Vibram, my two-cents

Literally two. One of them, Vibram probably wouldn't mind hearing about. The other, not as much.

First cent is the class action lawsuit brought against Vibram by Valerie Bezdek in March of 2012. Here’s from a Runner’s World article, Vibram Agrees to Settle Class Action Lawsuit: “The gist of her claim is that Vibram illegally obtained an economic windfall from her because it was only by making false health claims that Vibram induced consumers to buy FiveFingers shoes, and to pay more for them than they would have otherwise.” There has been a whole lot written about the lawsuit, many of them focusing on the sensational. Here are couple reasoned perspectives on the lawsuit, from The Science of Sport and Natural Running Center. Vibram probably overstated to some extent, but the consumer bears some responsibility for the proper use of a product. Anyone who expects to put on a new pair of Vibram FiveFingers (VFF) and, within a short period of time, be able to regularly run in them without injury is being unreasonable. My own transition to minimalist shoes occurred smoothly and injury-free but over the course of about a year and a half, starting with Nike Free, followed by Merrell Trail Glove and then VFF. Currently, I alternate between the VFF and New Balance Minimus 10. I’m a natural mid-foot striker, so I didn't have to make as big a change in my running form as would those who are heal-strikers. But, that’s precisely the point, isn't it? As Christopher McDougall said, “It's not what is on your feet, it's what your feet are doing.”

I actually have a second pair of VFF that I use indoors on the treadmill. So, my second cent is that I haven’t felt the need to replace my first pair, in which I've been running for almost two years now. There's no support provided by the uppers of VFFs anyways. So, as long as they are intact, they're doing their job.

As for the soles, there are not much data on the relationship between miles run and injury. Shoe life could range from couple hundreds to couple thousands of miles. For the VFF, there's minimal cushioning to begin with, so there's no loss of cushioning as an indicator for replacement. The main role of VFF soles is to provide some protection from surface roughness (e.g., small sharp objects) that would otherwise be unpleasant or hazardous to the bare feet. As long as the outer Vibram layer is not worn through and exposing the layer underneath, the protection remains. One way to always have an intact Vibram layer is to replace the VFF every so many miles. The other (my) way is to extend the life of the VFF by repairing the soles with Shoe Goo. Here's what they look like, after the latest repair.

And here's a close-up.

Any resulting unevenness from the application of Shoe Goo gets smoothed out after a run. At about $5 a tube, I could get a year's worth of running in my VFF for $10-$15. I run almost 2,000 miles a year. Because I use the VFF for about half of my runs, I figure, over the two years I've had my first pair of VFF, I'm close to putting 2,000 miles on it. If Vibram were to sell their shoes less expensively, I may replace them more frequently. But, at current prices, I'm going to just continue repairing and extending the life of my pair of VFF, until it really falls apart. I love running in them!

Running down to one's potential

It's been five weeks since that somewhat traumatic, unfinished run in the Abebe Bikila Day International Peace Marathon. Whatever had happened to my lower back around Mile 10 of that race has mostly recovered. I've been very diligent in doing my core exercises! My next marathon is Harrisburg in early November, so the current training cycle is a shortened and modified one, with just four long runs. The first one is a 13-mile test run, two weeks after Abebe Bikila, followed by runs of 16, 18, and 20 miles (this past Sunday). This week is the first of a modified 3-week taper,

Starting with the 16-mile run, I made one important change. In previous long runs, I'd run most of the second half miles at or slightly faster than my Boston qualifying (BQ) goal marathon pace (GMP), but I'd take a walking water break with about 1-2 miles to go and then run home at ~GMP plus 30 seconds. During this 16-mile run, it occurred to me that finishing long runs at a slower pace is not what my body--and mind--should get used to! So, I delayed the cool-down and finished the last three miles at 11, 23, and 28 seconds faster than GMP, smiling all the way home. :) I similarly ran the 18 and 20 miles, with generally negative splits from start to finish. As shown in the pace chart, in all three runs, I took planned walking water and Gu breaks at Miles 5, 11, and 15 (except for the 16-miler). I finished the 18- and 20-mile runs at GMP minus 50-55 seconds.

I feel good about how this training cycle has progressed and, in particular, the higher quality of the long runs. I attribute the latter to another key change I made after Abebe Bikila, which is reducing the training volume by about 25%. Previously, I'd labored just to get the second half of my long run pace down to around BQ GMP. Now, I'm running the last miles of long runs at GMP minus 30-60 seconds. Although these end of the run miles were not exactly easy, they're not major struggles either. In fact, I was quite surprised, at the end of the 18-mile run, when I saw 8:05 for the last mile. My main goal for Harrisburg is to just finish (given the DNF at Abebe Bikila). But, feeling strong from these recent long runs, I've been thinking about what is my current realistic marathon potential. Plugging in my half marathon PR in the Runner's World race times predictor results in the following chart, which shows the predicted times of shorter races very close to my actual PRs. For the marathon, however, the predicted time is about 17 minutes faster than my PR of 3:59:23 or about 3:42, which would take me way past my threshold BQ!

Are these 17 minutes currently realizable? The predicted times for marathons, more than those for shorter races, depend on all the stars being aligned on race day. Given my current level of fitness, is it just a matter of running down to my potential? Or, is more training needed to achieve a higher level of fitness, at which, even if the stars are slightly misaligned on race day, the potential could still be realized? Another way to think about the change I've made in recent long runs is I've been training, albeit for an abbreviated period, for a GMP that's faster than my BQ GMP. Will find out in Harrisburg. Oh, wait, I was planning to just finish ...

Hitting the wall ...

... in a two-mile race. What?

