifting icon Dave Tate: keep your hips as close as possible to the bar on the descent, as if you were aiming to set your twins between your hands. Romantic, n'est-ce pas? This birthing-hip position requires a near side split and is about as comfortable as it sounds.

The setting, the waterfront Presidio at San Francis...o...b..y, was more pleasant. Red and white homes, former officers' quarters, dotted the hills around us. Above the green expanses of Crissy Field, the sun was burning off the fog enveloping the Golden Gate Bridge. Kelly's next client was running late, and our conversation drifted from metabolic conditioning to how Kelly defines "athletic preparedness."

Before tackling the latter, he stopped to pose a question: "What'd you do for your RKC s.n.a.t.c.h test?"

The "s.n.a.t.c.h" is an Olympic weightlifting maneuver whereby you whip the weight from the floor to overhead in one clean motion, no pressing allowed. The s.n.a.t.c.h test was part of a Russian kettlebell certification (RKC) I had completed, and we had to complete X number of s.n.a.t.c.hes (X being your weight in kilograms) with a 53-pound kettlebell. The time limit was five minutes, and we weren't permitted to put the weight on the ground.

"I weighed 77 kilograms and did 77 reps in 3 minutes and 30 seconds," I answered.

"Okay. Here, we do things like that as a finisher to a workout."

I wasn't sure exactly where the conversation was headed, but it sounded like he was calling me a big p***y.

He continued: "I just turned 36, but I can still power clean 300, do a standing backflip, and also just ran the Quad Dipsea Ultramarathon, which is 28.4 miles with 18,500 feet of elevation change. Rather than being laid out for weeks like most runners, I was fully able to lift heavy and train hard the next week."

Maybe he had a point with the girly-man comment. Then he dropped the bomb: "And I never ran more than five kilometers in preparation for it."

My brain stopped there: "Wait...Hold on. How the h.e.l.l did you train then?"

"Lots of 400-meter repeats."

Suddenly he had my full attention.

Like many people, I'd fantasized about running a marathon before I died. Not running and walking, but running.

Not because I think it's good for you. It's not. Completing a grueling 26.2 miles-a G.o.dd.a.m.n marathon!-was just one of the those things in the bucket list that wouldn't go away, along with skydiving (done), snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef (soon), and dating Natalie Portman (call me).

Sadly, jogging more than one mile made me look and feel like a drunk orangutan. I'd long ago a.s.sumed a marathon wouldn't happen.

But 400 meters? Even I could do that.

Kelly smiled, paused to enjoy my confused look, and handed me the holy grail: "You need to talk to Brian MacKenzie."

Two and a Half Weeks Later I could tell Louisville, Colorado, wasn't going to be kind to me.

My first gla.s.s of wine was only half empty, and the 5,300 feet of elevation made it feel like my third.

The clock read 10:00 P.M P.M., and the lobby of the Aloft Hotel was buzzing with Goth teens and ravers getting ready for the ma.s.sive Caffeine Music Festival the following night. Platform shoes and colored leather circled around the bar and lounge, filling the waiting hours with Facebook and text messaging, interspersed with shouts of "Dude!" and whispers of "Do you have any E?"

I was admiring the face piercings when a 62, 193-pound punk rocker sat down in the red plush chair in front of me. He looked like a cross between Henry Rollins, Keanu Reeves, and a Navy SEAL.

Brian MacKenzie.

He shook my hand with a smile and I noticed the word "UNSCARED" tattooed across both hands, one letter on each of eight fingers. Within minutes, it became clear that we shared a similar brand of enthusiasm. The absurd kind that often overrides self-preservation.

In the early days of his endurance experiments, he had wanted to test the effects of 20-second sprints with 10-second rest intervals-the famous Tabata protocol.13 Brian somehow decided it was a good idea to start on the treadmill at an obscene 10 miles per hour at a 15-degree incline. He was forced to downshift to 9 miles per hour on a 10-degree grade after one and a half minutes. Then he flew off the back of the treadmill frozen in form, like a human gingerbread man. He landed on the floor with his legs locked, where he remained for more than five minutes at near-fibrillation. His two training partners, rather than help him up, stood over him laughing and pointing at his face, repeating over and over again: "Dude, that was AWESOME! Buahahaha!"

My kinda guy.

I downed the last third of my Merlot and got down to business.

"So, what do you really think you could do with me in eight to twelve weeks?"

I explained my apparent handicaps, and he leaned forward on his elbows: "None of that matters. I could get you to a half marathon in eight weeks. That's a.s.suming you have a baseline and can run a 5K in less than 24 minutes [3.1 miles at 8 minutes per mile or less]."

