He broke the marathon

From Alex Hutchinson’s article on last Sunday’s Berlin Marathon: Eliud Kipchoge didn’t just break the marathon world record; he broke the marathon. Hutchinson wrote that, during the Nike Breaking2 attempt last year at the Monza racetrack, Kipchoge had told a reporter, “The difference only is thinking. You think it’s impossible, I think it’s possible.” Though initially not convinced, Hutchinson, after Kipchoge had run that unofficial 2:00:25 world record, began rethinking. Then, after last Sunday, he now thinks one "can draw a direct line between 2:00:25 at Breaking2 and 2:01:39 in Berlin."

What happened last Sunday changed everything. Everyone is rethinking the sub-2-hour marathon.

The coordinates of reference for a marathon have changed. In this latter post, I’d asked, does Kipchoge’s 2:00:25 at Monza make it easier for him or others to better Dennis Kimetto’s then official WR of 2:02.57? Have the coordinates of reference for a sub-2-hour marathon changed sufficiently? It sure looks that way! I’d also asked, for mere mortals like myself, how to change the coordinates of reference in order to run one’s personal sub-whatever? Maybe, after last Sunday, the question should be, has Kipchoge’s stunning achievement also changed the coordinates of reference for the rest of us?

Here are some amazing stats from Kipchoge’s WR run. And this one from Twitter (@mescottdouglas): Kipchoge ran his second half in 60:33; only four Americans have run faster in an open half marathon. (2:01:39 is almost twice as fast as my PR--at least his second half is not twice as fast as my half marathon PR!) Kipchoge’s times in the following table are hard for me to even imagine. I think my new goal (after Boston) is to run ONE outdoor lap in 69 seconds. :)

Distance	Average pace
Mile	4:38.4
5K	14:24.9
1 lap outdoor track	00:69.2

Here’s a short video from Runner’s World, in which Kipchoge said, after setting the new WR, “The lesson of running is to train well, and then have full faith in your training and show the proof in the race.” Before he broke the record, Kipchoge had said, “I keep running for its beauty. You have to love running. Yes, the pain is there, but it’s part of the joy. The marathon is like life.”

Oh, how true! The marathon is the perfect metaphor for life.

Up and back in Tucson, AZ

I’d planned it to be a quick side trip, up Tumamoc Hill and back, about 1.5 miles each way, 30 minutes total. The start was at the intersection of Tumamoc Hill Road and W Anklam Road, around the midpoint of that Wednesday morning’s 12-mile run. Turnaround was just below the top of the hill where Steward Observatory of the University of Arizona maintains a student observatory. See the following maps from Google and my TomTom GPS watch.

I was attending a meeting in Tucson that week. Before each such trip, especially to a new place or, in this case, a place I’ve not been to for many years, I spend some time planning for the morning runs. I quite enjoy doing that—anticipating and visualizing new routes, new sceneries, local life.

Usually, with Google Map, I’ve a pretty good idea of the routes I’ll be running. This time, though, I somehow didn’t pay enough attention to the elevation change and, as a result, underestimated the time needed for this side trip by about 30 minutes. Added to that several more minutes for a bunch of photo-stops along the way. So, by the time I got back to the meeting hotel, showered, and went down to the meeting, I was late--and missed breakfast.

But, the views from up on Tumamoc Hill were well worth it! The run began at the hotel, just west of the University of Arizona campus. It was mid-July, so I knew it was going to be hot. The high humidity (in the morning), though, was unexpected; Tucson was in the middle of their summer monsoon season. I got going around 5 am, heading west from the hotel, mainly along W Speedway Blvd.

On W Speedway Blvd, just west of I-10

On W Speedway Blvd, near Pima Community College

On W Speedway Blvd, viewing west; beyond the mountain range in the background is Saguaro National Park.

Tumamoc Hill Rd; Steward Observatory is on the peak in the background (~center of photo). I took this after the up and back side trip.

It was a bit after 6 am, when I started up Tumamoc Hill Road, already fairly crowded with mostly hikers and a few runners. It was not the quiet ascent I’d anticipated. I slowly ran up not quite half way, covering the more or less straight segment of the road (see Google map), then stopping to take the following two photos, viewing north and south, respectively.