Couple days ago at work, I ran the semi-annual "Fun Run" that winds through parts of the Goddard campus. Though labeled as "fun," it's actually quite competitive. My first year running this was in 1997, with a time of 14:57, still my PR for the course. From 1997 to 2012, my times had ranged from 17:25 (2005) to 15:40 (2012). During this period, I mostly ran to just stay in shape. Then, in the Spring 2013 race, after having completed my first 16-week marathon training program and the Rock 'n' Roll USA marathon a month earlier, I finished the two miles in 14:59, just two seconds slower than my PR from 16 years earlier. Adaptation staying ahead of aging. :) The next two runs (Fall 2013 and Spring 2014) came in at 15:11 and 15:07.

That the average pace for 14:57 is 7:29 has been bothering me. Sure, in many aspects, shorter races (say, up to 10K) are harder to run than are longer endurance races. But, my PR paces for 10K and 5K are 7:32 and 7:23, respectively. (The 7:32 is my "modern" PR; my all-time 10K PR is 6:23. But, that's another story.) So, it's been puzzling me why I couldn't seem to go much under 15:00 for two miles. Granted, the Pikes Peek 10K course is slightly net downhill. But, the Mercy 5K course is over rolling hills and on par in difficulty with the Fun Run course, which has hills in the middle half of the first mile and in the last half mile. I figured, with the Fun Run being a mile shorter than the 5K, I should be able to go at least 8 seconds faster (7:15) and sustain that.

That was in my mind, when the race began. I don't know exactly at how fast a pace I started, but I think it was at least 7:15--and, as it soon turned out, way too fast. I was feeling good until around the half mile point and still going up the hill. Then, quite suddenly, the legs were burning, to the point that I even had a momentary thought of stopping. I didn't; but my pace significantly slowed. I had hit the wall, or at least my two-mile version of it. Obviously, only 3-4 minutes into the race, it was not a matter of glycogen depletion, as it is when one hits the marathon wall at around Mile 20. But, I was running too fast, based on my training, and the body's lactate clearance couldn't keep up with its production, resulting in the burn. I guess the principle is the same, whether for marathons or two-milers: One can't run at a pace for which one didn't specifically train--duh! Start too fast, will hit the wall, or some analog of it. Now, had I stopped and walked a bit, I would have recovered fairly quickly. But, in a two-mile race, there's no time to catch up! As it happened, I didn't stop but slowed until the burn dissipated and then picked up the pace. But, the damage was done. I finished in 16:11.

The point I keep making, mostly to myself, is that I regularly run two miles, as part of longer races or training runs, at paces that are not too far off my 7:29 two-mile PR pace. In the 2013 MCM 17.75K, Miles 6-8 were all at around 7:45. In last weekend's 18-miler, the last two miles were at 8:25 and 8:05. In recent weekly tempo runs (8 miles total), the last two of the middle four tempo miles were at 7:40. It just seems I should be able to sustain a 7:15 or faster, when the entire run is only two miles. I think the clue to why I've not yet been able to go faster is all these other two-mile paces were achieved well into the race or run, after I've had time to get into a nice rhythm, smooth and light. (See also the article, "Pace yourself.")

So, the counterpoint must be, in a short two-mile race, there's no time to get into any rhythm--unless one has specifically trained for such a distance. As for why I ran this week's Fun Run in a relatively sluggish 16:11, there are several possible "on any given day" reasons. This week is the last hard workout week of my current 16-week marathon training cycle. The day before the Fun Run was a hard workout of 10 x 90-second hill repeats (9 miles total, including warm-up and cool-down), so I was not well rested. The weather was warm and humid (near 100%). I couldn't get away from work early enough, so I'd to rush to get to the start line. There are other possible reasons, but the main underlying reason must be that I've been training for marathons and not two-mile races. The principle of training specificity!

My plan for 2015, then, is to apply this principle. I plan to skip the early spring marathon and target one towards the end of May. Before starting the training cycle for the latter, I plan to use the winter months to do more shorter-race-specific training, aimed at the spring Pikes Peek 10K and Mercy 5K, as well as the spring Fun Run. Should be fun!

The Core Curriculum (Abebe Bikila Day International Peace Marathon race report)

It wasn't quite life flashing before my eyes; but, for sure, 16 weeks of hard training flashed by around Mile 13 of the Abebe Bikila Day International Peace Marathon three weekends ago. I first began feeling that something was not quite right just past Mile 10. The legs felt way more tired than they should have at that point in the race, and the lower back muscles felt tight. That feeling gradually intensified, over the next three miles. I brought up and tried every mental routine I'd practiced in training runs, to try to calm the growing turmoil in the mind. I tried fartlek, to see if that would wake up the legs. All to no avail. I puzzled over why and frustratingly tried to find a way out of the predicament. The race course was out and back from Fletcher's Cove, along the C&O Canal Towpath (just to the right/east of the Potomac River), westward to just beyond I-495, 6.55 miles each way, done twice (see map, lower right to upper left). As I approached Fletcher's Cove, at the end of the first

13.1 miles, I managed to only slightly pick up my pace; and, as I made the turnaround (just under the "FINISH" banner in photo), I managed a weak smile, in acknowledgment of

all the staff, volunteers, and spectators cheering on the runners. Although my average pace at the turnaround was still on track to qualify for Boston (I needed a 5-minute PR), I knew I was in deep trouble--even though I didn't yet want to admit that to myself. As I headed back towards I-495, for the second 13.1, the tightening of the lower back worsened. I felt as I was running with the upper body inclined backward and with a wobbly core. Mile 14, as shown by the pace chart, was when things really fell apart. (By comparison, even the mini-disaster that was Wineglass 2013 seems fleet-footed!)

I started to run/walk and tried to consciously relax the back muscles. I continued to hope that all the problems would just go away, even as I debated with myself whether to keep going and try to just finish, or to stop and head back to Fletcher's Cove--and to my first DNF in 10 marathons. That internal debate continued over the next 5-6 miles, as I walked more and more, with periodic stretching of the back muscles. Finally, at around Mile 19, I very reluctantly decided to pull myself off the course at an aid station and eventually got a ride back to Fletcher's Cove.

