I took a ride on my stationary bike this morning, back to a simpler time…
In the 1990s the Air Force–never too obsessed with fitness back then–had replaced its fitness test, a 1.5 mile run, with something called “cycle ergometry”: a sort of stationary bike VO2 (max) test that didn’t actually measure V02 (max). Instead, participants wore a heart monitor; your pulse rate alone determined if you passed or failed.
While no athlete, I’d never had any trouble staggering across the line in time to pass the old running test. However, I couldn’t pass the new one to save my life.
Frustrated, I wrote the following in December 2001 during the twilight of a mediocre–if highly enjoyable–Air Force career.
The sentiment contained therein would prove prophetic: the Air Force Chief of Staff had already added pushups and situps to our fitness test and would reintroduce the 1.5 mile run two years later.
Resolutions
First appeared in Air Force Times, winter 2002
It’s clear that for me, New Year’s resolutions have become an exercise in futility. Seven consecutive years’ worth of resolutions notwithstanding, my Spanish hasn’t progressed beyond the “Dos Cervezas, por favor” stage, nor am I yet willing to risk playing the piano in public.
Still, the habit of making New Years’ resolutions is hard to break, so this year I will make one on behalf of the Air Force. Here it is:
I, the United States Air Force, resolve to get a real fitness testing program.
Step one: get rid of the damned ergocycle test, already. As far as I’m concerned, the ergocycle has just one thing going for it: no colonel or chief has ever died of a heart attack while riding it.
When I first failed the test, I have to admit it was a fair bust: my exercise regimen was composed largely of anaerobic activities like eating and drinking to excess. Over Thanksgiving dinner with friends that year I was ranting over the inadequacy of this new fitness test when my buddy, who is the nicest guy in the world but has a fairly low tolerance for B.S., pointed out that it wouldn’t kill me to hit the gym a little more often.
Okay, point taken. The next year I rode my bike to and from work 25 minutes a day, 4 times a week. I failed the test with a lower score than the year before. The guy behind me that year stubbed out his cigarette, loosened the heart monitor strap to accommodate the rolls of fat extending from his chins to his beer belly, and passed with flying colors. I had the satisfaction of watching his face turn blue from the coughing attack triggered by climbing down off the bicycle, as I waited to schedule my retest with the rest of the slugs.
The following year I began running two miles, three times a week, along with my regular bike rides. I passed (!) the first try, although the thrill of victory was spoiled by the printed message from the computer warning that, despite passing the test, my fitness level was “poor” and indicated that I was in the bottom 10 percent of all Americans. Now, I am no Olympic athlete, but there is absolutely no way I am in the bottom 10 percent of all Americans. In fact, based on unscientific surveys I’ve conducted by people-watching at shopping malls over the years I am at least in the top 50 percent of all Americans, not counting mannequins.
The next year I went to the Army’s Command and General Staff College, where soldiers took a fitness test each semester: all the pushups you could do in two minutes, ditto situps, followed by a two-mile run. The commander of the Air Force element there let it be known that we were expected—although not required—to participate. It was important to me to do well and not embarrass myself or the Air Force. I ran daily and exercised to beat the band, and while I didn’t max the test like several of my studlier Air Force and Army classmates did, I did well. I was in good shape, and when I took the Air Force test that spring the ergocycle computer grudgingly agreed, allowing that I was now in the top 40 percent of all Americans. I don’t know where they kept the other 39 percent who beat me that year, but they weren’t at the mall—probably hanging out at the Olympic training center.
Most of my Army classmates didn’t know what to make of the ergocycle test. Some saw it as final proof that the Air Force is not actually part of the military. Even the Navy had a real fitness test: they had to run or swim. The Marines have a test like the Army’s, only worse: they add pull-ups, and an extra mile to the run.
I suspect the Air Force Chief of Staff got tired of being teased about our lame fitness test by the other Chiefs—or maybe he couldn’t pass the damn thing, either. Anyway, I’m pleased to see we’re adding pushups and situps to the fitness test: now you can knock out a quick hundred each of those to wipe the smirk off the face of the airman waiting to schedule your retest, after you fail the cycle portion.
Not that I am bitter.