 

The observatory at the top of the hill is not open to the public. So, the highest point on Tumamoc Hill Road reachable by most is just below the peak.

The view, though, is still peak-view.

Viewing east; downtown Tucson in the background

Viewing ESE; Sentinel Peak Park ("A" Mountain) in the mid-ground

Viewing SE; Tucson Airport in the background somewhere

It was so gorgeous up there that the thought of just hanging around for the day did briefly cross my mind (😊), before I headed down the hill, then along W Speedway Blvd, and back to the hotel.

When is five miles uphill an endspurt?

When Scott Jurek was at the base of Mt Katahdin, Maine, nearing the end of his 2015 successful attempt at the supported FKT (fastest known time) record to traverse the Appalachian Trail (AT) end to end.

Mt Katahdin, AT's northern terminus. (Licensing info)

Jurek had begun from the AT's southern terminus on Springer Mountain in Georgia some 46 days and almost 2,200 miles earlier. As a percent of the total distance, five miles is ~0.2%. In comparison, endspurts (of typical runners, not elites) in marathons range from a mile (?) to the last quarter mile, even for those who hit the wall and were death marching it to the finish. If one waits until that last lap, the endspurt would still be almost one percent. But, of course, a one-percent endspurt of a marathon is very different from a one-percent spurt at the end of an AT FKT attempt. Jurek fought the AT (terrain, weather, bears, ...), and the AT won. He was, in his own words, broken and obliterated, with nothing left. Or at least he thought he'd dug as deep into himself as possible and come up empty. Yet, with the end in sight, five miles uphill, somehow, somewhere, he was able to tap into a reserve that he must have thought didn't exist. A reserve just beyond the limit set by the Central Governor; a reserve located just a bit closer to death.

View near the southern end of Roaring Brook Road, 2-3 miles east of Abol Bridge, where Jurek began his final leg of his FKT record, 10 miles to the base of, and then five miles up to, Mt. Katahdin (in background). (Licensing info)

Day after day, of Jurek's 46 plus days on the AT, I followed along, enthralled by the story of his journey, as chronicled in his recently published memoir, North. His wife, Jenny Jurek, the only support crew person who accompanied him through the entire distance (coordinated rendezvous at road-trail crossings), contributed a really interesting and informative aspect of the story from the crewing perspective. There was also a host of others from the ultramarathon community who came out to help (El Coyote, Horty, Ralsty, Speedgoat, ...!), over various parts of the AT. It's that kind of community. My vicarious journey was made a bit more real, thanks to Google Maps and Street View (or is it Trail View on the AT?). My journey also extended just a bit to Jurek's digging deep into himself. I could relate, albeit at a different level.

Digging deeper to run faster--what is that, exactly? In response to his wife, who's an ultrarunner herself and who'd asked why she couldn't run fast, Jurek said, "You can, but you don't like to hurt." Which is a topic that Alex Hutchinson also delved into in his new book, "Endure," a story of the physiology and psychology of athletes and the as yet unsolved mysteries of endurance and the mind-body relationship. Hutchinson defines endurance as "the struggle to continue against a mounting desire to stop." In either story, the mental aspect of running--or any endurance activity--is a dominant theme. In a slight twist to this familiar statement, Jurek wrote, in chapter 12 of his book (Day 35), "I've heard said that ultramarathons are 90 percent mental. And the other 10 percent? That's mental too. I was in the thick of that other 10 percent." He was discussing motivation--how badly does one want it.

For the first several chapters, I was reading both books simultaneously, alternating chapters, which was kind of interesting. North is a monumental case study of Endure. But, eventually, North won out. Not quite a fair competition, because North is a more naturally gripping story. I wanted to find out what happened the next day on the AT.

In yesterday's morning long run (16 miles; week 7 of 16), over the last few miles, I thought about Jurek's FKT and digging deeper. I like to think that that's what helped me to speed up towards home.