How does one know when to stop and when to keep going? In hindsight, I should have stopped and headed back to Fletcher's earlier and not have risked potentially serious injury. But, a DNF is really, really, really hard to swallow! I argued to myself that, if I could just make it to the turnaround beyond I-495, I should then be able to at least finish the race. Alas, that was not to be. I'm glad, though, that the prudent part of me finally prevailed at Mile 19.

I've been rerunning this race ever since that weekend, trying to figure out what had happened. The biggest lesson, of course, is the importance of the core; without it, the rest collapses. Or, as Greg McMillan put it the other way, "When your core is strong, everything else will follow." It's not as I've been slackening in my core curriculum, so to speak; I've been conscientiously doing all my homework. Maybe I need to do the extra credit assignments as well! It was drizzling on and off throughout the first half of the race, with a short period of moderate rain as I neared Mile 13. At the time, I wondered if getting wet and cold from that rain might have been culpable. But, I've gotten wet and cold on many a training runs. So, what else could have been the causes? There were several start times scheduled. Thinking optimistically, I opted for 9 am, the one that counted for (age) awards. :) But, to be sure of a parking space near the start line, I got there around 7 am and waited. Did I get too stiff, sitting in the car? I did warm up, just before the start, with a 7-8 minute run, followed by dynamic stretching. Did I overstretch? My first three miles were at 22, 20, and 4 seconds faster than goal marathon pace (GMP). (After Wineglass, I should have known better!) Was I paying for those early miles later on? The C&O Canal Towpath is mostly a gravelly surface. I knew it probably meant a somewhat slower pace, but did it adversely affect my running form? The back part of the out and back course is down river, and, after each lock of the canal, there's a short downslope stretch of loose gravel and sand. Did I get too greedy and run those too fast? Don't really know. Could be.

More likely a reason for what happened, I now think, is over-training plus not being well-rested the day before the race. A previously scheduled event that day kept me up late into the evening, which, combined with getting up at 4 am the morning of the race, resulted in not nearly enough sleep. The weekend before the race, I ran a 5K that I'd planned to use as a taper run. But, once that gun went off, I raced it. Definitely a mistake. But, it was fun! :) Two weekends before the race, I ran my last long run (of 21 miles) before taper on the actual Towpath race course, kind of a dress rehearsal and something I don't usually have the opportunity to do. It was 92 F when I finished. So, the instruction for that day's run would be out and back, wring, and repeat. How hot was it? It was so hot I could wring a substantial amount of sweat out of my socks at the end. It was so hot my net weight loss for the run was ~5 lbs--after all the post-run water and food and, after I got home, lunch. That run took an awful lot out of me, which, at the time, I didn't fully appreciate. The 16-week training cycle for this race went really well, in the sense that I did practically every workout according to plan, and then some (e.g., most of the miles in the second half of long runs were at GMP or faster). In hindsight, though, I did too many hard workouts, without paying enough attention to the rest and recovery part of training. I shortchanged "recovery as training." That certain dull achiness around the eyes that I'd felt the day before and on the morning of the race was, I now realize, an incipient flu-like symptom. And, indeed, after the race, I did end up with some sort of mild head cold--a rare event for me--though it only lasted a few days.

In hindsight, I should have skipped that entire last hard workout week and opted for a modified 3-week taper, instead of the planned 2-week taper. If 90% of the outcome of a race is determined before one even gets to the start line, then what happened to me three weekends ago had already been determined over the course of the previous 16 weeks. I wasn't ready to race that morning. (For more on training fatigue, see this related article.)

There was no medal, of course. But I do have the shirt, which shows Abebe Bikila, the great Ethiopian runner (who famously won the 1960 Olympics marathon while running barefoot) for whom this race was organized and named. Despite what had happened, though, I had a good experience

overall, with lessons learned from the core curriculum! The race course was beautiful; fellow runners were supportive; organization was really well done; staff and volunteers were superb. And, I love injera! I'm especially thankful to the DC Capital Striders at Lock 10 for helping me get back to Fletcher's Cove. I'm planning to run this marathon in 2015, regardless whether I BQ before then. I need to finish this course!

Next up is Harrisburg in early November, for which I'm not even thinking about BQ. Recovery is going well, as is the ramping back up of workouts. My modified plan for the current shortened training cycle: Lower volume, higher quality runs, 3-week modified taper, and being totally 

rested for race day. Goal? Finish the race!

Meditation on the run

That beautiful, ecstatic smile of mine at the finish line of a race ... almost never happens. More typically, a photo of me as I approach or cross the finish line would show a gaping mouth dominating a grimacing face. Now, I don't think I run like that throughout the entire race, but I do quite often towards the end, with legs more fatigued, focus less sharp, and mind more wandering. In part to improve my race mug shots, I began, in recent months, to consciously practice my race finish. Deliberate practice, I should add. (Though controversy surrounds Malcolm Gladwell's 10,000 hour rule, I think, as a general rule, it makes sense. Correct practice makes perfect! Gladwell recently tried to clarify what he'd meant, i.e., natural ability requires a huge investment of time in order to be made manifest.) So, as I near the finish of training runs, I practice being mindful of a mid-foot placement, of relaxing facial and upper body muscles, of a straight back, of a strong back kick--of good form in general; I practice being mindful of running through the finish line; and I practice being mindful of smiling all the way through (!). Just thinking I should smile is not enough. It has to be practiced to such an extent that it's second nature, because the thought of smiling will almost always get lost in the turmoil of the mind at the end of a race.

