Often when I write about the difference between plan and reality the plan is much more entertaining, faster, (pain-free!) and positive than the real end-result.
This weekend was a complete flip of the switch on that situation. The plan was to get eight miles yesterday at close to a ten-minute pace. Not only did we get eight, we got it in at a pace about fifteen seconds per mile faster than planned.
Okay. There was a down side. I ended up subluxating (popping) one of my ankle tendons five miles in; something I end up doing once every six months or so. To top it all off, I had no choice but to walk or run another two kilometers...up-and-down a bridge (I will not receive any sympathy from those friends who live with elevation changes.). I guess I could have swam across the bayou and saved myself about 1,500 meters of limping. Actually, once I got to the top of the bridge my heart rate made me forget about the ankle. While the training isn't as fast as what I used to do it was a major improvement over how I felt some time back.
Think back to the last time you had a sudden leap in performance; perhaps you were able to run for a longer period of time without feeling the need to stop or slow down. Or, even better, you knocked a big, honking chunk of time off your best performance on a run course.
Quite simply, you adapted to a stress.
The Austrian-born Canadian psychologist Hans Selye likened a graphic version of the physiological response to stress - especially the way we adapt or fail to adapt to it - to that of a sine wave, dropping during the period of time during and immediately following a workout, then slowly returning back to the baseline.
Once baseline is reached a period of what he called "supercompensation" can occur, depending on the level of stress induced and the period of time given for recovery. Put one-too-many hard workouts in succession and that wave might not return to baseline for a while...that's a state known as over-reaching or over-training.
Do some easy workouts, or focus on a different areas of fitness while the ones you stressed are recovering - any functional fitness enthusiast would tell you there are as many as ten, to include cardiorespiratory endurance, stamina, strength, flexibility, power, speed, coordination, accuracy, agility, and balance - and that supercompensation will not only occur, but will eventually raise the baseline so that your former supercompensated state is now your new baseline. When I look at the list of ten "fitnesses" it's easy to tell that distance running has a strong focus on some, and not as great a focus on others. This is most likely why we're starting to see top-shelf elite runners hit the weight room and take on functional fitness training regimens as adjunct training.
(I don't think we're around the corner from seeing Dave Castro's ideal functional fitness enthusiast, a person who can both run a five-minute mile and deadlift five hundred pounds. But, I'm sure there's a golden mean between the folks dropping iron and the treadmill crowd working to drop fat pounds in my local gym.)
The goal of the training, whether it's strictly running, or if there's weight training or cross-training or functional fitness added in...is to get the sine wave of fitness back to that peak of supercompensation faster, higher and to stay there for a longer period of time. Sometimes that means a deeper level or a longer period of "down." When you hit that level of down it's time to focus for a little while on something else.
So, How Many Hats Do You Wear?
- Michael Bowen
- Pensacola, Florida, United States
- Husband. *Dog Dad.* Instructional Systems Specialist. Runner. (Swim-challenged) Triathlete (on hiatus). USATF LDR Surveyor. USAT (Elite Rules) CRO/2, NTO/1. RRCA Rep., FL (North). Observer Of The Human Condition.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014
The Best Way
A long time ago, in a strange (Lack)land called Texas, a young man (who had not learned to coach or teach yet) was taught many valuable lessons on life by way of a very cranky man who wore an olive drab set of clothes with several dark blue stripes and stars, as well as a blue Smokey the Bear hat with a silver eagle pinned on the front.
While growing up, the young man had learned there were two ways to complete a task; the right way and the wrong way. However, this very cranky man - who never seemed to stop yelling - taught the youngster there three possible ways to approach a task:
The right way. The wrong way. The military way.
As the young man grew in wisdom he found there were many parallels between the military life and the running life; discipline, blended with pragmatism, would most often win the day. Especially when, on deeper review, the battle was found to be one not worth sacrificing one's self over.
It's often funny, and a little bit sad, when a runner begins to have injury or performance issues; for most situations are rarely if ever resolved by one single corrective measure. That's because in many cases the problem is the end result of more than one root cause. And you run into, much like the young man thrust into the military environment, at least three different ways to correct the problem.
There is the poor way. There is the good way. There is the best way.
The poor way, in most cases, consists of doing nothing at all. Well, I guess nothing at all doesn't necessarily mean assuming that rest alone will fix the problem. Or, worse yet, that a couple of (or many) non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs will work to fix the situation. From personal experience, I'm going to say this is the course of action which leads to much pain, suffering and frustration...down the road.
More often than not, the good way is really a short-term fix. Please note that I did not necessarily call it a "bad' way. It usually entails the use of modalities - knee straps, "special" shoes, and such...the things which fill half of the magazines whose covers are filled with "ten weeks to a ten-mile personal best...gadgets which, not unlike a neutron bomb, deal with the symptom and leave the body relatively unchanged. It's not the best way, when you look at the cost-to-benefit calculation. The runner still fails to look closer at the less-sexy, slower-to-the-goal, long-term genuine correction to what really is the problem.
The best way.
So many times we learn that we've taken the exceedingly-quick George Lucas-like "dark side" approach to injury fixation. We fail to find our weakness and work to strengthen it. We decide the few excess pounds are an acceptable price to pay in return for sore joints and slower run times.
And, on many occasions, the very reasons we began to be runners become the reasons we stop chasing after our better selves.
While growing up, the young man had learned there were two ways to complete a task; the right way and the wrong way. However, this very cranky man - who never seemed to stop yelling - taught the youngster there three possible ways to approach a task:
The right way. The wrong way. The military way.
