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Full Speedo AheadCan Michael Phelps' cutting-edge swimsuit make me a better swimmer?

By Sara DickermanPosted Wednesday, Aug. 6, 2008, at 2:39 PM ET

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The hydrodynamic bit is enhanced by the polyurethane patches, which shed water as I swim. These PU sections are at the heart of the technical controversy between Speedo and other swimwear manufacturers, who say they thought FINA's rules required swimsuits to be made entirely out of more traditional fabrics. (Since FINA declared the LZRs legal, Speedo's competitors are scrambling to get their own PU-enhanced suits completed.) Though the suit does not provide buoyancy in the same way that a neoprene wetsuit does, there is a great deal of grousing about whether the large patches of PU alter swimmers' buoyancy. I am not by any means a scientific observer, but I certainly feel like the Speedo suit improves my body position in the water.

Great swimmers use their technique and force to raise their hips high in the water while pressing their sternums toward the bottom of the pool, creating a long, lean line as they propel themselves forward. Lacking world-class technique and strength, I have always struggled to hold my lower body high in the water. But in the LZR Racer, beyond the reduced drag and the invigorating body massage of the fabric, I have the distinct impression that my hips are higher and my stroke more efficient. Are my hips being pulled up by the elastic fabric or being floated up by displacement where the PU patches were? I can't tell you. Head games count for a lot in competitive sports, of course. Whether my buoyancy is actually improved or whether the sum of the other efficiencies simply makes me feel more buoyant is hard to determine.

I should reiterate that the LZR is designed for the world's fastest swimmers. My taking one out for a spin is as dilettantish as a go-kart dabbler borrowing a Formula One racecar for a test drive. The LZR Racer isn't created for swimmers like me to make minor improvements. It was engineered to propel someone like Natalie Coughlin or Ian Crocker to records and medals. When all that stands between them and a gold medal (or more pessimistically, fourth place) is a hundredth of a second, any small refinement—in their VO₂ max, in their flip turns, or in their super swimsuits—makes a huge difference.

No doubt I'm corrupted by the time we live in, but I don't think such technological innovations are cheating. To the uninitiated, swimming might have the air of a nontechnological sport, as unadulterated as some nearly naked bodies against the water and the watch. To go faster, athletes need to train harder and fix their biomechanics, which after hundreds of thousands of practice strokes have often locked into bad habits. (With every lap, I say to myself "elbows higher," but my arms still splay wide.) But despite that pure vision, swimmers have long been assisted by technological breakthroughs: The designs of pools, lane dividers, and starting blocks have made a difference, as have ever-tighter, more compressive swimsuits. Outsized, drug-inflated muscles weren't the only thing that shocked the world about the East German swimmers in the '70s. As this amazing 1974 Sports Illustrated story demonstrates, so did their ultra-tight, unlined suits "made of a membranelike rubberized knit called Lycra."

Hopefully all elite swimmers will have the chance to exploit the latest advances. In Beijing, I'll be surprised to see more than a handful of top swimmers who are willing to compete without LZR suits. (If a swimmer is not sponsored by Speedo, he or she can get one at a discount from a coach; all American swimmers will get one thanks to Speedo's team sponsorship.) Frankly, if I were still competing on the masters circuit, I'd be tempted to slap down some money just to see if the suit could help me get my times close to my high-school personal bests. Besides price, my main hesitation would be looking like a gear-happy jackass on the pool deck at a meet.

But these days I swim more for pleasure and less for speed—on my latest lake swim, I went without the LZR and felt pretty good. Maybe my hips were a little lower, and I wasn't so speedy, but my neck wasn't chafing, and I liked the feel of the water as it trickled over my own skin—and not a synthetic skin developed in a NASA wind tunnel.