The turmoil of the mind. Of course, that's present throughout a race. It's 90% mental! To quell some of that turmoil, especially towards the end of the race, I also began, recently, a certain counting/breathing/striding routine, during the last mile of a run. I'd breathe in through the nose for 2 strides (e.g., left, right) and breathe out through the nose for 2 strides; then breathe in through the nose for 2 strides and breathe out through the mouth for 2 strides; and finally breathe in through the mouth for 2 strides and breathe out through the mouth for 2 strides, while audibly increment the count by 1. So, an example of the sequence would be like this:

Nose breathing 2-2 (2 strides in-2 strides out)
Nose/mouth breathing 2-2
Mouth breathing 2-2, audibly count one
Nose breathing 2-2
Nose/mouth breathing 2-2
Mouth breathing 2-2, audibly count two
...
Nose breathing 2-2
Nose/mouth breathing 2-2
Mouth breathing 2-2, audibly count ten

Then, I'd repeat the sequence of 10 counts with 3-3 breathing (3 strides in-3 strides out). These two sets of 10 counts (2-2 and 3-3) would cover 0.15 to 0.2 mi., depending on how fast I'm running. So, for the last mile of a run, I'd cycle through 5-7 repeats of these two sets. What's interesting is the similarity of this counting to meditation, except it's meditation on the run. And, similar to meditation, it's not easy! The slightest distraction (e.g., passing someone coming the other direction, a kid waiting at the street corner for the school bus, the landscaper guys mowing the grass) and, sometimes, no apparent distraction would throw the routine off. It takes deliberate practice. Also similar to meditation, while I'm concentrating on the counting routine, I remain very aware of how I'm running; I'm mindful of my form and of my surroundings. I think this practice helps me run better the last few miles of races. Coincidentally, I came across this recent related article on "Comfort in Discomfort: Why Mental Practice Matters." Very interesting!

Now, I just need to add a smile to the end of each count, and I'll be ready for the photographer at the finish line!

Treadmill as pacer

I'm almost at the end of Week 15 in my training plan for the September 13 marathon. The previous week (Week 14) was the last one of hard workouts before the two-week taper leading up to the race. That Thursday was a 5-mile tempo workout, with two miles at either end, for a total of nine miles. I ran to the local high school track for the tempo part. Based on my PR paces for 5K and 10K, I was aiming for somewhere between 7:45 and 8:00. But, try as I might, I just couldn't do it and ended up with 8:07, 8:07, 7:58, 8:05, and 8:00. Given that fatigue is 90% mental--right? :)--I knew that, physically, I could have run faster. In fact, in Week 13, which had identical workouts as those of Week 14, I ran the five tempo miles at exactly the paces of 8:00, 7:54, 7:48, 7:42, and 7:48. It was raining that morning, and, uncharacteristically (!), I wimped out and went downstairs and ran on the treadmill. It was a hard workout, but I'd no problems keeping up with the moving belt. In fact, I barely noticed any difference in effort, from mile to mile, as I decreased the time by six seconds each.

In thinking about these two tempo runs, it occurred to me that a treadmill is basically a pacer ... of the strict kind. The kind that absolutely enforces the pace. Can't keep up? Off the belt! This strict enforcement, though, obviates much of the 90% mental work and results in a perceived effort that's lower than that on the track or road, for the same pace. This difference is one of the reasons doing too much training on a treadmill is not good preparation for actual races. The lowered perceived effort is also why pacers are so important, particularly in the latter segments of ultra races, when the mental work becomes harder and harder. In the Western States 100, for example, pacers are allowed beginning from the Foresthill aid station (Mile 62). In a recent article in Runner's World, Laura Beachy wrote about her first 100-miler, the 2014 Umstead 100 Mile Endurance Run. Of her "15-pieces of semi-wisdom," the one I like the best is "Pacers are electrolytes for the soul." Although I've not yet ventured into the ultra world, I feel I know exactly what she meant.

Running in thin air (Copper Mountain Half Marathon race report)

Two weekends ago, I ran the Copper Mountain Half Marathon (at Copper Mountain Resort near Frisco, CO), at the end of a week-long conference at the same place. This was my second trail race and first one at high elevation (9,600 ft). Given

the uncertainty of the effect of the elevation, I was fairly satisfied with my time of 2:27:50. It was more than 40 minutes slower than my PR for half marathons but still good enough for third place in my age group. The course was a tough one (tougher than the Dances with Dirt at Devil's Lake Half), mostly up and down and across the ski slopes of Copper Mountain. A good part of the course was on the Colorado Trail, from which the following photo was taken, just above Center Village, where the race start-finish line was located (next to the partially hidden circle at the center of the photo).

Here's a view of the circle from the opposite direction, taken from my hotel room, conveniently located near both the conference building and the race start-finish line.

The course was basically a 5K loop to the west (right), a segment of which was on the Colorado Trail, and a 5K out-and-back to the east (left), completely on the Colorado Trail, both run twice. The 5K loop included an additional (uphill!) segment for the second time around, to get the total distance to 13.1. The 5K out-and-back was mostly single track, so, in addition to looking downward for obstacles, one had to look upward for oncoming runners. Running the course twice had its pros and cons. On the one hand, I knew what was coming up next; on the other hand, I knew what was coming up next (especially those steep segments!). It was definitely helpful, though, to be able to anticipate some of the footing (rocks, roots, and other obstacles) the second time. Even so, the only time the soles of my shoes sufficiently brushed a protruding rock to cause a near face-plant was during the second running of the 5K loop. "Good catch!" the guy behind me encouragingly called out. I credit my ability to have made that recovery to all those core exercises over the past couple years.

This year's course had to be partly changed by the race organizers (Endurance Race Series), because of a previously scheduled bike race on the same day that included the Ten Mile Canyon National Recreation Trail (west of Copper Mountain, towards the Vail Pass) that previously was part of the Copper Half.

