Without form, efficiency cannot emerge

Actually, the source quote for the title is “It is true that you can’t get from form to content, but it is also true that without form, content cannot emerge.” The quote is from Stanley Fish’s book, How to Write a Sentence. It’s not the thought that counts; it’s the form. Without form, the components of content are just items in a list. These items can be grouped and labeled (i.e., parts of speech); but, without form, they are just random items. Form provides the logical organization of relationships between the items in the list. With form, the items are no longer random. They become a sentence, from which meaning emerges. A “good” sentence is a sentence the meaning of which is framed in the proper context and aimed at a particular purpose. For some examples of “good” sentences, see this piece on Joan Didion.

Fish writes, “This, then, is my theology: You shall tie yourself to forms and the forms shall set you free.” The sustained practice of composing sentences according to form leads not to rigidity but naturalness. The form of a sentence “is bounded, and because it is bounded, it can be the generator of boundless meanings.” 

In the martial arts, the practice of form (or kata) is foundational. “By practicing in a repetitive manner, the learner develops the ability to execute those techniques and movements in a natural, reflex-like manner. Systematic practice does not mean permanently rigid. The goal is to internalize the movements and techniques of a kata so they can be executed and adapted under different circumstances, without thought or hesitation.” In the movie Karate Kid, the kid was told to polish cars, paint fences, and sand the floor. Though the kid thought he was just being used (abused?) to do chores around the house, he was actually gradually internalizing the formal movements that would later enable him to naturally, reflexively respond to competition or combat situations. From the forms that underlie polishing cars (“wax on, wax off”), painting fences, and sanding floors, meaningful sequenced actions emerge.

Form, of course, is also foundational in running. I’d noted this in a previous post, Butterfly effect in running. Without form, the components of running are also just random items in a list (e.g., speed, endurance, strength, flexibility, cadence, stride length, foot strike pattern, breathing, relaxation, posture). Form in running similarly provides the logical—perhaps, in this context, a better word is coordinating—organization of relationships between items. Running thus coordinated, its efficiency emerges. “Good” running is running of which the efficiency is attuned to the proper context, i.e., environment (roads, trails, etc.) and aimed at a particular purpose (e.g., intervals, hill repeats, tempo runs, LSD runs, races).

Without form, running efficiency cannot emerge.

Wining about running (Wineglass Marathon race report)

The Wineglass Marathon earlier this month was going to be a low-key race for me, a warm-up  of sorts for my debut running of the Boston Marathon (2018). I’d last run Wineglass in 2013. That was still in the early years of my "serious" marathon training, and I made all the mistakes of a novice. The wall? Oh, yea, I didn’t even wait for Mile 20. I'd already crashed into that shortly before the half way point, followed by a long and painfully slow death march to the finish. My time was some 43 minutes slower than my current PR (3:55). The Wineglass course is BQ-friendly. So, with the benefit of being four years running-wiser, I was confident, though I was planning to take it easy, of finishing with a good time, perhaps under 4:00.

Then came the "Notice of Non-Acceptance" from the Boston Athletics Association (BAA). With that, Wineglass 2017 all of a sudden became the first of my qualifying races for Boston 2019.

Now, I could have stayed with my original plan and still gone for the sub-4:00 (9:10 pace), to guarantee my entry to Boston 2019 (for which my threshold qualifying time is 4:10). But, still rather annoyed with the rejection by BAA, I decided to go for a new PR (sub-3:55; 8:58 pace).

The Wineglass course is point-to-point, starting from couple miles northeast of Bath and finishing on W. Market St. in downtown Corning, NY. The course generally parallels I-86. The following is the Wineglass route mapped by my new toy, TomTom Spark 3 Cardio. It was my first use in a race. (30-second review: Not very fancy but pretty full-featured, compared with my old watch. Especially appreciate the new battery that holds a charge long enough for a marathon and more. Fast acquisition of GPS fix. Still exploring all the features.)

Over the past two plus weeks since the race, I’ve rerun it many times in my mind--what I might have done differently and whether I really had to slow down so much over the final five miles. But, I’ve no regrets about my decision to go for the PR. Training for Wineglass had generally gone well, despite the hot and humid weather for most of the 16 weeks. Of course, in a marathon, once a decision has been made at the start, one is committed for the rest of the race—there’s no backing out. By the time a decision turns out not to be a good one, it’s too late!

I crossed the finish line at 4:11:20. "Every marathon is an act of faith" that "can humble you." At the start line, I acted on that faith--that my training should enable me to go for the PR. For almost 21 miles, I was on track and felt strong. But, just like that, coming out of the water stop shortly before the end of Mile 21, the quads muscles said no, not today. Those last five miles were humbling. And, my time is not even a BQ. Back to the drawing board.

