Know your mile splits!

On Thanksgiving Day, I ran the Turkey Chase BCC 10K in Maryland, which is one of several races my kids and I run together each year. It was quite cold and windy; but it was great fun, as usual. I was a bit disappointed, though, with my time, which was 55 sec. slower than last year's time. It was the only short race (5K, 8K, 10K) this year that I didn't run faster than I did last year, after I'd started more "serious" training for marathons, both with my local running club and with the RYBQ online community. It was not because of training--I'd fully expected to run a course PR--but because of a "technical racing detail." I missed reading the first three mile splits on my watch, and, by the time I realized by Mile 4 that my average pace was too slow, it was too late to make up the time over the last two miles. Mile 4 didn't feel that slow, but it was 32 sec. slower than Mile 5. Here are the splits:

7:56 - Would have been a course PR pace. I started near the front of my wave so was able to run without road congestion.
8:14 - Mile 2 was hilly, winding through residential neighborhoods north of Bethesda, and I'd expected it to be my slowest mile.
8:12 - Should have picked up the pace more, after the slow Mile 2. Mile 3 is along Rockville Pike, one of several major roads that lead into Washington, DC.
8:20 - Thought I was going faster than this pace! Still on Rockville Pike, Mile 4 ends in downtown Bethesda. I finally read this mile split and realized I really needed to pick up the pace!
7:48 - I tried but the last two miles were generally uphill.
7:58 - Especially the last mile!

Lesson learned: Gain a better feel for my pace without a watch (i.e., by effort) and/or make sure I catch those mile splits. In these short races, there's not much time to make up for mistakes!

Zombie Apocalypse, MCM version (Marine Corps Marathon race report)

From the Marine Corps Marathon (MCM) finishers area, next to the Marine Corps War Memorial (also called the Iwo Jima Memorial), to the post-race celebration area in Rosslyn, VA. is a fairly long walk that crosses U.S. Highway 50 on a bridge. I was slowly crossing the bridge, and, looking at the people around and in front of me who, like me, were all limping, I was thinking that this looks just like in those zombie movies. :)

But, what a fun race MCM was! I really enjoyed running it. Weather was almost perfect. Spectator support was terrific, one of the best for marathons. People coming out to support "The People's Marathon"! Granted, some of them may be tourists, a bit annoyed and impatient with all the road closings. :) The opening ceremonies were highlighted by skydivers (marines? not sure), some of whom carried *huge* American flags. Quite a sight. The presence of all the marines along the course, especially along a stretch going towards Hains Point, reminded all the runners the overall purpose of MCM. The race logistics were mostly efficient and well-done, including porta potties (sufficient number--though, of course, never enough!) and bag checks and pick-ups. Water stations were every 2-3 miles. I took mostly water, though Gatorade was also available. There were four food stations (oranges, Gu's, Sports Beans, and Munchkins). I skipped the oranges and Munchkins but took a Gu and a bag of Sports Beans. I also had three of my own Gu's. The ground around the stations was kind of sticky, from spilled Gatorade and discarded oranges--I figured I probably lost a few seconds as a result. :) Orange peels were everywhere; good thing they weren't handing out bananas. Getting the finisher medal put around your neck by a marine lieutenant was pretty cool. The MCM medal is the second-most popular finisher medal in North America for 2013, according to "Marathon and Beyond" magazine.

And, the post-race warming jacket (throwaway though reusable to some extent) was definitely better and more functional than the usual space blanket.

I do have two main gripes. First is the general course congestion, especially in the early miles but also the new out-and-back along Rock Creek Parkway (Miles 6-9). The latter was just too narrow for the number of runners. In my post-race survey response, I suggested wave starts of the corrals in future races. We'll have to see. Second is the long wait in line, some 45 minutes, to get into the Rosslyn Metro station, to head for home. Fortunately, weather cooperated. Someone should be looking into improving the getaway logistics. Actually, there is a third gripe. Those race photographers need to be more visible, especially those who are sitting on the ground, in the middle of the road (!). They are collisions waiting to happen.

The course congestion, I'm pretty certain, costed me a new PR. MCM was my first generally negative split marathon—and, I did not stop and walk at all (except for the four planned water stations for ~10 sec. @), even up that final hill to the Marine Corps War Memorial. I felt good throughout and essentially did not run into the wall. I kept missing the mile splits on my watch, which was a good sign (i.e., the miles were going by fast!). This being three weeks after having run the Wineglass Marathon, I was relatively conservative in my pacing. I ended up with 4:24, two minutes shy of my PR, though 20 minutes better than my previous MCM (2011). I think the extra time the course congestion caused easily exceeded two minutes. It wasn't until after ~Mile 9 did the field opened up enough for me to consistently run at my planned pace.

The best thing about this MCM is that it provided the data point to finally enable me to see why an even pace at the fastest speed one can sustain for a particular set of race conditions should yield the best results. Starting at around Mile 20, near the approach to the 14th Street bridge, I did quite a bit of "fishing," especially going across the bridge. This was rather uncustomary! With each overtaking of groups of runners who were in front of me, I felt as I gained energy. Also, I now know what changes to my training I need to make, when I start the next training cycle in December for Shamrock in March. The following pace chart for three of my marathons this year really tells the story!

Butterfly effect in running

No, not that kind! Not the butterfly in your stomach just before the start of a race.

I'm referring to the actual kind, as in the title of Edward Lorenz's presentation at the 1972 conference of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, "Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?" (The original ground-breaking paper was in 1963, Deterministic Nonperiodic Flow.) An unexpected research result led Lorenz to the insight that, in nature, small changes can have large consequences. This insight became the founding principle of chaos theory, which, along with the butterfly effect, eventually got introduced to the general audience in 1987 via James Gleick's best seller, Chaos: Making a New Science. Here's Wikipedia's summary of the butterfly effect and butterfly effect in popular culture. The butterfly effect, also known as "sensitive dependence on initial conditions," has the corollary that forecasting the future can be nearly impossible. It's regarding this latter corollary that popular culture version of the butterfly effect usually gets wrong. The butterfly effect has become a metaphor for the existence of seemingly insignificant moments that alter history and shape destinies.

In his fascinating new book, "The Sports Gene," David Epstein (Sports Illustrated) describes how, with chess players, small differences in talent (initial conditions) can lead to large differences in outcome, given the same amount of practice. Epstein was careful to refer to this as a "sort of butterfly effect of expertise." "Sort of" because this butterfly effect is not that of Lorenz. This butterfly effect, though it has "sensitive dependence on initial conditions," does not have the non-forecasting corollary, at least not in the Lorenz sense. A key idea in Epstein's book is that exceptional talent (initial conditions) plus lots of correct practice (repetition) plus help in timing or favorable circumstances or environment are necessary for greatness. The first two, initial conditions and repetition, are generally predictive. The third, favorable environment, is the variable that clouds up the forecasting of outcome. This "sort of" butterfly effect informs a multitude of other areas of endeavor, besides various types of sports. In music, a good example is Hilary Hahn, who had the "gift of nature," practiced 4-5 hours a day, and had supporting parents and teachers, who created the favorable environment.