Above 30-40 miles per week

In the early weeks after restarting training, following a layoff due to injury or other reasons, the body feels out of sorts, as if its various parts are just slightly misaligned, not quite fitting in with each other. It's been more than 15 weeks since that injury to my left hamstring-glutes area, sustained during the last long run before taper for the early April B&A Trail Marathon. That race turned out to be my first DNS. My usual modified 16-week training program has a 3- instead of a 2-week taper. B&A preceded May's Pocono Marathon (also a DNS), by six weeks. This nine-week period, consisting of mostly test runs and couple of test races (previously scheduled), easily has been the longest period that I've had to mostly stayed off the roads. In the six weeks plus since Pocono, I've been able to ease myself back into normal training, currently in week 7 of the 16-week cycle for the early September Potomac Marathon. Still, my recovery from the injury has been at a frustratingly glacial pace.

What's interesting, however, was once I got back above 30-40 miles per week, all those misaligned body parts seemed to just shift into their proper places. They all fit. Running felt delightfully familiar again, with that certain rhythm. This threshold of familiarity probably varies for different people, depending on the level of training. For elites, e.g., it may be 60-70 miles per week.

The human body is fascinating.

Coordinates of reference

The last chapter of Oliver Sacks’ The River of Consciousness, published in 2017 (posthumously), is “Scotoma: Forgetting and Neglect in Science.” Merriam-Webster’s definition of scotoma is a spot in the visual field in which vision is absent or deficient. In Sacks’ chapter, scotoma involves, first of all, prematurity, i.e., an observation, insight, or discovery ahead of its time and, thus, “could not be integrated into contemporary conceptions.” But, it also involves “a loss of knowledge, a forgetting of insights that once seemed clearly established, and sometimes a regression to less perceptive explanations.” There is a lack of language to describe what is premature. What is premature does not fit into the contemporary coordinates of reference. Scotoma is common in all fields of science. Sacks gave numerous examples, including Mendel (plant genetics), McClintock (molecular biology), and Wegener (geology). Related to scotoma is the “sudden explosion of [scientific] activity, when enormous advances are made in a very short time,” somewhat like, as Sacks noted, “punctuated equilibrium” in natural evolution. As applied to running, see examples of (sort of) “punctuated equilibria.”

Another what seems to be a change in the coordinates of reference related to guns in the U.S. is signified by the recent March for Our Lives in Washington, DC and across the country. The change is illustrated by the graphic in this tweet from Shannon Watts, founder of Moms Demand Action. The top infinite loop is like the premise of Groundhog Day or, earlier, of couple stories in The Twilight Zone. The bottom escape from the loop is effected by the change in the coordinates of reference. This change has been led and sustained by the students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, FL who had survived the shooting there on Valentine's Day. Students have historically been agents of fundamental changes. Likewise, the students from Parkland have changed the metanarrative of guns in the U.S. 

That day in March, I went down to DC a few hours before the start of the scheduled events. Sitting there in the Starbucks near 7th and D St., NW, watching people (many young, but also of all ages) stream by, I had a palpable sense that this time is different, the coordinates of reference have changed. There's movement. There's hope. There's energy--and it's not from the caffeine.

Near the Starbucks and looking down 7th St. towards Pennsylvania Ave., NW

On Pennsylvania Ave., National Gallery of Art in the background

Wendell Berry, in his 1971 “The Unforeseen Wilderness: An Essay on Kentucky’s Red River Gorge,” wrote, “… a man who knows that the world is not given by his fathers, but borrowed from his children.” There have been many later variants of the quote, but all reference three generations, focused on the middle one. I prefer this one, “The young does not so much inherit from the old as the old borrows from the young,” which only references two generations, focused on the younger one. And, now, the young, regarding guns and many other problems of which they will bear the brunt, is calling in the stewardship loan. Whichever variant, this quote, in itself, is a change in the coordinates of reference.

Also in March (4^th) was the death of Roger Bannister. On May 6, 1954, Bannister ran the first ever sub-4-minute mile (3:59:4). For decades, this goal had been thought to be unattainable. There is an entire literature on Bannister’s achievement and its meaning, including, not surprisingly, the mental vs. physical aspects. His recent death has led to an updating of this literature. See, e.g., New York Times’ obituary. In The Power of Impossible Thinking, Wharton School’s Yoram Wind and Colin Crook has an entire chapter on Bannister as a case study, emphasizing the importance of the “mental model” with which one views the world. "What you see is what you think."