Here’s the pace chart for Wineglass 2017 and, for comparison, that for Wineglass 2013 and Pocono 2016 (where I’d run my current PR). Three different outcomes but all illustrate why an even pace—that is sustainable—gets one to the finish line the fastest. All three runs, for the first 12 miles, were at around the 8:58 pace for a 3:55 finish. But, as the chart shows, if the early pace can’t be sustained, the slowing down in the later miles is very costly. The banked time in the early miles soon gets overtaken by the run on the bank (!). The starting pace for Wineglass 2017 was sustained much longer (almost to the end of Mile 21), thus the 27-minute improvement over Wineglass 2013. Still, the slowing down and periodic walking over the last five miles probably costed me at least 10 minutes, relative to if I’d run a 12-second slower 9:10 pace (for a 4:00 finish). Those 12 extra seconds might have enabled a sustained pace much past Mile 21. Of course, I don’t know that for sure. But, again, I’ve no regrets.

I have, however, been thinking a lot about the various factors related to pace, in part because of the challenging weather I’d trained through prior to Wineglass. I’ll come back to this in later posts. Here, I summarize the four factors that stood out for me during this training cycle.

1. Temperature – This was mostly not a factor for Wineglass, given the almost ideal weather for the race (began in the 40s and finished in the 50s; ~no wind). But, it was the most memorable during training. Here’s the pace chart for three of the training long runs, with September 10^th being the last one before the three-week taper to Wineglass. The ending temperature of each run is indicated. Although each later run was “two weeks fitter,” the temperature effect was clearly dominant.

2. Breathing/stride rhythm – This came up during one of my Tuesday hill repeats workouts. For 75-second repeats, I counted to 115, 2 strides per count. I noticed that a repeat was a few seconds faster by counting through (1, 2, 3, …, 115) than by counting by 10s (1, 2, 3, …, 10; 2, 2, 3, …, 10; 3, 2, 3, …, 10; …). Perhaps there was a subtle effect on breathing (?). During Wineglass, I counted through, which, in addition, helped with the mental aspect (taking the mind off the fatigue).

3. Carbohydrate sensing - I'm still testing the results of studies that showed how rinsing the mouth with a carbohydrate solution without swallowing affected performance (e.g., Chambers et al. (2009). During pre-Wineglass training, I began to hang on to each gel packet after consumption and periodically sweeten my mouth with the small amount that always gets left behind in the packet. (Hope my dentist doesn’t see this!) I tried a variation of this during Wineglass, by consuming the gel a little bit at a time over distance, rather than all at once.

4. State of mind – This is perhaps the most important factor but also the most difficult to effect changes. If I could no-running run and, thus, be not as aware of fatigue, a faster pace might be possible. I did also try this during Wineglass. Still, over those last five miles, I really thought I could not sustained the 8:58 pace. And yet--and yet--when I knew the finish line was just less than half a mile away, on Bridge St. over the Chemung River and before that final left turn onto W. Market St., I somehow could speed up and hold on to that pace all the way to the finish line.

As for the race itself, my previous report for Wineglass 2013 had provided some details. Wineglass is a great race all around, including the impressive logistics of the bus shuttles to the start line; ample (16!) water/Gatorade stations, three with gels; well-prepared and smiling volunteers; enthusiastic spectators, especially where the course winds through the several towns along the way (e.g., Savona, Campbell); downtown Corning finish on W. Market St.; and well-stocked finish line food (great vegetarian chili!). Free parking was plentiful at the bus shuttle pickup point. The race expo was at the Corning Museum of Glass, which was very fitting, given the unique glass finisher’s medal. The bottle of champagne with accompanying wineglass was a nice inclusion in the race swag. As one of the many spectator signs said, “Run now; wine later!” The biggest change/improvement this year, compared with 2013, was the stay-warm tent at the start, along with garages opened courtesy of the Steuben County Highway Shop. Because getting all the runners via the shuttles to the start took some time, having a sheltered place to wait, especially for those (like me) who took the early buses, made a big difference.

So, back to the drawing board. For Boston 2019, I'm planning on two more marathons during the first half of next year: (1) B & A Trail Marathon on an asphalt “rails to trails” bike and running path and (2) Pocono Marathon. I'll be training for a 5-minute PR, at 8:47 pace (for 3:50), which I feel is realistically doable. For Boston 2019, that would be 20 minutes under my threshold BQ time and put me in the first group to submit applications. I don't want to leave anything to chance!

BAA humbug!

There, now I’ve got that off my chest.

