A popular t-shirt slogan a few years ago read “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch”. The sad truth is, big dogs can’t run with the pack. I should know; I’m a big dog, a/k/a a Clydesdale.

Clydesdales are bigger endurance athletes. Under USTA rules, that means over 200 lbs. for men and over 150 lbs. for women. Female Clydesdales are often called Fillies, Athenas or Amazons (see sidebar, “What’s in a Name?”). For this article, I’ll refer to both men and women as Clydesdales.

I wasn’t always a Clydesdale. In high school, at 120 lbs., I was too small to play football. But I made up for it by being slow. I was always at the back of the team running laps. Once, a coach, probably trying to speed things up, kindly told me that it was shorter to run around the inside of the track. I got bigger but I didn’t get faster.

Twenty-some years ago, I discovered triathlons. At that time, I could run a steady nine-minute mile. A bout with cancer in 1994 and several years off to be a spectator for my kids raised my mile time to about twelve minutes. Even five years of training have failed to bring my time significantly under that pace. The experts tell me that with some technique improvement and additional weight loss, I can improve, but probably not to what most people would consider “normal” mile splits.

Forget about running with the pack; we’re lucky to see the pack after the first mile or so. After a race, I tell people I flew through the course, passing rocks and trees like they were standing still. In my first half marathon, I was struggling at the end and was passed about 500 yards from the finish by the marathon winners, who started an hour after the half marathon.

So what’s our problem? Are we just fat and lazy? A little more discipline, a little more effort, we’d be right up there with the so-called normal people, right? Wrong. Take Ingrid Miller, for example. Five years ago, Ingrid, 5’10” and 180 lbs., was a competitive trail runner. Knee problems forced her out of running for a couple of years, but three years ago she came back as a triathlete. Last year she completed her first half-Iron competition and now she’s training for a full Ironman in May. Fifteen pounds lighter, she has only 12% body fat. She’s obviously highly-trained, her weight and height put her body mass index (BMI) in the normal range, yet her run times are still 10-11 minutes per mile and her cycling speed is about 15 mph — not times that will put her at the front of the overall group. Like a moving van differs from a sports car, Clydesdales aren’t built like their smaller brethren.

It starts with the added weight, of course. From high school physics, you might recall the formula for kinetic energy (the energy of movement): E = 1/2mv², where m = mass (weight) and v = velocity (speed). What this says is that for a person to double his or her speed requires four times more energy. So for 250 lb. runner to drop from a twelve to a six minute mile to keep up with a 125 lb. runner, he needs EIGHT TIMES more energy than the 125 lb. runner requires to run a 12-minute mile, twice as much for the size difference and four times as much for the speed differential.

But the real problem is VO₂max. This is the rate at which the body utilizes oxygen, which is necessary to convert its stored fuel into energy. As body mass increases, relative VO₂max actually decreases. Here’s how Stephen Seiler, PhD in exercise physiology, explains it: If you take a highly trained 5’7”, 140 lb. cyclist and add 12% to his height, he will be just over 6’3’ tall. If you then configure this new, taller athlete proportionately to the original athlete, he will weigh 195 lbs. His absolute VO₂ max will increase from 5.0 liters/minute to 6.25 liters/minute due to the increased heart volume. This should make a more efficient and therefore faster athlete. But because of the increased body mass, the relative VO₂max will actually decrease 9%. So while the athlete is now bigger, has more mass and therefore requires more energy to be competitive, his ability to utilize energy has decreased. It’s as if someone took the pistons out of a couple of cylinders in the engine at the same time they loaded up the trunk.

This is why there are very few large, competitive endurance athletes. Look at professional cyclists. Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, Dave Zabriskie, hardly anyone is over 150 lbs. or 5’8” tall. There are some exceptions, of course. Five time Tour de France winner Miguel Indurain stood over six feet tall and weighed about 180 lbs., and Canadian cycling champion Dominique Rollin is also over six feet and 180 lbs. In Indurain’s case, his heart is disproportionately large even for a highly trained athlete, which explains his 28 bpm resting heart rate.

We typical Clydesdales redline at very low speeds. When we try to crank up the velocity, our muscles send a signal to the brain that they need more energy. The brain orders the heart and lungs to deliver more oxygen so glycogen can be burned. Because the body has a low relative VO₂max, the heart tries to compensate by beating faster to deliver more oxygen. In my own case, even a few minutes at a turtle-like 12 minutes per mile raises my heart rate to 85%-90% MHR. Most trained endurance athletes have an anaerobic threshold of 75%-90% MHR. As soon as you exceed your anaerobic threshold, the effects of lactic acid begin to set in and you can’t sustain the pace more than 20-30 minutes.

