A friend of mine once wisely pointed out that we are human beings, not human doings; that whatever we do should come out of who we are, and not the other way around. This is good philosophy.
I'm not so good at it, though.
This life is filled with displays of achievement. People don't get recognized just 'cause the "are." You have to do something, something meaningful. Even taking the public recognition out - after all, our motivation should be intrinsic, right? - I find it hard to pat myself on the back just 'cause I'm me. After all, there are still things that gotta get done. When I've gotten my stuff done, I feel better about me. When I don't, I feel worse.
Source of it aside - doing out of being or visa versa - I've found a certain confidence comes out of getting done what I know has to be done. It tends to boost me a bit, and I find I can then get more stuff done, and even have some energy left over to do some fun things. Shoot, I can sometimes even find enjoyment in the gotta-do stuff.
I've found the opposite is also true, though. When I put off the gotta-do stuff for whatever reason, it tends to knock me down a bit emotionally. I tend to beat myself up: "You idiot, why didn't you get that done?" That saps me of a bit of my emotional moxie, and that leads to me not doing the next gotta-do, which then leads me to another session of self-flagellation, and so on. I end up feeling like a puddle of moldy pond scum. It's a vicious cycle.
Now, knowing this, I've got to wonder why I ever choose to not do the gotta do stuff. Truth be told, though, I do it far too often.
Take, for instance, the last few weeks. Sarah and I are currently in the process of purchasing and building a new house, our first ever - lots of gotta-dos. In the meantime we're living in my father-in-law's basement, which leads to more gotta-dos. We also amended last year's taxes - more gotta-dos. I've also got a long list of phone calls to make, people to contact, that I've been chipping away at since May, and while awaiting to hear the results of one of those I... paused. If the results are positive, after all, I don't have to make any more calls. Don't really enjoy making them anyway. Well, with that inactivity, I found it fairly easy to put off getting some of the signatures done for the mortgage paperwork (there's no hurry, after all), and to not send in the second bit of the taxes (too many extra documents to find again and send with it)... and suddenly I found myself sinking in to the Swamps of Sadness. I knew what had to be done, I just couldn't find the chutzpah to do it. I see the papers sitting next to my bed every night, and I think, "Gosh darnit, Goff, you didn't do that again! What sort of moron are you???" Pretty soon, I wasn't even helping around the house, emotionally unavailable to my wife, and in a pretty dark place. I wasn't even playing my trombone regularly. I mean... what's the point? <le sigh> The best I could do to waste away the time was solitaire on Sarah's iPhone.
Last night, long story short, I snapped out of it. Can't say specifically why. A wise man once said that people will only change when they hurt enough that they have to. Well, today, I made some phone calls. Then I came home and made dinner for all three of us, and now I'm blogging for the first time in two months (one more thing that got pushed aside). Later, I plan on practicing trombone, taking care of a bill, digging out the tax papers, and signing a bunch of mortgage documents. And you know what?
I FEEL GREAT!
Interestingly enough, nothing has really changed in the situation. All of the things in my life that are a struggle right now - a longer commute, finances, still not running while I let my calf heal, etc., etc., ad nauseum - they're still there. I still worry about them more than I should and I'm not happy about what we're currently going through. It's just somehow easier to face now.
So, a quick piece of advice: if you find yourself down in the dumps and beating yourself up for not doing this or that, get yourself out there and do a little bit of something. You won't feel like it. You won't think you've got the strength to do it, much less do it right. Do it anyway. Just a little bit. You'll feel better for it, confidence will grow, and you start to come out of the pit you found yourself in.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Shoes and Patience
I bumped my training up a level this week. I've progressed in my fitness to the point that I can now...
... jog. For 3 whole minutes at a time.
GAAAAAAAHHH!!! Can it get much more frustrating and pedestrian than this???
I've been recovering from an injury, a strain in my right calf, for the last two months. The first month, I did nothing but walk a few times a week. Last month, I started jogging again, but no more than 2 minutes at a time with some walking rest, and no more than about 15 minutes jogging total in a workout. Now I'm clear up to 3 minutes at a time and about 20 minutes total.
And after 2 such workouts this week, I'm actually feeling sore. I'm rather put out by the whole thing, and I blame my shoes. Yup, definitely the shoes' fault.
For my entire running career to date, shoes have been my arch-nemesis. I have a rather unique physiological combination of "low-volume" feet and "flat" feet, and both have been a significant frustration over the years.
"Low-volume" is a polite way of saying "skinny." They're not so narrow side-to-side, though, which is the dimension in which variable-width shoes are sized. "Low-volume" means my feet are narrow top-to-bottom, which means that even "narrow" shoes often just don't fit. Over the years I have gone through all sorts of methods to jury-rig shoes to get get them to stay on my feet, including wearing thick socks and stuffing extra insoles in to take up the extra room. And even with all that, I still generally have to crank down the laces as far as they will go.
Now, that's all well and good, excepting that I also have flat feet, meaning my arch is naturally low and my feet naturally pronate (i.e., the foot/ankle rolls to the inside) more than the average bear when I take a step. In and of itself, that's no big deal. However, when you take a foot that moves laterally during the footstrike (as ALL feet do, to some extent: it's part of the body's natural shock-absorption system) and stuff an inch or more of squishy material under it (in my case, even adding extra squishy material to make the shoe fit), that lateral motion is amplified. This leads to all sorts of common running maladies, especially the condition known as shin splints. To combat this, manufacturers have developed "motion control" shoes, which use various densities of midsole (the squishy stuff) to somewhat reduce the rolling of the foot. Problem solved... right?
Next issue: motion control shoes tend to be envisioned for runners that weigh about 250lbs. They have names like "The Beast" and "Stabil." They're big, beefy, heavy... and WIDE.
It's a vicious cycle.
Many years ago, I "saw the light" regarding shoes. Basically, less is more. Biomechanically, the shoes we've worn all of our lives haven't really been doing us any favors. Our feet were meant to sense the ground. The whole system of our feet, ankles, knees, hips, etc., is rather elegant in its design, and - if you use the proper form - can easily take the stresses associated with running. As near as I can tell, the only things we really need coverings on our feet for are protection from sharp objects and insulation from the cold... NOT for cushioning or motion control! The big, heavy, soft shoes we wear deaden the sensation between our feet and the ground, screw up our running stride, and essentially throw off the whole system: bad knees, bad hips, bad backs, bad ankles.
It's taken me about 10 years to finally find the solution to my dilemma, or at least the next step in getting there: minimalist shoes! My personally favorites are Vibram Five Fingers, and they're the most comfortable shoes I've ever owned! They're still a bit too "wide" to be a perfect fit, but I've thoroughly enjoyed them so far...
... and they've ALSO been a source a great frustration. This bleedin' injury was caused by shoes that were meant to eliminate all those nagging running injuries. Out of the pot and into the fire.
OK, so that's not completely fair. In all honesty, the injury wasn't caused by the shoes. It was caused by me taking my training too far, too fast, when my body wasn't ready to go there yet. Because I've spent most of my 34 years mucking around in "regular" shoes, my Vibrams stress my feet, calves, and ankles in ways they're not used to being stressed. It takes some time and effort to strengthen all those muscles and ligaments that haven't really been used for all those years. I caught a blurb from another Vibram user saying you can expect it to take a full year to properly adapt to the shoes.
So I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that I got injured when I was doing "normal" runs (30+ min. with some strides, at 8:30 "easy" pace) after only about 6 months. Aerobically, I was having a blast and starting to think about adding in a couple weekly interval workouts, starting to get into race shape. But after each workout, my calves were... more sore than I'd expect. Definitely more sore than I'd like to admit. That sort of thing is a signal to not increase training, or even to decrease it. I wanted to go forward, though... so I kept it up. Sure enough... POP! No more runny-runny for Brian.
This is where the patience part comes in. The weather has been GLORIOUS. Aerobically, I'm still in pretty decent shape, and I have this horrendous urge to get out and move. These little walk-jog workouts barely cause me to sweat, much less breathe hard. It's very frustrating, to say the least.
I've heard it said that you should never pray for patience. God has a way of giving usu situations and opportunities to build patience (or whatever virtue you're lacking at the time), instead of just infusing us with the quality. We, in general, seem to think this isn't fair, 'cause the process is rarely fun, and usually rather unpleasant. We have to keep in mind, though, that God isn't so concerned with our pleasure, but the character that we're developing through the course of our lives. The trick is finding the pleasure - the joy - within the process.