That’s not so much a criticism of the BAA but an expression of my unexpected disappointment. When I BQ’ed at the threshold time of 3:55 at Pocono 2016, I knew the chances of getting my application for Boston 2017 accepted were almost nil—well, actually, totally nil. For 2017, I had to be 2 min 9 sec under 3:55 and was one of 2,957 people for whom "achieving one's qualifying standard does not guarantee entry." For 2016, 2015, and 2014, one had to be under the threshold time by 2 min 28 sec, 1 min 2 sec, and 1 min 38 sec, respectively.

In contrast, even though I finished Harrisburg 2016 with a relatively slow 4:07:07 (due to an injury-affected training cycle), I thought I would all but certain gain entry to Boston 2018. That’s because, for 2018, I’ll be in the next age group, with a new threshold time of 4:10. Being 2 min 53 sec under 4:10, I've been assuming all along that I'll be running Boston 2018. Well, I assumed wrong! For 2018, it turned out I had to be 3 min 23 sec under 4:10. So, when I got the unexpected "Notice of Non-Acceptance" from BAA couple weeks ago, it was quite a disappointment. It felt as BAA moved the goalpost at the very last moment! For 2018, I’m one of 5,062 people who BQ'ed but were not accepted.

With the current BAA process of accepting applications from qualifiers, BQ really just means qualified to submit an application for registration. Now, for those who qualify by more than 5 minutes faster than their threshold times, BQ does also mean qualified to actually get their applications accepted. But, for those who qualify by less than 5 minutes faster than their threshold times, whether one gets to toe the line at Hopkinton depends. With increasing number of people wanting to run Boston and/or increasing number of people qualifying, it’s entirely possible a year will soon come for which none of those who BQ by less than 5 minutes faster than their threshold times will get his/her registration accepted. Would BAA then lower all the age-group BQ times by 5 minutes? If so, why not lower all the times now, so they become “qualified to be registered” times—as originally intended. If, by chance, there are not enough such BQ’ed runners, the remaining slots could be filled by lottery or first come first serve. The latter would be better than setting BQ times that don’t guarantee entry.

For the near-term, I’ve a suggestion for the BAA: For the “less than 5 minutes under” group, instead of accepting applications based on time, use a lottery.

Thoughts?

Running is my medicine

Shortly after I passed my fifth decade, I began to get membership solicitations in the mail from AARP. They probably do the same with everyone at that milestone. I guess they figured one needs a lot of time to get ready for retirement. Anyway, after a good number of years and countless similar pieces of mail, I’ve finally signed up. Though, I still don't feel as I'm one of "them," yet. :)

At my age—and, even many years younger--one too often hears talk about retirement, senior citizen communities, long-term care insurance, complaints about various heath issues, staying active and, at the same time, needing to slow down--altogether rather depressing! What one doesn't hear much about is ... training.

This is not to deny aging but to say that most people do not even get close to exploring their natural physical limits. Not that long ago, I came across a chart in an article that showed the physical potential of humans in endurance activities vs. age. Unfortunately, I can’t find the article right now. But, as I remember it, the physical potential increases to a maximum around age 30 or so, followed by a gradual decrease with age. The latter decrease is such that, not until one is well into the 60s does the potential drop down to that of a teenager. Because most people don’t train, the actual fitness of those who do train can be at the high end of the fitness of the overall population—though they may be targets of those AARP mailings.

The general lack of training is one example of what Daniel Leiberman at Harvard has termed, in his book The Story of the Human Body (See reviews 1, 2), "dysevolution" or "harmful form of change over time." Evolution here is not biological but cultural. Dysevolution leads to "mismatch diseases." These "mismatches are caused by stimuli that are too much, too little, or too new," relative to stimuli to which the body is adapted.

Lieberman’s book presents a partial list of 49 hypothesized noninfectious mismatch diseases. An example of “too little” (of vitamin C) is scurvy. An example of “too much” (of starchy, sugary foods) is cavities. Scurvy is rare nowadays, because we easily prevent its causes. Cavities have remained common, however, because we don’t address the causes (fundamental dietary changes). Instead, we mitigate (e.g., brushing, flossing) and adapt by treating the symptoms at the dentist office. There are couple running-related mismatch diseases in Lieberman’s list, Athlete’s foot and plantar fasciitis, that are also “too much” (of the modern, specifically, running shoes). For more on barefoot vs. shod running, see this video of Irene Davis (Harvard Medical School and director of the Spaulding National Running Center) and related article, plus this great podcast from Freakonomics, “These Shoes Are Killing Me!” Contrast the modern, technology-laden shoes with this pair of 10,000-year old sagebrush sandals (photo from the podcast). 