As relates to running, the "sort of" butterfly effect really highlights the importance of form and small adjustments to it. Three examples:

1. I've previously written on how a matter of 1/4 inch between the two sides of the right heel of the shoes I was wearing at the time (Nike Free), at about 48,000 strides per week (at my then weekly mileage), meant an extra 500 ft. of vertical distance that side of the foot had to stretch. That 1/4 inch "initial condition" mattered!
2. Until recently (spring of this year), on easy runs, I've taken two strides per breath in and out (2-2). With the increased training I've been doing, especially since the end of 2012, my #strides/breath has increased to 3-3. From 2-2 to 3-3 (initial condition), the oxygen cost of my running has decreased, and my running economy has improved.
3. On my training runs, I try to focus on form, one aspect of which is a higher back kick. The latter should result in a slightly longer stride. Let's assume that the additional length of the stride (initial condition) is one inch, what's the effect on the outcome of, say, a marathon? A marathon is 26.2 x 5,280 ft. = 138,336 ft. At a stride length of 3 ft., the entire race would take 46,112 strides. If each of the strides were an inch longer, then the total extra distance covered by the same number of strides but with a back kick would be 46,112 in. / 12 ~= 3,843 ft. That's almost 3/4 mile or around 7 minutes (at 9-10 min./mi. pace)! Of course, rarely does one hold form throughout a marathon, especially towards the end. But, the potential of that initial condition is there.

Running is the perfect metaphor for life--or, is life the perfect metaphor for running? :) In both, small things (initial conditions), repeated over and over again, matter (for better or worse). Hmm, does that mean marriage is "chaotic"? :)

The primrose path to the valley of death (Wineglass Marathon race report)

This past Sunday morning, I was waiting for the start of the Wineglass Marathon, along with almost 2,000 fellow runners, couple miles outside of the town of Bath, in the beautiful Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. We were all standing there in single shirts, the temperature an unseasonably balmy 65, with humidity in the high 90%. My plan, at the end of a 16-week RYBQ training program, was to run the first part of the race (~18-20 miles) at about 10-15 seconds slower than my BQ pace (8:58 mile for a 3:55 finish time), and, then, depending on how I was feeling, to stay at that pace or try to speed up a bit and go for a sub-4:00 or at least a PR (< 4:14). This was my sixth marathon, so I was well aware of the classic mistake of starting out too fast and then hitting the wall anywhere from the half way point to Mile 20 or so. I was going to be disciplined in executing my plan and make sure I first get my PR (by shaving eight minutes off of my Rock 'n' Roll USA marathon time of 4:22). Standing there, waiting for the start, I reminded myself to follow the plan and trust the training.

But, then, I saw the 3:55 pace sign.

In hindsight, of course, I shouldn't have done what I then did, which was to decide to test my training and run with the 3:55 pacer. I should have known better. But, I had trained well, with weekly mileage peaking above 60, and I felt good and ready. The start line was at the top of a hill, and I was looking down Mt. Washington Road, that initial half mile stretch of a course that has a net elevation decrease of about 280 ft. The temptation was just too great; I couldn't resist! That 3:55 pace sign led me down the primrose path and resulted in my running the race in exactly the classic no-no way!

I pretty easily, based on perceived effort (and number of steps per breath), stayed with that 3:55 pace group through the first half (first 10K split was ~54 min.), at which point, I had to drop back for a minute or so to adjust my left sock and retie the shoe, to keep a nascent blister at the bottom of the left sole under control. Within a couple miles after the half, however, I knew I was in trouble, as I realized that I wasn't quite ready to sustain the 8:58 pace for the entire distance. The temperature and humidity obviously didn't help, but I think I simply was trying to drop too much time, from the Rock 'n' Roll USA 4:22 to a BQ 3:55. The second half was not pretty, as the 4:00, 4:10, and eventually even the 4:30 pacers passed me. For Miles 16-19, I was struggling to just keep going, against a "transitional" wall. Then, at Mile 20, nearing the end of the "20 miles of hope," I ran full-on into that textbook solid wall and the start of "6 miles of reality"--or, what I've termed the "valley of death." :) Not until the final half mile or so, as I crossed the bridge over the Chemung River into downtown Corning, NY, did I emerge from that valley of death; and not until the final left turn onto Market Street was I able to manage even a feeble kick down the three blocks to the finish line at Pine Street.

As a result of my decision to run with the 3:55 pacer, I missed out on what I still think would have been a fairly certain new PR (< 4:14, Ithaca Marathon 1982, my first one, with almost no training at all!). Was I disappointed? For sure. I thought my 16-week training had gone really well, and 3:55 was at least an outside possibility. But, many good lessons learned--though the hard way! Plus, I know better now what needs to be done to run that 3:55. There were other possibly or likely contributory factors to what happened last Sunday: 5-hour drive to Corning on Saturday; getting ready for the trip Friday evening and thus not getting a good night's sleep; on my feet Saturday afternoon touring Corning (Museum of Glass); not sufficient pre-race fueling; jogging the two miles to the start line; far-from-ideal weather and consequently perhaps drinking too much water and Gatorade, almost every two miles (hyponatremia?). But, proper pacing and the training needed to sustain the goal pace definitely are at the top of the list.

Since I've been back home, I've been reading up on pacing and discussing with other RYBQ runners and the RYBQ coach. So, an even or slightly negative pace is best, though not usually attainable, for a marathon. That 3:55 pacer could run the ideal even pace, because it was much slower than his actual race pace, had he been racing rather than pacing; whereas, for me, 3:55 was a stretch goal. Wineglass told me I wasn't ready for 3:55, which is good to know, as I look towards my next try at BQ in March 2014. I suppose I should have known from my training. But now, I know in all its gory details! What I don't know is whether I could have stayed with the 4:10 or maybe even the 4:00 pacer. What I don't know for sure is where I am right now between 4:22 and 3:55. Back to the drawing board! :)

Other than all that, Wineglass itself was great! It was a very well-run race (the other meaning!). Very scenic course. Wonderful support from local towns through which the course winds. Terrific volunteers, all some 1,500 of them! Water/Gatorade stops every two miles and Gu at around Miles 13 and 19. Logistics very well done, including ample shuttle buses to the start line and accommodating ratio of porta-potties to runners. :) Glass finisher medal, hand pressed by Hands On Glass Studio in Corning; pretty unique and #11 in the 2012 list of Top 25 marathon medals.

And, of course, wineglass and champagne!

Also, nice town, Corning, home of Corning, Inc. (formerly Corning Glass Works). For dinner: Brewing Co. and Restaurant on Market Street (Wrought Iron Red perfect for a post-race drink!).

Finish line at Market and Pine Streets, downtown Corning, NY. Clock Tower at Centerway Square to the right.

Corning Clock Tower in Centerway Square

I definitely plan to go back to Wineglass in 2014--partly, to run it the right way! :)

Tapering focus

Or, focus in tapering.

Got to remind myself to stay focused, during these two weeks of taper before Wineglass. First, last Friday, I stubbed my right little toe at home, while walking into the laundry room, right before Saturday's 8K race. (Fortunately, I routinely train in Vibram FiveFingers (VFF), and, with its own toe pocket, that little toe was pretty happy, throughout the entire race.) Then, on this morning's run, I took a skin-scraping tumble in the parking lot of the local high school. The run was a 6-miler, and I did the middle 3 on the brand new school track (very nice!). To get there on the way home, I ran across the school parking lot, and, somehow, my right shoe (VFF) got caught on something and fleetingly stuck, which resulted in the following you-know-it's-happening-but can't-do-anything-about-it sequence of scraping contacts with the concrete pavement: Left heel (hard), right hand, left hand, left wrist, left elbow, left hip, and, finally, a Judo roll onto the back. This morning was also the local town’s annual parade, which starts at the high school, and there were many people there in the parking lot assembling for the parade. So, my tumble was a rather public one! The sting from the scrapes will be mostly gone by tomorrow. The only thing that will take a few days to recover is the right toe, next to that stubbed little toe, which got a bit bruised in the tumble and now has joined its neighbor in the pre-race recovery ward. I think both should be fine by the time Wineglass starts.

