Tuesday, April 11, 2017

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!



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