On the general lack of training, or just exercise, Lieberman recently published a fascinating article on “Is Exercise Really Medicine? An Evolutionary Perspective.” Why people generally don’t exercise, even though there are well-known and acknowledged benefits? One key conclusion was that, while “physical activity is unquestionably a potent medicine, it never evolved for that role.” In addition, “chronic absence of moderate physical activity was so rare until recently that, from an evolutionary perspective, such levels of inactivity are not only abnormal but also cause pathology.” Thus, “too little” (of exercise) represents a large category of mismatch diseases. And, as is the case with cavities, we treat the symptoms of inactivity. We know that exercise yields benefits at the cellular level (e.g., 1, 2). And, we also know the benefits, specifically, of running (e.g., 1, 2). But, from Lieberman’s evolutionary perspective, because we are just as adapted to be physically inactive whenever possible (to conserve energy in an energy-scarce world) as physically active endurance athletes (to hunt for dinner—or, not become dinner!), just knowing the benefits of exercise is not, obviously, sufficient. This second key conclusion led Lieberman to predict the two most effective ways to increase the level of exercise in the general population: (1) making physical activity more enjoyable and (2) restructuring environments to require more physical activity. But, those kinds of changes take time.

Meanwhile, compression of morbidity (COM) might provide some incentive to get off the couch. “COM means staying healthy as long as possible so that you decline in old age for as short a time as possible. COM measures quality of life, not just quantity.” In a 21-year longitudinal study to test the COM hypothesis, runners lived an average of seven years longer than did the controls. More importantly, the runners' quality-of-independent-living age was, on average, 14 years younger. Of course, the earlier one begins exercising, the better; but, it’s never too late … Basically, (start to) run early (in life) and run often (thereafter). Our bodies need to be stressed, so they will adapt. The best medicine is taking care of your body; the body will take care of you.

Running, thus, is almost literally my medicine in life.

Dipped a toe into barefoot running

Quite by accident, though.

Couple weeks ago, I got a new pair of Merrell Bare Access, to replace the previous pair that's over two years old now. I typically cycle through three pair of shoes at a time; so, two years for a pair is not as long as it may sound. Still, I do put many more miles on shoes than the commonly recommended 500 miles or so. My shoes are all minimalist, so cushioning doesn't really matter much (to me anyway). That, plus the magic of Shoe Goo! I was actually looking for a pair of my all-time favorite, Merrell Trail Glove, but the REI I went to didn't have it in stock that day. There was a July 4th sale on the Bare Access, so I got that instead. I has a bit more cushion than does the Trail Glove and is just as light, with the same kind of roomy toe box. There is, however, one problem with a new pair of the Bare Access. When the top of the shoe flexes, with the takeoff of each stride, the crease that's formed occurs just above the root of the big toenail. Thus, with each stride, the crease presses down on the toenail root. Over just the first two runs (of 5 and 9 miles) with the Bare Access this past week, the root areas of both toenails have become rather tender. Fortunately, after certain number of miles, this problem goes away.

So, for this morning's easy 4-miler plus hill sprints, I decided to try, again, a pair of sandals from Xero Shoes that I'd bought several years ago. For walking, it's great. For running, however, there is a problem. The cord that goes between the big and second toes and through the sole ends with a knot on the other side. It's a small knot. But, with a sole thickness only about 2.5 mm, the knot definitely makes its presence known. I'd only run once before in these sandals, just a couple miles; I ended that run after the hotspot that'd developed on the bottom of the foot just above the knot had became very noticeable. I suppose, with mileage, the knot eventually would get flatten enough to not be a problem. I just have not yet worked on that.

Thus, I knew I probably couldn't go the entire four miles in these sandals, even with socks. So, I stayed close to home. And, sure enough, after just a mile and a half or so, I could feel the hotspot developing. Not wanting to chance a blister, I headed home for different footwear.

I switched on a pair of Vibram FiveFingers that I'd also recently bought, to finally replace my original pair from over five years ago and after at least couple thousand miles--and a few tubes of Shoe Goo. The crease in the FiveFingers occurs well behind the root area of the big toenail. So, I thought they should be fine.

Well, no. After not even half a mile, those tender big toes were loudly complaining. Quite frustrated by now, I turned around and started heading home. But, rather than walking back in the FiveFingers, I decided to just take them off and run in socks. A few steps after that, off came the socks as well. I then ran barefoot for almost another mile (!), plus those hill sprints after the run. I felt a lot better--with a certain sense of liberation--and was smiling towards the end. :)

What about tomorrow morning's 13-mile long run? (It's the end of the fourth week of the 16-week training cycle for Wineglass in October.) It'll be a while before I could run that kind of distance barefoot. I could temporarily go back to my old Bare Access or FiveFingers. Or, perhaps I could try this pair of sandals made by Jeremy, one of the instructors at BOSS. The leather strip between the big and second toes is threaded through the sole of the sandal and then back out, so there's no knot. Plus, the 2-mm inner sole is backed by an 8-mm Vibram bottom (including the tread). I'll figure out some way to keep to my training schedule, while letting those tender big toes recover. 