What got me thinking about this is that, in all my years (decades) of running, I've never taken a fall like this during a run (just a handful of stumbles). That I was looking at the parade preparation and not completely paying attention to the run probably contributed to the tumble. But, I suspect something about the taper in general also was a factor. After 14 weeks of speed work, strides, hill repeats, tempo runs, and long runs, with weekly mileage increasing to over 60 just before tapering, there is, perhaps, a certain sense of having made it to the top and being able to cruise the rest of the way to the start line and, with that, a certain slackening from that total focus of the previous weeks leading up to the taper. The mind gets more easily distracted, not the least from thinking about the upcoming race, for which all these weeks of early morning training have been dedicated.

Lesson for me: Stay focused during taper and get to the start line healthy! And, don’t go barefoot around the house … nah, probably not; I’m a minimalist! :)

Running on water

Recently, there was some discussion in the online RYBQ community about the difficulty sometimes of getting oneself out the door to run. That got me thinking once again about the deep, philosophical question of why I run. Which is the same as that other deep, philosophical question of who am I. Je cours donc je suis, right? What’s that? That’s not quite what Descartes said? Ah, same difference! J I’ve said this before: I’ve never gone out running and come back regretting it, even on those days when, lying in bed after the alarm has gone off and listening to the wind whipping snow against the window panes and the weather guy on the radio talking about something in the single digits, putting on running shoes and heading out the door would seem not to be the most rational choice. And yet, each time, with shoes laced, out the door I go. Why do I do this? Why does any runner do this? There are probably at least as many answers as there are runners.

For me, one of the answers must be what subsequently happens on a run. The first mile is usually rough and creaky, even with the proper warm-up, as the body tries to wake up. Towards the end of the second mile, however, as the body gradually gets warmed up and moving parts get lubricated, a rhythm begins to take hold. Several miles later, somewhere in the middle of the run (depending on its length), the legs and rest of the body all sync into this rhythm, and the result is as beautiful to feel as chamber music is to hear. This rhythm happens often enough to be a counterpoint to those pre-run self-arguments for going back to sleep. Then, once in a long while, something remarkable happens, when the running becomes seemingly effortless, with the entire body humming like an engine in overdrive, even when going up hills. Smooth and light--like running on water.

Last Sunday’s long run (22 miles) came close to that. It was a sharp contrast to a weekend earlier, when my long run was a 5K race followed by a 17-mile run home (not recommended!). Last Sunday morning, there was no 5K, the temperature was cooler, and the entire body just hummed along. (Average mile splits were about a minute slower than my still-to-be-achieved Boston qualifying marathon pace (MP), with the last three splits negative, ending at MP-9 sec.) It was heavenly.

Running WBS (2)

Earlier this year, I described how I try to pass the time on long treadmill runs, by breaking a long run into shorter segments and running them--especially mentally--one at a time. A kind of Work Breakdown Structure approach. In my current training cycle, preparing for an early October marathon (first try to qualify for Boston!), I'm following an Advanced-Low Mileage plan that has hill repeats every Tuesday: 10 reps, each of length increasing over the weeks to a maximum of 90 seconds, at half marathon pace. For me, the latter pace is about two steps per second. So, for a 90-sec. rep, I'd count to 180. The following is how I break down the 180 count for each of the reps. I do this so I won't miscount within a rep and miscount the number of reps, as well as just for variety.

Here's the WBS:
10 reps --> 5 sets of 2 reps each
Each set of 2 is counted the same way: Set 1: 2 (1 x 1-180); set 2: 2 (2 x 1-90); set 3: 2 (3 x 1-60); set 4: 2 (3 x 1-50 + 30); set 5: 2 (6 x 1-30)
For each set, count the first rep as
1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 11, 12, 13, ..., 20, 21, 22, 23, ...
and second one as
1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 2, 2, 3, ..., 10, 3, 2, 3, ...

So, for example, set 3 would go as follows:
Rep 1: 1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 11, 12, 13, ..., 20, 21, 22, 23, ..., 30, 31, 32, 33, ..., 40, 41, 42, 43, ..., 50, 51, 52, 53, ..., 60, 1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 11, 12, 13, ..., 20, 21, 22, 23, ..., 30, 31, 32, 33, ..., 40, 41, 42, 43, ..., 50, 51, 52, 53, ..., 60, 1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 11, 12, 13, ..., 20, 21, 22, 23, ..., 30, 31, 32, 33, ..., 40, 41, 42, 43, ..., 50, 51, 52, 53, ..., 60
Rep 2: 1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 2, 2, 3, ..., 10, 3, 2, 3, ..., 10, 4, 2, 3, ..., 10, 5, 2, 3, ..., 10, 6, 2, 3, ..., 10, 1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 2, 2, 3, ..., 10, 3, 2, 3, ..., 10, 4, 2, 3, ..., 10, 5, 2, 3, ..., 10, 6, 2, 3, ..., 10, 1, 2, 3, ..., 10, 2, 2, 3, ..., 10, 3, 2, 3, ..., 10, 4, 2, 3, ..., 10, 5, 2, 3, ..., 10, 6, 2, 3, ..., 10

I do these Tuesday hill repeats within my neighborhood, which conveniently has two hills each of about 90 seconds in length. For each set, I alternate between these two hills for the two reps, again, just for variety.

Perhaps more importantly, this WBS approach helps keep my mind busy, so I won't hear the legs complaining that they want to stop (!).

My plan for BQ (The Onion version)

I'm at less than four weeks to my next marathon and my first one to try to qualify for Boston. I have 27 minutes to drop to just qualify, which is probably not fast enough to actually get registered. I probably need at least another five minutes, or a total of 32 minutes. Not realistic? Here are my goals and my plan:

I'm currently at 4:22 (10:00/mi pace) (Rock 'n' Roll USA, March 2013).

To get to my PR of 4:14 (Ithaca Marathon, 1982), I need to drop eight minutes (9:41/mi). How? From the remaining 3+ weeks of training, which includes two more long runs of 21 miles each.

To break 4:00, I need to drop 14 more minutes (9:09/mi). How? Cooler October temperatures, net downhill course (-250 ft), and draft from fellow runners.

To just BQ (3:55), I need to drop five more minutes (8:58/mi). How? Motivational signs and other crowd support.

To have a chance to get registered, I need five more minutes (3:50; 8:46/mi). How? Doppio loading and running on the resulting fumes.

Actually, based on one of those race times predictors, my marathon times predicted from my 2013 5K, 10K, and Half times are 3:40, 3:33, and 3:43, respectively; although my coach Jason says those predicted times assume great or perfect training, in order to realize the predicted potential. So, all together, perhaps my plan for BQ is The Half Onion version.

Thank goodness for the hat!