My one saving grace is this: I keep telling myself that this will be better for me in the long run. If I go through the pedantic process of properly strengthening my feet and legs, I shouldn't have this sort of trouble again. It'll benefit everything I do. I just have to have the patience to get through it all...
<walk... jog... walk... jog... walk...>
... 'cause the hills, and the track, and the races, they do be callin' to me...
... jog. For 3 whole minutes at a time.
GAAAAAAAHHH!!! Can it get much more frustrating and pedestrian than this???
I've been recovering from an injury, a strain in my right calf, for the last two months. The first month, I did nothing but walk a few times a week. Last month, I started jogging again, but no more than 2 minutes at a time with some walking rest, and no more than about 15 minutes jogging total in a workout. Now I'm clear up to 3 minutes at a time and about 20 minutes total.
And after 2 such workouts this week, I'm actually feeling sore. I'm rather put out by the whole thing, and I blame my shoes. Yup, definitely the shoes' fault.
For my entire running career to date, shoes have been my arch-nemesis. I have a rather unique physiological combination of "low-volume" feet and "flat" feet, and both have been a significant frustration over the years.
"Low-volume" is a polite way of saying "skinny." They're not so narrow side-to-side, though, which is the dimension in which variable-width shoes are sized. "Low-volume" means my feet are narrow top-to-bottom, which means that even "narrow" shoes often just don't fit. Over the years I have gone through all sorts of methods to jury-rig shoes to get get them to stay on my feet, including wearing thick socks and stuffing extra insoles in to take up the extra room. And even with all that, I still generally have to crank down the laces as far as they will go.
Now, that's all well and good, excepting that I also have flat feet, meaning my arch is naturally low and my feet naturally pronate (i.e., the foot/ankle rolls to the inside) more than the average bear when I take a step. In and of itself, that's no big deal. However, when you take a foot that moves laterally during the footstrike (as ALL feet do, to some extent: it's part of the body's natural shock-absorption system) and stuff an inch or more of squishy material under it (in my case, even adding extra squishy material to make the shoe fit), that lateral motion is amplified. This leads to all sorts of common running maladies, especially the condition known as shin splints. To combat this, manufacturers have developed "motion control" shoes, which use various densities of midsole (the squishy stuff) to somewhat reduce the rolling of the foot. Problem solved... right?
Next issue: motion control shoes tend to be envisioned for runners that weigh about 250lbs. They have names like "The Beast" and "Stabil." They're big, beefy, heavy... and WIDE.
It's a vicious cycle.
 |
| Minimalist-Boot to the Head! |
It's taken me about 10 years to finally find the solution to my dilemma, or at least the next step in getting there: minimalist shoes! My personally favorites are Vibram Five Fingers, and they're the most comfortable shoes I've ever owned! They're still a bit too "wide" to be a perfect fit, but I've thoroughly enjoyed them so far...
... and they've ALSO been a source a great frustration. This bleedin' injury was caused by shoes that were meant to eliminate all those nagging running injuries. Out of the pot and into the fire.
OK, so that's not completely fair. In all honesty, the injury wasn't caused by the shoes. It was caused by me taking my training too far, too fast, when my body wasn't ready to go there yet. Because I've spent most of my 34 years mucking around in "regular" shoes, my Vibrams stress my feet, calves, and ankles in ways they're not used to being stressed. It takes some time and effort to strengthen all those muscles and ligaments that haven't really been used for all those years. I caught a blurb from another Vibram user saying you can expect it to take a full year to properly adapt to the shoes.
So I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that I got injured when I was doing "normal" runs (30+ min. with some strides, at 8:30 "easy" pace) after only about 6 months. Aerobically, I was having a blast and starting to think about adding in a couple weekly interval workouts, starting to get into race shape. But after each workout, my calves were... more sore than I'd expect. Definitely more sore than I'd like to admit. That sort of thing is a signal to not increase training, or even to decrease it. I wanted to go forward, though... so I kept it up. Sure enough... POP! No more runny-runny for Brian.
This is where the patience part comes in. The weather has been GLORIOUS. Aerobically, I'm still in pretty decent shape, and I have this horrendous urge to get out and move. These little walk-jog workouts barely cause me to sweat, much less breathe hard. It's very frustrating, to say the least.
I've heard it said that you should never pray for patience. God has a way of giving usu situations and opportunities to build patience (or whatever virtue you're lacking at the time), instead of just infusing us with the quality. We, in general, seem to think this isn't fair, 'cause the process is rarely fun, and usually rather unpleasant. We have to keep in mind, though, that God isn't so concerned with our pleasure, but the character that we're developing through the course of our lives. The trick is finding the pleasure - the joy - within the process.
My one saving grace is this: I keep telling myself that this will be better for me in the long run. If I go through the pedantic process of properly strengthening my feet and legs, I shouldn't have this sort of trouble again. It'll benefit everything I do. I just have to have the patience to get through it all...
<walk... jog... walk... jog... walk...>
... 'cause the hills, and the track, and the races, they do be callin' to me...
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Rabbits: The Runner's Sedative
With the arrival of spring comes the start of the professional outdoor track & field season, and this year the stakes couldn't be higher: the 2012 Olympics in London are coming up in August! Every runner in the world with a pair of spikes is dreaming of standing on that podium and hearing their national anthem played. The USA Track & Field Olympic Trials will be at iconic Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon ("Track Town, USA") and already the excitement is building.
Me? I think I'll take a nap. Wake me when cross country comes back.
Why, you might ask, is a running fanatic feeling ho-hum about the most prestigious running stage in the world, the showcase of the best of the best?
One word: Rabbits.
You see, for every race between now and the Olympics longer than 400m - other than National Championship/Trials events - the meet organizers will have contracted one or more runners to set the pace for the pack. Known as Rabbits, these runners are paid to run a certain pace for a certain distance, and then drop out. Longer races will have multiple Rabbits to take up the pacing duties after the first Rabbit steps off. The actual racers just tag along for the ride. Only the last quarter or half of the race will be sans-Rabbit and be a product of actual racing from the real competitors.
Why? I can vouch from personal experience that following a Rabbit is TONS easier than trying to push a certain pace on your own. The difference is mostly mental: you don't have to think about pushing the pace, just following along as the other dude does the real work. Every World Record that stands today, from 800m to the marathon, has been set using Rabbits, and it's fairly obvious as to why. Here's Hicham el Guerrouj setting the 1 Mile World Record using two Rabbits. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvCsj7eJKKA&feature=related
Here's the yawn factor: I can pick the winning result of any given "Grand Prix" (i.e., non-Championship) race within a few seconds, and I don't have to watch the video to know exactly how the race played out. The gun goes off and the Rabbits sprint to the front. They settle into their assigned pace, which is usually fairly quick (meet organizers think that "fast" sells more tickets), and everyone else strings out single-file behind them. The long train of runners continues like this, with Rabbits dropping out at pre-assigned spots, until... the finish line. There's the maybe of someone getting out-sprinted in the last 50m, but that's probably the only change of placing.
The 1,500m is notorious for this. I can pretty much guarantee most every race will finish between 3:30 and 3:32, with the possible exception of a 3:29. Every race is essentially identical.
<SNORE>
The saving grace of this monotony should be the Championship races: Rabbits aren't allowed! They should be the grand opportunity to really get out an race. Excitement! Adventure!
Heh! A racer craves not these things! Racers crave only one thing: gold!
When Championship time comes around, I can again pretty much predict the course of the race. The gun goes off and there's a mad scramble for position. Then, after about 50 or 100m, the pace settles down... to a jog (well... a jog at 4:00-4:30 mile pace, depending on the race, but for these guys that IS practically a jog!). The runners bunch up in a tight pack and start looking at each other, waiting for someone to do something, but someone DOESN'T do something, 'cause he's waiting for someone ELSE to do something. With about 400m to go, everyone starts sprinting madly. The top 5 places are separated by less than a second. They put a medal on someone random. Hoo-frickin'-ray.
Again, the 1,500m is notorious for this, as is the 5,000m. In the 15, finishing times can be as slow as 3:45 for the men (3:42 is equivalent pace to a 4:00 mile, which is virtually pedestrian to today's elite runners). At the end of the 5,000, runners will pop off a 52 second last lap. That's a HECK of a lot of gas left in the tank...
Announcers and analysts will call it a "tactical" race. I call it chicken s**t.