Tender or not, the toe has been dipped into barefoot running, and it likes what it feels!

Three running hats and serendipity

Pretty much ever since I began to "seriously" train for marathons, back around 2010, I've worn a hat for training runs and races. Runners spend so much time outdoors that a hat and sunscreen are necessities. (See Runner's World: 1, 2.)

My first hat for running was one I'd picked up from a Sun Microsystems exhibit booth at a conference many years ago. I've worn it for almost every marathon I've run, plus most of the many other shorter races. The fit is snug, so, even without a chin strap, it's usable in all but the very windy conditions. The brim width is enough to shade the upper half of the head. From the rest of the head downward? Sunscreen! This hat has accompanied me through most of my marathon journey so far. And, it is showing some age, with a couple of small tears, from all the scrubbing and rinsing after each run.

A few years ago, after some really sunny long runs, I decided to get a wider-brim hat with a rear flap, which provides better protection for the entire head. It has a loose fit; but, with a chin strap, wind is no longer an issue--when it's used for hiking, especially in sunny regions like the canyon lands of southern Utah. The problem when used for running, however, is that same chin strap. When pulled tight, the remaining part of the strap dangling beneath would rhythmically slap my face, with each stride (left face, right face, left face, right face, ...). So, I have to place the strap behind the head when I run and, thus, can only wear it when there's no more than a light breeze.

Then, for this past Father's Day, my kids gave me a loose-fitting Under Armour hat with a chin strap that goes through and extends beyond the top of the hat. By pulling the strap tight from the outer side of the hat until the underside part is snug against the chin, there is no remaining part dangling to slap the face. When I initially tried it on, I said, wow, someone finally came up with a solution to my problem! Not long afterwards, though, I noticed that the hat is a reversible one, which would explain the chin strap extending to both sides of the hat. It'd also mean the designer at UA most likely wasn't thinking about my problem at all!

Serendipity or not, problem solved! And, I'm thankful to UA for a wide-brim hat, shading most of the head, that I can wear in windy conditions. During last Sunday's long run, I could feel the brisk-wind-caused tugs of the chin strap, with its other end contentedly bouncing behind the head, going along for the ride.

Beyond the limits

Of course, I watched that Nike Breaking2 project’s attempt about a month ago, which took place at the Autodromo Nazionale Monza, a historic Formula One racetrack northeast of Milan, Italy. Much have been written about it, both leading up to the race and afterwards. Runner’s World has a whole series of articles on Breaking2 (google “breaking2 runner’s world”). Alex Hutchinson has a nice, comprehensive, pre-race background article. There were many post-race analyses, including ones by Hutchinson and Ross Tucker.

A lot of the discussions were on the meaning of what Eliud Kipchoge had accomplished (2:00:25). One focal discussion point was the drafting effect of the six pacers in front of the three racers, as well as the effect of the Tesla car with that big clock, in front of and leading the pacers. A related discussion was on the “pacing and drafting paradox.” Subsequent modeling studies showed that most of the drafting effect was from the pacers and not from the car and clock.

So, was the Breaking2 project an effort to “science the shit out of” 26.2 miles or shit the meaning out of running?

Breaking2 isn’t the only such project. Along with Breaking2, there are two other parallel, rival projects, the Adidas Sub2 programme and Yannis Pitsiladis’ SUB2 project. At least in the case of Nike and Adidas, the commercial aspect is obvious. Breaking2’s attempt at Monza was also a 2+ hour Nike infomercial for its Zoom Vaporfly. The same with Adidas and its Adizero Sub2.

But, still, Breaking2 was pretty exciting to watch. It was after 2 am by the time I got to bed. My morning run a few hours later felt inspired. Each of the three racers at Monza had a personal handwritten message digitally printed on his race shoes. For Kipchoge, it was “Beyond the Limits.” For him, that means Sub2. For me? Sub3! J

Perhaps even more incredible—and beyond the limits--were Ed Whitlock’s achievements. Whitlock, who passed away this past March, owned pretty much all the older age-group records (over 20 single-age records), including a sub3 at the age of 74 (!). He was and remains my inspiration.

With all that in mind and with a couple of recent new data points, I've updated my “projected” dates for achieving several goal marathon times that I’d previously charted.