This morning's 19-mile long run was for week 11 in my current training plan, from the Run Your BQ online community, targeted at an early October marathon. A week ago, I also ran a 19-miler at a 9:50 pace, about a minute slower than my required BQ pace, with two water/Gu walking sections (~0.25 mi. each). Today was quite a bit warmer and more humid, so I was expecting a slower time. The pace turned out to be about a minute slower (10:54), including two additional 0.25 mi. walks--and, mile 20.

Mile 20 on a 19-mile run?

My eyes must have played some kind of trick on me last night, when I estimated the 19-mile loop distance with Google map. The plan was to go from home to almost workplace (~10 mi.) and then to loop part of the way back, for variety. Somehow, I misjudged the total distance by about three miles (!). By the time I realized, it was too late to turn around and retrace the first half of the route; it would have been even longer. So, at mile 19 and with three more to go, I decided to run mile 20 and walk miles 21 & 22 (~20 min. pace). These three additional miles pushed the finish time about an hour closer to noon. With the sun already fairly high up during that last hour, I was sure glad I had my hat on. I started to wear a hat on runs (esp. long runs) at the start of this summer. At the weekly mileage that I'm currently running (50+), the exposure to sun is significant. So, I got a wide brimmed hat with a flap at the back to cover the neck. It makes a difference!

Running solo

I've been running since my high school days, almost always solo, which is my preference. The morning run is one of only two time periods during a day (the other being my violin practice late at night) that I have to myself--and, to "commune with nature." :) That said, there have been occasions, when close friends who are runners come visit, and we go out running together, that have been very enjoyable. About a year ago, I signed up, along with my kids, with my local runners club (MCRRC), mostly for the resources it offers. Over that summer, I trained with the Wed. night speed work group at a local university track; that was quite good. Then, this past winter, leading up to the March 2013 Rock 'n' Roll USA Marathon, I did the club's Winter Marathon Program, which helped me tremendously. On those Sunday long runs, although at times I didn't quite care for the running banter (I mean, it interfered with my communing with nature!), I did find them generally fun to do, with fellow runners in my pace group. On one such run, e.g., someone started singing the Beatles' Help! and, pretty soon, the entire group was singing and smiling and laughing. That was pretty neat, and different.
  
But, basically, I'm still mostly a solo runner.

Grandfather Mountain Marathon race report

With thousands of spectators cheering, along with the sound of bagpipes, at the finish of the Grandfather Mountain Marathon (GMM), I had to look good for that final lap around the track! So what if most of the spectators were there, at McRae Meadows, not for us marathoners but for the ongoing Highland Games (2nd largest in the world)! :) That finish was still the best part of a marathon that didn't disappoint, both in the sense of the advertised "One of America's Toughest Marathons" and of a race well run (in both senses of that word).

The GMM is a relatively small one, capped at 500 entrants. It has been run for over 40 years. The race begins in Boone, NC, on the track of the Kidd Brewer Stadium of Appalachian State University (ASU) (see photo), at 3,333 ft. After two laps around the track, the course heads out of the stadium, goes along the southern edge of Boone for couple miles, and then begins the long winding climb through the scenic Blue Ridge Mountains up to Grandfather Mountain in Linville, NC, at 4,279 ft. (see photo for course profile). It was, by far, the toughest marathon I've run to date. There were downhill stretches, but those uphills were unrelenting! The weather largely cooperated; it was overcast, breezy, in the 50s at the start and 70s at the finish, although the humidity was ~100%.



Because of GMM's advertised toughness, and because I didn't know quite what to expect (other than running up a mountain!), my race plan was pretty conservative. Don't go out too fast. Check. I began at 10:00/mi and kept reminding myself that the race doesn't start until Mile 20. Stop at every water/Gatorade stop (every 2-3 mi). Check. Take Gu (on the run) just before stops around Miles 8, 13, 19, and 23, followed by water at those stops. Check. So, every stop, including those with Gu, took no more than 30 sec. Keep a steady pace. Ur, well, didn't quite do that! But, it was steady in the sense that I didn't do what

some at around my pace did, which was to alternate between running and walking. My main race goal was to not to have to walk. So, for most of the race, those runners and I kept passing each other. Basically, an episodic jack rabbit vs. continuing tortoise strategy. :) I think we all pretty much finished at about the same time. There were two times when I momentarily panicked. At around Mile 19, I felt a tightening in my lower left calf. Except for the Blue Ridge Parkway section, many of the roads the course was on had fairly high center crowns. As we were running on the left side, facing the traffic, the left leg was affected more. That's my theory. Anyway, I slowed down a bit, moved to the center of the road, and the tightness went away. Also, for the last 10K, something was sloshing around in the stomach. Fortunately, that was all that was. :)

The reason I really wanted to run the race for the entire length was that, for the three previous marathons (MCM, Baltimore, Rock 'n' Roll USA), I had to do a lot of walking for the last 10K, even though Rock 'n' Roll (most recent one) was a 23-min improvement. For MCM in 2011, I had to almost literally crawl across the finish line. That I didn't want to do--I had to look good! :) There were three sections of the course where I did walk, because the uphill was such that running was not that much faster than a fast walk. Those were the 14+ min miles in the pace chart. But, the important thing, for me, was that I could have run those sections. So, this is why, although my finish time of 5:10 was, as my son termed it, my PW (personal worst), I feel this was my best run marathon; I followed my race plan, and I felt in control the entire way.

GMM was also a well-run race. Efficient packet pickup. Clearly marked course. Friendly volunteers at each of the water/Gatorade stops. Those stops were welcomed oases, especially towards the finish, even though I spent just a few seconds at each. Plentiful parking at the ASU stadium, for the start as well as packet pickup. And, of course, the coordination with the Highland Games. I particularly appreciated the ASU dorm option for the lodging (single room w/ BA plus shared kitchen), which was only about a mile from the stadium and cheaper than motels in Boone. My only complaint was the long wait for the shuttle bus to go back to Boone. The shuttle was for the Highland Games and not specifically for GMM. But, at $5 per ride, which included the entrance fee to the Games, this is a minor complaint. Some of the runners stayed on to watch the Games. I couldn't because I needed to get back to the dorm to clean up and get on the road.

This was a race of opportunity, i.e., I was in the general area (Chapel Hill) for a work-related conference, and this race in Boone was a reasonably close 3-hour drive away one day after the conference ended. I'm really glad I found this race. It was a great experience, and I had fun running it. Because I ran it conservatively, I probably didn't use everything up by the end. Now that I know the course, I can recalibrate the next time. I would go back to GMM just for the race.

Review of NB Minimus 10

I am so happy my new New Balance Minimus 10V2 Trail (NBM) has this design or manufacturing problem. ... Well, in a way. I'll get to that shortly.

First, here's the Executive Summary of my review: Overall, the NBM is a good shoe--except for the problem noted above. I plan to wear the NBM mostly for long runs and races and for the rougher trails.

Here is the problem: At the outside front part of the shoe, several pieces of the upper are stitched together; and, on the corresponding inside of the shoe (see photo above, yellow circle on the left, and close-up photo below), there's enough of a resultant protrusion pressing on the foot to create a hot spot and make it painful to run (in my case, more so on the left than on the right). With the Merrell Trail Glove (MTG), at the same part of the shoe, there are no stitches (see photo above, yellow circle on the right). REI, where I bought the NBM, also had a new version of the MTG, and I would have bought it (still my favorite shoes!), had it not also had, apparently, a design flaw. In the photo above (of my well-worn MTG), the two blue circles show where the sides of the new MTG bend outward with every step, creating an opening between the foot and shoe--perfect for catching random trail debris!