I think, in previous years, an out-and-back segment along this trail accounted for about half of the race, which would mean that the 5K loop and 5K out-and-back from the Center Village circle were run only once. When I first heard about this year's course change, I was kind of disappointed, because I was looking forward to the gorgeous scenery along the trail. Here are some views from a morning run a few days before the race. (So envious of the local runners!)

This year's modified, more forested course, over more difficult terrain, however, was also quite scenic, in a more subdued way. So, I'm not complaining much.

The Copper Half was one of five different races over both days of the weekend. There were less than 100 runners for the half and a few hundreds total for all the races combined. So, for me, it was quite different from the usual large urban races--and, quite a nice change! Race logistics were all done well, by the entire staff of friendly people. The course was well described in detail by the race organizers before the start of the race, which was quite helpful (e.g., for the 5K out-and-back, go slow on the wet rocks when crossing the creek!). There were two water stations along the 5K loop and one at the start-finish line by the Center Village circle. There were no stations along the 5K out-and-back, because of the lack of car access to the Colorado Trail; but, that was not a big problem, given the short distance. There was a post-race pasta lunch for all the runners. 

The turnaround point of the 5K out-and-back was marked by three small orange traffic cones. There were two other runners near me, when I got to the turnaround the first time. The three of us briefly stood there and discussed whether these cones indeed marked the turnaround, before concluding they did and heading back. The cones were not monitored. But, it's hard to imagine any runner, by him/herself, would take advantage of the situation and prematurely turn around. No runner would want a race result with an asterisk, even if no one else knew.

Some suggestions for the race organizers:

1. Arrange with the Copper Mountain Resort management for late checkouts for all runners. Regular checkout time was 10 am (early!), and I'd to try really hard to get the front desk person to extend the time to even 11 am. The race began at 8 am, which meant, by the time I finished, I had about 30 minutes to get back to my room, shower, and check out. That front desk person was definitely, to put it charitably, not customer-focused!

2. Have a vegetarian option for the post-race pasta lunch.

3. Try not to schedule the race on the same weekend that a dance festival was also taking place. The latter was located right next to the Center Village circle, near my room, and had music (noise) blasting away from mid-morning Saturday until past midnight. Not the best situation to try and rest before the race!

I was very glad I had a few days during the conference week prior to the race to somewhat acclimate to running at 9,600 ft; still, the elevation probably was more a factor than the lack of trail training. Different people respond to high elevation differently. Some of the conference attendees had trouble breathing, difficulty in sleeping, headaches, etc. For me, although I definitely felt the effect in my breathing, it was not that noticeable. Running, especially uphill, however, was a different story. I felt the thinner air not just in the lungs but also in the legs. One interesting observation I made was that, below a certain percent grade, it was actually easier to slowly run up the slope than to walk it. I’m not sure if that’s because different muscles are involved, or the same muscles but used differently. The aftereffects of this race lingered longer than those of marathons. The fact that, right after the race, I'd to quickly get on the road to get to Denver and catch a flight was probably also contributory. The Copper Half was at the end of Week 7 in my current 16-week training cycle for a September marathon. That Sunday's long run should have been 16 miles, but the race more than made up for the shorter distance with intensity!

Trail races are definitely more fun to run, compared with urban road races. If another Endurance Race Series opportunity comes up the next time I'm in Colorado, I'd definitely run it. Trail or not, I now know I can race at 9,600 ft!

Running on the run

The main downside of those introductory tour packages (e.g., see Europe in 10 days) is the lack of time for morning runs. Recently, my family did a Trafalgar London to Rome Highlights “cost-saver” tour (6 cities in 9 days!) that was very efficiently organized, with an excellent tour guide—a great way to see a lot within a limited time period. But, it was really hard to get in the morning runs. In contrast, in the 2012 trip to Paris, we're travelling by ourselves and setting our own schedule, and I was able to do several really nice, crowd-less, early morning runs, especially that memorable 8-mile sightseer!

On this trip, I'd to skip running in London, because of a weather-related delayed arrival, and didn't get in a run until the second day in Paris. It was still dark (~5 am), when I stepped out from the hotel (Mercure Paris La Défense 5), but I soon regretted not bringing a camera. By the time I got to the Place de la Défense, in front of La Grande Arche, the early morning light was enough to get a really nice view down the Av. de la Grande Armée of the Arc de Triomphe in night lights. Here's approximately the same view from Google Maps, except in daylight. The Arc de Triomphe is the very small feature just to the left of center. Later that day, we were up on the first level of the Tour

Eiffel and can easily see our hotel in La Défense to the northwest (to the right of the distant skyscrapers in the photo, with the Jardins du Trocadéro in the foreground). The Arc de Triomphe was not quite three miles from the hotel and a round-trip would have made for a nice, easy run. But, no time!

So, where would I have gone for my morning runs, had I had more time? The following are my "virtual runs."

In London (~8-mile run): From our hotel west of the city, go east through Kensington Gardens towards Westminster Abbey, then along the north bank of the River Thames to the Tower of London, cross the

Tower Bridge, come back along the south bank of the river, passing Shakespeare's Globe and the London Eye, cross the river back to Westminster Abbey and then to the hotel.

In Paris (~10-mile run): From our hotel, east southeast along the Av. de la Grande Armée, pass the Arc de Triomphe, continue along the Av. des Champs-Élysées, pass the Jardin des Tuileries, cross La Seine to the Cathédrale Notre-Dame and on to the Quartier Latin, through this very narrow Rue du Château Qui Pêche, just off the 

Quai Saint-Michel, through Le Jardin du Luxembourg, to Rue du Montparnasse, where one could not go hungry (at least from lack of crêpes; Crêperie Le Petit Josselin, on the left, is where we had a delicious dinner; order cider!), and back to the hotel, by way of the Tour Eiffel.

