After an off-season dominated by headlines of dugout dealers and Balco, baseball returned this spring with news of yet another freshly minted physique. Nick Swisher, a 26-year-old slugger for the Oakland A's, had arrived at spring training with an extra 20 pounds of muscle.
Rumors of wrongdoing were quickly dispelled, though, as The New York Times reported that Swisher had gained the mass by, among other chores, chopping trees, pulling tractors, and busting concrete: His "magic formula…was as basic as manual labor."
Shooting HGH between outs in center field would have seemed more probable, but the truth was Swisher grew his heft on central Ohio farmland, at a facility called Team Edge Fitness and Performance. Employing crude tools in barnyard surroundings, he had actually adhered to an innovative fitness philosophy: functional training. The method re-creates the motions of the playing field in rugged workouts tailored to specific sports. Swinging an axe is, after all, a lot like swinging a baseball bat, only with considerably more resistance.
I should know. Fired up by the Times article, I've headed to the Edge facility—a white ranch house adrift in a sea of amber plains—to go toe to toe with Allan Johnson, the trainer responsible for Swisher's new bulk. Up until my arrival I had not fully understood why owner Bob Fry was so keen on vetting my size and fitness (6 foot 4, 215 pounds, a former college soccer player in as mediocre shape as anyone who works long hours can be) or why he cautioned over the phone: "Be sure to bring outside clothes and indoor clothes. We'll provide the sledgehammer." Now, confronted with Johnson, it's all become clear.
Johnson's a bulldog of a man with a yellow Johnny Unitas flattop and an easy smile at odds with his competitive-sports pedigree. Until recently, he was the director of strength and training for Ohio State University. Before that, he was one of Major League Baseball's first strength coaches (the Baltimore Orioles hired him in 1989). Johnson explains that I'll be doing a week's worth of training in three days. Then he tosses me a water bottle and a towel—"In case, heaven forbid, you sweat."