At $109.99, the NBM is decidedly pricey (for me). REI had a 20% promotion at the time, which brought the price down to a more reasonable range. Compared with the MTG, the NBM has a wider sole and a 4 vs. 0 mm heel-to-toe drop, though I can't feel any difference in the several runs I've had in the NBM so far. The NBM is a bit heavier and has a thicker sole, and I can definitely feel both differences! Its toe box is not as squarish as that of the MTG but roomy enough. Its fit is not as snug as that of the MTG (which, well, fits like a Glove!). With the NBM's thicker padding, the decrease in feel of the ground is noticeable.

The NBM is advertised as a minimal shoe. For me, however, it's no longer minimal, having run in the MTG and Vibram FiveFingers for over a year now. Between the NBM and MTG, I still prefer the latter. And, if Merrell fixes the design flaw described previously, my next pair of shoes would be the MTG again. :) I think the NBM, however, would be good for the really long runs and races (marathon and longer) and for rough trail running--once I resolve the problem noted above!

Tough run ... (2)

This morning, I ran a 20-miler, the last long run of a 16-week marathon training plan (Intermediate-High Mileage from the Run Your Boston Qualifier community). The run was a totally drenching one--and not from any rain! It was a tough one. I'm not sure if it was just the need to acclimatize to the higher temperature and humidity of summer or not bringing enough water, but I'd to struggle to get to the end of Mile 20. My plan was to run it as 4 segments (6.5, 5.5, 4.5, and 3.5), with 3 water-walking stops (2-3 min. @). The first 2 segments went fine, But, after Mile 13, at the end of a hill, I just felt I had to stop (not sure if the legs felt the same). I ended up walking a full mile, all the while debating with myself whether to take the direct route home and thus cutting the run to 16 miles or run the planned route and walk as needed. This being the last long run, I decided on the latter. I ran to 16.5, walked another 0.5, before running the rest of the way home. That second half of the run was almost entirely mental. It was as interesting as it was frustrating. Last year, on an early summer 10-mile run, I had a similarly tough run. Anyways, the 2-week taper begins tomorrow, ending with the Grandfather Mountain Marathon. Hopefully, these 2 weeks will allow me to struggle to get to the end of Mile 26.2!

Intestinal runs

No, not that kind!

By "intestinal runs," I mean running routes that go into and out of every cul-de-sac. It's actually quite amazing how long a distance this kind of route can cover within a total physical space that's not that big--just as with the human intestine(!). In my immediate neighborhood, the intestinal loop route is about 3 miles. If I veer out to include the nearby community library, then that loop is about 3.7 mi. A few weeks ago, I had a scheduled 12-mile Sunday run, and I decided to do it by running this neighborhood-library intestinal loop (3 times plus another mile or so, for a total of 12 mi). During the run, this came to mind: 7 of these loops would be close to a marathon. Somehow, a marathon of 7 such neighborhood loops seems easier/shorter than a typical marathon. More recently, I had a scheduled 10-mile weekday run, and I decided to do it by expanding the intestinal run to encompass a larger community, one that includes intestinal routes of 3 other neighborhoods plus a loop around the local high school. The latter is at the farthest point of this loop route from my house (~1.5 mi). Thus, at any point of the route, I'm within an easy 30-minute walk from home. The other advantage is that, for the longer runs, I don't need to carry water or fuel. Home is the water/fuel stop! Unless, of course, I want to train for carrying water and fuel during races. With this 10-mile loop as well, it seems 2 of them plus a 10K, together, is easier and shorter than a typical marathon. All of this is just mental, of course; the distance is still 26.2! And, I've no idea how I might use this perception in running actual marathons. But, for the long training runs, breaking them down into shorter segments, one cul-de-sac at a time, helps to make the runs seem easier/shorter (cf. Running WBS for an analogous strategy for long treadmill runs).

Punctuated equilibria - recent examples

In a previous post ("Attacking the Hills ..."), I wrote about the adaptation curve being like a stair-stepped function, in which improvements in running come not as steady continual shavings in time but as occasional significant drops in time, kind of like a running version of punctuated equilibria. The latter is the paleontological theory advanced by Niles Eldredge and Stephen Jay Gould in their famous paper, "Punctuated equilibria: an alternative to phyletic gradualism." This theory is stated as follows:

1. Current theory colors perception (of facts), so that new ideas rarely arise from facts collected under that perception.
2. (At the time) current paleontology's view of speciation was dominated by "phyletic gradualism," i.e., new species arise from the slow and steady transformation of entire populations. Thus, all breaks in the fossil record reflect imperfections in the record.
3. Theory of geographic speciation suggests a different interpretation of the data. A new species does not evolve in the area, and does not arise from the slow transformation, of its ancestors. Thus, many breaks in the fossil record are real.
4. History of evolution is one of homeostatic equibria, disturbed (punctuated) once in a long while by rapid and episodic events of speciation.

This theory has more recently been applied to the pattern of change and innovation in international regime complexes. And, in the areas of technology and business, there's the related theory of disruptive innovation by Clayton Christensen (The Innovator's Dilemma); although the latter, I think, is closer to the often-heard "thinking outside of the box" than to punctuated equilibria. To think outside of the box means one is aware of the box and can imagine an outside, whereas the ancestors of new species could not have been aware, and could not have imagined being outside, of any box. Can inhabitants of Flatland imagine a third dimension?

Of course, with running, one is aware of the current box and can imagine being on the outside. I can imagine, e.g., running a sub-3-hour marathon. :) So, running is probably also closer to "thinking outside of the box" than to punctuated equilibria. But, it's fun to think about it as the latter!

Some recent examples. At the Walnut Creek International Half Marathon in California (December 2012), I took a small step up the adaptation curve. It actually didn't feel as I was pushing particularly hard during the race. So, when I saw my finish time (1:51), I was amazed! It was more than 8 minutes faster than my previous PR. What had happened for me to be able to run at a more than 30 seconds faster average pace than that of my previous half marathon (Frederick, May 2012)? My 2013 Frederick Half's time was another drop to a new PR (1:46:34). My Pike's Peek 10K time in April this year (46:11) was some 3.5 minutes faster than my 2012 time. That's also a 30-second drop in pace. And, most recently, I ran a 5K in May with a time (22:54) that was 31 seconds faster than my previous PR. The 5K result was the sweetest, because the previous PR was from 1997, some 16 years ago. It is--still--mostly a matter of training and adaptation. :)

Now, I did just complete my road runners club's winter marathon training program that was aimed at the Rock 'n' Roll Marathon back in March of this year. So, all the drops in time and new PR's could just be because I'd been training more. That's what my coach says. But, what about the Walnut Creek Half, which was before the winter program? Perhaps there are certain things we do in training (beyond the "more" aspect), certain small adjustments we make (both physically and mentally)--without being aware of them--that lead to these punctuated drops in time?