"What if I have never run 5Ks?"

"Fine. I'd have you do intervals first and build up to it. You have no shin splints or plantar fasciitis, right?"

"Right."

"And we have 12 weeks?"

"Yes."

"Well, then we can make miracles happen."

He'd taken one trainee, nicknamed "Rookie," to a mountainous 50K (31.2 mile) ultramarathon in 11 weeks. Prior to that, Rookie had never run more than four miles at a stretch.

Another trainee, a 43-year-old marathoner with an 8:30 mile pace, couldn't even complete three 400-meter sprints at the beginning of training. She had "no gears," as Brian put it: she couldn't maintain a 7:30 mile pace for even three minutes.

Two months prior to the New York City marathon, Brian had her do 16 minutes of total sprint training per week, in addition to four conditioning workouts per week using weights and calisthenics. Total workout volume was less than three hours per week. She called him daily the week prior to the marathon, often crying, pointing out the obvious: "This will never work."

It worked.

She finished the marathon in 3 hours and 32 minutes-an 8-minute pace, 30 seconds per mile less than her previous time-and she would have finished much sooner had she not stopped to help another runner at the end.

Had she not stopped, Brian estimated her truer finish time at 3:30, a 7:28.8 per mile pace.

Brian had given her gears with 16 minutes per week.

The Journey from High Volume to Low Volume Brian started in sports as a short-course swimmer. His coach couldn't get him to swim more than 100 meters without blowing apart at the seams.

In late 2000, he was conned into a short-course "sprint" triathlon by a 47-year-old friend who was a 13-time Ironman finisher. It was short but sweet: a 500-meter swim, a 13-mile bike, and a 5-kilometer run.

He didn't blow apart this time, partially because he wasn't competing against swimming specialists. Much to his surprise, he loved it so much that he signed up for the Ironman the next day. He'd been bitten by the bug.

Brian climbed up the ranks of the triathlon world with an Olympic-distance race, a half-Ironman, and then the Canadian Ironman. He trained 24 to 30 hours per week, just as his compet.i.tors did, including roughly eight miles of swimming, 200+ miles of cycling, and 50+ miles of running. It was par for the course in the endurance world, but it wasn't good for the body, his relationships, or much of anything else. He was severely overtrained, his wife was unhappy, and he had no life.

In 2001, he was introduced to the controversial Dr. Nicolas Romanov, a figure we'll revisit, which marked a turning point. Brian began to question the logic of high-volume, low-speed aerobic training and started to commit sacrilege in the world of long-form punishment. He decided to focus on less.

In June of 2006, he ran the Western States 100-mile endurance race, which has more than 17,000 vertical feet of climbing and more than 22,000 feet of downhill knee destruction. He finished in just over 26 hours. Compared to the mere 11-hour Ironman, he'd reduced his training from 30 hours per week to 10.5 hours per week.

But the 10.5 hours per week was still too much, and his body was still suffering, as was his marriage.

On September 15, 2007, after further refinement, Brian completed what is considered the fourth-toughest 100-mile run in the world, the Angeles Crest 100.14 This time, he averaged just This time, he averaged just 6.5 hours 6.5 hours of training per week, which included strength training (almost three hours), CrossFit, intervals, and pace work. His body had learned to become aerobic at the higher paces, even during speed training. Just before adopting this training mix, his one-rep max in the squat was 250 pounds. of training per week, which included strength training (almost three hours), CrossFit, intervals, and pace work. His body had learned to become aerobic at the higher paces, even during speed training. Just before adopting this training mix, his one-rep max in the squat was 250 pounds.15 Three weeks before the race, he could easily squat 240 pounds for six consecutive reps, and he hadn't put on a single pound of body weight. Three weeks before the race, he could easily squat 240 pounds for six consecutive reps, and he hadn't put on a single pound of body weight.

Now he was faster at every distance. It didn't matter if it was 100 meters or 100 miles.

So You Want to be a Runner?

Let's Try 400-Meter Repeats Back in Louisville, Colorado, 14 hours after my poor decision to drink wine, I was experiencing a unique clarity of thought.

It was the clarity of thought that only comes from repeatedly feeling as though your lungs and head are going to explode.

First, I ran 400 meters 4, at 95% max effort, with 1:30 of rest in between.

Then I ran (or attempted to run) 100-meter repeats for ten minutes straight with ten seconds of rest in between runs.

I didn't stand a chance in either trial.

Halfway through my second 400-meter repeat, I was breathing entirely through my mouth like an asthmatic German Shepherd, and after the last I had to crouch down like Gollum and hold my knees to keep from vomiting.

