by Will Harlan

I don’t like competing against other people. Opponents mean that someone wins and someone loses, and since I’m usually the someone-who-loses, I avoid sports where the only thing that matters is the scoreboard.

But don’t get me wrong-I still love to compete. In fact, I’m currently engaged in a vicious, no-holds-barred competition against the toughest adversary I’ve ever faced: myself. As a runner, I want to find out how far I can go, how fast I can move, how much I can endure. Each race is a contest against my former self. Can I run faster than the person I was last year? Can I still compete with my high-school self? And the ultimate question-can I ever catch the runner I hope to become?

Let’s get one thing clear: I don’t possess extraordinary running talent or ability, nor do I have any attributes of a prototypical runner. I’m bow-legged, wide-shouldered, and thickly-built, with bad knees, scoliosis, and allergies. But I’m determined to push the boundaries of my mediocrity. In short, I want to reach my potential as a runner.

But is there such a thing as “potential”? Is there a physiological limit to what an average athlete can hope to accomplish? To find out, I decided to visit the Furman Institute of Running and Scientific Training (F.I.R.S.T.), the region’s top human performance facility. At FIRST, Ph.D. scientists conduct cutting-edge research in their state-of-the-art running laboratory. It seemed like an ideal place to test my limits.

The lab is operated by Dr. Ray Moss, professor of Health and Exercise Science, Dr. Bill Pierce, a former collegiate half-miler who has run 31 marathons, and Dr. Scott Murr, a 10-time Ironman Hawaii veteran. Pierce showed me around the running lab and then asked me to get naked.

“It’s for the underwater body composition assessment,” he explained.

Unlike a scale, which measures body weight (the sum of everything-muscle, fat, water, bones, organs, hair-you name it), an underwater body composition test can separate the weight of the different components and give a body fat percentage of your overall mass. According to Pierce, body fat percentage correlates directly with running performance. So I undressed and climbed into a six-foot tank of water, expelled all of the air from my lungs, and held myself underwater for what seemed like an eternity. Ten seconds later, Dr. Moss tapped on the tank, and I popped up to the surface.

Next, Moss and Murr analyzed my running gait using a metal force plate in the floor. They also pointed out ways of carrying my arms more efficiently and tweaking my stride so that I was wasting less motion and energy.

Then it was time for the treadmill, which looked more like a heavy-duty industrial conveyor belt than a fitness machine. Before I started running, Murr placed a clip over my nose and fitted headgear around my mouth so that all of my inhalations and exhalations would pass through a vacuum hose and into their measuring equipment.

I started at an easy pace, and every three minutes, they ramped up the treadmill speed. After 15 minutes, I was going all out, scrambling to keep up with the belt beneath me. Pierce and Murr shouted words of encouragement as they monitored my heart rate and oxygen consumption levels. “Stay smooth and relaxed…you’re doing great….keep it up.” I was more conscious of pain and more aware of each labored breath with a team of scientists analyzing my every move. I stared blankly at the wall and tried to hang on. Just as I felt myself reaching that moment of foggy-headed, lung-burning, lead-heavy exhaustion, Pierce said that I had reached my lactate threshold-the point at which lactic acid accumulating in my blood would ultimately force me to slow down. I was about to give him the nod that I was ready to stop, when something (perhaps a lack of oxygen) propelled me to hold up three fingers.

“Three minutes more,” I mumbled through the mouthpiece. I won’t go into details. Let’s just say it was the longest 180 seconds of my life. Finally, Pierce slowed down the treadmill and I returned to my body.

From the treadmill test, Moss was able to calculate my maximum oxygen consumption, more commonly referred to as VO2 max. VO2 max is a measurement of the capacity of a runner’s cardiovascular and respiratory systems to deliver blood during exercise.

“VO2 max gives you an idea of how large an engine you have to work with,” said Murr.

Was this the physiological boundary that I had been seeking? Was VO2 max my uppermost limit? Not quite.

“These measurements change with fitness level,” Murr continued. “You can improve your VO2 max by as much as 20% through training.” He paused, and then explained, “These tests measure progress more than potential.”

The tests definitely helped me better understand the science of running, which has advanced dramatically in the last decade. But FIRST acknowledges that tests alone don’t provide all the answers. As Moss put it, “We can tell you who probably won’t win the race, but we can’t tell you who will.”

Ultimately, the lab measurements are only indicators, relative to my recent training. They are simply mile-marker splits in that unending race with myself.

Although I had my blood drawn, my pulse monitored, my stride scrutinized, my body fat tabulated, and my every inhalation and exhalation precisely calculated, one thing that the tests can’t measure is heart. Whatever you call it-will, grit, faith, desire-it compelled me to keep running on the treadmill, even after I had reached my lactate threshold, even after I had hit my VO2 max, even after science predicted that I should stop. That’s where the science of running yields to mystery, and running becomes a work of art.

Interested in testing your own limits? FIRST offers laboratory assessments for athletes of all levels and abilities. They also provide coaching, group training, and a lecture series. Call 828-294-3416 or visit www.furman.edu/first for more information.