BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 3 (mental)

It had been more than 24 hours since the 12 of us students, along with our three instructors, were dropped off that first night of the BOSS 7-Day Field Course on some road, under a clear and starry southern Utah sky. It was the end of Impact, the first phase of the course during which we had no food, except for whatever was found on the trail, and for which we began with one 1-liter bottle of water. Beyond that initial liter, we had to rely on water sources found along the way, including this pool of muddy water from a recent flash flood. Once properly treated, though, this water--fortified with clay minerals (!)--was quite drinkable. Just don't look. :)

It was probably around midnight, when we finally stopped at the end of what seemed like an endless uphill stretch of some (Bureau of Land Management?) road. A half second later, everyone was lying down, while the instructors went to check out the camp site off on one side of the road. All of us could have just gone to sleep right then and there, in the middle of ... no, actually, spread wide across the entire road. We were all deeply fatigued. And, yet, throughout that long day, we almost didn't feel the lack of food--which really goes to show how much the typical American overeats. I suppose, instead of the usual fast-energy burning cycle, we were all burning fat. (I'm currently experimenting with training the body to burn fat during long-distance running and will come back to this in a future post.) When we got to the camp site, there was tea with electrolyte waiting for us. It did wonders.

We were all totally exhausted but, at the same time, exhilarated, in a subdued way. We all had made it through an incredible adventure. All through that sunny first day of Impact, we were in the dark. We didn't know what was coming up next. It's as Christopher McDougall said, in a recent interview, "Adventure is ignorance. I live my life by stupidity." All 12 of us came to the BOSS course with sufficient physical fitness. Getting through Impact and getting through the course was mostly mental.

"The Marathon - It is 90 percent physical and 10 percent mental during training, but it is 90 percent mental and ten percent physical on race day." - Meb Keflezighi, the only runner to win the Boston Marathon (2014), New York City Marathon (2009), and an Olympic medal in the marathon (silver, 2004). Or, as Yogi Berra (RIP) might have said, “Running is 90 percent mental. The other half is physical.”

There is physical fatigue during a race, of course; but, assuming the "90 percent physical" during training had gone well, the limiting fatigue during a race is mental. A dramatic illustration of the central nervous system apparently shutting the body down was what had happened to Brian Morrison at the 2006 Western States 100. Amby Burfoot's article in Runner's World, "Tim Noakes on fatigue, cowardice, winners and losers," reported on Tim Noakes' 2012 review paper in Frontiers in Physiology. In preparing for this post, I got so engrossed in Noakes' paper that I took a detour and wrote my own summary of his paper. One of the references that Noakes cited, Marcora et al. (2009), e.g., reported on a study that showed mental fatigue adversely affecting physical performance. In another study, Chambers et al. (2009) showed how rinsing the mouth with a carbohydrate solution without swallowing affected performance.

So, how does one train the brain to cope with discomfort in running? Or any endurance activity, such as fast hiking out of a canyon in southern Utah! By making that activity a priority in one's life; by making it part of one's daily routine, i.e., something one just does, without thinking about it; and by the same way one gets to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice--the correct way, of course! There are mental obstacles (negative thinking, too goal-oriented or too rigid goals, self-doubt, not internally focused). And, there are strategies for dealing with mental obstacles, e.g., Work Breakdown Structure and mantras. A great illustration of how to deal with a potential major mental crisis in a race is Scott Jurek's four-step checklist. My experience with the magic of mantras was at the 2014 Pocono Marathon (still my PR race), where "dumb it down!" apparently helped to lower my perception of fatigue. Mental training is as important--perhaps more so (?)--than physical training.

There were two times during the BOSS course when I had moments of doubt as to whether I could finish the week. The first was at the very beginning, during that first shivering night of Impact. I was not tired; we'd hiked in darkness only for a few miles, through terrain similar to what's seen in this photo (taken the next morning; my next-sage-brush neighbor, also my course "buddy," Matt, had also just gotten up).

