The upright squat—hips under the shoulders, back arched, weight on the heels—requires tremendous strength, stability, and motor control.  It’s less-than-upright cousin, the powerlifting squat, requires the same, although it puts the hips behind the shoulders and the torso at a forward angle.

There is no question that the powerlifting squat allows athletes to move greater loads.  Simple observation adequately proves this point.  The end goal of the powerlifter—to put up the biggest total possible—is borne out again and again using this method.

Nonetheless, my athletes are taught to strive for a perfectly upright torso, bypassing the weight-bearing advantages of the powerlifting squat.  The reason is transferability.  

Given our goal of developing athletic power, it is not enough that my athletes possess the ability to move large loads.  They must also be able to move them long distances extremely quickly.  In addition to maximizing strength, we seek to maximize speed and range of motion.  For this reason, we do not practice the squat as an end in itself, but rather as a steppingstone to the high-power Olympic lifts.

Proper execution of these lifts, in which maximal loads are moved from the ground to overhead in mere seconds, requires a rock-bottom squat and a vertical torso.  Due to the dynamic nature of these lifts, any forward lean unacceptably exacerbates the torque around the hip, increasing the possibility of failure.  

Again, observation adequately proves the point.  Snatches and cleans are caught atop upright squats and brought to standing.  When the athlete is unable to bring the spine under the bar with the hips directly below the shoulders, the weight inevitably hits the platform.

While a debate on the relative merits of powerlifting and weightlifting is beyond the scope of this discussion, the former does not develop many of the qualities we want in a well-rounded athlete.  Flexibility stands first and foremost.  An upright squat, especially in combination with the rack position seen in a proper clean, demands and develops flexibility in the legs, back, shoulder girdle, arms and wrists.  This full-body flexibility is a prerequisite to successful gymnastics—muscle-ups, kipping pull-ups, planches, straddles, and hip pullovers all require pliable body parts.  

Add to this the accuracy, agility, and balance components of the Olympic lifts and their transferability to nearly any sport, and it’s easy to see why our athletic journey progresses beyond the powerlifting squat.

Squatting style is an individual decision, predicated entirely on the reason for squatting.  If maximal strength is the goal, irrespective of speed, the powerlifting version is the wise choice.  If the athlete is striving to move beyond strength, into the realm of speed, power, and wide-ranging athletic competence, the upright squat serves as the gateway.  

 
Nicole demonstrates a fully-transferrable air squat at CrossFit Boston.  Picture courtesy of the author.  For a tutorial on obtaining an upright squat and additional reasons for doing so, check out Fixing the Squat on our Mic’d Instructor page.

 

Dubbed “the toughest two minutes in sports” by ESPN, the Scott Firefighter Combat Challenge is tailor-made for CrossFitters.

The participants, all active firefighters, scale a five-story tower with a 45-pound high-rise pack, pull a second pack up from the ground, rocket back down the tower, and hit every step en route.

Picking up a 9-pound plastic hammer, they drive a 160-pound slug three feet along a skid.  Abandoning this setup, the firefighters sprint through a serpentine course, pick up a charged fire hose, and drag it thirty feet through a pair of saloon doors.  Pulling a handle, they unleash a jet of water on a circular target.

Ten feet distant, 175 pounds of dead weight waits for rescue.  Grabbing the man-sized dummy around the torso, the firefighters backpedal one hundred feet to the finish line, collapsing to the ground to the sound of a buzzer. The best athletes run the course in under 1:30.

The entire event is run in full turnout gear, compressed air flowing to the competitors through a 30-pound self-contained breathing apparatus, functionally identical to the one used to fight fires.  

 
Profession-specific equipment aside, the event is a generalist’s dream—carrying, pulling, striking, sprinting, and dragging, always under load, and always with the clock running.  The course practically screams for a name like “Eva” or “Annie”.

