By Mike Krueger
It’s getting light in the east. It’s morning, another day. I haven’t really slept though. I can still smell the smoke despite three showers. My wife, Angie, is sleeping soundly beside me, one arm carelessly lying across my chest. I can hear the Mr. Coffee starting; in a few minutes it will be ready. Gently, I lift Angie’s arm off my chest, trying not to wake .her. I don’t feel like company yet. I slide my legs out of bed and take a few steps. I hurt all over.
I make my way quietly down the hall in the half light of dawn, past my daughter Maria’s room. She’s four years old and wants to be a princess. She is still sleeping, stuffed animals scattered around her bed like her loyal subjects awaiting her command. As I continue down the hall, Ernie, Maria’s cat, twines in and out of my legs, looking for attention and food. Once in the kitchen, I see that the coffee is still brewing. I take my “World’s Greatest Daddy” coffee cup out of the dishwasher and sneak a cup without spilling too much. I open a new pouch of cat food and dump it into Ernie’s bowl. He appreciatively rubs his head on the back of my hand and then digs into his breakfast. I look around our cozy little kitchen: everything is normal; everything is quiet.
I hear the morning newspaper bounce off the front door. Ronnie, the paper boy, has a good arm for a nine-yea- old. I stand at the window and watch him ride off on his new Trek bicycle–the rest of his route, and his life, lying ahead of him. I can see the newspaper rolled up tight, leaning against the bottom step. Quietly, I open the door and walk down the three steps to pick it up. My neighbor, Ben, jogs by and waves. I nod and raise my cup in greeting. I bend over to pick up the newspaper. Standing up, I carefully unroll it and read the headline: “Four Children Die in Apartment Fire.” God, I did all I could do. Didn’t I?
This is every firefighter’s worst nightmare–a fatal fire where the victims were still alive when you arrived on-scene. It is a given that whenever you are called to respond to an emergency situation, you do all that you can possibly do to ensure that everyone, victims and responders alike, can walk away when it is all over. All your education and training is put to the test in that white hot moment on the fire line. There is no question of the faithfulness to duty of America’s emergency responders.
The question that needs to be asked is: Are you doing all you can do in preparation for the moment when you are called?
The physical readiness of firefighters and emergency responders is my biggest concern. The ability to run, climb, lift, chop, and carry while wearing 60-plus pounds of gear and living off a 45-minute tank of air is a challenge few professional athletes would be willing to undertake. And, the professional athlete trains for many hours each day in anticipation of his or her performance. Athletes push the limits of their cardiovascular system to improve their endurance; they lift weights to become stronger, all so that they might be the best at their sport. They know that pushing beyond their limits while training gives them the confidence and strength to do what needs to be done in the game, no matter how tough it may be. When it comes time for competition, they are ready. They know that they are able to dig deep and find the reserve that can make the difference between winning and losing.
Skills training aside, how much time per week do you spend in physically readying yourself for that day when everything is on the line?
I slowly walk back up the steps and into the kitchen, reading the account of the fire that occurred the day before. I was there. I really know what happened; this news story is just the facts. It contains nothing of the emotional cost to the men and women who tried their best, but came up short. Four children will never get a chance to grow up.
Before I get too deep into myself, the phone rings. It is John Anderson from Station 5. He asks how I am doing. I lie to him and say I’m fine. Then he drops the bomb: Firefighter Tom Newton is dead. His wife Jamey found him down and not breathing in the bathroom this morning– apparently a heart attack. He was only 43.
The death rate among firefighters is appalling. You all know the numbers; you wear the memorial T-shirts and patches for those who have fallen in the line of duty. In the past year, approximately 18 firefighters died of heart attacks after returning from a fire. They found the strength to do what needed to be done, but they far outstripped their ability to recover from the effort. They died on the fire line; they just didn’t know it.
The human spirit is a remarkable thing. It allows us to love, hope, and make sacrifices; grieve, and then carry on after tragedy. The family of firefighters is frequently visited by tragedy, both within its ranks and within the community it serves. It is the nature of the business, but the unnecessary loss of life is heartbreaking as well as frustrating.
I envision a time when death in the ranks because of heart disease and a general lack of fitness will be nothing more than a sad memory. I see a time when firefighters routinely exercise with the same diligence with which they practice skills and learn new techniques. No longer will firefighters be overweight and physically undertrained. They will be admired for their athletic skills and abilities the same way they are now admired for their bravery and devotion to duty.
Career firefighters should have an advantage over the volunteers in so far as exercise opportunities are concerned. Often, they have time during their day that is supposed to be dedicated to exercise; they frequently have reasonably well-appointed workout areas on premises. Some even have access to trainers. Unfortunately, not enough firefighters take advantage of these perks. Because a volunteer’s part-time status can make maintaining focus more difficult, the non-career firefighter must make the extra effort to achieve and maintain the level of fitness and readiness required to be a true professional. Far too many volunteers are playing a dangerous game, playing the odds that they will never be called into a situation where they will have to dip into a vast well of physical reserve. This game may very well cost someone his life.
The same desire that led you to be a firefighter, regardless of the personal sacrifices and effort required, is what you must now tap into to make the changes that need to be made. You will need to honestly appraise your own preparedness and that of your department and then do what must be done to be the best of the best.
Today, before you get dressed, take a moment to look in a full-length mirror. Do you like what you see? Is this the body of a professional firefighter? Is your best going to be good enough, or does it need to be better? Are you prepared to do what is necessary to make the changes that will turn you into the firefighter of the future–lean, fit, fast, and strong, the quintessential firefighting machine?
I hang up the phone and walk back to the bedroom. Angie is just stirring, I kiss her and tell her it’s early, go back to sleep. I go to the closet and locate some shorts, a tee shirt and running shoes; it’s a new day, and I’m going to make it a better one; for me, my family and for the community which I serve.
Michael Krueger is an independent personal trainer in Madison, Wisconsin. He is certified by the National Strength and Conditioning Association. He received his introduction to fitness training while serving in the U.S. Coast Guard. He has provided some nutrition and fitness training counseling to the Fitchburg (WI) Fire Department based on his understanding of the risks and demands involved in firefighting, which he had gained though his military experience.
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Subject: Firefighter fitness