Here's a classical sit-and-kick race, the 1976 Olympic 1,500m final: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg2d_s1wfcU The winner, John Walker, was the World Record holder at the time and the first man to break 3:50 in the mile, so he obviously has some speed, but here they all "jog" for 3 laps (3:01) before lighting the burners and coming home in 3:39. You could save yourself some time and just fast-forward to the last 300m, 'cause that's the only racing that actually happens.
As I see it, there are two factors that have yanked the guts out of modern elite runners. The first is the aforementioned Rabbits. By the time a Championship race comes around, very few runners have had the experience of pushing the pace and/or controlling a race; someone else always does that for them. I think this breeds a sort of subconscious lack of self-confidence, so they wait for someone else to take control such that they can follow. It's a place of comfort, minimal risk.
Second, and probably of higher importance, is the attitude not of winning an event, but of not losing an event. "Tactical" races are really all about being in the right position when the sprint starts and not taking any risks. When you push the pace, you stand the risk of "blowing up" - going too hard too early and running out of gas - and that ruins all hopes of claiming the glit'rin' gold. So runners wait... and wait... and wait... and wait...
Now, I'm not trying to be offensive here - I have the utmost respect for the abilities and work ethic of these runners - but I also think that the whole attitude is rather cowardly. It seems today's runners don't have any guts anymore, and I think it stems directly from the ubiquitous use of Rabbits
One of the things I like about cross country is that there are NO Rabbits. The winning move is often a move made around halfway through the 10-12km race - or at least a mile or more from home - that breaks the pack. One runner steps up and says, "I'm going to win this, and you think otherwise you're gonna have to catch me to do it." Sometimes it doesn't work. Sometimes it does. Either way, the runner put it all out on the line and was proactive about his running. Running brave, not running scared.
On the track this is happens in only a very few cases:
The Steeplechase and the 10,000m, interestingly enough, are more often "true-run" races at Championships. Why? I have no idea, but the numbers show the truth of it. Perhaps it has something to do with the inherent "guts" it takes to run those distances to begin with. Not that training for and racing a 5k at 4:20 pace doesn't take a certain amount of guts, but the fashion in which the steeple and 10k are raced says something about the mindset of the racers, and it's a mindset I don't really see showing up in the 800, 1,500, and 5k nearly as much. Here's one of the greatest 10,000m battles ever: Paul Tergat vs. Haile Gebrselassie in both the 1996 and 2000 Olympics: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4eZ-x4IEoXM
Well... perhaps it's not fair to call the Steeple true-run, because it sorta ends up like a Rabbited race: the Kenyans act like Rabbits for everyone else, but they just never drop out and leave everyone else behind. Yes, they really are THAT dominant in the event, and barring the sudden Rapture of the Kenyans mid-race, they're going to have at least 2 of the medals, and one of those will be gold. Here's one of the better examples, from the 2004 Olympics: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMY4CGKNR5U
Also of note: the women's Championship races tend to be true-run much more often then the men. Kudos to the ladies!
Now, "slow" doesn't necessarily mean "cowardly." It all depends on the strengths of the runners involved. For example, Bernard Lagat - a US national formerly of Kenya - is known for his blistering finishing kick. He has the strength to run with the world's best at both 1,500m and 5k (he currently holds the American record for both (Rabbited races) and won gold at the World Champs in both in 2007 (slow, sit-and-kick races)), but his real strength is a slow race where he can draft off the leaders, be in position for a move to the front at the bell, and destroy the field over the last 150m. His "guts" come from deliberately being patient and waiting. But if someone can string Lagat out through the rest of the race - as Bekele did at the '08 Olympics - that kick is useless. That's where tactics comes in: playing my strengths against my competitors' weaknesses.
"Well, that just shows that the waiting game is really a gutsy thing, and everyone is counting on their finishing kick!"
Really? Everyone? Sure, a bunch of guys have a great kick, but... not all of them. And the ones that don't... why don't you see them taking control of the race and trying to run the kick out of the kickers? I can only speculate, but I personally think it comes down to fear - fear of losing or looking like a chump - and lack of confidence. Ironically, by not taking control, they're playing right into the kickers' hands... or feet, as it were. If you still don't believe me, just look up a couple races and watch for yourself: it doesn't take a seasoned professional to know that they're not being tactical, but just waiting and hoping to not lose.
The solution: get rid of the Rabbits. Make them illegal in professional races, Championship or not. For a few years, this will result in almost every race looking like the sit-and-kick races of the Champs, as people will fall into the wait-for-it mode of thinking by default. As time goes on, though, you'll get more and more true Racers showing up, and the races will start to get exciting again. You'll have epic showdowns between modern-day legends, and those showdowns will actually mean something because the runners will have to pull out all the stops to beat each other, relying on nothing bu their own preparation and God-given talent. Eventually, you'll see world records fall and no Rabbits will have been used!
Here's a truly epic showdown at the 2003 World Championships (part 1 of 2): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qf9aST3ezk
And the crowds will grow. And the sport will thrive.
Leave it all out on the track, my friends, hold nothing back, and run your own race!
Come to think of it, that sounds like a good life philosophy. Maybe we should all give that a shot, every day.
Me? I think I'll take a nap. Wake me when cross country comes back.
Why, you might ask, is a running fanatic feeling ho-hum about the most prestigious running stage in the world, the showcase of the best of the best?
One word: Rabbits.
You see, for every race between now and the Olympics longer than 400m - other than National Championship/Trials events - the meet organizers will have contracted one or more runners to set the pace for the pack. Known as Rabbits, these runners are paid to run a certain pace for a certain distance, and then drop out. Longer races will have multiple Rabbits to take up the pacing duties after the first Rabbit steps off. The actual racers just tag along for the ride. Only the last quarter or half of the race will be sans-Rabbit and be a product of actual racing from the real competitors.
Why? I can vouch from personal experience that following a Rabbit is TONS easier than trying to push a certain pace on your own. The difference is mostly mental: you don't have to think about pushing the pace, just following along as the other dude does the real work. Every World Record that stands today, from 800m to the marathon, has been set using Rabbits, and it's fairly obvious as to why. Here's Hicham el Guerrouj setting the 1 Mile World Record using two Rabbits. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvCsj7eJKKA&feature=related
Here's the yawn factor: I can pick the winning result of any given "Grand Prix" (i.e., non-Championship) race within a few seconds, and I don't have to watch the video to know exactly how the race played out. The gun goes off and the Rabbits sprint to the front. They settle into their assigned pace, which is usually fairly quick (meet organizers think that "fast" sells more tickets), and everyone else strings out single-file behind them. The long train of runners continues like this, with Rabbits dropping out at pre-assigned spots, until... the finish line. There's the maybe of someone getting out-sprinted in the last 50m, but that's probably the only change of placing.
The 1,500m is notorious for this. I can pretty much guarantee most every race will finish between 3:30 and 3:32, with the possible exception of a 3:29. Every race is essentially identical.
<SNORE>
The saving grace of this monotony should be the Championship races: Rabbits aren't allowed! They should be the grand opportunity to really get out an race. Excitement! Adventure!
Heh! A racer craves not these things! Racers crave only one thing: gold!
When Championship time comes around, I can again pretty much predict the course of the race. The gun goes off and there's a mad scramble for position. Then, after about 50 or 100m, the pace settles down... to a jog (well... a jog at 4:00-4:30 mile pace, depending on the race, but for these guys that IS practically a jog!). The runners bunch up in a tight pack and start looking at each other, waiting for someone to do something, but someone DOESN'T do something, 'cause he's waiting for someone ELSE to do something. With about 400m to go, everyone starts sprinting madly. The top 5 places are separated by less than a second. They put a medal on someone random. Hoo-frickin'-ray.
Again, the 1,500m is notorious for this, as is the 5,000m. In the 15, finishing times can be as slow as 3:45 for the men (3:42 is equivalent pace to a 4:00 mile, which is virtually pedestrian to today's elite runners). At the end of the 5,000, runners will pop off a 52 second last lap. That's a HECK of a lot of gas left in the tank...
Announcers and analysts will call it a "tactical" race. I call it chicken s**t.
Here's a classical sit-and-kick race, the 1976 Olympic 1,500m final: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg2d_s1wfcU The winner, John Walker, was the World Record holder at the time and the first man to break 3:50 in the mile, so he obviously has some speed, but here they all "jog" for 3 laps (3:01) before lighting the burners and coming home in 3:39. You could save yourself some time and just fast-forward to the last 300m, 'cause that's the only racing that actually happens.