Clydesdales face a host of problems the Greyhounds don’t. We go through shoes quicker, due to the pounding force they have to endure. Replacing shoes every 200 miles is average. Because our energy needs are greater, we have to carry more food and water in long races. Many times we come to an aid station long after the rest of the pack has left to find empty water cups, black banana peels, and little else. Our slower speed makes long runs really, really long. I’ve concluded that a marathon is out of reach for me. I know I could do it in my own good time, but I’m not willing to devote half of every Saturday for twelve weeks doing long runs. For me it’s a matter of priorities; I just can’t fit it in with everything else I want to do.

Those of us who choose to run marathons or Ironman triathlons become creative in our training. Routes are planned to pass by convenience stores. We stash food along the way like through-hikers on the Appalachian trail. Because of overheating, we run early in the morning or late at night, wearing headlamps and carrying flashlights. Sometimes we even break up long runs over two days. For Clydesdales, every run is a marathon, every marathon is an ultra, and an ultra may be impossible.

Heat poses special problems for Clydesdales. Not only is staying cool more difficult, but due to the extra time we spend on the roads in the sun, we’re more prone to hyponatremia, low blood sodium due to excessive sweating. It’s crucial for Clydesdales to drink electrolyte replacement drinks during long training sessions, not just water.

The key to being successful (and by that I mean completing) in half or full Ironman distance races, century rides or marathons, besides the proper training that all athletes have to undertake, is fueling. Think of the glycogen in your muscles (the energy your body will draw on during a race) as a box of matches. There are only so many matches in the box; when they’re gone, you stop. You can’t will yourself to finish when the glycogen is gone any more than you can will a jet liner to stay airborne when the fuel tank is empty. Paula Newby-Fraser learned this lesson the hard way in the 1995 Hawaii Ironman. Being pushed from behind on the run, she deliberately passed up the last few aid stations. On Alii Drive within sight of the finish line, she collapsed, allowing Karen Smyers to pass her and ending Newby-Fraser’s win streak at four.

You can delay using up all the matches by fueling during the race, but you can never replace calories as quickly as you use them. The best you can do is time it so you run out of calories as you cross the finish line. A Clydesdale might burn 1,300 or more Calories per hour during a long race. Considering that glycogen stores in the muscles and liver probably can’t exceed 2,000 Calories, there is at most energy for less than two hours. Remember that it takes 30 minutes or so for whatever you eat to get to the bloodstream, so you need to start eating 60-90 minutes after you begin exercising.

The body simply can’t convert more than 250-280 Calories of intake per hour into usable energy. The reasons are complex, but the bottom line is, anything above that amount will slop around in your stomach, eventually causing gastric distress. Most people who become ill during a race do so because of overeating, not over-exerting. For any triathlete, but especially a Clydesdale, you need to start eating as soon as you’re out of the water. If you can figure out a way to eat while swimming, do it.

I’ve learned that for runs up to an hour in length, I’m usually safe without taking any food or drink. Over an hour, I need to carry something. On the bike, I can usually go a little longer without having to eat or drink, but it varies. The first rule is KNOW THYSELF. During your training, keep track of what you eat, when, and how you feel, then plan race day accordingly.

Try out different fueling strategies before race day. Don’t ever use a new energy product from your goodie bag that you get at check-in during the race. Save it for a training run. Find out what works for you and stick with it.

Preparing for the 2005 Spudman, I had my fueling strategy all worked out — when I would start to eat and drink, how much, how often. On the swim, I swallowed about half of the Snake River and didn’t feel like eating or drinking until the turnaround on the bike. By the time I ate and drank, it was too late and I bonked on the run. My plan was fine if I had been able to stay with it. But things happen in a race. The second rule is EXPECT SOMETHING TO GO WRONG. When it happens, deal with it; don’t let it ruin your race.

How much should you carry? Plan for about 100-150 Calories every 30 minutes. That can come from energy bars, gels, sports drink or any combination. Keep two things in mind, though. First, simple carbohydrates (simple sugars) are not good. They burn fast and hot, but it’s like trying to heat your house with newspaper. You need complex carbohydrates. Secondly, you need some protein. In exercise over 90-120 minutes, up to 15% of your energy comes from protein. If the body doesn’t have protein available from food, it will scavenge it from itself in a process called catabolism, known informally as protein cannibalization. This can cause premature muscle fatigue and post-exercise soreness, and can compromise your immune system, leading to increased risk of colds, flu and other diseases.

No race day strategy can overcome a poor nutritional foundation. Here again Clydesdales face problems unknown to others. Most of us are still trying to lose weight, and we might be tempted to try various diets, especially the low-carbohydrate ones like Atkins and South Beach. That’s a big mistake. Those diets are designed for the average American who leads a sedentary lifestyle. Athletes need fuel and fuel comes mainly from carbohydrates. Fat deposits in the body provide an almost unlimited store of energy, but fat burns in a carbohydrate fire.