In Lucerne (~5-mile run): From hotel, a few short blocks to the edge of Lake Lucerne, out and back to the east along the shore, back to city center, across the Kapellbrücke (Chapel Bridge), through the city streets to the 

Löwendenkmal (Lion Monument), just north of city center (dedicated to the Swiss mercenaries who died during the French Revolution), and back to the hotel.

In Venice: Our hotel was too far from the city for a run. (This was a cost-saver trip!) But, had we stayed in Venice, I would have had great fun running the many side streets and bridges, here with the Bridge of Sighs 

in the background. Or, pass through this narrow street and commune with the master. Or, for a really 

colorful run, take a boat ride across the Laguna Veneta to the island of Burano, known for its lacework and colorful houses, some seen here along the Fondamenta della Pescheria. (Best lunch of the trip on Burano!)

In Florence: Along the Fiume Arno, here just to the east of the Ponte Vecchio (which, btw, was not that high above the river, so Lauretta throwing herself in the Arno wouldn't have seemed to be that big a deal--unless she couldn't swim!), and through some of the

narrow streets of the city, such as Via dei Bentaccordi, where Michelangelo had lived. (See plaque on right.)

In Rome: An early morning stop at the Fontana di Trevi, perhaps with a coin toss--without the crowd--would have been really nice! But, near our hotel, in the outskirts of the city, there were also some interesting sights, 

including this one of a roadside fountain, taken on my only run (~3 miles) with a camera, on the last full day of the trip.

Adaptation beats aging (Run for the Red Marathon race report)

It is—still—a matter of training! On May 18, I ran a 20+ minute PR in the Run for the Red Marathon (Poconos, PA) and got under 4 hours for the first time (3:59:23), beyond my stretchiest of goals for the race. Now, I can remove that distinction between my “modern” and all-time PRs. I had run the latter (4:14) in the Ithaca Marathon back in my graduate school days, with essentially no training, just the regular 30-35 base miles per week plus one “long run,” all of 13 some miles. The advantages of being young and foolish! Back in March of this year, I’d just run my “modern” PR (4:20), at the Shamrock Marathon. Going into the Pocono race, I’d thought that running under 4:14, maybe 4:10, was possible, with a stretch goal of 4:05, which would get me about half way to my BQ of 3:55 (3:50 to have a better chance in the lottery). A sub-4:00 was not even on the radar screen!

So, what happened? Here are the pace charts from four recent marathons.

 

The Pocono one is clearly qualitatively different, with an even pace from start to finish, as it should be. I started out faster than I’d planned (as usual!) and was concerned, given past results, especially from last October’s Wineglass Marathon. Not wanting to repeat past mistakes, I tried to slow down. But, mile after mile, the GPS watch was showing times faster than what I’d thought were sustainable. I felt great; the legs felt strong; the wall never appeared.

Of course, I've been thinking quite a bit about this race over the past weeks, trying to figure out what was the magic combination of factors that enabled this case of punctuated equilibria. I don't really know; but here's a list of possibles, in no particular order.

- The course was net downhill, which must have accounted for some of those 20+ minutes--but, not all of them. Besides, though the Pocono course was certainly easier than a course going the other way, e.g., Grandfather Mountain Marathon (!), it was a bit deceptive due to the rolling terrain, especially from Mile 18 on.

- Weather was gorgeous, sunny, light breeze, with temperatures in the 40s at the start and around 60 at the finish. I wore a long-sleeve tech shirt, shorts, and hat. Just about right. I started with a pair of light gloves that I took off after the first 10K.
- View was gorgeous ... well, it's the Poconos!

- I was more fit, due to the changes I've made to my training, especially the long runs, after Wineglass: Front half warm-up miles (or half + 1 if the run is of odd miles) at goal marathon pace (GMP) plus ~30 seconds; rest at GMP, except for the last two miles, which are at GMP minus 15-30 seconds. I didn't get a chance to quite test these changes at the March Shamrock Marathon, because of that nasty fall on ice four weeks before the race. But, I definitely felt more confident than before about holding pace in the latter part of a marathon. Since Pocono, I've concluded that long runs actually need to be at GMP or faster. So, in my current training cycle for the September marathon, I'm running the first half of long runs at GMP and the second half at GMP minus 15-30 seconds. Got to train for race conditions!

- Perception is everything. In a recent article, Matt Fitzgerald wrote "Perception of effort is awareness of brain activity rather than sensations collected from the muscles." So, when runners almost universally speed up towards the finish line, it's because of lowered brain activity--independent of sensations from leg and other muscles. That would be fascinating! With this in mind, I started Pocono with the mantra, "it's 90% mental, stupid!" That turned out to be hard to match my strides, so I changed it to "dumb it down!" I really think this mantra enabled me to leave very little on the course. For the first time after a race, I didn't feel like eating. I couldn't even finish a 1/4 piece of a bagel. I just sat there, near the post-race food table, and nibbled.

- Somewhat paradoxically, my breathing for most of the race was 3,3, i.e., 3 strides per breath in and 3 strides per breath out. Since around last fall, I've been breathing 3,3 for base runs and first half of long runs and tempo miles, and 2,2 for the second half of long runs and tempo miles. When I'm breathing 3,3, I know I'm not going too fast for base (easy) runs. For Pocono, only for the last four miles or so was I breathing 2,2 and for the last half mile 1,1. So, was I running at an "easy" pace for the first 22 miles?!

- Because of scheduling issues, during the latter part of the 16-week Pocono training cycle, I missed some of the runs, including one long run, and shortened some others. I was thus more rested going into Pocono. Did that make a difference?

- I fueled somewhat differently this time. For Shamrock, I took a Gu at Miles 6, 12, and 18 (also had planned one at Mile 23 but the stomach wasn't amenable). For Pocono, I shifted the Gu schedule to earlier in the race, i.e., at Miles 4, 10, 14, and 20, which seemed to work out better.