I carried the minimal gear that was allowed for Impact, using the white, 4' x 4' "Versa" cloth. The latter, for the night, became both my ground cloth and cover. Lying there, I was initially just simply awed by the starriest night sky I'd ever seen. I didn't get a picture of it. But, here's a similar view of a night sky in southern Utah, from Natural Bridges National Monument, a view routinely seen by the ancestral Puebloans.

Then, as the night temperature steadily dropped, and the shivering bordered on being uncontrollable, those moments of doubt surfaced--though somewhat dispelled by a gorgeous moon that appeared later. The next morning, I found out that everyone had similarly been freezing through the night--though, some had figured out early the benefits of spooning. :) The stars were bright; the moon was brighter. Michael later recounted how he'd thought that bright moon was the sun, with warmth not far behind, only to disappointingly realize that it was the moon, with several more hours of shivering ahead! Humor: another strategy for dealing with mental obstacles!

The second time I had moments of doubt was towards the latter part of the week, shortly after my "solo" day began. Each of us was assigned to a piece of land, large enough to not see or hear the others, and left to do whatever each person wanted. I was collecting duff for my shelter (see photo), when, all of a sudden, I felt as I was glycogen depleted, a feeling very similar to hitting the marathon wall, generally around Mile 20. Fighting through those moments of doubt, nearing panic, I slowed down but continued to collect duff. Some minutes later, as suddenly as that depleted feeling arose, it disappeared. I still have no idea what had happened.

In both instances of doubt, I had to mentally push through the physical challenge. For that, I think my marathon training greatly helped. Btw, the solo night was also quite cold, even with shelter, duff, and blanket, but I found an effective way to generate heat periodically through the night--by doing reverse planks (one of my post-run core exercises), which requires only a small change from the sleep position.

There are other similarities in the mental aspects of a BOSS course and a marathon. There were 12 of us in the course, and the entire week was group oriented. Yet, even when together, each of us was separately dealing with challenges. In a marathon, there are many runners, hundreds to tens of thousands, but each is still alone in dealing with the discomfit of putting one foot in front of the other, especially towards the latter miles of the race. Just as, once the marathon begins, I have to trust my training, I also had to trust what I'd learned, once "solo" began.

The BOSS course was humbling. Yet, at the same time, it has given me more confidence towards future Mile 20's. I will have that week of BOSS mental cross-training to draw from.

A BOSS course and a marathon are journeys, both literal and metaphorical. In part 4 of this post, I'll touch on the spiritual journey of BOSS cross-training.

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 2 (physical)

The fatigue was of a deeper kind, at the end of that BOSS 7-Day Field Course, compared with the post-marathon fatigue. I didn't feel recovered enough to run until almost a week after returning from Utah. And, when I finally went out for a 4-mile test run, the legs felt decidedly strange. The physical effects of the BOSS course on my running lingered for several more weeks, especially on the weekend long runs.

I was not surprised. Though I've been training for marathons for some five years now and almost continuously (16-week training cycle x 3-4 marathons a year), I've not specifically trained for walking or hiking. My training plan does emphasize the core, and I've been diligent about that. But, I've not paid much attention to cross-training, despite knowing its importance and benefits. Much has been written about cross-training. Here are two of the many articles: Cross-training and The best cross-training for runners; and one specifically on walking and hiking. Although my overall fitness from marathon training was more than sufficient for the BOSS course, that one-week of intense hiking entailed a use of the leg muscles that was definitely not familiar.