As I see it, there are two factors that have yanked the guts out of modern elite runners. The first is the aforementioned Rabbits. By the time a Championship race comes around, very few runners have had the experience of pushing the pace and/or controlling a race; someone else always does that for them. I think this breeds a sort of subconscious lack of self-confidence, so they wait for someone else to take control such that they can follow. It's a place of comfort, minimal risk.
Second, and probably of higher importance, is the attitude not of winning an event, but of not losing an event. "Tactical" races are really all about being in the right position when the sprint starts and not taking any risks. When you push the pace, you stand the risk of "blowing up" - going too hard too early and running out of gas - and that ruins all hopes of claiming the glit'rin' gold. So runners wait... and wait... and wait... and wait...
Now, I'm not trying to be offensive here - I have the utmost respect for the abilities and work ethic of these runners - but I also think that the whole attitude is rather cowardly. It seems today's runners don't have any guts anymore, and I think it stems directly from the ubiquitous use of Rabbits
One of the things I like about cross country is that there are NO Rabbits. The winning move is often a move made around halfway through the 10-12km race - or at least a mile or more from home - that breaks the pack. One runner steps up and says, "I'm going to win this, and you think otherwise you're gonna have to catch me to do it." Sometimes it doesn't work. Sometimes it does. Either way, the runner put it all out on the line and was proactive about his running. Running brave, not running scared.
On the track this is happens in only a very few cases:
- John Ngugi (Kenya), in the 5,000m final at the 1988 Olympics, accelerated away from the field (running at about 64-65 seconds per lap), running his 3rd and 4th lap of the 12½ lap race in an astonishing 2:00. The field let him go, thinking he'd slow down and come back to them, but he was able to recover at just slightly slower than the chase pack and continue leading, often by as much as 50m or more. When the chasers finally realized he wasn't going to fade back to them, it was far too late to do anything but fight for the minor medals. True guts if I've ever seen it. (This is the exact same tactic Ngugi used to win his five World Cross Country titles in '86, '87, '88, '89, and '92). Here's the 5,000m: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAt_-EsAr0o and Part 1 of his World XC debut win: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2SynXt8JPc
- Kenenisa Bekele (Ethiopia), arguably the greatest distance runner of all time and the current World Record holder for both the 5,000m and 10,000m, showed up to the 2008 Olympics and threw down the gauntlet from the gun, setting Olympic Records in both the 5k and 10k. He won by 4 seconds in the 5k, running from the front for about half the race, and this is after winning the 10k and going through a heat of the 5k... that's a lot of hard running!. Confidence, and well deserved. Video: http://www.ethiotube.net/video/455/Beijing-2008--5K-Men
- Gulnara Gulkina (Russia), in the first-ever Olympic 3,000m Steeplechase for women, led from the gun as if she had grown up around Eldoret, Kenya, and broke her own World Record. The steeple is arguably the toughest track event and definitely takes guts; it has to be attacked, and even if you do attack it, it can still bite you in the rear. Blowing up in this event can often mean not just losing, but a trip to the hospital. A front-running World Record at the Olympics? That sort of running is about as brave as it gets. Video: http://www.flotrack.org/video/180765-2008-Beijing-Olympic-Games-Womens-3000m-Steeplechase-Final
- At the US Olympic Trials in 2008, Anthony "Fam" Famiglietti sprinted to the front of the Steeplechase final and ran hard the whole way. He faded with a lap to go and looked as if he might be caught, but gutted it out, finding one more gear in the last 100m to win the title. Knowing he couldn't run with the Kenyans in the Olympics (Fam ran 8:20 in the Trails, while the Kenyans regularly run in the 8:00-8:05 range), he burst to the front of the Olympic final with 4 laps to go and started to drive. The lead was short-lived and he eventually finished in 13th place. Failure? I think not! He went into a virtually impossible situation and gave it his best shot, leaving everything on the track. Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4u53FJUJho
- More recently, David Rudisha has been dominating the 800m. In most races he is always paced by his training partner Sammy Tangui and now holds the World Record, but in Championship races he has led fearlessly from the front and no one has been able to come close to threatening him. Here's his 2011 World Champs race, leading from the gun and making it look like he's jogging while everyone else struggles for 2nd: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8cvcJZGHi0
The Steeplechase and the 10,000m, interestingly enough, are more often "true-run" races at Championships. Why? I have no idea, but the numbers show the truth of it. Perhaps it has something to do with the inherent "guts" it takes to run those distances to begin with. Not that training for and racing a 5k at 4:20 pace doesn't take a certain amount of guts, but the fashion in which the steeple and 10k are raced says something about the mindset of the racers, and it's a mindset I don't really see showing up in the 800, 1,500, and 5k nearly as much. Here's one of the greatest 10,000m battles ever: Paul Tergat vs. Haile Gebrselassie in both the 1996 and 2000 Olympics: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4eZ-x4IEoXM
Well... perhaps it's not fair to call the Steeple true-run, because it sorta ends up like a Rabbited race: the Kenyans act like Rabbits for everyone else, but they just never drop out and leave everyone else behind. Yes, they really are THAT dominant in the event, and barring the sudden Rapture of the Kenyans mid-race, they're going to have at least 2 of the medals, and one of those will be gold. Here's one of the better examples, from the 2004 Olympics: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMY4CGKNR5U
Also of note: the women's Championship races tend to be true-run much more often then the men. Kudos to the ladies!
Now, "slow" doesn't necessarily mean "cowardly." It all depends on the strengths of the runners involved. For example, Bernard Lagat - a US national formerly of Kenya - is known for his blistering finishing kick. He has the strength to run with the world's best at both 1,500m and 5k (he currently holds the American record for both (Rabbited races) and won gold at the World Champs in both in 2007 (slow, sit-and-kick races)), but his real strength is a slow race where he can draft off the leaders, be in position for a move to the front at the bell, and destroy the field over the last 150m. His "guts" come from deliberately being patient and waiting. But if someone can string Lagat out through the rest of the race - as Bekele did at the '08 Olympics - that kick is useless. That's where tactics comes in: playing my strengths against my competitors' weaknesses.
"Well, that just shows that the waiting game is really a gutsy thing, and everyone is counting on their finishing kick!"
Really? Everyone? Sure, a bunch of guys have a great kick, but... not all of them. And the ones that don't... why don't you see them taking control of the race and trying to run the kick out of the kickers? I can only speculate, but I personally think it comes down to fear - fear of losing or looking like a chump - and lack of confidence. Ironically, by not taking control, they're playing right into the kickers' hands... or feet, as it were. If you still don't believe me, just look up a couple races and watch for yourself: it doesn't take a seasoned professional to know that they're not being tactical, but just waiting and hoping to not lose.
The solution: get rid of the Rabbits. Make them illegal in professional races, Championship or not. For a few years, this will result in almost every race looking like the sit-and-kick races of the Champs, as people will fall into the wait-for-it mode of thinking by default. As time goes on, though, you'll get more and more true Racers showing up, and the races will start to get exciting again. You'll have epic showdowns between modern-day legends, and those showdowns will actually mean something because the runners will have to pull out all the stops to beat each other, relying on nothing bu their own preparation and God-given talent. Eventually, you'll see world records fall and no Rabbits will have been used!
Here's a truly epic showdown at the 2003 World Championships (part 1 of 2): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qf9aST3ezk
And the crowds will grow. And the sport will thrive.
Leave it all out on the track, my friends, hold nothing back, and run your own race!
Come to think of it, that sounds like a good life philosophy. Maybe we should all give that a shot, every day.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Getting Back to Our Roots
Ever
notice how the big sports in this country (and, indeed, the world) are
rather... convoluted? Football, baseball, soccer, basketball, hockey...
they may have begun as something simple and intuitive, way back when, but you
wouldn't really know it by looking at all the rules and restrictions that
players have to comply with today. You can throw the ball, but only in this direction unless it's at this time. You can hit the other guy,
but not like that.
It can be quite a challenge, I've discovered to try to describe to a newbie
just what exactly is meant by 2nd Down, Pass Interference, Illegal Block in the
Back, False Start, Encroachment, Offsides... and that's just one sport!
Cross country in its original form
is truly "pure" sport. Pure sport can be defined as "an
athlete's struggle and persistence which is occurring amidst tough competition,
course elements, and extreme physical pain, all within the natural setting and
landscape of the existing environment" (Lancaster, Audrey B., "Enhanced
Cross Country Running Course Design: A Study of Historic and Recent Courses,
Other Landscape-Based Sports, Athlete Psychology, and Course Elements",
Utah State University, 2011). People identify with struggle, and the more
you either remove elements of struggle or introduce artificial elements into
said struggle, the less relatable the struggle becomes. I think people desire to see athletes
navigating tough terrain and splashing through streams, and I think deep down
athletes desire to tackle said obstacles. You can get that in cross
country; on the track, the only struggle is the distance itself, and the most
you can get out of a road race is a few hills. The original sport offered
excitement to both the athlete and spectators. Modern cross country has
mostly done away with a lot of that, as well, being relegated to flat golf
courses... track, just on the grass.
