Excerpt #3 From The New Book "A Shot and a Ghost: A Year In the Brutal World of Professional Squash"
by James Willstrop
special to DailySquashReport.com
Posted: March 12, 2012
James Willstrop gives a revealing insight into his summer training.
Most years, the Yorkshireman can be found in Colorado training at altitude in preparation for a tough season ahead.
Part Two
17 June 2010
The altitude is severe. The air is thinner as the altitude increases meaning there is less oxygen to breathe than at ground level. Depending on the level of altitude, the effects vary enormously. I suffer from sickness and headaches during the first week, a common ailment. Simply climbing a flight of stairs brings about a feeling of breathlessness, and at first this is alarming. Even more shocking is waking in the middle of the night in the midst of a desperate attempt to inhale, in such a way that it feels as if I might be having a heart attack.
After time spent living and training at altitude, the body adapts to the change in oxygen density, therefore altitude training is a popular choice for elite athletes; if they time it to lead into competition at sea level, theoretically speaking they should feel very comfortable with the change in oxygen density.
Second day in, and we readied ourselves for the first mountain bike ride of the camp, the first of four. It is a spectacular ride among the mountains, and despite being constantly starved of oxygen and in dire pain after the climbs, the occasional regroup gave us a chance to stare in absolute wonder at the scenery.
The Rocky Mountains are one of nature’s gifts to humankind, and with all respect to have spent my life training in Pontefract, I do consider myself very lucky to be able to come out here to ‘work’. At home my view from the gym is of the town’s cemetery; here in Boulder it is of snow-capped mountains which are normally only seen through the canvas of an expensive painting. There are times, though, when the pain of the training blots out the beauty of the scenery, to the point where I couldn’t care less how pretty the hills are.
A solid warm-up was followed by down wall practices with targets for 40 minutes. Then came a strength movement circuit, where I really started feeling it. Two stations did ghosting to one corner, the other two did backward and forward lunge, and one leg squat, both with dumbbells. The second circuit was to ghost the other two corners, and the lunges were a side lunge followed by a cross lunge with dumbbell repeated, and a corkscrew with dumbbell or weight. Condition games followed to finish.
Ghosting is a classic squash drill, one where you learn the art of moving around the court without the ball. It trains the muscles to move in the most specific way for squash.
The session today written down wouldn’t seem like a great deal normally, but I am spent. Coming here still carrying a spare tyre was not the most sensible move, but there was little option, the season going on for so long. It’s substantially tougher than last year, when I was fit after the rehab from my op. It’s a dreaded run around Fern lake tomorrow morning. Bed calls.
On the drive to the trail I feel nervous; half excitement, half dread. Training is the most natural thing in the world, yet I am sometimes scared to death of it.
Today it scares me even more. Not only because it is training but it is running. Heavy-boned six footers weren’t meant to run. I know it will be painful, and I know I will go through with it, so there is no escape.
Pain is unavoidable if success is the required result at a world level. It would be easy to duck out, hang back, only run half. I could find an excuse. But then that is a mental weakness, which would undoubtedly make me less good than I could be.
I cannot live with that. Even though I would like to, I tend not to cut corners, and this is a trait that is essential in all world class performers. The people who say they ‘could have been’ or ‘should have been’ world class tend to lack this mental ability.
The part before, the application of sun cream or the fixing of the bandana, or the tying of the shoelaces, is almost the hardest part. Before I know it we are off and running.
It’s OK for now, but there is a brutal mile and a half climb coming up to get to the top, at 8,000 feet. I hear breathing and pattering of footsteps behind me as I concentrate on the rocks and how best to dodge and weave them. It’s Damon, who goes ahead to take some photos and when I reach him he says ‘good work, James’, though I’m already finding this hard enough that I don’t bother acknowledging him. I know he finds it funny when I don’t talk to him, which makes me more unresponsive. From this point on it will get steeper and harder and Damon, once the rest of the group has passed him, will try to catch me up. He loves the competition, and his light frame helps him to run very well.
Maybe I’m going too fast here. I hit a couple of 20-yard inclines which are so steep they take my breath away. The oxygen deficit hits me; soil falling over my head. Rocks everywhere. Must be quick with the footwork. I feel like an oaf. Here we go. Pain.
It starts to feel harder to breathe, the inclines are now so ridiculous that I can barely walk up them, let alone run. I mean this; I can hardly run. Maybe I went too fast to start. Several times I seem to be on the precipice, reaching the limits of my aerobic capacity. I hear feet and breath. Christ, Damon already.
‘Maybe ease of the gas a bit James. You went off so fast. There is still a fair bit of climbing to do.’
I don’t talk but at the end of that incline I stop, which I hate doing. I never stop! I went far too fast. Perhaps I should be a little sensible considering I am only a week in to the altitude and 10 days ago I was overweight. Each time I look up there is another hill and I am always looking at the soles of Damon’s shoes, or the next rock. These images on which I focus are almost symbolic of the hurt, but give me something to focus on. Every time I look at the letters A-S-I-C-S on Damon’s shoes, I want to cry.
I make a stop or two, but I push and push until we reach the top. I drive my arms to try to get me up the inclines, but my whole body is so tired. I have never felt such tiredness in my upper body; it has seized emphatically.
Getting to the top means that the rest of the five-mile run (I know it doesn’t sound much) is mostly downhill, but this still requires concentration and skill, despite being aerobically easier than the inclines. There is a strong footwork element involved, and the body must decelerate efficiently coming down, so it can be more challenging on the joints and limbs.
There is some flat at the end of the trail which seems to go on and on, and I am starting to feel awful, different to just plain tired. I stop again, wobbling. God knows what is wrong; I never stop. Maybe I went in to such a hard run prematurely, not having acclimatised properly to the conditions. My body is failing me, understandably so. I lie on the floor, gulping sports drink. Depleted and exhausted, an overwhelming urge to sleep has come over me which must mean I am about to faint. I have never ever felt the need to sleep in the direct aftermath of a session.
I manage not to pass out there and then, but head straight back to Terry’s and sleep soundly for a couple of hours. I may have overdone it today.
Excerpt #1: James's Candid Views of America's Association With Squash
Excerpt #2: Summer Training In Colorado, Part 1
James Willstrop's book 'A Shot and a Ghost: a year in the brutal world of professional squash' is available from www.willstrop.co.uk, priced £9.99, and on Kindle.
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