Amby Burfoot wrote a 2005 article comparing the calories burned between running and walking (updated in 2012), based on two academic papers in Medicine and Science in Sports and Exercise and Journal of Strength and Conditioning Research, respectively. The main result of the studies was that running (at 9-10 min/mi) burns more calories than does walking (at 18-20 min/mi), for the same distance, which seems fairly obvious to me. What's not obvious and more interesting was Burfoot's test of something he'd read (not in those two papers)--that fast walking burns more calories than does running at the same speed. What he found was that running is harder at paces slower than 12 min/mi (5 mph), and walking is harder at faster paces. Burfoot didn't really have an explanation. My guess is it's related to the higher efficiency of running in covering distance vs. higher energy cost of the vertical component of the running stride, and 12 min/mi is the pace at which the two factors are roughly in balance. The results of these studies, all obtained using treadmills, probably would also apply to running on level roads.

On trails, however, results could be different. For example, in the 2014 Copper Mountain trail half marathon, I found it actually easier to slowly run than to walk up some of the slope sections of the course (mostly up and down and across the ski slopes of Copper Mountain, CO). My pace for those sections was slower than 12 min/mi. During BOSS week, we spent one rainy night down in one of

Ski slopes of Copper Mountain, CO.

the many canyons of southern Utah; in the morning, flash flooding became a real concern. We got up early, had a quick breakfast, packed up, and headed straight up and out of the canyon. That hike was the toughest one of the course, in part because we're moving at a faster pace than what would have been, had the previous night been a starry one. The pace was still slower than 12 min/mi; but, I don't think any of the students, at the time, could imagine running--even slowly--up that switchback trail, with seemingly endless apparent tops of the canyon. The trail was steeper, though, than the one at Copper Mountain. Plus, we're carrying blanket packs and other gear.

View from top of a canyon in southern Utah, during BOSS 7-Day Field Course

Those apparent tops were actually quite helpful in the ascent out of the canyon; they broke down the hike into shorter segments, each of which was then more manageable. This is similar to the common strategy in marathons of breaking down the 26 miles into 10K's, 5M's, 5K's, the next mile, the next traffic light, or the next runner ("fishing"!)--basically, WBS (Work Breakdown Structure) applied to running (see Running WBS, Intestinal runs, and Running WBS (2)). I'll come back to this mental aspect of running a marathon or hiking out of a canyon later. But, ultimately, it's just putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how much they are complaining.

My marathon training was good preparation for the BOSS course, and the BOSS course was good cross-training for marathons--or, for finding out that I need to spend more time on cross-training! Christopher McDougall's new book, Natural Born Heroes, is a story of Greek heroes, Cretan resistance during WWII, parkour, natural training/method/movement, hero's holy trinity, and a higher purpose. A higher purpose of, e.g., running a marathon or hiking the canyons of southern Utah. Cross-training, writ large, permeates the story, as it permeates a BOSS course.

What makes BOSS the ultimate cross-training is that it's not just physical; it's also mental and spiritual (which I'll get to in parts 3 and 4, respectively, of this post).

Mind over muscle?

That's what Tim Noakes (Univ. of Cape Town) rhetorically asked in his 2012 review article in Frontiers in Physiology, "Fatigue is a brain-derived emotion that regulates the exercise behavior to ensure the protection of whole body homeostasis."

Noakes answered by first showing, in the first half of the article, why A.V. Hill's "peripheral fatigue" and brainless model cannot explain the complex nature of muscle fatigue, such as anticipation or calibrating effort as a function of anticipated work (e.g., beginning a run at a pace that one feels can be sustained for the planned distance) and end spurt or increasing effort towards the end of planned work (e.g., finishing a race with a sprint to the finish line). Noakes then showed how the feedback loop of the Central Governor Model (CGM) regulates performance in order to avoid catastrophic failure of homeostasis. A key idea is that fatigue is illusory, in the mind, and optimal performance is achieved by those who best manage the progression of the sensations of fatigue. Ah, that's why an even, slightly negative-split pace is optimal!

Noakes provided several historical quotes of individuals who had different views on performance from the, until recently, predominant Hill model. I include two here:

Roger Bannister, the first man to run the mile in less than 4 minutes: “It is the brain not the heart or lungs, that is the critical organ, it’s the brain.”