Sounds
like a great plug for the sport, eh?
Lancaster continues: “It was not only the weather conditions that
decimated the runners, but also the condition of the course. The course was laid on an uneven stone path
with weeds and thistles protruding from the stone crevasses; some of the plants
rose to knee high on the runners.
Additionally, the site of the course was poorly selected; the location
was adjacent to an energy plant that emitted toxic fumes.”
So, the first step to reinvigorating cross country in the adult public's eye is simple: reintroduce cross country as a Summer Olympic sport. Simple, but not easy, as the IOC is rather set in its ways. There is currently a growing movement to get cross country added to the Winter Olympics, and this fits the standard cross country season (fall and winter, with the World Champs held in March). For the sake of marketing and popularity, however, I personally think it should be part of the Summer Games.
The next part in marketing is the hosting of races open to the public. A few high school and collegiate meets have a "community race" as part of the day's activities, sort of as a side-show. These seem to be few and far between, though, as are the meets that are completely separate from school races: the Mayor's Cup in Boston's Franklin Park is one high-profile example. That's just the problem, though: I can't think of any other high-profile events. Some "trail" races exist, but they're not really the same as cross country; there's a different feel to them.
Partially, this is just due to awareness: the public knows about and is willing to accept the idea of road races, but no one thinks of cross country. Getting the sport back into the Olympics will help change that. The other part is the lack of venues for hosting races. Sure, there are parks and open spaces all around that may be suitable, but planning out a cross country course isn't as easy as it sounds. It is a lot easier for a race director to plot out a course on the roads, and I think that that's one of the reasons road races are so much more prevalent.
The best cross country races are all on land that has been specifically set aside for the sport, with courses specifically tailored to the land on which they sit. Exclusive cross country courses are challenging yet safe and fair, with good footing and well-defined routes. Often, they are also spectator-friendly, with spots where you can see all of or at least most of the course at once. Most people haven't a clue that these exist, and even if they do they are seldom allow to run on them as they are generally used only for high school or college meets. Exclusive courses include:
When you have a chance, look these up on the internet and see what an exclusive cross country course has to offer. There are others, and most are hidden away on university campuses. Start promoting the snot out of open-to-public races on these courses - including adding a community race to existing school meets - and you'll see cross country start to grow in the public's eye. We still have enough open space in this country that each state - if not each large city - should have several well-known cross country courses. They could be owned/donated by private individuals, but most likely they would be owned and operated through a partnership of universities, high schools, and city government. A well-written agreement would be a win-win situation for all involved.
Finally, cross country is traditionally a team sport, and I think that the team element is something completely lost in modern running. Teams score points by adding together the finishing position of each individual runner, and the lowest team score wins. As is often the case, the individual winner's team does NOT win, because places 2, 3, 5, 7, and 10 are all from the same team: close groupings are often more effective. The focus tends to shift away from the top runners and back to the 4th and 5th runners of a team: that's where the team race is really won! This lends a sense of significance to every runner on the course, not just the race for the top spot. Everyone likes to be part of a team, part of something greater than themselves, and offering this team element as a regular option in public cross country races will make it an experience runners can't find anywhere else.
Everyone likes an adventure, but modern running has become so controlled as to become boring and predictable. Bring back cross country, and you bring back the adventure.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like
these sports and they can be a lot of fun. No doubt in my mind that there
are individuals that are born to play a particular
sport. My point is that most sports are rather contrived and
counter-intuitive to the uninitiated.
Athletics (running, jumping,
throwing), on the other hand, has been described as "pure" sport, and
the running part even more so. Our rules are rather simple: start at this
point, go to that point, first one to do so is the winner (or, "the one
that throws the farthest," etc.); along the way, don't interfere with the
other guy and don't take shortcuts.
And that's about it. Other
rules that come along usually have to do with standardization of implements (a
javelin is to weigh X kg) such that the sport has some basis of comparison
whether you are competing in New York or in Mumbai.
(Swimming would also fall under
this category, as would cross country skiing and speed skating. However,
these sports have shown that equipment and new technology can affect the
sport to an extreme degree, so I tend to be a bit biased against them in the
"purity" aspect. If you don't believe me, just look at the
crazy number of records that fell in swimming at the last Olympics, and then
tell me it was just because people "got better" all of a sudden... or
was it, perhaps, because they had new toys that made them slipperier in the
water? Conversely, track spikes keep getting lighter and lighter... but
records aren't falling like dead leaves in October.)
When all is said and done, it
really comes down to my ability vs. your ability. Period.
Fouling in races happens so seldom, it practically creates an
international scandal when it does, whereas in the NFL, I'm sure referees have
retired early due to tendinitis from throwing too many penalty
flags...
In fact, I think it goes even
further than that: it comes down to my ability today vs. my ability yesterday.
True competition isn't against the guy running next to you: it's against
yourself. And I can think of few other sports where you can actually
measure your progress without ever going head-to-head against another
individual.
Now that is pure sport.
Or is it? In our modern age,
I think even the simplest of sports has been somewhat corrupted in the name of
standardization. The main adversaries to a runner are the quality of the
running surface, the steepness of the terrain, and the weather. So what
do we do? We run all of our events on nice, flat synthetic tracks inside
big stadiums. Great for spectating and you can produce some fast times.
Fast is exciting, right? Maybe for the 100m, but see how many
people stick around to watch all 12½ laps of the 5,000. Even the marathon
- the King of Distance Races - is only showcased for the last 300m or so when
the athletes finally enter the stadium (and recently, the trend has been to
host the entirety of the marathon outside the stadium... on a loop course such that
spectators can see the athletes several times in the race without moving).
Even in the world of road racing, it's a rare thing to find a course that
is truly challenging: the (official) world record for the marathon has been set
several times consecutively in Berlin, where the course is flat as a pancake.
When faced with what the outside
world sees when looking in at my sport, I can totally understand
why is doesn't produce much interest. Running has become - quite honestly - intensely boring and sterilized.
How did it get this way? What
happened to the races where the entire town turned up to cheer and watch with
keen interest? What happened to the excitement?
A full sociological discussion of
the decline of running in the public eye would take far too long, and I'm not
really qualified to analyze that anyway (eclectic, yes; sociologist, no).
I do, however, believe I have an idea about part of the cure. We,
as a society, should get back to what made the sport of running exciting to
begin with. We should get back to Cross Country.
Back in the day (1800's, and
earlier, beginning in England), cross country running was the only running
there really was. Young men showed up at Point A, a gun was fired, they
ran across a field - and fences and ditches and hedges and around buildings and through buildings - toward
Point B. Maybe it was multiple loops, or maybe there was no defined course at
all. Most of the time, there was no measurement of the course and there
was no clock. Whoever got to Point B first was the winner.
And interestingly enough, often the whole town turned out to
watch! Clubs were formed, teams trained together, and running mattered to the public. Why all this
excitement? Personally, I think it comes down to one basic concept: pure
sport.
 |
| Me running a race in 2007 in Boulder... on 3" of fresh powder! |
Cross country is really how the
modern world was introduced to running as a sport. Indeed, it is still the way that most
modern runners get hooked on the sport. I know it was that way for me,
even though I had run 2 seasons of track before tackling the hills of Franklin
Park. Shoot, the 5k of high school cross country isn't even my best race
- I'm really a miler and half-miler - but it's STILL my favorite sport!
(Most people know me as a steeplechase fanatic, and that's true; I see it
as cross country on the track. I'll still take cross country in general
to steeplechase on the track, though. Better yet... add barriers and
water hazards to cross country races, and I'd be in hog heaven!)
So why is
it, then – if it's so cool in
high school and college – that cross country essentially disappears from the
radar once you are an "adult" runner? Those meets that do allow
community runners never really attract much attention. A Turkey Trot 5k
or 10k, though, will attract thousands.
