By Rick Maese
July 16 EUGENE, Ore.
July 16 EUGENE, Ore.
Emily Infeld disappeared into a tent. She had placed second in the 10,000- meter race at the U.S. Olympic track and field trials, earning a spot on the U.S. Olympic team.
Her adrenaline was still rushing, but she knew that wasn't what was needed at that particular
moment.
She had been met by a young man in a blue shirt
shortly after she crossed the finish line. He introduced himself and asked her to sign a piece
of paper acknowledging that they had met. Then
he followed her around the track, toward the television cameras, past the reporters, into the
awards ceremony and a news conference. He
couldn't take his eyes off her the entire time,
finally escorting her into the tent, through a pair
of double doors, one of which had a sign identifying it as a restricted area.
This is how it starts, the complicated, precarious
system of drug-testing elite athletes. It's a
system that has been in the spotlight this year,
with charges of a massive, state-sponsored
doping program by Russia that has cast a long
shadow in the run-up to next month's Summer
Olympics. The goal of the testing system is to
ensure that athletes are clean, competition is
above-board and the Rio de Janeiro Games
feature competitors armed only with their
training, smarts and whatever genetic gifts have
been bestowed upon them.
Everything hinges on the test. The step-by-step
process of testing athletes' blood and urine reveals all the possible pratfalls. American athletes, the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency and the U.S. Olympic Committee hope it also illustrates
why the program in place in the United States is
a far cry from the one that landed the All-Russia
Athletic Federation and the Kenyan track and
field team in hot water that could exclude them
from the Olympics. USADA conducted more
than 10,500 tests last year for the USOC, and
with the help of Olympic athletes, they described
the procedure in intimate detail for this article.
It's a process that usually starts right when the
competition ends or at unannounced visits to an
athlete's home or training facility, when the athlete must submit a urine or blood sample and
sometimes both. The doping control officer has
one objective: He or she must witness every step. "It was a little weird at first, and I was a little
self-conscious when I was younger," said Infeld,
26, a Georgetown University graduate who will be competing in her first Olympics. She recalls
having submitted to at least five tests this year;
USADA records say she has been tested a total of
10 times in her career. "I don't really care at this
point," Infeld added.
Tests become routine
To aspire to the Olympics is to surrender a degree of privacy and autonomy. Athletes in the
drug-testing pool must submit "whereabouts,"
which is essentially their anticipated location, at
all times, in case USADA plans a surprise test.
They must make themselves available 24 hours a
day, seven days a week, 365 days out of the year.
They go online to fill out their whereabouts quarterly, providing training times, competition
schedule and any other travel plans. They can
then use an app on their smartphone to provide
daily updates. Some choose to be very specific
with what they share.
"That's the hardest part," said English Gardner, a 24-year-old sprinter who will represent the
United States in the women's 100 meters in Rio.
"Saying I'm going to the grocery store to pick up
eggs for breakfast. But first I have to tag in and
tell USADA I'm going."
Three missed tests count the same as a positive
and can result in a suspension. For Gardner, it's
all pretty routine. She said the officers came
almost weekly last fall, often at dawn. She doesn't mind. "I'd rather they test me more," she
said. "I'm clean. I have nothing to hide."
The doping control officers show up with a testing kit and an iPad. The entire process is
paperless. If they intend to draw blood, they will
be accompanied by a phlebotomist, and if they're
testing a minor, they will have a chaperone on
hand for an extra set of eyes.
The tests are never random. If an athlete is
receiving increased testing, it's not by accident.
And if they're being tested for blood, in addition to urine, it's likely because they compete in a
sport, such as cycling or track, in which abuse
often involves substances that are easier to
identify in blood.
"The idea of just choosing people off a list and
showing up is not in my opinion an effective way
of allocating resources," said Matt Fedoruk, USADA's science director.
The test itself is the same whether it takes place
at an athlete's home or at a competition. The
doping control officer offers three sealed cups
and three sealed Styrofoam kits, allowing the
athlete to inspect each for tampering before choosing one. The kit has a bar code and seven-
digit identification number that will be essential
for tracking purposes.