Mother’s Day Half Marathon race report

The Mother’s Day Run Half Marathon near El Sobrante, CA is one of many races celebrating Mother’s Day couple weekends ago. This one, run within the San Pablo Reservoir Recreation Area, was a very nice, low-keyed, local race. With only 26 runners for the Half and 120 some runners total, including those for the companion 5M and 5K races, the race experience was at the opposite extreme from that of a big city race. Except for the first couple miles and around the turnaround point of the out-and-back course, I was mostly running by myself. Without other runners around me, my pace was probably somewhat slower than it would have been otherwise.

The race was well organized and the course was well marked, with planted arrows and signs and, on the ground, many pounds of organic flour (I think that’s what it was)! This was my second trail Half. As with the first one (Dances with Dirt at Devil's Lake), this course was a lot more varied and scenic than are typical urban road races. The first ~5 miles of the Half course was along the Old San Pablo Dam Road, which is also a good part of the Old San Pablo Trail. With the rough and uneven surface, several dry stream bed crossings, one cattle guard (crossed twice), and various other interesting terrain conditions, careful foot landings are essential!

The most challenging section of the course was the steep path up to the top of the Briones Reservoir Dam. For two particularly steep stretches of the path, where my forward speed was basically that of a walk, I just walked. After a scenic round-trip across the top of the dam, the return trip down from the dam was just as challenging—though for different reasons! This is where I definitely need more training—running down steep slopes without slowing too much. Discretion being the better part of valor, I ran down very conservatively, giving up a minute or two, to not chance a catastrophic fall! With each step, I was keenly and nervously aware of the IT bands doing their thing around the knees.

My time of 1:50:30 was about 4 minutes slower than my PR. But, for a trail Half, I was fairly satisfied. It was still my second fastest Half. I very easily won the Great Grand Master division, as well as my age group. ... Well, OK, it would have been really hard to not win both, my being the only one in both groups! J I did, however, finish 5^th overall (out of 26) and 4^th in the men’s division. I still started out at too fast a pace, which might have led to the slight slowdown during the second half of the course, though not as much as that at the Frederick Half a week earlier. The bump in pace around Miles 5 and 6 corresponds to the trek up the dam.

This was one of those “races of opportunity,” i.e., I was already going to be in the general area, so I just looked around for a race that was nearby and on a date that fit my schedule. It was a great experience. Excellent race director, friendly volunteers, lots of food. If a future “opportunity” for this race comes up, I definitely would run it again.

Marathon training continued to surprise (Frederick Half race report)

The Frederick Half Marathon, in historic Frederick, MD (location of several Civil War landmarks), is billed as “a big time race, with small town charm.” With some 3,600 runners, I suppose it’s a big time race, regionally. Small town charm, though, it definitely has. Long sections of the race are through residential neighborhoods, including one through what almost looks like some people’s backyards (!). Finish line is inside of the Frederick Fairgrounds.

First, a few miscellaneous observations:

- 30 minutes before race start, you feel like maybe you got to go again, but the potty lines are a mile long. Don’t panic! You just think you got to go! (Turned out to be the case. J)

- Your're dressed for the start rather than finish temperatures, because of the forecast windy conditions, and, 2 miles out, you’re heating up and frantically thinking ahead to the first planned water stop and how to remove the long sleeve shirt from under the short sleeve shirt. Don’t panic! And, don’t switch too soon. When the wind picks up in the more exposed second half of the course, you’ll be glad you didn't switch. (I was glad!)

- You try to run the tangents and, to your surprise, your GPS watch is right on the mark for all the miles and, for some, even slightly under. Don’t panic! You did not run “super tangents” (i.e., wrong side of traffic cones or arc across traffic circles). The course was probably measured not by tangents, but by some averaged track. (My watch ended up at 13.09)

- You plan for 2 water stops, at Miles 6 and 9, the latter advertised with Gu. Then, you get to Mile 9 and no Gu(!), or, somehow, you miss seeing it. Don’t panic! For a Half, it probably doesn't matter (at least for me).

- Between Miles 8 and 9, all of a sudden, your legs feel tired and doubt creeps into the mind as to whether they could keep up the pace. Don’t panic! Focus on form and wait for the second wind. (Mine came a couple miles later.)

I was coming off a week-long cold, during which I didn't run, so my legs were well-rested—and itchy. At the same time, my body overall was probably not at 100%. So, I repeatedly reminded myself to not start out too fast. But, I probably still ended up doing exactly that, and thus the slowdown in Miles 10 to 12.

Overall, I was quite happy with my time. This was my second Frederick Half; my time of 1:46:34 is a new PR. My previous 2 PRs were at the Walnut Creek Half (1:51:08, Dec. 2012) and the 2012 SunTrust Half (1:59:19, March 2012). I now have my sights on 1:40 (!), which I feel quite confidently as being realistic. As for the top finishers in my age group, they were down around 1:30, which I still feel, though not as confidently, is a feasible goal. J

In recent months, I've come to feel a certain confidence in running and racing that I've not felt before, most likely because of all the marathon training and the resulting stronger foundation. This is true both physically and mentally. I've more confidence in maintaining a faster pace. I've more confidence in attacking hills and being able to recover afterwards. As a result, I think I’m leaving much less behind on the course, when I cross the finish line. I believe in myself much more. I also think that at least part of the ~4.5 minute time drop came from the Boston Stands As One shirt I was wearing (!).

Now I must go to Boston

On this past Wednesday's morning run, I passed a young woman, also running, going in the opposite direction. We traded smiles. In itself, that act of one runner smiling at or saying hi to another runner is nothing unusual. It happens quite often. An unspoken acknowledgment of mutual understanding. It's one of the many pleasures of running. On this particular Wednesday morning, however, I like to think that what was exchanged between her and me was a special acknowledgment that we are family. A family that includes all the runners at last Monday's Boston Marathon, as well as all their supporters. A family that includes every runner who laces up a pair of shoes and heads out the door, to do what one loves so passionately, one step at a time. The running community is a highly self-selective one and, thus, is open to everyone. Running is such a positive, life-affirming act--an organic part of life. Running is both individualistic and, paradoxically, communal. It brings out the best in all of us. Running is so fitting a metaphor for life; it's how life ought to be lived.

I wasn't at Boston (through I'm training to qualify so I can be there, hopefully, in 2014). I figured, had I been there, my current marathon time would have put me near the finish line at Copley Square around the time the bombs went off. Thus, I feel a certain connection to the runners who were there. I don't know any of the people who were so grievously affected; yet, the losses feel personal.


Much have been written by many about their feelings and reactions to the horrific events in Boston: Shock, disbelief, sadness, heartache, anger, defiance, resolve. All were asking, what can I do to help, to contribute to the healing and recovery. Here are a couple ways that I've used: Boston Tribute Tee, with all profits donated to The One Fund Boston. Many have also expressed the strong feeling that the running must go on, that that is the best way to pay tribute to all who have lost so much. The Boston Marathon will be back next year bigger and stronger. I'd posted my previous piece, I want to go to Boston, last Sunday, the day before the race. Now I must go to Boston. Somehow, I will find a way to toe that starting line at Hopkinton.