As with
most things in this overly-commercialized country, I think it comes down to
marketing. Did you know, for instance,
that cross country used to be an event at the Summer Olympics? The last Olympic cross country race was held
in Paris in 1924. According to
Lancaster, it “was held in the afternoon amidst blistering conditions with
temperatures soaring into the high 90’s; it was one of the hottest days ever recorded
in Paris during that time. Thirty-eight
runners toed the line at the start of the race, but with each passing mile one
after another fell. After battling the
extreme weather and course conditions of the 10,650 meter race, only fifteen of
the thirty-eight runners finished. The
remaining twenty-three runners were rushed to the hospital and tended to for
heat exhaustion and various other conditions.”
 |
| Olympic cross country, 1924 (from urheilumuseo.org) |
The
result? Bureaucrats freaked out and
banned cross country from the Olympics, the largest public stage for athletics
of any kind in the world. The IAAF
(International Athletics Associations Foundation) still holds a bi-annual World
Cross Country Championships (previous to this year, it was held annually), but
it receives almost no coverage here in the States. The public is oblivious; cross country is
just for kids.
So, the first step to reinvigorating cross country in the adult public's eye is simple: reintroduce cross country as a Summer Olympic sport. Simple, but not easy, as the IOC is rather set in its ways. There is currently a growing movement to get cross country added to the Winter Olympics, and this fits the standard cross country season (fall and winter, with the World Champs held in March). For the sake of marketing and popularity, however, I personally think it should be part of the Summer Games.
The next part in marketing is the hosting of races open to the public. A few high school and collegiate meets have a "community race" as part of the day's activities, sort of as a side-show. These seem to be few and far between, though, as are the meets that are completely separate from school races: the Mayor's Cup in Boston's Franklin Park is one high-profile example. That's just the problem, though: I can't think of any other high-profile events. Some "trail" races exist, but they're not really the same as cross country; there's a different feel to them.
Partially, this is just due to awareness: the public knows about and is willing to accept the idea of road races, but no one thinks of cross country. Getting the sport back into the Olympics will help change that. The other part is the lack of venues for hosting races. Sure, there are parks and open spaces all around that may be suitable, but planning out a cross country course isn't as easy as it sounds. It is a lot easier for a race director to plot out a course on the roads, and I think that that's one of the reasons road races are so much more prevalent.
The best cross country races are all on land that has been specifically set aside for the sport, with courses specifically tailored to the land on which they sit. Exclusive cross country courses are challenging yet safe and fair, with good footing and well-defined routes. Often, they are also spectator-friendly, with spots where you can see all of or at least most of the course at once. Most people haven't a clue that these exist, and even if they do they are seldom allow to run on them as they are generally used only for high school or college meets. Exclusive courses include:
- LaVern-Gibson Championship XC Course, Terre Haute, IN (Indiana State U.)
- Rim Rock Farm, Lawrence, KS (University of Kansas)
- Big Cross Country Course, Pasco, WA
- Thetford Academy, Thetford, VT (Thetford Academy HS)
- Dannehl XC Course, Somers, WI (University of Wisconsin-Parkside)
- Apple Ridge Cross Country Facility, Yakima, WA (Central Washington University)
- Buff Ranch, Boulder, CO (University of Colorado)
- Princeton University, Princeton, NJ
- Crystal Springs, San Mateo, CA (College of San Mateo)
 |
| The LaVern-Gibson XC Course as seen in Google Earth. The many interior loops make the course modular, allowing distances from 4k to 10k. The NCAA Div. I Champs are annually held on this course. |
Finally, cross country is traditionally a team sport, and I think that the team element is something completely lost in modern running. Teams score points by adding together the finishing position of each individual runner, and the lowest team score wins. As is often the case, the individual winner's team does NOT win, because places 2, 3, 5, 7, and 10 are all from the same team: close groupings are often more effective. The focus tends to shift away from the top runners and back to the 4th and 5th runners of a team: that's where the team race is really won! This lends a sense of significance to every runner on the course, not just the race for the top spot. Everyone likes to be part of a team, part of something greater than themselves, and offering this team element as a regular option in public cross country races will make it an experience runners can't find anywhere else.
Everyone likes an adventure, but modern running has become so controlled as to become boring and predictable. Bring back cross country, and you bring back the adventure.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Injuries and God
Here in Colorado, the nutzy yo-yo weather of late winter finally seems to have broken. The sun is out, temps are flirting with the mid-60's, just a gentle breeze... in short, it's glorious running weather, and I'm itchin' to get outside!
But this week... I'm recovering from an injury. No running for me.
I am pout.
This particular injury is some kind of minor strain in my right calf/achilles. About 2 weeks ago, during the strides at the end of a 30 minute run, something went <YOINK!> and I sorta hobbled home. It wasn't bad, but enough that I wasn't going to push it. It felt something like a cross between a tear and a cramp. After a couple days off, I hit the treadmill (it was silly cold and windy outside) to test things out... and barely made a mile, again stopping at the point where I knew I hadn't hurt it any more but was definitely headed that way. A very frustrated Brian went back to the drawing board...
A couple days later I tried a different strategy. I again used the treadmill, mostly because it was a highly controlled environment, and started off just walking. After a couple minutes, I bumped up the speed by half a mile per hour to a fast walk. So far so good. Up by another 0.5 and I was jogging really slow, and every 2 minutes I kept increasing my speed to the point where I felt my calf tiring more than I would expect, then dropped it back down to a walk and repeated the cycle, sort of a slow "acceleration run" (see Daniels 5-15k training plan). After 2 sets of 4 min. walk/8 min. jog, I could definitely tell it was time to stop, but, again, it wasn't to the point of pain. Two days later I tried again, this time going for 2 sets of 10 min. jog, and it felt really good, strong, with no hint of tiring or pain in the calf. Rock on.
Now, in this last set, I still hadn't gone any faster than just over 9:00/mile, and "normal" easy runs for me are in the 8:15-8:45 range.
After another 2 days of rest, I hit it again, this time going for sets of 12 minutes, where the last 2 minutes would be right about "normal" pace. Everything went fine...
... until the very last 2 minutes. <YOINK> and I hobbled home again. Couldn't push off that foot when walking, much worse than when it first happened. Even iced it that night (which isn't something I often do).
So, as I was laying there on the couch, feeling frustrated and angry and miserable about myself, I started praying. When I got done with the obligatory "God, what the *&$# is going on??!!!" I started asking, "OK, what should I do next?" After all, I was at my wits end, and I really desired to move beyond this and get into some real training (I can only handle so much easy jogging before I have to go find a track or a long hill and really punish myself... yeah, it's weird, but that's just me).
First observation: why are we so pig-headed that we wait until AFTER we're at our OWN wits end to ask this question? Ever notice how it's always after everything has already gone wrong? Wouldn't it make sense to ask it first and just avoid all the drama?
Back to my prayer: in response, I heard, "Do you trust Me?"
Next observation: EVERYTHING in life comes down to level of trust in God. Period. And most of us have been pretty screwed up and twisted around by the world and have some major trust issues, especially when it comes to God. So, when I heard this return question, it really made me cringe a little bit; usually, it means I'm about to be asked to do something I'd rather not do.
Third observation: why, when we're being asked of something by God, do we automatically think it's a bad thing? Are we really so arrogant to think that our plan is better than His?
And yet... we still tend to not listen.
So, this time, I sighed a heavy sigh and said, "OK, I trust you... what should I do?"
"Don't run for a week; 7 days, no running."
"BUT... NO! It's supposed to be so nice next week, and... and I've got a training schedule and I'm already behind on it... and... can't you just zap it make it all better??!"
"Do you trust Me?"
<siiiigh> "OK... no running for a week."
Why is that so hard to do?
Anyway, I'm now looking out the window at a gorgeous Monday afternoon and wishing my calf weren't sore so I could be out running. I won't run until Saturday, though, even if I feel good enough to, 'cause Papa said so. And you can bet when I get up Saturday morning that the first thing I'll do is ask Him exactly what KIND of workout I should do, and then I'll do THAT and not whatever has popped into my head in the meantime.
Final observation: wouldn't it make sense to do that with everything we do? After all, we Christians call ourselves followers of Christ. Something tells me that that isn't just a euphemism for "believe in." To follow, we require instructions, otherwise we're just staggering around blindly. Yes, the Bible is the first source for that, but I have yet to find the verse that says, "And on the 3rd day, runneth thou four sets of nineteen thousand cubits, and resteth thou two minutes." For that kind of direction, we gotta ask the question.
And we gotta listen to the answer.
But this week... I'm recovering from an injury. No running for me.
I am pout.