The similarities between the Challenge and CrossFit are not lost on the athletes.  Many of these men employ a rigorous WOD schedule, combining course-specific training with the constantly varied functional movement of CrossFit.  

I’ve been fortunate enough to meet a few of them.

Two weeks ago, I walked onto the National Mall with Paul Weinburgh, a Lieutenant with the Haverhill Fire Department, for the first stop of the 2008 series.  Weaving between trucks and display booths, we made our way to the competitor area for sign-in and warm-up.

Paul had contacted me a few months earlier, asking for a sponsorship and the opportunity to beat his CrossFit-training, hard charging, Combat Challenge rival.  His request granted, we trained in earnest.  We focused on his weaknesses, hammering leg strength and local muscular endurance by squatting, deadlifting, dragging, and sprinting.

 

Paul’s first run of the day, the individual, was disappointing.  He finished a full ten seconds behind his personal record, coming out of the tower slowly and having a hell of a time with the dummy drag.   His experience wasn’t unique.  Most of the CrossFitting firefighters came out slow, turning in times that were short of the previous year’s bests.  

Inevitably, the disappointment set in, and the questions came with it.  Sitting on the D.C. Metro with Paul and his fellow competitor, Dave Bowman, I fielded the torrent.  Given the promise of CrossFit—elite level general physical preparedness—Paul and Dave wanted an explanation for their sub-par performances.

The answer extends beyond the Challenge, and is applicable to every sport in the world:  CrossFit does not replace sport-specific training.  

Although the Challenge clearly favors general physical preparedness, elements of the course are unique.  Climbing the tower demands leg strength, but it also demands proper placement of the hose pack, familiarity with the breathing apparatus, comfort with the rise and run of the tower, and a quick transition to the hoist pack.  Hitting the Kaiser requires tremendous hip flexion.  It also requires a proper hammer grip, staying in front of the slug, and accurate striking.  The list goes on.  Each portion of the course has obligatory skills above and beyond those provided by GPP.  

For the men in question, this was the first time they’d been on the official course since August 2007.  Although each had done his best to mimic the course in firehouses, garages, and parking lots, they lacked recent course experience.  While their general physical preparedness was undoubtedly at its peak, it couldn’t overcome the relative absence of skill-specific training.

Paul ran the tandem ninety minutes after his individual effort.  Running with a champion teammate and the fire of failure at his heels, he turned in a gold medal-winning personal record of 1:24.  His skills were back, and the results were astounding.

CrossFit fills holes.  Unparalleled at exposing and correcting for athletic weakness, it creates versatile monsters out of former non-performers.  Combined with adequate skill training, it will improve the performance of any athlete in a non-specialized sport.  The Scott Firefighter Combat Challenge certainly fits the bill.  

Don’t worry gentlemen—domination is coming.

Paul and Brandon await the start of the team relay on top of the tower.  Picture courtesy of the author.  Check out the D.C. stop in an Again Faster original video, "CrossFit and the Challenge". 

We’re bringing personal responsibility back.  You can’t do what we do while shirking your load, depending on other people, or otherwise passing the buck.  Your WOD time is yours and yours alone. You cannot turn in a fifty-minute “Fran” and then scold your classmates for the result.  Blame is not cast in the gym.

Conversely, I can’t count the number to times I’ve seen an athlete turn in an epic time and then thank everyone in the room for making it happen.  Adulation is shared.

I view the gym as a microcosm of the moral world, one in which control of success and failure ultimately lies with the individual.  There is no fatalism in the gym.  Your maximum pull-up number is not preordained by some higher power.  It is determined by speed, strength, coordination, accuracy, agility, and mental fortitude, all qualities that are within your domain and solely within your control.  Others can give to the effort through correction, encouragement, and support, but they cannot make your chin clear the bar.