To which, Tim Noakes or Bruce Lee might add, “What you think is what you do.” Lee, in one of his letters (in Letters of the Dragon), included the poem, "Thinking," by Walter D. Wintle, which 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!”

What's really interesting is that, once Bannister ran a sub-4, many others soon followed, a few of which with new world records—within 46 days, in the case of John Landy of Australia. (The current WR 3:43:13 was set by Morocco's Hicham El Guerrouj in 1999.) Now, it could have been just timing; i.e., had Bannister not run that day, perhaps Landy would have been the first to run a sub-4. But, Bannister did run, and he did seem to have broken the mental barrier more than the physical. Bannister himself said, “It is the brain not the heart or lungs, that is the critical organ, it’s the brain.” What had changed? Not the distance, and not the running conditions or runners (at least during that same general period). What had changed was the context, the framing, the mental image: the coordinates of reference. The supposed physiological limit became a goal that someone else had already achieved. There are other factors, of course; see, e.g., these two articles by Ross Tucker (1, 2). And, running a sub-4 is still hard!

On a more quotidian level of running, there are examples of the effects of changing coordinates of reference, both internal and external (to the runner). An internal example is the use of mantras to calm the turmoil of the mind during a race. A familiar external example is the Rashomonic encounters with exiting cars from driveways or side streets. To the runner, it's "Be careful, don't get run over by the car." To the driver, it's "Be careful, don't collide with the oncoming cars." Nowhere is the runner in the driver's coordinates of reference--scotoma!

So, does Eliud Kipchoge’s 2:00.25 record, achieved in Nike's Breaking2 Project, though unofficial, make it easier for Kipchoge or others to better Dennis Kimetto’s official WR of 2:02.57? Have the coordinates of reference related to a sub-2-hour marathon changed sufficiently?

And, for mere mortals like myself, how to change the coordinates of reference to run a 3:30 or even a sub-3?😊

Why I'm a conservative ...

... when recovering from an injury, on the way back to running again.

In all my decades of running, I've been quite fortunate to be able to count the number of times I've been injured with the fingers of one hand. Injured meaning I had to stop running for more than a few days. The injuries were due to both accidents and overuse. One of those was a fall on ice on a post-snow storm run, during training for the 2014 Shamrock Marathon. It took me some two weeks to get back on the road again. The most recent injury (related to the left glutes and/or hamstring) was likely due to overuse. It was incurred this past March during the last long run before taper for the B&A Trail Marathon.

It has now been nine weeks since that March injury, over which time I've not really trained. The gradual loss in fitness has been frustratingly manifest. At times, it has driven me up the wall--literally. Here, I was bouldering at one of the Earth Treks climbing gyms, with a guest pass. I'm considering signing up for a membership. Climbing is excellent cross training for running (upper body, core, feet, toes)! Despite the frustration, though, I've been largely successful in listening to my body and

remaining a conservative. In my test runs over these weeks, I could definitely still feel the injury area as not being normal. But, it has been encouraging that those runs have not aggravated the injury; and, indeed, ever so slowly, normality has been creeping back.

In addition to the test runs, I've also run two test races (previously scheduled): Pike's Peek 10K ("Pike" as in Rockville Pike, MD) three weekends ago and Frederick Half Marathon two weekends ago. In both, as has been the case with the test runs, I still felt the tenderness of the injured area and held back and did not push. I remained a conservative. There were no post-race adverse effects. The recovery continued. My pace for the two races were 80 to 90 seconds slower than my PR paces for 10K and half (achieved at these same two races). I definitely felt more fatigued at the finish than is usual. Everything considered, however, I was generally satisfied.

More recent test runs have felt much closer to normal. But, although, at the time I decided to not run the B&A, I was cautiously hopeful that I will have recovered early enough to still run the Pocono Marathon (tomorrow!), I've reluctantly decided to skip Pocono as well, my second DNS in a row! Without having really trained for some nine weeks now, tomorrow's run would be a rather slow one; it would not be a race. More importantly, I've not done a long run since that March injury. Even at a relatively slow pace, I'm not sure how my body would respond to 26 miles. Thus, I'll remain a conservative. My registration fees for both B&A and Pocono are for good charitable causes; so, that's all good. I plan to register for both again next year.

