The CPAT: One Woman's Experience
Part 2

I had to go back to Helena, and figured I'd be lucky to make it to Frenchtown again before the test. So I decided to put up a CPAT course of my own. I was able to duplicate almost every station on the test pretty well. The only one I had trouble with was the sledge hammer: I didn't have anything I could hit from the side. So I set up a sawhorse with a target and had to pull my swing short every time. I borrowed two sections of worn-out 3" hose from Steve Larsen, for which I was extremely grateful.

All the rest of my "stations" I scrounged from friends and family, and set it all up at my brother's house. Buckets, ladders, round free weights, ropes, pulleys, some steel rebar, sandbags, and more sandbags. My dad said it was the biggest God-awful pile of junk he'd ever seen. I carefully paced off every 85-foot distance between stations and every distance for the stations themselves: 70 feet to pull the dummy, 75 feet to pull the hose to a drum, then 25 more to a box, and so on. I marked everything with orange survey tape and little piles of rocks to indicate direction. I used a meat-packing frame from my bowhunting gear with a sandbag tied to it to simulate the weighted vest.

After all this work, I managed to run my test four separate occasions before I had to pack it up. I shaved off seconds every time I did it. One time I did it in under 10 minutes, which I think was a fluke; another time I did it in 10:28. I knew my test wasn't a perfect duplication, but it's hard to argue with constant improvement.

The last two weeks before the test, I tried to get to bed early every night. I changed my training, going to one anaerobic workout every three days. I had my youngest son sit on my meat-packing frame, or used a sandbag, turned the stereo up as loud as possible to Bonnie Raitt singing the blues, and stepped up and down the bottom of the stairs in my house. I maintained my heart rate using my heart monitor at about 168-170 for 14 minutes continuously.

When I came back to Bozeman this time, I certainly felt a lot better prepared than two years ago. I waited out my time in line, and passed my written exam ten points higher than before. The CPAT was scheduled for the next day, so I drove back to Helena to spend the night at home.

Back in Bozeman the next morning, I went right to Charlene and Jenny's room: Charlene had taken the test at 8:00 a.m. When she opened the door, screamed, grabbed me and spun me in a circle, I had my answer about whether she'd passed or not. I spent about half an hour in their room doing yoga while I tried to pick her brain over every detail she remembered. I was completely stretched out, warmed up and feeling good when we all walked down to the gym for my turn. She warned me that there had already been some women who failed on the first station. I cringed just thinking about it. I found out later that 29% of the women who failed CPAT, failed on the first station. I wonder how much of that might have been due to inefficient anaerobic interval training.

When I went in with my group I was the only woman. No surprise there; I was getting used to it. Charlene and Jenny waited outside, since they don't allow spectators. My proctor, John, was very kind and helpful. As another firefighter, Derek, helped me on with the helmet and vest, and they both tried to put me at ease. Actually, all the firefighters I had contact with during this test were absolute gentlemen. They were in a situation where they had every opportunity to be subtly nasty if they wanted to, but instead they went out of their way to be helpful and encouraging.

It's a good idea when being fitted with your vest to take a very full, deep breath. The vests aren't tailored for anything in front but a flat chest wall. If you're female, and like me never lost enough body fat to do away with that entirely, you'd better take a very deep breath. It's a simple thing, but if I hadn't practiced with an actual vest ahead of time I never would have learned it.

To me, the stair machine is the make-or-break station of the CPAT. It takes a candidate from zero right into anaerobic level that has to be maintained for 3 minutes and 20 seconds. If interval workouts aren't an integral part of your training program, this station can destroy you in short order. It is very deceptive because it is so slow. For the first 20 seconds, it's set for 50 steps a minute; then it goes to 60 steps a minute for the remaining time. You aren't allowed to touch the side rails with your hands except momentarily for balance. If you touch the steps with your hands or fall off the machine at any time, you are disqualified.

It's like being on a mini-escalator. It's best not to watch the steps, because that will make you dizzy. The climbing feels like no problem at first, but the further you get into the time, the heavier your legs get, until it feels pretty much like each leg must weigh about 200 pounds.

The station really gets you pumping, to the point that when it's time to stop, you almost feel disoriented. I had thought there would be a major psychological boost when they stripped the extra 24 pounds off after this station, but I must have missed it, because I never noticed the difference. Actually, I'm sure my heart and lungs did notice, but it didn't register with my brain or whatever passed for my brain about then. I was suffering from what I call oxygen deprivation fantasy. I actually felt GOOD! I felt STRONG! "Bring it on, I can do this!" My rotten attitude and all those nerves were gone. Among all of the encouragement people had given me during my training for this test was something a friend told me her mother used to say: "If it's packed down tight, it don't rattle!" I was in the process of seeing how tight I'd packed.

John was walking beside me, being unobtrusively helpful. I remember his quiet voice encouraging me: "Your legs might be a little shaky here for a bit; just keep taking those good long breaths... You're doing fine, Tammie." I'd already decided I wasn't going to run on the hose station, the only station where it is allowed. I don't think it saves much time, and it's really more likely to throw you over your limits right after doing the stairs. The hose was actually refreshing, after having practiced with the bigger hose: I had no problem dragging it in.