For some reason, the extraordinarily clear relationship between effort and success, responsibility and result, fails to make it through the gym doors into the wider world.  Fingers are pointed freely, horizontally as well as vertically.  Misfortune becomes the byproduct of an unknowable cosmic soup.  Accidents are happenstance, determined by coincidence.  Crime is not a choice, but the unfortunate result of socio-economic divergence.  Individual awareness and control fall by the wayside in favor of widespread blame, the ridicule passed ever higher, until personal responsibility lies with no one.

Success is hoarded like so much gold, rarely shared outside of the occasional Academy Awards speech.  Encouragement, support, and contribution are forgotten in favor of glory, fame, and reputation, and suddenly the locus of control returns squarely to the individual.

Imagine the day when my substandard split jerk becomes your fault.  After missing out front, I get in your face, screaming about too much load, lack of support, and my astronomically bad childhood.  I start in with the if-onlys and why-God-whys, sure that if things had been different, I would have nailed the lockout.  Reduced to tears, I put an asterisk in my workout journal next to the repetition, noting that the miss was your fault.

In the gym, the irrationality of my actions would be obvious.  Why is it that a similar thought process, applied to my career, significant other, or a simple traffic jam becomes acceptable?  

It’s time to take the lessons of the gym outside.  Burdens, whether iron or pure metaphor, do not move themselves.  Successes are rarely the result of individual action.  Looking to the sky for help or harm is an exercise in futility.

Take stock in yourself, and those nearest you.  Accept responsibility, and share your triumphs.  Ours will become a much greater world.

The sun sets on Santa Cruz.  Picture courtesy of Patrick Cummings. 

My love for the medical establishment continues. I went to my annual physical last Wednesday, looking for a clean bill of health and a referral. Instead, I got orders to check my blood pressure five times a day and an uninformed dismissal of my referral request.

I have no doubt that my doctor is a well-intentioned man. He’d have to be, considering the way he dresses himself. Picture this: thirty-something, 5’11”, one hundred and fifty pounds, night-vision pale, dressed in a ratty blue oxford, a two-sizes-too-big checkered jacket, and olive slacks hemmed for an impending flood.

Clearly, this is a man more concerned with the practice of medicine than making the cover of GQ, a fact that I found reassuring—for approximately five minutes.

After the standard litany regarding smoking, safe sex, diet, and exercise, Doc strapped on the blood pressure cuff. 144/90. According to the device on my arm, I was a good four or five seconds from having a massive coronary, despite a resting heart rate of sixty beats per minute. This is an anomaly we revisit every time I throw down my $15 co-pay, and the standard prescription is to keep a log of blood pressure readings to inform future action.

Here’s the rub: I’m hypertensive by any medical standard. My blood pressure consistently tops 140/90, and the doctor’s playbook of pill popping will undoubtedly put me on some combination of ACE-inhibiting, beta-blocking, calcium-channel influencing diuretics that will kill me the next time I blast through a 21-round “Cindy”.

Granted, I can’t be sure Doc will put me on the ten-pill-a-day diet, but most of the other options are long gone. Changing my diet any further would have me killing squirrels in an attempt to get closer to my Paleolithic roots, more exercise would put me in the Guinness Book of World Records, and stress reduction would require me to take up chanting and yoga in my non-existent spare time.

Genetically, I’m a time bomb. My father’s heart explodes with a regularity that would make the tides jealous, and grandpa has had enough bypasses to receive an honorable mention in the Journal of the American Medical Association. Despite my lifestyle, I’m following in their tracks, one plodding step at a time.

Doc and I had covered this ground before without resolution, mostly due to his “medication first” style of healing. My blood pressure logs, transferred to his corpse-white hands, would invariably lead straight to the pharmacy. I only go to the pharmacy for toothpaste.

Fortunately, I had another solution. Here in Boston, we are blessed with an Active Release Techniques (ART) practitioner who also happens to be an M.D. That two-letter appellation means that my health insurance would pay for her stress- and blood pressure-reducing services, if only I could provide a referral from my physician.