This particular injury is some kind of minor strain in my right calf/achilles. About 2 weeks ago, during the strides at the end of a 30 minute run, something went <YOINK!> and I sorta hobbled home. It wasn't bad, but enough that I wasn't going to push it. It felt something like a cross between a tear and a cramp. After a couple days off, I hit the treadmill (it was silly cold and windy outside) to test things out... and barely made a mile, again stopping at the point where I knew I hadn't hurt it any more but was definitely headed that way. A very frustrated Brian went back to the drawing board...
A couple days later I tried a different strategy. I again used the treadmill, mostly because it was a highly controlled environment, and started off just walking. After a couple minutes, I bumped up the speed by half a mile per hour to a fast walk. So far so good. Up by another 0.5 and I was jogging really slow, and every 2 minutes I kept increasing my speed to the point where I felt my calf tiring more than I would expect, then dropped it back down to a walk and repeated the cycle, sort of a slow "acceleration run" (see Daniels 5-15k training plan). After 2 sets of 4 min. walk/8 min. jog, I could definitely tell it was time to stop, but, again, it wasn't to the point of pain. Two days later I tried again, this time going for 2 sets of 10 min. jog, and it felt really good, strong, with no hint of tiring or pain in the calf. Rock on.
Now, in this last set, I still hadn't gone any faster than just over 9:00/mile, and "normal" easy runs for me are in the 8:15-8:45 range.
After another 2 days of rest, I hit it again, this time going for sets of 12 minutes, where the last 2 minutes would be right about "normal" pace. Everything went fine...
... until the very last 2 minutes. <YOINK> and I hobbled home again. Couldn't push off that foot when walking, much worse than when it first happened. Even iced it that night (which isn't something I often do).
So, as I was laying there on the couch, feeling frustrated and angry and miserable about myself, I started praying. When I got done with the obligatory "God, what the *&$# is going on??!!!" I started asking, "OK, what should I do next?" After all, I was at my wits end, and I really desired to move beyond this and get into some real training (I can only handle so much easy jogging before I have to go find a track or a long hill and really punish myself... yeah, it's weird, but that's just me).
First observation: why are we so pig-headed that we wait until AFTER we're at our OWN wits end to ask this question? Ever notice how it's always after everything has already gone wrong? Wouldn't it make sense to ask it first and just avoid all the drama?
Back to my prayer: in response, I heard, "Do you trust Me?"
Next observation: EVERYTHING in life comes down to level of trust in God. Period. And most of us have been pretty screwed up and twisted around by the world and have some major trust issues, especially when it comes to God. So, when I heard this return question, it really made me cringe a little bit; usually, it means I'm about to be asked to do something I'd rather not do.
Third observation: why, when we're being asked of something by God, do we automatically think it's a bad thing? Are we really so arrogant to think that our plan is better than His?
And yet... we still tend to not listen.
So, this time, I sighed a heavy sigh and said, "OK, I trust you... what should I do?"
"Don't run for a week; 7 days, no running."
"BUT... NO! It's supposed to be so nice next week, and... and I've got a training schedule and I'm already behind on it... and... can't you just zap it make it all better??!"
"Do you trust Me?"
<siiiigh> "OK... no running for a week."
Why is that so hard to do?
Anyway, I'm now looking out the window at a gorgeous Monday afternoon and wishing my calf weren't sore so I could be out running. I won't run until Saturday, though, even if I feel good enough to, 'cause Papa said so. And you can bet when I get up Saturday morning that the first thing I'll do is ask Him exactly what KIND of workout I should do, and then I'll do THAT and not whatever has popped into my head in the meantime.
Final observation: wouldn't it make sense to do that with everything we do? After all, we Christians call ourselves followers of Christ. Something tells me that that isn't just a euphemism for "believe in." To follow, we require instructions, otherwise we're just staggering around blindly. Yes, the Bible is the first source for that, but I have yet to find the verse that says, "And on the 3rd day, runneth thou four sets of nineteen thousand cubits, and resteth thou two minutes." For that kind of direction, we gotta ask the question.
And we gotta listen to the answer.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Training
There are two kinds of runners out there, or perhaps two
seasons that runners alternate between: “Just Running” and “Training.” Training to me means that the person is
following a specific plan in a build-up to a specific event – a marathon, a
track meet, or what-have-you. Just
Running is all the other times, where you go out for a run just… ‘cause, just
to run. Some runners live their whole
career in the zone of Just Running, and that’s fine.
Me, however? I’m in
Training.
“For what?” you might ask.
“The next race,” I would answer, and sometimes that means I’m looking a
year down the road. Even if I’m just
jogging a few times a week (as I am right now), as far as I’m concerned it’s
still Training and I’m following a specific plan to achieve a specific level of
fitness that will serve as a base on which to build the NEXT level of fitness.
As a friend of mine recently commented, “That seems a lot
more… scientific than I’ve been doing it.”
You could also say “rigid.” Well,
yeah: that’s ‘cause I’m a linear-sequential sorta dude, and that’s the only way
I know how to look at it. I’ve tried the
Just Running thing before, and though I sometimes like to toss a Just Running
day in from time to time, just to break things up, in the long run I just don’t
get anywhere with it. I lose motivation,
mileage drops off, and pretty soon I’m just sitting around on my rear-end,
slowly turning to flab.
“And you say running is a passion??? Wouldn’t you just
be out there running for the sheer joy
of it?”
A fair question, and I can definitely say that there are
runs and/or workouts that I like to do just ‘cause they’re fun. However, my main passion in running comes
from running fast, from testing myself against the clock or the
course. The sort of races I’ve
considered “fun” aren’t the sort that most people pick (in fact, most people
think I’m pretty much insane when I talk about my favorite races). It’s a process of continual self-improvement,
measured finitely. And I’ve learned that
success doesn’t happen by accident; you need a plan.
Therefore, I Train.
Now, there are about as many training philosophies and
systems out there as there are runners, and many different people have had
success following many different plans.
This stems from the fact that each of us is unique in our
physiology. Yes, we all produce lactic
acid and use oxygen to fuel the metabolic process in our cells and use that
heart-muscle thing to keep the blood flowing, but each of us processes that
lactic acid at a different rate and has a heart that is stronger or smaller or
whatever. As a great example, in college
I started using a heart rate monitor in my training. I found I could push my heart rate up to just
shy of 200 and did my “easy” runs at about 160.
All of that lined up with the “typical” numbers that you get from the
“standard” formulas. At the start of the
next season, I noticed one of the other guys was using a monitor as well and we
started swapping stats. He was
incredulous that I ran at 160 because his MAX was less than that! And he was out-running me in just about every
way!
Broad generalizations are a good place to start, but after
that you really have to focus on what works for you. Different people
respond differently to different types of training.
My current philosophy of training has its beginning in high
school, as that was the first time I was presented with an organized training
regime. (I obviously did some kind of training in middle school,
but I honestly have no recollection of what we did.) It was there I was really introduced to
intervals, fartlek, tempo runs, and the like.
Actually, that pretty much sums up my training in high
school: intervals, fartlek, and tempo runs.
Oh, and we’d get an easy day the day before a meet. Sometimes.
Now, a bit of disclaimer here: some of you who read this
will know the coach I am about to reference.
I’m not trying to cut into said coach’s character or put him down in any
way. The knowledge he passed on to us
was the best he knew, and he did the best job he could. This is simply an analytical observation of
the effectiveness of that training plan from my point of view and how my
body responded to it.
That being said… the training plan was flawed.
The story, as best I can remember it, is that back in the
‘70’s my coach had a batch of super-runners come through. They could handle whatever workloads were
thrown at them, and in fact thrived on it.
I think they won state that year, and when I was in school you still saw
several of their names holding school records.
The problem was that coach
then saw the plan that worked for them
must then be the formula that would work for everyone…
… and when I was running there 20 years later, he was using
the same formula. No new research, no
adjustments. We would often hear
statements that this particular workout was the same that so-and-so did at this
same point in the season the year he won state (or set that record, or
whatever). And we, as relatively
uneducated young runners, ate it up.
What was the plan? In
short, it was “run hard.” And when you
were done with that, run hard some more.
And then some more.
Years later, I went back through my running journals from
that time period and discovered that the only “easy” days we had were either a)
the pre-meet workout, or b) Sundays, if
I didn’t go running. That last was
discouraged, as we were told, “Every day you don’t run takes 7 days of running
to make up for it.” No joke. The Sundays I DID meet up with the guys
turned into tempo runs. In the month of
October, 1994, I have only 5 “easy” days recorded, one of which was a no-run
the day after Districts and the other 4 were pre-meet days.