Paavo Nuurmi, who won nine gold and three silver medals in the Olympic Games: “Mind is everything. Muscles are pieces of rubber. All that I am, I am because of my mind.”

Noakes' article is not exactly light reading, but it's well worth the effort!

I'd previously written about the CGM in GPS watch - unfair advantage? and the story of Brian Morrison collapsing 300 yards from the finish in the 2006 Western States 100, as told by Scott Jurek, who was pacing Morrison. My own example of an event consistent with the CGM occurred in the 2014 Walnut Creek Half, where, because of the extra motivation of being exasperated (!), I ran the last 5 miles at near tempo pace, after 6 miles at half marathon pace. Now, compare that with the regular Thursday tempo runs of my 16-week marathon training plan. For weeks 13 and 14, before the two-week taper, the tempo runs are 5 miles, with 2 easy miles warm-up and 2 easy miles cool-down, for a total of 9 miles. Those training 5 tempo miles definitely feel harder than did those 5 miles at Walnut Creek--even though the overall pace of Walnut Creek was some 30 sec/mi faster.

Another example comes from my recent weekend long runs. I'm currently in the final two taper weeks before the Potomac Marathon. It has been a hard training cycle, with the summer heat and humidity. Also, because of work-related scheduling conflicts, I missed a significant number of long runs, and those I did run were 30-45 sec/mi slower. What I try to do in every long run is to run the front 11 miles somewhat slower than goal marathon pace (GMP, 8:58) and the remaining miles at or faster than GMP. As the following pacing chart shows, for the August 9, 16, and 23 long runs of 17, 19, and 21 miles, respectively, I struggled to get the front 11 miles below 10:00 and really struggled to get the remaining miles down to GMP. But, look what happened with last Sunday's 13-mile taper "long run."

Because I knew it was only 13 miles (anticipation), a medium-distance run for me, I ran 30-75 sec/mi faster for the first 11 miles, without a noticeable increase in the sensation of effort, compared with that of the previous three weeks. Miles 12 and 13 were easily faster than GMP. And, I felt as I could have sustained that pace beyond Mile 13! Obviously, I was doing more work during those 13 miles last Sunday, compared with the first 13 miles of the previous three runs, and, yet, my sensation of fatigue was lower.

Of course, the assumption must be that one is physically trained and prepared. A couch potato can't just sit on a couch for 16 weeks and train only the mind. But, what if one is, say, 10% less prepared physically, compared with another; could that 10% be overcome with 10% better mental training? What about 20%? Most intriguing is Noakes' hypothesis regarding second place and lower finishers. According to Noakes, during the final stages of any race, as much as 65% of the leg muscle fibers are inactive and not contributing to the effort. That's a lot of potential effort untapped, to prevent catastrophic failure. But, 65% unused potential is a large safety factor; why doesn't the second place finisher in a close race tap another percent or two to win? Noakes' hypothesis is that, in those cases, "physiology does not determine who wins. Rather somewhere in the final section of the race, the brains of the second, and lower placed finishers accept their respective finishing positions and no longer choose to challenge for a higher finish."

That's quite a statement.

Most of the time, the Central Governor Model does seem to work: most of the time, runners in a race don't die. That illusory fatigue won't let them. But, some runners manage the progression of the sensations of fatigue better than do others; some "run just a little faster and so approach death a little closer," and they prevail just a little bit more. Of course, in Phidippides' case, he kind of overshot the approach a little.

But, what's "a little closer"? One percent of that unused 65%? 5%? In the upcoming Potomac Marathon, which I DNF'ed last year, my main focus will be to just finish, for many reasons, not the least of which is psychological. And, given the hard and irregular training cycle I've had, qualifying for Boston would not seem to be realistic. But, what if I "decide" to BQ and "approach death a little closer"? Could I then tap just enough into that unused potential to prevail?

That would be quite an outcome.