I told Doc I’d like a referral, and quite reasonably, he asked me to explain ART.

“It’s a specialized massage technique used to correct soft tissue damage. Adhesions, pulls, tears, things like that. It restores muscle balance and range of motion through manipulation. My body takes a constant pounding in the gym, and this would help tremendously.”

I might as well have said I wanted to use heroin to treat my insomnia. His eyes narrowed, and he asked for the M.D.’s name and practice. He got it, but it was obvious I wasn’t getting my referral.

“You want physical therapy?” he asked. Shaking my head, I explained the idea one more time, getting into the details of fascia and trigger points. Asked if I had a particular pain, I unthinkingly slammed the door on my referral.

“I get tightness in my rotator cuffs, IT bands, TFL, and lower back.”

I hadn’t named a single disease, complained of pervasive pain, or given Doc a problem that fit anywhere within his neatly defined world. I hadn’t asked for pills, an MRI, or surgery. Stumped, he told me he’d need more information.

Ironically, he was exacerbating my hypertension.

My problem with the medical establishment is the same problem I have with nearly every entrenched authority—the marked inability to consider alternatives to conventional wisdom. Time after time, we find doctors with an unnatural affinity for the Physician’s Desk Reference and surgeons who believe every problem can be solved with a scalpel. The manual never mentions naturopathic remedies and soft tissue manipulation, so our doctors are left with a toolbox that’s missing a few screwdrivers. Even worse, the idea that there might be another screwdriver out there is met with more skepticism than the front page of the National Enquirer.

Next year, I’ll forgo the fifteen-dollar tour of the old guard, and make our friendly ART practitioner my primary care physician. When my blood pressure readings come in high, perhaps soft tissue work will be the first solution instead of the last.

Maybe then I’ll calm down.

Picture courtesy of admin.state.nh.us.

 

I have never run a 10k.  The idea of six miles of pounding pavement appeals to me about as much as a waist-down hot waxing. 

Until October, it was easy enough to avoid.  No one asked me to run 10ks, and I never volunteered.  Then something changed.  In small Lucida Grande type, set above a picture of Annie Sakamoto, CrossFit was telling me to crank out a middle-distance run.  Engaged in a heated battle for a dress-less Toronto Certification Seminar, I bristled at the thought.   A 5k earlier in the month had left me with enough lateral knee pain to cripple a horse, and I had no desire to repeat the experience.

Even more, everything I knew about physiological effects of distance running pointed to a scratch.  Habitual runners, reflected in my mind by the recreational marathoner, suffer from a general lack strength and power that runs contrary to every athletic goal I have.  The mental image of emaciated limbs slogging through 8-minute miles put me smack in the middle of the training floor, barbells set for a go at "Linda".

In November, the seeds of change were sowed.  I received an invitation to attend the CrossFit Running and Endurance Certification, taught by Brian MacKenzie and Mike Collins in Newport Beach, California.  A chance to learn the POSE Method of running overcame my longstanding distain for endurance sports of all kinds, and I booked a flight.

Brian stood in front of the room, half-full of CrossFit Affiliates and fire breathers, looking decidedly punk rock.  Tattoos, punctuated by skulls and fire, decorated the length of his arms, their menacing appearance offset by an easy smile.  He asked us to explain ourselves.

We each stood in turn, describing variations on a theme of dislike, pain, and injury.  In a room of otherwise competent athletes, we admitted our inability to execute the most basic of functional movements--locomotion. Brian picked up the common thread and hammered home the point of the Certification.
 
"There's a reason you don't like running," he said, "You suck at it."

Unlike the rest of our movement catalog, we were approaching running as a skill-less activity.  Our clients were sent to the road without instruction.  Inevitably, our undirected charges embraced ideas like increased stride length and power to the ground, letting intuition lead to injury.  Instead of working with the forces of nature--gravity, momentum, and elasticity--they fought them, pushing against the road and braking with the heel during every stride.