Many Clydesdales have health issues associated with our size. I race not to win but because triathlons give me the motivation I need to keep exercising, and I exercise because I have three of the four markers for heart disease: I’m overweight, I have elevated blood sugar (pre-Type II diabetes) and I have high cholesterol. The only marker I don’t have is high blood pressure. If I weren’t a triathlete, Atkins or South Beach would be ideal for me. But I am, I need extra carbohydrates those diets don’t provide. The problem is, how to get the fuel I need and still maintain the blood chemistry my doctor advises.

This brings me to my third and last rule: TAKE CHARGE OF YOUR LIFE. Find out what’s going on inside your own body. Educate yourself. There are dozens of books about nutrition for endurance athletes. Two good ones are Nutrition for Endurance Athletes by Monique Ryan and Eat Right to Train Right by Chris Carmichael. The American Diabetes Association has some excellent recipes and meal plans if you’re facing diabetes, like millions of middle-age Americans are.

Don’t give up. Carry your Clydesdale frame with pride. If it takes you two and a half hours to finish a sprint triathlon, that’s no less an accomplishment than a 2:30 marathon for a skinny runner. If you don’t want to commit to training for Olympic or longer distance triathlons, focus on sprint triathlons. Whatever you do, Big Dog, get off the porch.

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Clydesdale is the most common name given to larger athletes. Anyone familiar with a certain beer company’s holiday commercials knows what a Clydesdale looks like. They truly are the behemoths of horses. Where a typical thoroughbred race horse will weigh 1200-1500 lbs., Clydesdales tip the scales at 1900 lbs. or more and stand much taller.

Sometimes female Clydesdales are called Fillies, an obvious “me-too” to the equine world. “Filly” is misleading, because a filly is simply a female horse over one year and under five years of age, regardless of size. One of the most famous fillies was Ruffian, winner of the Filly Triple Crown and unbeaten in 10 races. In 1975 a two horse battle of the sexes was set up between Ruffian and that year’s Kentucky Derby winner, Foolish Pleasure. Ruffian broke her leg during the race and had to be put down. She was the only non-human athlete named to Sports Illustrated’s list of the Top 100 Female Athletes of the 20^th Century.

Athena is another name given to female Clydesdales. Athena was a Greek warrior goddess, often attended by the goddess of victory, Nike. She was the patron goddess of Athens.

Amazon is a term frequently used for female Clydesdales. Amazons were a mythic race of warrior-women in ancient Greece, of large stature and ferocious in battle. Legend has it the name is derived from the Greek “a-mazos”, meaning “without breast”. The Amazons were said to have cut off their right breasts so it would not interfere with their ability to draw a bow or throw a spear. According to many accounts, the Amazon River in South America was named by Spanish explorer Francisco de Orellana in 1541, in honor of the native female warriors he found along its banks.

In some parts of the country, other descriptive terms are used in place of “Clydesdale”. In the southwest, you might race in the Longhorn division, while in southern California there is the Shamu division.

BOOKS BY AND ABOUT CLYDESDALES

Slow, Fat Triathlete by Jayne Wilson. While Ms. Wilson is a Clydesdale, this book is for anyone interested in the sport of triathlon. She takes a rank beginner’s viewpoint and explains just what goes on in a triathlon, even down to explaining T1 and T2. A good starter book for anyone new to triathlon.

No Need for Speed by John “the Penguin” Bingham. Bingham, the self-proclaimed Patron Saint of the Back of the Pack explains the joy of running slow. Like Slow, Fat Triathlete, Bingham’s book, though written from a Clydesdale perspective, is for anyone new to running.

Swimming to Antarctica by Lynn Cox. Not a training guide, this is the autobiography of Lynn Cox, one of the world’s greatest distance swimmers. At age 14 she was training by swimming 26 miles from Catalina Island to the mainland. At 15 she set the men’s and women’s record for crossing the English Channel. In her 20s she discovered she could swim in water so cold ordinary mortals would die in less than 10 minutes. Her book describes swims across the Bering Strait; in the waters of Cape Horn on the southern tip of South America; and in the Antarctic Ocean. Standing about 5’4” tall and weighing over 160 lbs., Ms. Cox is surely an overachiever Clydesdale.

Heft on Wheels by Mike Magnuson. Magnuson was a 255 lb., beer-swilling, pizza-munching, chain-smoking English professor when he took up cycling. A year and 80 lbs. lighter, he discovered he had traded one set of addictions for another. This is a sometimes poignant, often humorous and always entertaining true story of one man’s journey. Not a training manual, it’s both inspirational and cautionary about the risks of overdoing a good thing.

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