- In recent weeks, before Pocono, I've been experimenting with nose breathing during training runs, 30 seconds at a time. I've been a diaphragmatic breather for a long time, whether nose or mouth breathing, reinforced through my Tai Chi practice. But, breathing through the nose while running was not natural for me. Nose breathing has many benefits, so it's a goal I'm slowly working towards. At Pocono, nose breathing was useful at water stops. After sipping while walking a few steps, I'd take one last drink and hold the water in my mouth. As I started running again, I'd breath through the nose and slowly swallow the water. In the category of every second counts (!), nose breathing allowed me to take shorter water stops, without decreasing water intake.

- Finally, I've to give a lot of credit to the 4:00 pacer! I remember seeing him at Wineglass last October. And, hearing him (!)--that booming voice. This time, though, he had some kind of mini-microphone system that was audible at least (I'd guess) 100 meters away. He was a great pacer, continually carrying out a conversation with the runners around him, sometimes giving encouragement, sometimes providing distraction (from the growing fatigue!). I stayed ahead of his voice for most of the latter part of the race, thus being energized by the thought that if I could just keep that up until the finish, I'd be under 4 hours. At the same time, I was anxiously looking out for any sign of that "six miles of reality." Which never really materialized. But, at around Mile 24, as I was going down Wallace Street, towards Main Street of downtown Stroudsburg, the first real doubt flashed through my mind. By then, the 4:00 pace group had dispersed, and I was the only one left running with the pacer. He said something that I can't remember now but which kept me going. I was trying to tell myself that, if I could just stay close to him, I should be able to still finish with a sub-4:00. As he told us during the run, he usually pace himself to finish about a minute under the goal time. After we'd finished, I lost sight of him, so I didn't get a chance to thank him. But, I did send a note to the race organizers and asked them to forward it to him.

The irony, kind of, was that I ran my first sub-4:00 marathon with my New Balance Minimus 10--the one about which I've been complaining so much (!). :)

The Pocono race organizers were superb. My missing chip incident was illustrative. My wife had just dropped me off at the start of the race, at Pocono Mountain West High School in Pocono Summit, PA early that Sunday morning, and I'd just gone through the shopping bag containing all my race gear and taken out what I needed and left those just-in-case items. I did one final check, gave her a kiss, and said I'll see you at the finish. I turned and walked towards the high school entrance. Before I got there, all of a sudden I realized that I'd forgotten the timing chip in the shopping bag. In a panic, I spun around and ran back to the minivan, just in time to see my wife drive off. Like a madman, I chased after her, but to no avail, even though, with all the incoming traffic, she wasn't going that fast. In thinking about this afterwards, I was really lucky that I didn't get injured during this frantic chase! Forlornly, I headed back to the high school and tried to reach my wife with a phone that another runner graciously let me use. But, no luck. I then went to the registration table and told them what had happened. I just wanted to confirm that I was still allowed to run the race. I wouldn't have an official time; but, I had my GPS watch, the times from which in past races have been usually just a few seconds different from official times. Just as I was resigning myself to this situation, one of the registration staff persons said let me see what I can do. From somewhere behind the table, she retrieved an envelop and took out from it a spare chip (!) and said I could use that and made a note to link the bib corresponding to this spare chip to my registered bib. This was customer service above and beyond! I wanted to jump over the table and give her a big hug! :) This would have been a great race, regardless, given the sub-4:00, but, without the chip, it wouldn't have been "official." Here's the souvenir chip that was lying silently at the bottom of the shopping bag. (While I appreciate the souvenir aspect, I do still prefer the chip-on-the-bib method.)

Race logistics were excellent. To be able to wait indoors for the start of the race was quite nice. There were real bathrooms. The long hallways were great for warm-up runs. From the school to the start line was just a short 1/4 mile, to loosen up and then drop off my bag at the UPS truck. The volunteers at the water stops (every two miles) were simply wonderful. And, cheerful! The stadium finish, which I really liked, was invigorating. Runners entered the stadium just off the right edge of the photo and went counterclockwise for about 3/4 of a lap. In this photo that my wife took, I'd just finished 2-3 minutes earlier (clock is at 4:02:42), slowly run on to cool down, and circled back towards the finish area. So, where's Bill? (Hint: Lower left of scoreboard) :)

After all this thinking about the Pocono race, I still am not sure how I did what I did. What I do feel, though, is a boost to my confidence--a breakthrough, mentally. I'm no longer just aiming at 3:55, my BQ time; I'm now looking at 3:45, maybe even 3:30, as realistic goal times. The top three finishers in my age group were all in the 3:30's. I'm now training for my two fall marathons with a different sense of what's possible!

The Pocono Marathon is a great BQ race. But, it's also just a great race. Whether or not I'm still trying to qualify for Boston, I plan to run this one again. The Pocono medal will always be a special one for me!

RunTheBluegrass Half Marathon race report

RunTheBluegrass Half in Lexington, KY may be "America's Prettiest Half-Marathon," but it's got to be one of the hilliest also. My time (1:56) was about 10 minutes slower than my PR (though still good for 4th out of 44 in my age group). It was lightly raining and windy from the start, but the heavy rain held off until about two hours later. So, those finishing after that must really have gotten soaked. My core temperature started to drop just minutes after the finish line. I quickly grabbed some water and food and retrieved my checked gear bag. By then, my fingers were already frozen enough that I had some difficulty in untying the bag. So, I didn't wait around for the post-race party and made a bee line for my car to thaw out.