Brian, a veteran of Ironman Canada and the Western States 100, pointed to his shoes, displaying a pair of flat-soled Adidas, and then to ours, highly cushioned and reinforced with energy-absorbing technology.  "Running shoes are airbags to save you from your shitty form," he said, eliciting a laugh from the soon-to-be reformed crowd.

Michael Collins, a small guy with the focus of a sharpshooter and the owner of Multisports Orange County, took the lead.  According to Mike, POSE running is based on a very simple set of ideas.  Rather than fight gravity, we work with it, striving to use our falling bodyweight to create forward motion.  Rather than push our feet into the ground, we pull them off it, changing our support leg at a cadence that allows maximum efficiency.  Employing gravity, ground reaction, and the natural elastic tendencies of our muscles, as well as good posture, we run farther and faster with less fatigue.

Employing these ideas requires training, but we weren't going to get it quite yet.  

Mike and Brian herded us out into the street for a series of six 400-meter sprints, setting up video equipment to capture footage for a post-lunch analysis session.  We lined up in two groups, taking off at five-second intervals with the directive to maintain our pace across every sprint.

Hardly.  By the fifth iteration, my legs were on fire, every step jolting my winter-built body and screaming for me to quit.  I was running the only way I knew how, driving my feet into the ground and cycling my arms at breakneck speed, employing the teachings of USA Track and Field in pursuit of good splits.  With a best-to-worst disparity approaching twenty seconds, it was obvious that my technique was lacking and my ability to pace was raw and poorly honed.

Back in our seats after a trip to Trader Joe's, Brian proceeded to pick our performances apart, looking for the hallmarks of the POSE method:  the telltale figure-four, forward lean, and proper landing that indicate good technique.  Most of us did not pass muster.  Feet were landing out front, reaching for ground contact and disrupting forward momentum.  Trailing legs were fully extended, betraying a push method of generating movement and inviting injury.  Tension was omnipresent, embodied by fully dorsiflexed feet, hunched shoulders, and excessive torso rotation.  

We took turns laughing at each other's ineptitude, marveling at our struggle with an activity that we'd taken for granted.  It became clear that Brian was offering us a path to improved performance without the drawbacks of long mileage and strength loss, and we began to understand the tremendous gift we'd been given.

Reunited with Mike's group of newly minted runners, we launched into a discussion of injury.  According to Mike, injuries are caused by biomechanical breakdowns rather than environmental factors.  Braking with the heel leads to a multitude of syndromes, including plantar facitis, sore calves, shin splints, and IT band tightness, while driving into the ground elicits blown hamstrings.  In each case, the athlete is fighting gravity and creating unnecessary leverage, contradicting the low-energy, high skill tenets of the POSE Method.

Mike explained that our view of elite runners, feet out front and flying far behind, was largely an optical illusion, created by speed rather than poor technique.  Popular media publishes still after still of runners in this position, thereby creating the reach-and-extend method of running practiced by the general populace.  In fact, this splayed position is a mid-air shot.  The well-balanced, bent-kneed landing is never shown, and the casual observer assumes that pushing is the name of the game.

Left with a beautiful quote--"Pain is the penalty for violating the rules of nature"--we headed outside for a day-ending tangle with "Helen".  Waves of CrossFitters tore through the workout, attempting to reconcile the POSE Method with all-out intensity.  Jeremy Thiel of CrossFit Central provided the highlight, turning in a 7:30 effort with near-perfect form on every repetition.  My own effort was modest yet satisfying, as I experienced the efficiency of using POSE mid-WOD for the first time.  The draining effect of Helen's 400-meter sprint was gone, leaving ample energy for the ensuing swings and pull-ups.  The record-destroying benefit of conservation without speed loss became clear, and the value of the Certification tripled in my mind.