What to do about qualifying for Boston 2019? There is one more marathon for which I'd already registered, Wineglass. But, that's at the end of September, the results of which would be for Boston 2020. To give myself still a shot at Boston 2019, I recently signed up for the Abebe Bikila Day International Peace Marathon. I had run this race along the Potomac River twice before, in 2014 and 2015. It does mean training through the Washington DC summer; the 16-week cycle begins Monday!

The human body recovery process is fascinating. As week after frustrating week passes, dark thoughts arise about not being able to run again. Then, when the body finally is ready to run again, it seems to happen rather suddenly--one moment can't, the next moment can. Regardless, as this tweet from Desi Linden, 2018 Boston Marathon winner, on getting back to training, advises: easy does it is the smart way.

Another words, be a conservative!

Not DNF but DNS

Two races do not a trend make. But, this was the second time I've done a practice run as my final long run before taper on the same course as that of the race, and, then ... things didn't go well.

Usually, such a practice run is a luxury of training for a local race. One gets to test out the course ahead of time. But, so far, for me, luxuriating has not turned out well. The first time was the Potomac Marathon 2014, which was my first and only DNF. This time was the B&A Trail Marathon on, naturally, the B&A Trail, one of those rail-to-trails, near Severna, MD. Three Sundays before the race, I ran 22 miles of the course, just before my three-week taper of a 16-week training cycle. Overall, it was a good run. I felt good. The weather was nice. I found out the course was not as flat as I'd thought for a rail-to-trail but, generally, not a difficult one. In any case, having run it, I felt mentally prepared. Pace was 40 seconds slower than my PR pace (Pocono 2016) and 28 seconds slower than my current BQ pace, which was just about what I was aiming for. I practiced hydrating and fueling on the run, at about every five miles. And, I negative split towards the end, finishing at 8:58, my PR pace, for Mile 22.

Everything seemed fine--at the time. Somewhere past Mile 13, I did start to feel a kind of soreness in my left hamstring, nothing particularly different from others in the past that I'd run through without much problem. I felt fine after the run, as I stretched a bit, before driving home. Still, given my three-week taper, I decided to be, what I'd thought at the time, super careful and take a week off and just work on the core.

As it turned out, and as was the case with that gorgeous morning run in Paris, sometimes, it's hard to know which soreness/pain to run through and which ones to trigger the alarm and stop. I ran an easy six miler the following weekend and found out the soreness was still there ... hmm. I test ran again (six miles) three days later and almost had to walk the second half home ... damn.

For the next week and a half, up to race day, I didn't run and just continued with core exercises. Still, up to the day before, when I was picking up my bib, I was debating whether to run the race. There was definitely some loss of fitness; so, it would have been a relatively slow run, just to finish--and not very satisfying. More importantly, Pocono 2018 was coming up in six weeks; it's my last race this year before the cutoff in early September for qualifying for Boston 2019. So, I reluctantly decided to not risk it and gave my timing chip back to one of the volunteers.

I did pick up my race shirt, and the quote on the back tempted me the entire way home.

So, last Sunday's B&A turned out to be not a DNF but a DNS, my first and hopefully only one. I'll definitely sign up to run it next year. But, first, Pocono. This past Monday, I did a really easy two-miler on the treadmill; no problem. On Wednesday, I went outside and ran four miles; felt good. With my hopes up and thinking perhaps eight or ten miles on Sunday, I went out yesterday (Friday) for a six miler. I couldn't get past even two miles!

There are now only five weeks until Pocono, and I'm starting to worry just a bit that I won't have time to get back my fitness--or, to even recover enough--to race it. This morning, with frustration mounting, I came across an article about Tim Don, the world record holder in the Ironman triathlon, who had suffered a broken C2 vertebra from an accident during training in October last year. Six months later, he'll be running the Boston Marathon (this Monday, April 16) with a goal time of 2 hours 50 minutes! A quote from the article: "If I'm going to recover, I'm going to bloody recover. I'm going to push the boundaries and come back as soon as I can, as best I can, and try to be even better than before. Why not?"

Indeed. Onward.

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?