The two ladders were stout, but not a problem. I made sure to use every rung when lifting the first ladder, and never let the halyard slip through my hands when pulling the second. The 85-foot distance between stations went by quickly, but I was never in any kind of deep distress, and I was still having my power fantasies. I was in outer space but still able to hear John instructing me about my breathing and which way to go. Getting the chainsaw and chopsaw out of the cupboard, packing them 75 feet, and putting them back was a little awkward, since the two saws don't balance the same. I was careful to place them both on the ground before picking them up again one at a time to put back in the cupboard. If you try to put them in the cupboard without putting them down first, you're disqualified. (I had practiced for this station using two buckets with 30 pounds in one and 40 in the other.)

I followed the line with John and picked up the ten-pound sledge hammer. I hadn't been able to simulate this station very well, and I'd never practiced on the real thing. In my own little world, I couldn't see or hear anything but the target. By my sixth hit, I knew I wasn't hitting it hard enough, so I put more into it. It took twelve hits before the buzzer sounded. Not good; Charlene had told me it took her nine. I'd guess the average is somewhere between seven and ten.

I walked over to the maze, trying to stretch my steps out a little, although I was walking as fast as I possibly could have at the moment anyway. I dropped to my knees in front of the maze; someone lifted the curtain, and I went in. I closed my eyes and concentrated on keeping my left side always touching the wall. At last, something where being smaller gave me an advantage! When the ceiling started sloping down, forcing me to slide on my belly in the dark I allowed myself a smug thought as things got tight, that some of the big guys here today might worry about getting stuck. It wasn't very nice of me, but I was getting tired of being the underdog. They flipped the curtain back and I stood up feeling the vest for the first time like an anchor until I was upright again.

With a rush of excitement I walked over to the dummy, grabbed the straps, leaned back and took off. The trick to this station is to keep your back straight, feet moving, and mind somewhere else. The dummy weighs 165 pounds, and you have to drag it rather than picking it up, since the majority of rescues performed by firefighters involve dragging rather than carrying. I got the dummy across the line and started walking to the last station feeling really good. I could hear the clang of the pike pole being used by the candidate in front of me and was really fired up, ready to finish.

Almost there, John turned to me and said, "Great effort kiddo, but I'm afraid we're out of time." I felt my mouth drop open in shock, while my mind was still rolling full steam ahead. I took one quick longing glance at the last station, then turned around, grinned at John and shook his hand.

I was strong enough to handle every task on this test. I just hadn't trained myself to be fast enough to get across the line in 10:20. John helped me off with the vest and helmet, and walked me over to the medical area. Here was where I saw the real difference between CPAT and the old test. No candidates were lying down on the cots. I didn't smell vomit. I wasn't coughing so hard I felt like my lungs were coming up. I didn't even have to have my blood pressure taken. I was still shaking, but I felt okay. I had a nice visit with the guy there about how much better this test was. Somebody came over and told me I 'd done a good job. I really appreciated that.

I went outside and gave Jenny and Charlene the news. I could tell Charlene was worried I was going to feel really bad, but I actually felt good. What I hadn't realized was that I must have been carrying a chip on my shoulder from the last test, with always that hidden message from a lot of people that "Women really aren't strong enough to handle this work: women in general, and you in particular, Tammie." Women are strong enough to handle this job. I am strong enough to handle it. But I have to accept my physical limitations. I personally was not fast enough to get across that line in 10:20.

I was also informed that male firefighters in Montana are not ready or willing to accept women as co-workers. I don't buy that. It certainly wasn't any part of my experience taking either test. In my opinion, the CPAT is the best chance yet for women to get their foot in the door. The Montana Consortium showed great judgment in adopting CPAT. It was a giant step in the right direction, but it's only the first step.

The two women who passed the CPAT are currently working as firefighters in Montana. They will have adjustments to make, as anyone would being a minority in a similar situation. In the future, more women will join them. The Consortium could ease the growing pains of an integrating workforce a number of different ways. An organized and supported training program should be at the top of the list. Phoenix has a CPAT preparation course that lasts twelve weeks and could be run here as a class through a health club or community college. With the number of candidates taking CPAT, I would think there might be enough interest to support at least one course a year, if not more. When the Montana Fire Consortium gave the CPAT, the pass rate was 75% for men and 10% for women. With supported training, these numbers can be improved: in Phoenix, the pass rate is better for everyone, and it's more than four times higher (42%) for women.

I would describe myself as a good athlete: "good" in the context of "fairly good" or "good enough." I am a very average woman. I would describe the two women who passed CPAT in Montana as exceptionally athletically gifted, which is significantly better than "good." But if I got as far as I did at age 39, with my home-made training program, I see no reason why most, if not all, of the other female candidates can't start flying across that line. Training counts -- a lot. At the very least, I know if I could gather the materials to make my own mock course, the cities in the Consortium should also be able to do so. At least candidates in their general area would have something available to practice.

Keeping more statistics on the CPAT would be extremely helpful. Test administrators should be documenting average times for each station, differences in men's and women's performance, and maybe even statistics of candidates' age, height, and weight vs. their times. Without these statistics, the Consortium and other test-givers only keep themselves ignorant as to how and why the test works, or even whether it provides an accurate measurement of what they want to measure.

I was asked immediately after taking CPAT this time if I was going to take it again, since it will now be held annually. The thought was quite a temptation. Sort of as a 40th birthday present to myself? I laughed loud and long at that, though I was very careful not to say "never". Still, I sure wish I could have got across that line in 10:20!

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