After a detailed explanation and clicking some
boxes on the iPad, the officer and athlete will
visit a restroom together. An important key to
the whole process: The officer must have a clear visual of the specimen collection.
"I know some of the guys have honestly spilled
pee because their hands are shaking. It is pretty
weird," said Nathan Adrian, a three-time gold
medalist and defending 100-meter freestyle
champion heading to his third Olympics.
Athletes are required to pull their shirt up to
mid-torso, drop their pants to their knees and
roll up their sleeves to their biceps. "In case I
have something in my shirt or something,"
Infeld said.
There are products on the market that aid athletes in hiding urine samples on their body.
In 2005, Minnesota Vikings running back Onterrio Smith was famously caught with a
Whizzinator, a kit that includes dried urine and
a fake penis, commonly used to cheat drug tests.
More recently, a World Anti-Doping Agency
investigation found an unnamed Russian athlete
who, according to a WADA report issued last month, "used a container inserted inside her
body (presumably containing clean urine). When she tried to use the container it leaked on
to the floor and not into the collection vessel."
With the doping control officer just a couple of
feet away, the athlete must fill the cup with at
least 90 milliliters of urine, about the size of a
perfume bottle.
"It's hard," Infeld said, "especially when you run
a long race like that. You sweat a ton."
After her second-place finish earlier this month,
Infeld initially failed to provide 90 milliliters,
which meant she had to drink more water and
wait several minutes until she was ready to
return to the restroom with the doping control
officer.
That process can take one minute or more than
an hour depending on the athlete and his or her
hydration level. Once the cup is filled, the athlete then divides the urine into two glass bottles —
"A" and "B" samples — from the Styrofoam kit.
The bottles each have a locking mechanism with
metal teeth that can be opened only with a special tool at the testing lab. The athlete is
instructed to tighten the lid.
Then, for the first time, the doping control officer is allowed to touch the bottles, ensuring
the lids are locked into place to prevent leaking
or tampering.
Distrust and whispers
With 2,500 Olympic athletes in the drug-testing
pool at any given time , USADA needs a deep
roster of doping control officers. USADA, which
is headquartered in Colorado Springs, is a nonprofit agency that receives $9 million in
federal grant money annually; it took in an additional $3.7 million from its contract last
year with the USOC. It has 52 doping officers on
staff, spread across the country.
Most are part-time contractors, and many have
other careers. Regular 6 a.m. wakeup calls and
open bathroom visits tend to breed some familiarity between officer and athlete. American athletes say they trust the system in
the United States. They often tweet out notices
when they're woken early in the morning for a
test or visited at practice, often employing a
hashtag such as #CompeteClean OrGoHome.
That comfort doesn't always extend to other
nations or international competition. They also
know that many athletes have used performance-enhancing drugs and never turned
in a positive test — Americans included.
"I've never seen anything fishy with my own
eyes, but you never know what goes on behind
closed doors," said runner Jeremy Wariner, a
three-time Olympian and four-time medalist.
"With what's coming out now, it's an unfortunate situation."
Wariner, who failed to qualify for the Rio Games, has been tested 71 times by USADA and
many more times competing overseas. Distrust
and whispers can be inherent in a sport in which
a tenth of a second can have a profound impact
on money, fame and legacy. But Wariner says
sound testing can alleviate that and at least
provide the semblance of a balanced playing
field.
The doping control officer tries to assuage any
concerns on the front end. The athlete places the
bottles into plastic bags and then back into the
Styrofoam box. The bags are sealed, and then
the box is, too.
After the athlete clicks a few more boxes on the
iPad and offers a signature, the information is
instantly transmitted to USADA and the testing
lab, and the athlete receives an email.
The officer then usually will pack the kit into a
gray UPS envelope labeled "biological sample." At a big event like the Olympic trials, USADA
officials will pack up to 24 kits into a blue bag, a
plastic seal locking the zippers into place to prevent tampering.
If there's blood involved — it's typically less than
a tablespoon, so it won't affect competition or
training — the samples are shipped in a box
along with cooling packs and a thermometer.