The following morning, greeted by a gray sky and the threat of rain, we gathered to continue our education.  We were reintroduced to the idea of cadence, the rate at which the support leg is pulled from the ground.  In order to execute the POSE Method, the minimum acceptable cadence is 90, indicating a stride frequency of 180 steps per minute.  This frequency allows us to employ muscle elasticity and ground reaction, using the natural stretch-shortening cycle of our leg muscles to create motion.  At slower cadences, the shock of impact overpowers this internal engine, reducing running efficiency and requiring increased energy expenditure.

Following our discussion of cadence, Brian reminded us of the effects of pure aerobic work--increased cardiovascular function and fat utilization at the expense of speed, strength, power, and overall athletic ability--and told us his own experience with the anaerobic blast of CrossFit.

With virtually no reduction in long-distance stamina, Brian had replaced the majority of his roadwork with the Workout of the Day.  Inevitably, his output increased substantially in ultra distance events, newfound power and strength allowing him drop his pace by over two minutes per mile.  Even more, he found he was able to maintain pace throughout the events, no small feat during greater-than-marathon efforts.

This result flies in the face of traditional endurance training, which relies on a dogma of volume:  more output requires more distance. Solidifying his case for CrossFit, Brian told the story of one of his athletes, a young Amish-looking guy going by the moniker of "Rookie".

Rookie cranked through the WOD for six months before deciding to try his hand at distance running.  After a mere six weeks of POSE training, carefully controlled and monitored by Brian, Rookie completed a 50k race.  Prior to the event, he'd never run more than thirteen miles, and the vast majority or his training was anaerobic.

Inspired by Rookie's story, we headed out to the road, this time with a basic understanding of the POSE Method and enough drilling to get the basic motor patterns down.  Once again, Brian and Mike set up the video camera, accompanied by the CrossFit Media Crew and the ever-present Tony Budding.  Mike had given each of us a small tempo timer; a beeping device intended to keep us on cadence.  Twenty-plus athletes, each bleating like a time bomb, lined up for a second go at 400-hundred meter repeats.  

Concentrating on maintaining my cadence, leaning forward, and pulling my feet from the ground, I took off in my designated time slot.  With very little effort, I turned in a 1:11 time on the short course.  Over the next five intervals, my time increased a paltry four seconds, and the previous day's feeling of sluggishness and tension was gone.  Crossing the finish line on the last 400, I felt as if I could have run a dozen more.

My experience was not unique.  Gathered for the video analysis, we each described a similar feeling of reduced effort and pain, as well as increased stamina.  In forty-eight hours, we'd gone from hating running to wanting out of our chairs so we could do it again.  The video session showed marked improvements across the board, and the excitement in the room was palpable.

After going over several training templates for endurance athletes, we hit the treadmills for some technique work, ending the Certification with another chance to benefit from Brian and Mike's expertise.  Standing behind me and slapping my heel as I extended out the back, Brian gave me one last reminder of the need to pull off the ground quickly.

Sam and I said our goodbyes after a long post-Certification session of gymnastics with the Media Crew, heading to the airport to find Eva T., a cancelled flight, and an extra night of California vacation waiting for us.  My initial skepticism was gone, replaced by thoughts of powerful athletes cruising through WOD sprints with more speed and less effort, eschewing the negative effects of excessive roadwork for the benefits of high intensity training.

By combining technique with the anaerobic work of CrossFit, Brian and Mike promise to revolutionize the way endurance athletes train, opening the doors for an entirely new population to find CrossFit.  Given my experience in Newport Beach, they're my favorite new members of the CrossFit Community.

Gone is the fear of the 10k.  Next time it comes up on the Board, I'm going to do it, and I'm going to like it, utilizing the POSE Method to get through the previously misunderstood distance.  I might even get that hot waxing, provided it makes me faster.

Brian MacKenzie talks POSE.  For more information on the POSE Method, visit POSEtech.com or contact Brian and Michael at CrossFit Newport Beach and Multisports Orange County.