Two-thirds of the way through every season, I was running on
dead legs, and I had no clue why. My
best performances each season – track and cross country both – generally came
in week 6-8 in a 10-12 week season, with few exceptions.
Interestingly enough, those exceptions had something to do
with more recovery days.
1995 was a big disappointment, running-wise. Half way through the track season (just after
I had set my PR of 4:52 for 1,600m), I was knocked out by a stomach flu that I
never really recovered from that season.
Then, after putting in probably my best summer of running to date, I was
out most of cross country trying to work through injury (ITB Syndrome… avoid
that one if you can, it’s no fun) and had had a… let’s call it a
disillusionment with my coach. Coming
into track that next spring, I was starting to realize that a) there wasn’t
enough recovery time in our weekly training and b) Coach wasn’t the God of All
Running Knowledge that I had thought of him as.
As it happened that season, I switched down in distance to the 800m
(previously, I was always a miler), took nearly 2 weeks off in the middle of the
season (for a class trip to the Grand Canyon; I could have run, but really couldn’t be bothered in the midst of all
that fun!), almost NEVER ran on Sundays… and PR’ed at the District meet,
running 2:06.
Now… could I have run faster that year if I hadn’t taken
that mid-season break? Probably. But one thing I DO know: I almost always felt
fresh and ready to run. Multiple-race
meets (always a bane to me previous years) were no problem: the week before
that 2:06, I had PR’ed with a 2:07 just a couple hours after running my first
1,600 of the year. That would have been
unheard of in previous seasons.
Clearly, there’s something to this whole “rest” thing.
The second thing I FINALLY learned that season was how to
pace myself in a race. I had always gone
out too fast, caught up in the adrenaline of the start of the race, and died at
the end. Even my “best” runs had huge
positive splits. My 4:52 (73 pace
average) is split up 70-71-74-77. That
spring, though, running the 800, I figured out how to “float” the first lap and
then bring it home hard. Negative or
even splits were more common that year than positive. And that random 1,600 that I ran at the end
of the season? 4:56, split up
75-77-75-69, and I passed something like 7 or 8 kids on the last lap. It was great!
(I know I could have run a faster time that day, had I been running the
distance all season long, but I had lost the “feel” for it and was honestly
just guessing my way through it.)
In college, although my running itself fell away a bit, I
was able to do more study on the subject.
In high school, the only resources I had were… my coach. We didn’t even have a specialty running store
in town (and to my knowledge, they still don’t): the closest is 2.5 hours away
in Seattle
The first major eye-opener was just the sheer volume of
miles that my college coach was asking us to run in the off-season. The 3 months on either side of the racing
seasons to me had always been a rest time: low mileage, “fun” runs. The 10 weeks of the official season was about
actually getting in shape, to peak for the District meet and hopefully go on
from there. Little did I know that all
of the quality work during the racing season was only truly effective if you
had built the proper base during the
off-season.
The second influence on me was the idea of using a heart
rate monitor to gage effort. My main
source is a book called Training for
Endurance, by Dr. Phil Maffetone (see my Resources page for a full
bibliography). Also from Maffetone:
- Carbohydrates aren’t necessarily the runner’s super-food that I had always thought they were, and just what sort of diet was more beneficial for both endurance training and life in general.
- With running shoes, less is more, even with someone with flat feet like me – today, I run almost exclusively in Vibram Five Fingers®.
- The idea of a large base of highly aerobic (i.e., “easy”) running to support any other training was reinforced, this time with the science to help clarify the concept.
I’m a “why” guy. It
is a Moral Imperative, as far as I’m concerned.
A few years ago, I was recommended to Daniels’ Running Formula, by Dr. Jack Daniels. For the first time in my life, someone
explained to me all of the “whys” behind the “whats.” Daniels corroborates, explains, and expands
upon everything I had learned up to that point, and even goes as far as saying
several times that even with all of his research into the general way of
things, it still comes down to figuring out your own body. Reading
The final piece to my training is a spiritual element. In 2006, I gave my life over to Jesus, and
since then it has been an on-going process of learning to hear His voice,
guiding me in every-day life. I figure
that this includes running, and have several times held off training or done
something different based on what I feel led to do. Most recently, I’ve been encouraged about
taking this approach by the training of Ryan Hall, who has decided to not
employ a coach and plan his ENTIRE training schedule based on the leading of
the Holy Spirit. The results have been
pretty good… if you consider a 2:04:55 Boston Marathon merely “pretty good.” This, for the foreseeable future, is also the
path I endeavor to take.
So, Brian’s Training Philosophy, in a nutshell:
- Follow the prompting of the Holy Spirit
- Understand the “why” of every workout
- A large base of aerobic, easy miles
- Plenty of recovery days, to get the most out of the quality days
- A healthy diet, based on a high percentage of veggies
- Minimalistic running shoes, for a more natural (and therefore healthy) experience
- Negative splits – save something for the end!
And that doesn't include anything like goal-setting or positive self-talk or several other thing - this is just the physical part. This is, as with everything, a work in progress, and much of
my joy in running comes simply from the learning.
Train on, friends, and I’ll see you at the next Start Line!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
So... why "Eclectic?"
eclec-tic, adj, \e-‘klek-tik, i-\
1 : selecting what appears to be best in various doctrines,
methods, or styles
2 : composed of elements drawn from various sources
Origin: Greek eklektikos,
from eklegein to select, from ex- out + legein to gather
(from www.merriam-webster.com)
In our modern world, it seems to me that people identify (themselves
and others) with singular labels. This
guy is a Lawyer, that gal is a Doctor, etc., etc., etc. It’s convenient and easy for us to visualize
a person within a well-defined box.
 |
| Cross country in the snow. Yup: crazy! |
Me: I’m a Runner.
I bet you just got a very specific visual: skinny, short
shorts, up early to put in a quick 15 miles in the freezing cold. And crazy to boot.
So, hold onto that visual.
I’m also a Musician.
A Runner and a Musician. (New
visual: “Runner,” as before, but in a beetle-back tux.)
And a Christian. A
Runner, a Musician, and a rabid Christian.
(Runner, in a tux, crossing himself every 10 steps.)
Oh yeah, and I’m also…
You get the point?
Each and every one of us is a multi-faceted individual, with many
different interests and/or passions.
Box-people need not apply.
This is my list, in order of importance.
First, I’m a Christian.
Bona fide Jesus Freak.
Second, I’m a Husband.
My relationship with my wife is the most important thing in this world to
me, outside of that with my Lord and Savior.
Words can’t describe how amazing she is, and I can’t imagine life
without her.
Third, I’m a Runner.
Duh.
Forth, I’m a Musician, specifically a bass trombonist,
vocalist, and theorist. I have a
smattering of skill on other instruments and have dabbled in composition. Outside of running, music in general – and
trombone specifically – is my other passion in life.
Actually… maybe music is 3rd and running is 4th…
depends on the day.
 |
| Me and my beautiful wife, Sarah, on the beach in Maui. I went on my first beach run that day, and I loved it! |
Fifth, I’m a Traveler.
Some of my greatest pleasures come from visiting new places (and then running
there!). This world has far too many
cool things to do and see to just sit at home!
To this point, luxury cruising is my favorite mode of locomotion.
 |
| Me and Sarah hiking Chasm Lake on Longs Peak |
Sixth… everything else.
I’m a life-long learner, and nearly any new subject can suck me in like
a black hole. I’m particularly keen on
aviation and military history and just about anything related to nature. I love to read and really enjoy a good story:
sci-fi and fantasy are favorites, and military history.
 |
| I'm in the green, and that's totally a kill shot to his ribs. |
I’m a swordsman, and I studied Renaissance
rapier and smallsword for about 10 years starting in college. I’m WAY out of practice right now and itchin’
to start again soon! I love getting
outdoors, and every summer my wife and I do a number of hikes in the beautiful Rocky Mountains , within spitting distance of our
home. I’m a role-player… yes, kinda like
the Dungeons & Dragons thing (but probably not as dorky as you’re thinking). I also enjoy board games of many types, especially
strategy/tactics games.
How’s your visual now?
I guess my point is this: you can’t really put “me” in a box
of any shape. I probably couldn’t put you in a box, either. Running may color the way I see life, but it’s
not the complete picture. That’s really
what this blog is about: my life, in total, colored
by my passion for running.
So come run – and play trombone, and travel, and learn, and
fence, and read, and game – with Eclectic Me.
At the very least, it won’t be boring.
Oh… and “up early” is a four-letter word, as far as I’m
concerned. Run on, my friends!
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