Main lesson learned? Don't step on the car clutch too soon after finishing a race! Still shivering after I got into the car, I decided to start the engine, so I could turn on the heater. The moment the left leg pressed on the clutch, the gastronemius muscle (just looked it up!) knotted itself up, and I found myself semi-suspended in mid-air, above the seat, hands grabbing the steering wheel for support. To others also warming up in nearby cars, I must have seemed the very picture of rigor mortis. Eventually, the knot loosened and I slowly settled back into the seat. I quickly changed into the set of dry shirts that I was so glad I'd brought, drove back to the hotel, showered, and started off on the long drive home. In the short-term, what come first to mind, when I think back to the race, are those several minutes after stepping on the clutch!

This was a race of opportunity. I had a conference in Louisville, KY the week before, and Lexington, about 80 miles to the east, was on my way home. The race was on Saturday, and the conference ended on Thursday, so I had some time in between. After packet pickup Thursday afternoon, I had time to drive the entire race course and made a mental note about the rolling terrain ("hmm, sure seems like a lot of hills"). And, of course, the downhills don't compensate for the uphills! Shown here is the terrain typical for the course, at the mid-point split. The slopes are a bit exaggerated by the camera, but it was hilly. Pretty, though, even in the cold, windy rain! One very noticeable effect of such terrain on my running was the difficulty to get into a good rhythm.

From discussing with the RYBQ coach on how to better prepare for running a rolling, hilly course, there are three suggestions: (1) Practice running on similar terrains during training runs, which I'd need to partially simulate around where I live; (2) run conservatively during the early part of the race (in Bluegrass, I tried to run the early hills at near my PR pace and really felt that later on!); and (3) strength train the legs. I did just run the Shamrock Marathon two weeks prior, so that might have also been a factor. But, this kind of terrain does make for a harder--not for PR--race!

Despite the weather, I had a lot of fun running Bluegrass. Here are some more scenery from the course, which winds through Lexington's thoroughbred farms. What most impressed me were the race organizers and, especially, all the volunteers who braved the weather. The runners, at least,

were generating heat. Packet pickup was well-organized and efficient, as was pretty much every other aspect of the race, including plentiful parking. As planned, I used only two of the water stops; but I was tempted to also stop at the one around Mile 11 (?), where someone was offering either bourbon or beer aged in bourbon barrels! I'll come back to this later. I'm not sure what could have been done, before the start of the race, to keep runners warm, except to perhaps construct a big tent near the start. I took shelter behind a nearby small barn, until the start, which appreciatively began very shortly after everyone assembled. The organizer did make some adjustments for the weather, by moving the post-race celebration inside some kind of club building, though getting in was kind of slow. But, that didn't affect me, because I had to get on the road. I have two main suggestions for future races: Add mile markers and provide space blankets (if similar weather)! Still, overall, it was a great effort by the organizers. And those volunteers! One other thing I really liked was a very reasonable optional fee at registration to get online access to all the race photos. This was the first race for me that offered this option. I wish all races would do something similar, instead of way overcharging for photos.

This year's Bluegrass Half began and ended inside the Keeneland Association complex (horse racing), which I explored a bit on my pre-race warm-up run. Here's the famous Rolex Clock, just inside the east gate entrance, with the grandstand in the background.

And, here is the race track, with some early morning practice going on.

And, appropriately, here's this year's Bluegrass finisher's medal.

Finally, about that beer aged in bourbon barrels. Here's what I had at one of the dinners during the pre-race conference week in Louisville. A very unique flavor! I was going to get some to bring home but, in my haste to start the long post-race drive home, forgot! Another reason to run the Bluegrass Half again!

Review of NB Minimus 10 - Updated (final)

In my previous update to the review of the NB Minimus 10, I concluded that, with the particular stitching design problem that had created a hot spot having gone away, I would, overall, still consider the NBM 10 in the future. What happened in this morning's long run changed my mind, and I'm now crossing the NBM 10 off my list of possible future shoes--unless New Balance fixes the problems I've encountered.

It was a 19-miler today. Weather was gorgeous, with temperatures starting in the 50s, sky sunny with patchy clouds, and a light breeze. I was cruising along, until around Mile 9, when I began to feel some irritation around the top of my right little toe. After Mile 10, I took a planned water/walk break (1/4 mi) but took some extra time to retie the shoelace, to see if that might take care of the irritation. It didn't and, for the next two miles, the irritation intensified. I knew that, if I continued, that toe probably won't be a pretty sight afterwards. OTOH, with my next marathon coming up in five weeks, I really was loath to cut the run short. I did some quick calculus and decided that, with a bruised and possibly blistered toe, I could probably bandage it and still continue to run on subsequent days. So, I ran on. As it turned out, starting with Mile 13, when, as planned, I increased the pace to goal marathon pace (for Boston qualifying), I didn't notice the irritation as much--though that might have been because my mind was more occupied with sustaining the faster pace. Anyway, when I got home, this is what I saw:

That maroon stain? Yup, blood. And, here's what was underneath:

The two ventilating holes in the sock were preexisting. Now, one might ask why didn't I wear a non-ventilating sock. Well, first, whatever the problem with the shoe that drew blood also had previously created the hole in the sock. Second, any good pair of shoes should be wearable sans socks. A quick check of the inside of that right shoe revealed some sloppy stitching work that had left some roughness, which resulted in the irritation. The corresponding area inside of the left shoe was smooth. (I also checked my retired Merrell Trail Glove--still my favorite!--and all the stitching was smooth.)

To sum up, that first stitching-related problem of the NBM 10 is mostly one of design. This stitching-related problem is one of workmanship. To me, both are indicative of poor quality control. Furthermore, there's also the problem I'd previously noted, that of the sole material of the NBM 10 wearing out rather quickly, forcing me to use Shoe Goo to keep up with the wear (which is good for Shoe Goo, I suppose!). I think this fast wearing out of the sole is a New Balance "design feature." :)

I hope NB will fix these problems. Otherwise, I won't be considering their shoes in the future.