3:50 Wineglass Oct 2017

3:45 2018

3:30 2020

Sub3 2023! J

There are no short cuts to long-distance running (Gettysburg North-South Marathon race report)

There were four main factors that contributed to my slow finish time of 4:20 in the Gettysburg North-South Marathon some five weeks ago. That finish time is some 25 minutes slower than my PR.

1. 16-week training cycle was interrupted by conferences and other work-related schedule conflicts, resulting in lower weekly mileage and fewer weekend long runs.

2. Course was rolling, not like my usual Sunday long run course; thus, my training was not race-specific.

3. No pacers (electrolytes for the soul!)

4. Only 300+ runners; so, after a few miles, it was pretty much running on my own. The following photo was from one of the early miles, when some of us were still running together.

It’d be easy to attribute my slow time to the last three factors. The rolling course made it hard to get into any kind of sustained rhythm. The lack of training experience with rolling terrain and the lack of pacers just added to the problem. And, though I’m mostly a solo runner, I do appreciate and try to take advantage of running with others during races. At Gettysburg, there was essentially no such advantage. All these factors were contributory. But I think the key one was #1.  Running is the great democratizer, both in access and in potential. There are no privileged short cuts to long-distance running. I just was not prepared to run optimally that day. The outcome that day had mostly been determined before I even got to Gettysburg. It’d also be easy to say Gettysburg is not a BQ course. But, that would not be fair, at least not until I run this again with proper training.

As I was standing there at the start line, conveniently located right next to the race hotel where I stayed, I kept reminding myself to go easy in the early miles. Now, I routinely do that for all races. But, that morning, under a beautiful sunny sky and with temperature in the upper 40s, I was talking to myself based on knowledge, knowledge I’d gained the previous afternoon. After I’d checked in at the hotel, I drove the entire course, stopping along the way to mark where to take gels, dates, and water. I took photos of the scenic course, located within and outside of the Gettysburg National Military Park, in south-central Pennsylvania. I especially noted the rolling terrain. So, I knew that if I start off too fast, I’d pay for it later in the race. But, alas, though I was able to discipline myself and did start relatively slowly, I still ran into a wall of sorts at around Miles 16-18, after which I had to do a fair amount of walking.

                               Notes on the course from a pre-race drive-through

                              Pacing for Gettysburg, compared with Pocono (PR)

Gettysburg is a loop course, with ~1,000 feet up and down. So, the net elevation change is zero. But, the net effect, for me, was definitely negative--and not in the negative split sense!

                            Course map and elevation chart from the race Web site

It was a scenic and historical course—definitely not boring! The following photo shows the course at just before Mile 2 (looking ~SSW), which goes through the East Cavalry Battlefield Site of the Park.

This one is from Mile 3, still in the Park.

And, this one around Mile 9, near the intersection of Stone Bridge Road and Storms Store Road.

This being the Gettysburg Marathon, there was a North vs. South competition. During registration, each runner can choose to represent either side. The scoring to determine the winning side is based on the combined times of the top male and female runners for each side. Everyone on the winning side gets a commemorative beer glass with the event logo on one side and a quote on the other from Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. This year, the result was historically correct, and here’s my beer glass.

Gettysburg is a relatively new race, this year being the seventh (?). The race organizers (Lowell Ladd, director) did a superb job; every step in the process was nicely implemented, from bib pickup the day before at the Gateway Theater 8 across the parking lot from the Courtyard Gettysburg (race hotel) to the post-race food, drinks, and beer (!). My only “complaint”/suggestion is to include a vegetarian option for the sandwiches. Evidently, the multi-colored bagel was the most popular.

The timing chip on the bib was very thin, certainly the thinnest I’ve ever seen. It’s from the Jaguar RFID timing system. There were no mats. The sensors were on top of the start line framework (I think), shown at right center in the following photo. To the left is the post-race area.

As to be expected, there was not a lot of spectator support along the country roads of the course. But, that was more than made up for by the terrific volunteer support at each of the aid stations and by the course marshals. Aid stations were at every two miles or so (water and Gatorade). A few other stations in the latter miles also had gels. Especially over the last 6-8 miles, as I was increasingly struggling, those aid stations were like oases!

It’s always a luxury to stay at a hotel that’s close to the start line of a race. That was the case with Shamrock in 2014, where the start line was less than two blocks away. At Gettysburg, it was even more luxurious! In the photo above, the hotel is just off to the right. Gear check? My own car in the hotel parking lot! Of all the race hotels I’ve stayed at so far, the Courtyard Gettysburg was the most accommodating regarding late checkout. Typically, the front desk person would either refuse or say yes but come across as if he or she has to bend over backwards. So, I really appreciated the front desk person at the Courtyard who, when I asked about late checkout, just said, sure, what’s your room number. :)

A slow time; a disappointment; a challenge. I definitely will run Gettysburg again. This course has thrown down the gauntlet, and I’ve taken it up!

BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 4 (spiritual)

The marathon is a 26-mile journey towards rawness, as layer after quotidian layer gets peeled off.

Or, as others have expressed it, regarding marathons or ultra-marathons:

- "you're just beat up. It really strips you down to the core." - Scott Jurek, in an interview after his Appalachian Trail speed record.

- "The Marathon rattles you to the core. It deconstructs your very essence, stripping away all your protective shields and exposing your inner soul." - Dean Karnazes, in his piece, The Marathon.

- "They use their bodies to grow their souls." - Leah Jurek, the then-wife of Scott Jurek, in writing about Brian Morrison and the 2006 Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run.

Though it has been almost two years since I had completed that 7-day BOSS (Boulder Outdoor Survival School) Field Course in southern Utah, I still vividly remember the cultural shock when I returned home and then when I got back to the office. The desert still lingers. But, more, the feelings from that week, which were not specific to the geography and which have existed, for me, in one form or another going back decades; those feelings had become, as a result, perhaps more deeply internalized. Or, perhaps it's the converse. Perhaps those feelings had become more immediate, more palpable, because that week had peeled away many, many layers.

A BOSS course and a marathon are journeys, both literal and metaphorical. In the first three parts of  “BOSS, the ultimate cross-training,” I covered the physical and mental aspects of this journey (part1, part 2, part 3). In this part 4, I want to touch on the spiritual journey that is a BOSS course and a marathon.

What do I mean by “spiritual”? The Varieties of Scientific Experience: a personal view of the search for god is a posthumous collection of essays by Carl Sagan, based on his 1985 Gifford Lectures given at the University of Glasgow. The first chapter is “Nature and Wonder: A Reconnaissance of Heaven.” In it, Sagan said, “By far the best way I know to engage the religious sensibility, the sense of awe, is to look up on a clear night." (See Maria Popova’s digest of these Sagan essays.) I had noted in part 3 the awe-inspiring starry sky during that first shivering night of “Impact” of the BOSS course. I was struggling so hard with the cold that I didn’t even think to reach for my camera. But, here is a photo of the Milky Way over the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park (from the International Dark-Sky Association), which is not too far from where we had slept--or at least tried to sleep--that first night. Of course, the photo does not even come close to what I actually saw, but it does give an indication. Perhaps, it was precisely because I was shivering almost uncontrollably and, thus, was not thinking but rather just sensing that it had felt like being one with nature. Or, as William James defined religion: a “feeling of being at home in the Universe.”

That is why I so look forward to each of my Sunday morning, communing-with-nature, long runs. Unless it's actually dangerous out there (e.g., lightning), I pretty much follow that well-known though unofficial U.S. Postal Service creed, "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night …” (well, minus the gloom of night part). That is also why running with a headset is, to me, oxymoronic.

Perhaps the second best way to Sagan’s clear night sky, to engage the sense of awe, is to look out on a clear day at the immensity of nature. On the last full day of the BOSS course, the 12 of us students group navigated to our final destination. The following photo shows one of our intermediate target locations, with the most spectacular view of the week, looking generally east into Colorado, some 200 miles away. We were all still looking at the maps and debating exactly where we were, when someone said, “Hey, guys, turn around and look!” I could have just sat there for the rest of the day and communed.

Thich Nhat Hanh, in his book, Living Buddha, Living Christ, wrote that monastic life should not be too comfortable, so as not to hinder spiritual growth. Really taking that to heart are the Tendai Buddhist monks of Mount Hiei of Japan, also known as the “marathon monks.” In their quest for enlightenment, these monks are required to complete a 1,000-day challenge (Kaihōgyō), at the end of which they “enter a darkened room where they spend nine days without food, water or sleep. The idea is to bring the body as close as possible to death.” (See Way of the Runner by Adharanand Finn.) According to one of these marathon monks, “the constant movement for 1,000 days gives you lots of time to think about this, to reflect on your life. It is a type of meditation through movement. That is why you shouldn’t go too fast. It is a time to meditate on life, on how you should live.” (See also Running with the Mind of Meditation by Sakyong Mipham.)

A bit less demanding (J) was that nine-mile "surprise" hike, at the end of our BOSS week, from where we had thought was the *end* of the course all the way back to BOSS in Boulder. Though our bodies were not quite as close to death, we were all deeply fatigued. Under a clear June starry night sky, those nine miles were borderline hallucinatory.

Emil Zátopek, a Czechoslovak long-distance runner, the only person to win the 5K, 10K, and marathon in the same Olympics (1952 Summer, Helsinki), once said, “If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon.” Dean Karnazes later modified that to “If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon. If you want to talk to God, run an ultra.”

