She wore a helmet-like contraption, complete with a rubber mouthpiece, connected to a flexible plastic hose. The hose led to a large machine with an impressive array of instruments, digital readouts, and a computer printer poised over a stack of perforated paper. Roosevelt Brown was checking each electrode connection as Topper Henderson reviewed the testing procedure.
“I know you’re a pro at this by now, Sandy, but I want to remind you of our hand signals. When I ask if you can hang in there for another thirty seconds, give me a thumbs up if you’re okay, wag your hand if you’re not sure, and give me a thumbs down if you’ve had it. Let’s try the mouthpiece. All right? Now the nose clip. Okay, let me turn on the analyzer. Looks good. You all set, Sandy? Connections all good, Rosie?”
“All set, Topper. She’s ready to rock and roll.”
Sandy winked at Rosie.
“Oh yes! The woman loves me. I knew she couldn’t resist my charm.”
Sandy rolled her eyes at Topper and nodded.
“Enough, Romeo! Start the treadmill. Here we go, Sandy.”
For the first five minutes Topper and Rosie were relaxed, occasionally walking over to explain aspects of the test to Matt.
The nose clip, mouthpiece, and hose allowed the machine to measure the volume of air the athlete inhaled and exhaled during the test. The machine also analyzed the air content, and determined how much oxygen the subject took in, transported to their muscles and used during hard physical exercise, as well as how efficiently they disposed of carbon dioxide. The electrodes monitored pulse beat. The printouts of the collected data determined the subject’s anaerobic threshold, critical information for the coaching staff.
Topper looked back at Sandy, who seemed to be running effortlessly in spite of the contraption on her head. He motioned to Rosie, who had been increasing the speed of the treadmill every three minutes.
Rosie, she’s a real tough one, blacked out in a test once at Colorado Springs. When we get her up close to her max, I want you to stand behind the track and be ready to catch her.”
Over the next eight minutes, they advanced the speed to ten miles an hour, then increased the slope by increments. She was no longer running easily, but was focused straight ahead, sweat pouring from her forehead.
Topper waved Matt over to the test equipment, “Go ahead and cheer, like you would in a race.”
Matt felt a little embarrassed, but his first efforts earned a glance from Sandy and a slight nod.
“That-a-way, Sandy. Good running! You’re looking strong. Keep it up,” Matt tried to keep up a steady stream of encouragement because it was evident that she was finally tiring.
Topper nodded his approval, “Good effort, Sandy. You’re going to be happy with these results. Can you give us another minute?”
She pointed a thumb toward the ceiling.
“All right, Sandy! Great job!” Topper said scanning the continuous readout. He signaled Rosie who moved to the rear of the whining treadmill.
“Way to go, Sandy! Can you give us thirty seconds more?”
Her face was bright red and drenched with sweat, but again she signaled with a thumbs up.
“Okay, Sandy, thirty seconds till the next printout, hang in there, great…Oh, shit!”
It happened so fast that Matt almost missed it. One instant Sandy was struggling up the endless hill, the next she collapsed and the moving belt shot her off the back of the machine. Topper lunged for the kill button on the handrail, but not before Sandy piled into Rosie and they fell in a tangled heap on the floor. The rubber mouthpiece was torn free and her lip was bleeding. Several of the electrodes dangled loose. She groaned as Topper pushed Rosie out of the way, and tried to make Sandy comfortable on the floor, “Jesus, I’m sorry, Sandy. I should have known better. Damn, it’s just a test, it’s not the goddamn Olympics! Are you all right? Rosie, go get Dr. Manheimer! Johnson, grab a couple of blankets.”
Sandy stayed on the floor until Dr. Manheimer examined her, then rested on a cot in the corner of the lab before they let her return to her room. While Rosie prepped Matt for the treadmill test, pinching his chest, back, thigh, and abdomen in the ski fold calipers to determine his body fat percentage, Rosie kept replaying the scene, “Damn, I ain’t never seen that before! That girl just run ’til she passed out. An’ you get a look at her numbers? Man, she’s in some kind of shape! Hell, I tested some good runners down at Penn State, but I never seen numbers like that from a woman!”
“So do all the really tough ones run ’til they pass out?” Matt asked, still a little queasy from what he’d witnessed. Rosie had begun to abrade the skin on Matt’s chest with sandpaper where they would attach the electrodes.
“Hell no! I only seen one other person pass out, and he was so sick with the flu we never shoulda tested him. You run ’til you can’t keep up with the machine, then you give us the thumbs down an’ we stop it. You just seen something here you probably never going see again. Damn, she’s a tough woman!”
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