I want to go to Boston

Well, yeah, doesn't everyone? Or, at least, doesn't every runner want to go to Boston?! I'm not sure how or when exactly, like an ear worm, the idea of trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon got into my head, but, ever since, it has firmly wedged itself in there. A few weeks ago, I joined the Run Your BQ (Boston qualifying) online community to help me chart a course to Boston. Lots of resources (training plans, videos, etc.) are available, and interactions with other similarly obsessed runners in the community are great. We understand each other. The Marine Corps Marathon (MCM) in October will be my BQ race. Being infected by the BQ ear worm has helped re-focus my training, after the two post-Rock 'n' Roll (RnR) USA recovery weeks. I'm currently in week 3 of a new 16-week program, aimed at (possibly) the Grandfather Mountain Marathon in July. After the latter, I'll begin a higher mileage program for MCM.

Having the goal of qualifying for Boston really changes the mental aspect of training. On those occasional mornings, when willing the body to go out and run is just a bit harder than usual, the BQ ear worm is quite effective! (Usually, it suffices just knowing that I've never gone out for a run and come back regretting it.) But, is it specifically Boston that effects the mental change? Or, is it any goal? Boston, of course, is kind of special, with all its history. But, could it be any of the other major marathons, or smaller local races, or a first 50K (into the ultra world!), or a first 50M, or, dare I dream, a first 100M! :) The answer must be yes; any goal helps effect the mental change that focuses one's training. Still, why does Boston seem to effect a sharper focus than did, e.g., RnR USA? I think the answer here, for me, is that Boston as a goal is more outside my comfort zone than was RnR. I see runners my age and older qualifying for Boston or running a sub-3:00 marathon (e.g., Ed Whitlock, Mike Fremont), and I think, wow, that's way past my comfort zone. But then again, it's at least feasible. And, as that ear worm becomes more and more familiar, more and more I think, hey, I can do that--I want to do that!

How do I reconcile my being a process-oriented person with the importance of having goals in running (or in other parts of life)? Well, the overall goal in running is my continual improvement and learning about myself in that process (!). Specific goals, like Boston, are simply markers (metrics) along the way, some more prominent than others, all ear worms that keep telling me that, yeah, you can do that!

Adaptation vs. aging curves

Back many, many years ago, when I was at the natural peak of long distance running potential, I didn't think much about training and just went out 5-6 mornings a week and ran 6 or so miles at an even easy pace of about 8:00. No speed work, no hill work, no tempo runs, no fartleks, none of that. I ran my first marathon and first 10K (both in Ithaca, NY) during that period. Both the marathon and 10K times (4:14 and 39:36, respectively) are still PRs. Since then, until 4-5 years ago, I continued to run, but at a just-to-stay-fit level (15-25 mi/wk). Since I started to more "seriously" run and race again, I've been chasing those earlier PRs. I'm currently at 4:22 for marathon (Mar. 2013) and 49:35 for 10K (Nov. 2012). I'll be trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon this October (MCM), and the 8-minute drop to a new marathon PR should be no problem. :) But, is a sub-40 10K still doable? Runners my age or older are doing it, so, obviously, it's feasible. But, what do I need to do to train and adapt, to do it myself? Likewise, a sub-3:00 for a marathon is also feasible for my age--and older! (See, e.g., Ed Whitlock and Mike Fremont.) But, how to get there? There's that story of someone asking Jascha Heifetz "Could you tell me how to get to Carnegie Hall?" to which Heifetz replied, "Yes, practice!" What was unstated was that the practice needs to be correct--else one becomes very good in playing badly! Similarly, the answer to how does one get to Boston (or any other time and distance goals in running) is not just training, but the right kind of training. I recently joined the Run Your BQ (Boston qualifying) online community to help guide me towards Boston.

The interplay between adaptation and aging is fascinating! From my time drops in recent races, I know that the adaptation curve is not actually a "curve," but rather a stair-stepped function, driven by a kind of running version of "punctuated equilibria." Does the same apply to the aging curve? Where are you along the adaptation and aging curves?

Managing (running) expectations (Rock 'n' Roll USA Marathon race report)

By any objective criterion, I should be extremely satisfied with my time for the Rock 'n' Roll USA Marathon two weekends ago. My time was more than 23 minutes faster than that of my two previous marathons (2012 Baltimore Marathon and 2011 Marine Corps Marathon). For this, I thank my road runners club's Winter Marathon Program; all that volume and those Sunday LSDs made the difference! My basic goal for the race was not to have to do those 4-5 minute walks, interspersed with the run, in the last 10K. I still walked but began later in the race and for much shorter duration. Up through Mile 19, I kept a fairly consistent target pace of ~9:30. Miles 20 and 21 were transitional. The last five miles are obviously where more work is needed for the next race.

Still, I largely achieved the goal of not having to take those long walks, thus resulting in the time drop. I should be very happy.

But, because I felt so much more prepared and confident than I had felt before Baltimore or MCM, I was expecting more--a new PR, perhaps even a Boston Qualifier! And, by these perhaps unrealistic criteria, I was kind of vaguely disappointed with what I had accomplished. Did I fail in managing my own expectations? At work, I use that term, "managing expectations," quite a bit. In fact, I'm currently doing exactly that for a project of mine, a victim of its own success!

So, wanting to know if I could have done better, I re-ran the race over and over in my head, from beginning to end. Perhaps what I'd thought--and felt--was a realistic sustainable pace for the first three 10Ks was still too fast. Perhaps I skipped one too many water stops. Perhaps I let doubt mess a bit too much with my head. Perhaps, despite the training and conscious awareness, I still left too much behind on the course. I also second-guessed all the pre-race preparations. Perhaps I didn't get enough sleep the night before. Perhaps I didn't eat enough for breakfast. Perhaps those Sunday LSDs, which went up to 22 miles, were not long enough. Perhaps the LSD pace, about a minute slower than the marathon pace, was too slow. Perhaps this; perhaps that. As a result of all this post-race quarterbacking, there are changes to my training that I'm contemplating. But whether or not my race expectations were realistic, I'm still not sure.

What I am sure of are three unfamiliar sensations that occurred during the last mile of the race: wooden legs, numbing forearms and hands, and mind zoning out. The latter is hard to describe. There was an otherworldliness aspect to it, as if I was on the verge of stepping into ... what? Simply fascinating!

By now, two weeks later, I am pretty much over that initial perhaps unjustified disappointment. I am focusing now on the fall MCM, with my next goal: to run my Boston Qualifier! :) I just joined the Run Your BQ training community, to guide me along. The first place guy in my age group in Rock 'n' Roll was faster than me by ~1 hr. 10 min! Disheartening, in a way; but, quite encouraging to know what is yet potentially possible--and, which would take me way past my BQ! :)

Running on Goo (not Gu!)

I've been running in my Merrell Trail Glove for over a year now. My total mileage for 2012 was over 1,000. That's at least double the generally recommended maximum mileage for a pair of shoes. See, e.g., REI's advice on this (though, in the case of minimalist shoes, REI's three guides for determining when to replace shoes don't quite apply!). The Trail Glove has turned out to be such great shoes for me, and I was loath to replace them, especially when only the outsoles have worn out a bit (more so on the right, due to some natural anatomical differences). So, since last fall, I've been Shoe Goo'ing the Trail Glove, with each application yielding another 100 miles or so. To keep the newly applied liquid Goo in place, I'd first staple a paper barrier along the sides of the shoes:

And, after drying and curing, good as new (almost!):

There could be other Goo-like products that would also do the job. Shoe Goo was just what REI carried. I'm on my third tube now. So, for less than $15, I've extended the life of the Trail Glove twice what is generally recommended--so far.