I think my fellow students would agree with my modification: “If you want to hike, hike a mile. If you want to experience a different life, go on a BOSS journey.”

A BOSS course, a marathon, and life in general, they are all journeys, not destinations. Even in a relatively short 7-day Field Course, the BOSS journey that I took has been life-changing. I would love to someday go on the 28-day version of the course!

The desert still lingers. I can still hear Jessie shouting out to me, that clear southern Utah night, that I've gone past the entrance to BOSS.

No-running running

Biomechanically, there are two obvious improvements a runner could make to run faster. The first is increasing cadence or strides per minute (spm). There has been a lot of debate about cadence, about whether there is some magical number (180?) that leads to optimum performance (i.e., that of elites). Watching the 2016 U.S. Olympics Marathon Trials, I counted the cadences of both Shalane Flanagan and Amy Cragg, and both were at around 180. But, other elites run at quite different cadences. Mine is usually at around 174. To get to 180, I’d have to really focus. There are many other variables that affect cadence (e.g., breathing pattern, terrain, fatigue). The second improvement is increasing stride length, by extending the back kick. The following photo shows the beautiful back kick of some Kenyan runners (in a NY Times article on Kenya, running shoes, and bribery).

There is a third—and, arguably, more important--improvement to running faster, and it’s related to Bruce Lee. Now, I’ve seen most of his movies, like Enter the Dragon. But, I wasn’t all that familiar with a whole apparently different side of him: Bruce Lee, the philosopher. “Apparently,” because, beneath the surface, Lee’s more popularly known persona of a martial artist and that of a philosopher are clearly one and the same. See, e.g., The Tao of Gung Fu. I’ve been reading up on Lee, ever since coming across Maria Popova's Brain Picking piece on Be Like Water, in which she traced the evolution of that famous water metaphor in the book, Bruce Lee: Artist of Life. There are various statements of this metaphor by Lee. The one quoted by Popova is “Hadn’t this water just now illustrated to me the principle of gung fu? I struck it but it did not suffer hurt. Again I struck it with all of my might—yet it was not wounded! I then tried to grasp a handful of it but this proved impossible. This water, the softest substance in the world, which could be contained in the smallest jar, only seemed weak. In reality, it could penetrate the hardest substance in the world. That was it! I wanted to be like the nature of water.”

Lee’s water metaphor is based on the principles of wu hsin (no-mindedness) and wu wei (non-action). See Popova’s Trying Not to Try. Here’s Lee, in Artist of Life: “When his private ego and conscious effort yield to a power that is not his own, he then achieves the highest action in gung fu, the action of no-action—we wei.” “Wu wei is the art of artlessness, the principle of no-principle.”

As yet, I have just the barest of an inkling of what's meant by wu hsin and wu wei. An example I can think of is driving a car. After decades of driving, when I’m behind the wheel, I feel the car and I are one, going down the road; not I driving the car. But, I don't think that's quite it. Perhaps, a closer example is when, on those rare occasions, I'm running on water and it feels effortless.

This is all absolutely fascinating; but, so what? What does it have to do with running faster? Well, could this be the key to that elusive mental part of running? A central idea of Tim Noakes’ 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," is that fatigue is in the mind, and optimal performance is achieved by those who best manage the progression of the sensations of fatigue. So, are elite runners elites because, when they run, they get closer to no-running running than do the non-elites? Is this the same as "in the zone"? The feedback loop of Noakes' Central Governor Model (CGM) regulates performance in order to avoid catastrophic failure of homeostasis. Is no-running running a way to get out of this feedback loop, even if just a bit, and tap into that 65% of unused potential? Often, towards the end of marathons, one gets this sense of other-worldliness. The first time I experienced that was in RNR 2013. Could one achieve that sense earlier in a race?

In that same review article, Noakes stated this intriguing hypothesis: "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." Lee, in one of his letters (in Letters of the Dragon), included one of his favorite poems, "Thinking," by Walter D. Wintle. The poem begins with

“If you think you are beaten, you are;”

and ends with

“But sooner or later the man who wins
is the one who thinks he can!”

Lee also wrote a lot about the concept of Yin and Yang: Not opposite but complementary; two halves of a whole. Applied to running, what does it mean?

Not fighting or struggling against Heartbreak Hill at Mile 20 of the Boston Marathon? Rather … what? Instead of "attacking" the hill, how does “being one with the hill” help a runner get to the top faster?

There are many questions and not many answers, yet. I’ve just begun to explore the way Bruce Lee lived his full, though tragically short, life. But, I think there is a lot here that relates or translates to running and could potentially lead a runner to major breakthroughs—i.e., punctuated equilibria!