For the 100-meter repeats, I had to stop after six and hold onto a picnic table to keep from falling over, and though I jumped back into the drill, I had to skip four repeats out of a total of about 20.

There were a few things I realized at that moment.

Namely, to run anything approaching an ultramarathon without doing myself permanent damage, I would need to ace a trifecta of preparation, biomechanics, and training. The training would also need to redefine discomfort.

Thankfully, according to Brian, it would be brief.

Preparation: The Undercarriage 4 WEEKS.

It isn't your lungs or your slow-twitch muscle fibers that will fail first in long-distance running. It's your suspension.

To sustain the repeated impact of a mere 5K, between 2,000 and 2,500 foot strikes for most runners, you need to ensure that your ligaments and tendons are both thick and elastic enough for the abuse; and you need to ensure that the proper muscle groups are firing in the right sequence.

I suffered a minor hamstring pull after the 400s (same leg as at DeFranco's) and experienced excruciating lower back pain for the next three hours, as did several other aspiring long-distance runners.

Why?

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[image]My hip flexors and quads were too tight, common among desk workers, which made me bend forward at the hip during sprints. This then forced my hamstrings to attempt the job of the much larger and stronger glutes, which were inhibited. There you have it-overloading and a hamstring pull. The tight hip flexors pulled on the lower lumbar spine, which explained the sore back.

I also had pain on the inside of both knees after practicing foot pulls (coming shortly), which appeared to be caused by two problems: tight quads and weak vastus medialis obliques (VMO), the teardrop-shaped muscle on the inside of the front of the legs.16 Last but not least, I had acute soreness throughout both feet and ankles. The ligaments, tendons, and small muscles of the feet and ankles were underdeveloped.

[image]

In other words, I wasn't ready to run.

Before I could consider serious training, I needed good suspension. To do otherwise would be asking for injuries that could plague me for months or even years.

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The "marathon monks" of Mount Hiei in j.a.pan run and walk the equivalent of an ultramarathon every day for six years, some averaging 84 kilometers per day for the last 100 days of training.

I wasn't looking promising as a monk.

"Am I ready for the Olympics, coach?" I jokingly asked Tertius Kohn PhD as he sat me down in his office at the Sports Science Inst.i.tute of South Africa. Five days earlier, I'd had a biopsy tube the size of a pencil jammed into the side of my thigh17 to skip the theory and look directly at the limits of my muscle. Much teeth grinding, three muscle samples, and a myography lab later, I finally had answers. Tertius looked at me with a serious expression. to skip the theory and look directly at the limits of my muscle. Much teeth grinding, three muscle samples, and a myography lab later, I finally had answers. Tertius looked at me with a serious expression.

"I'm a doctor, so I like to speak plainly. You might not like what I'm going to tell you, but I'm going to tell you anyway."

"Ummm...Okay."

"You'd have trouble finishing a 10K."

I nodded.

"In fact, I think you'd have trouble finishing a 5K."

This wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear, but three months of obsessing over ultraendurance had taken me many places, and this was one of them: enzymes.

CS, 3HAD, LDH, and PFK are all enzymes that limit energy production through different pathways.

South African Xhosa mid- and long-distance runners, for example, have high levels of lactate dehydrogenase (LDH), which allows them to recycle lactate at higher than normal rates. More LDH appears to mean less acc.u.mulation of plasma lactate (more commonly referred to as "lactic acid"), which means less debilitating muscle burn. In Kenyan runners, higher levels of another enzyme, 3-HAD, mean a greater ability to use fat instead of carbohydrate during sub-maximal exercise.

How did I measure up? I am the one under the line. Hear me roar: [image]

The numbers reflect the percentage compared to untrained human subjects. African antelopes and trained endurance athletes are in the mix for contrast. (Credit: Tertius A. Kohn PhD from the UCT/MRC Research Unit for Exercise Science and Sports Medicine. Special thanks also to Prof. Tim Noakes and the staff at ESSM.) As Tertius showed me the numbers, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. How the h.e.l.l did I have negative negative numbers? Despite all of my training and all my efforts, my enzyme levels were worse than a Homer Simpson couch potato. numbers? Despite all of my training and all my efforts, my enzyme levels were worse than a Homer Simpson couch potato.

So much for the "endurance preference" conclusion from the genetics testing.18 Based on my raw materials, I seemed screwed for both endurance and power. In my mind, I flipped through the suitable sports: Compet.i.tive eating? Going down slides? Based on my raw materials, I seemed screwed for both endurance and power. In my mind, I flipped through the suitable sports: Compet.i.tive eating? Going down slides?