NB: I'm not recommending that anyone do this with his or her shoes. It's just that, for me, this works; though, I suppose, eventually, I'd have to move on! :(

Running forward ... on climate

I confess this is actually not about running. It's about yesterday's Forward On Climate Rally in Washington D.C. (See, e.g., http://350.org/en/about/blogs/stunning-40000-rally-dc-forward-climate). The march around the White House was the largest climate march in U.S. history. But, this is supposed to be a running blog, so I suppose I ought to make some connections to running. Well, I did see some runners running through the crowd of demonstrators. Hmm, that's kind of weak. Oh, how about the number of attendees at the rally (estimated at 35,000 to 40,000) is about the size of the field of a major marathon. :) See, I knew there was a connection! And, just as with runners, the wind chill in the teens did not deter the attendees.

We owe it to our children and all future generations.

The main thing I want to say is that I came away from the event hopeful. Not that any major climate legislation will soon come out of Congress (ha!). Not that President Obama will reject the Keystone XL pipeline. What I am hopeful about is the the multi-generational makeup of the crowd, from grandparents to young kids; the people who came from all across this nation; and, particularly the younger generation (many students) passionately engaged in something larger than themselves.

Just one example, not directly related to the rally itself. There were several homeless people huddled on the side of 15th St., NW, along the march route, in plain sight of the White House. A number of the marchers, in their 20's, stopped and dug through their backpacks for packages of food and left them with the homeless. They didn't ignore; didn't gawk; didn't pity. Someone was hungry and they fed him.

Running WBS

A couple weeks ago, for various scheduling and weather-related reasons, I had to run indoors on a treadmill--not one of my favorite activities. One of the scheduled runs in my running club's winter marathon training (WMT) program was a 10-miler, and I was desperately looking for a way to avoid boredom. Here's what I ended up with that worked for me to mentally get through that 10-miler on the treadmill. I began at ~10:30 pace (5.7 mph), which is my current LSD pace in the Sunday long runs for the WMT program. After the first 1/4 mile, I increased the speed by 0.1 mph. Then, after another 1/4 mile, I increased the speed by another 0.1 mph. And so on until I got to 7.5 mph or 8:00 pace. I then reversed and went back in a similar way until I reached 5.7 mph again (with a few steps repeated to get to 10 miles total). With each increment or decrement of speed, I focused on that specific 1/4 mile, which went by pretty quickly. For some of the 1/4 miles, I counted my steps, coordinated with my breathing (one count per two steps). For others, I focused on form (e.g., landing on the balls of my feet behind the big and second toes). Thus, I got through that 10-mile run without too much problem, a workout that's as much--if not more--mental as physical!

What I did for that run is kind of like the WBS (Work Breakdown Structure) that is commonly used in my workplace, a project management tool to decompose the total work into smaller components, each of which and the sum total of which are then more manageable. And, some of the components can proceed concurrently. Long distance running as project management? To some extent. But, alas, one can't break a 20-mile run down to 20 one-milers and run them in parallel!

How do you pass the time on long treadmill runs?

It's all relative (2)

The soothing warm water from the shower felt good. As the water flowed down the rear right ankle, I felt a tingling sensation. I was still recovering from the morning run, so it took a few seconds before I realized that what I'd felt towards the end of the run was not--as I'd feared--some possible injury to the Achilles tendon, but rather just a blister. I smiled. I've been pretty fortunate, over all these years of running, that I've rarely gotten injured. Perhaps it's the natural way I run; perhaps I'm just lucky. Even over the last several years, as I trained for the Marine Corps Marathon, the Baltimore Marathon, and, currently, the Rock ‘n’ Roll USA Marathon, with the weekly mileage significantly higher than my typical just-stay-in-shape average mileage, I've remained fairly injury free. I did, however, experience two relatively minor injuries. The first one was because of a too-fast transition from a pair of traditional running shoes to Nike Free. (That was the first step in my transition to minimalist shoes, currently at Vibram Fivefinger, with a pair of huaraches, the Tarahumara running sandals, waiting for warmer weather.) The second one was that from one of my morning runs in Paris last August. It was the latter injury that was on my mind, when I'd felt something in my right rear ankle during that recent morning run. So, I was so relieved when it turned out to be just a blister. It's all relative.

This incident got me thinking and reading about the high percentage of runners who get injured. So far, I've just dipped a little into the literature on this topic. Here's one quote (that, unfortunately, I forgot to note the reference at the time, sorry): "average of 4 injuries per 1,000 hours of running. This means that if you are running 5-10 hours per week, you could potentially get 2 injuries per year. Further, epidemiological studies estimate that between 19% and 79% of runners sustain an overuse injury in a 1 year period." And, here's another one, with the reference link ("The Analysis of Injury Rates in Running"): "... half of the running population gets injured in some way every year." So, the big question is why the injury rate of runners is so high. As the author of this reference stated, "If we hold the running man theory to be correct, then the only conclusion to be made is that a 50% injury rate is not inherent to our species. If it was in fact inherent to humans we would simply not [have] been a viable species." The author's hypothesis is that "habitually barefoot people who have a life long history of running are at the least risk of running injury, but as yet no conclusive research exists to support this idea." This hypothesis is consistent with another study on the Biomechanical Analysis of Injured Minimalist Runners, which suggests that "running in minimalist footwear without proper minimalist running form predisposes a runner to injury." I'll come back to this, as I read more into this intriguing topic. Here are couple more pages from Daniel Lieberman's Web site at Harvard University (Running Before the Modern Running Shoe and Why Consider Foot Strike?). Related paper is in Nature (Foot strike patterns and collision forces in habitually barefoot versus shod runners; Lieberman et al., 2010; abstract only; payment required for full paper).

I'd love to hear about your experience with running injuries (or no injuries!).

Running tetherless

A few days ago, my cell phone battery died, and I spent that entire day without the phone--tetherless, as it were. Now, this usage of "tetherless" is different from the currently more common usage meaning "wireless," as in, e.g., Tetherless World Constellation; although the general meaning of "tetherless" (i.e., not tied down to something) does apply to both usages, as it also does to my usage in this post. So, let me define the specific usage in "running tetherless." Over the many years of running, before I finally got a GPS watch, I've accumulated a good number of routes of various distances, each of which has been estimated from my time and average pace. (After I got the GPS watch, these estimates of distances turned out to be surprisingly good.) Thus, on a given morning, if I want to do an 8-mile run, I'd pick from the handful of 8-mile routes. The benefit of training this way is that, even without accurate GPS tracking, I could accurately track my progress by just timing each run, because distance is a constant for a given route. The downside is that, after so many years, all 57 of the routes, ranging from 2 to 18 miles, have become more or less too familiar. I felt tethered. "Running tetherless," then, means running untethered to any pre-determined route.

What's different running tetherless? An even greater sense of freedom--to explore neighborhoods previously unseen, to satisfy on-the-spot curiosity about some inviting side street or trail, to run whichever direction just because I feel like it. In fact, this is why I so love running in a new place when traveling; it's the best way to get to know a new place!

Of course, to be completely tetherless, I'd have to leave my GPS watch at home and just run free. But, I am in the middle of a winter marathon training program (aimed at the upcoming March Rock 'n' Roll USA Marathon), and I feel like I should more closely track my progress. Perhaps, between the spring and fall marathons, I'll try running free of anything--tetherless--just for the sheer joy of it!