The blood must stay between 35 and 46 degrees
to remain viable for testing and arrive at the lab
within 36 hours of being drawn.
Trying to keep pace
Nestled in the foothills of the Wasatch mountains in Salt Lake City sits a nondescript
brick office park with no signage out front. The
UPS deliveryman arrives at least once every day
and must get buzzed inside. Most doors in the
space require a key card for entry, cameras are
situated on the ceiling inside, and there's 24- hour security on hand, too.
The Sports Medicine Research and Testing
Laboratory is one of two labs in the country
accredited by the World Anti-Doping Agency
and one of only 34 in the world. It processes
20,000 drug tests in a year for a variety of sports organizations, including around 5,000 for
USADA.
Once the UPS shipment is unpacked, the "B"
sample heads straight to storage and the "A"
sample is prepped for testing. The Sports
Medicine Research and Testing Laboratory is
about the size of a tennis court, with wires, tubes
and high-tech equipment spread across the
room. As Daniel Eichner, the lab's executive
director, says, "The work we do is important but
not always the most glamorous."
Each sample goes through a variety of tests as
technicians check for steroids, hormones,
masking agents, stimulants, blood doping and gene doping. They're looking for traces of any of
the items included on WADA's list of banned
substances.
While most positive tests are still the result of an illegal substance, the labs and USADA are
increasingly relying on athletes' biological
passports to identify suspicious changes in an
athlete's biochemistry. Using previous urine and blood tests as a baseline, they can spot
biomarkers that act as red flags and could
indicate an athlete has used a performance-
enhancing drug, even if a specific substance
wasn't detected in testing.
As drug testers try to keep pace with drug users,
the WADA list of banned substances changes
every year. In 2006, for example, the section
pertaining to growth hormones listed five
banned substances. Ten years later, that same
section specifies more than 30.
"In the last 10 years, we've made efforts to be a lot more proactive," said Eichner, who was
formerly the science director at USADA. "We
look at the scientific and the medical literature
and try to predict the substances that may be
used in the future."
The lab technician doesn't know the source of
any sample. There is no name attached to the kit
— just the bar code and seven-digit ID number.
They will run the sample through every test and
report the results without ever knowing whether
they had caught an aspiring college athlete, a
veteran Olympian or perhaps just received a
surprise quality-control sample from WADA to
make certain the lab is doing its job.
"That's all we'll ever receive, just a unique ID
code," Eichner said. "It's important for us to
maintain our independence in that way. We're
neutral."
The doping scandal that has enveloped the
Russians involves allegations of a state- sponsored program that centers on misconduct
at the Russian lab during the Winter Olympics in
Sochi in 2014. The Moscow lab was suspended
by WADA and lost its accreditation in April.
In the past few months alone, WADA has suspended the accreditation of the lab in South
Africa — previously the only accredited lab in
Africa — in addition to labs in Beijing; Madrid;
Almaty, Kazakhstan; and Lisbon. The lab in Rio
de Janeiro, which will need to process thousands
of tests during the Olympics, was suspended in
June because of "nonconformity with International Standards for Laboratories" but
still could be given a green light to continue
testing before the Rio Games begin Aug. 5.
At the U.S. lab in Salt Lake City, after tests are
run, the results are uploaded instantly to WADA
and then dispersed to USADA and in short order communicated to the athlete. The "B" sample,
meanwhile, lives on.
The samples USADA collects during competitions remain at the lab for up to 10 years
and can be analyzed down the road for new substances or as technology improves. They're
locked in secure rooms inside industrial refrigerators that are kept at minus-112 degrees.
At any time, USADA can call them out to be retested.
U.S. athletes who say they have nothing to hide
don't mind the prospects of future testing. If
anything, they just wish other countries had a
system and resources that matched the one here.
"I'm happy they're trying to crack down elsewhere," Infeld said. "I don't think they're
cracking down as heavily as they should. The
more they do it, the more people they'll catch.
But I know I can only control me and my
training. I just have to do my best at that." Barry Svrluga contributed to this report.
Rick Maese is a sports features writer for The Washington Post.
Follow @RickMaese
No comments:
Post a Comment