As the young man grew in wisdom he found there were many parallels between the military life and the running life; discipline, blended with pragmatism, would most often win the day. Especially when, on deeper review, the battle was found to be one not worth sacrificing one's self over.
It's often funny, and a little bit sad, when a runner begins to have injury or performance issues; for most situations are rarely if ever resolved by one single corrective measure. That's because in many cases the problem is the end result of more than one root cause. And you run into, much like the young man thrust into the military environment, at least three different ways to correct the problem.
There is the poor way. There is the good way. There is the best way.
The poor way, in most cases, consists of doing nothing at all. Well, I guess nothing at all doesn't necessarily mean assuming that rest alone will fix the problem. Or, worse yet, that a couple of (or many) non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs will work to fix the situation. From personal experience, I'm going to say this is the course of action which leads to much pain, suffering and frustration...down the road.
More often than not, the good way is really a short-term fix. Please note that I did not necessarily call it a "bad' way. It usually entails the use of modalities - knee straps, "special" shoes, and such...the things which fill half of the magazines whose covers are filled with "ten weeks to a ten-mile personal best...gadgets which, not unlike a neutron bomb, deal with the symptom and leave the body relatively unchanged. It's not the best way, when you look at the cost-to-benefit calculation. The runner still fails to look closer at the less-sexy, slower-to-the-goal, long-term genuine correction to what really is the problem.
The best way.
So many times we learn that we've taken the exceedingly-quick George Lucas-like "dark side" approach to injury fixation. We fail to find our weakness and work to strengthen it. We decide the few excess pounds are an acceptable price to pay in return for sore joints and slower run times.
And, on many occasions, the very reasons we began to be runners become the reasons we stop chasing after our better selves.
Monday, March 17, 2014
(Dis-)Comfort Food
It appears that spring in all its beauty...and pollen...has arrived in my little corner of the world. And it proceeded to knock me on the base of my running shorts. Sore throat, aching accessory muscles (those are the small muscles which become fatigued when you have a problem breathing); nope, not a good thing. So then I started asking myself the "conventional wisdom" question...starve a cold, feed a fever...feed a cold, starve a fever? Shoot, I don't even know what it is, but my body is telling me it doesn't matter; I have to eat something. The worst part is that when I get sick I want "comfort food," usually an item I would not normally grab during the course of the week. On days when I feel this badly Suzanne will strongly consider bringing home some Indian curry. However, she's out of town; worse yet, the nearest Indian restaurant is closed. It's not like I'm going to starve. It's just that I'll feel less miserable about recuperating at home today.
Since I've got my train of thought deeply immersed in the topic of food, one of my athletes asked me the other day:
"What are some good dietary options for before our Sunday morning long runs? Should I grab something an hour beforehand or go on an empty stomach? I think some of the slowing of our pace might have had to do with the fact I didn't eat anything this morning. Are there any good books I should consider reading on the topic?"
Mind you, Angela's target race is eight months down the road, so to speak, but it's never too late to develop or reinforce good eating habits.
Timothy Noakes, M.D., author of "Lore of Running," had some fairly strong convictions about a high-carbohydrate diet earlier in his career, but in the past two years has pretty much told people to "rip the dietary advice out of the book." He now recommends a carbohydrate-restricted diet, specifically limited to eggs, fish, organic or grass-fed meat, milk, cheese and yogurt, leafy, low carbohydrate vegetables, nuts with the exception of peanuts, lower carbohydrate fruits like apples and berries, water, tea and coffee.
Of course, the question presents itself both in matters of content and of timing. Alex Hutchinson, Ph.D., "Which Comes First, Cardio Or Weights?" states that the time solid food takes to transit from the mouth to the stomach and upper colon (when nutrients taken from food begin to enter the bloodstream) averages as little as three hours, so that means unless your peanut butter on toast, or a PowerBar, or a bowl of oatmeal is a midnight snack, you'll probably be better off making certain your Saturday lunch and dinner have the right amount of good fats, protein, carbs, micronutrients and sufficient hydration.
I've known folks who can't stand to eat anything the morning of a run. For me, a slice of toast with butter and Nutella or peanut butter and a cup of coffee seems to work quite well; more so for the stimulation to my lower gastrointestinal system than for any nutritional benefit. And if your GI system isn't happy on the long run morning, believe me, you are not going to be happy, either.
When it comes to literature on diet and sport, I claim a certain degree of ignorance. Dietitian Nancy Clark writes a great number of professional and public literature for sports and fitness magazines; most every article I've read of hers has good, solid information. Several other coaches have written on athletic-focused diets, with a look toward the long-term season-to-season building of lean muscle, shedding of excess weight and energy allocation. "Chris Carmichael's Food for Fitness: Eat Right to Train Right." - recommends a focus on certain types of food sources during each phase of training (foundation, preparation, competition, transition).
But...like I said before... n=1. What works best for you might not work as well for someone else. There is no such thing as a single "super-food," and no magic time to eat immediately before a workout that will guarantee the best performance. A diet which is consistent in content as well as in time will.
Since I've got my train of thought deeply immersed in the topic of food, one of my athletes asked me the other day:
"What are some good dietary options for before our Sunday morning long runs? Should I grab something an hour beforehand or go on an empty stomach? I think some of the slowing of our pace might have had to do with the fact I didn't eat anything this morning. Are there any good books I should consider reading on the topic?"
Mind you, Angela's target race is eight months down the road, so to speak, but it's never too late to develop or reinforce good eating habits.
Timothy Noakes, M.D., author of "Lore of Running," had some fairly strong convictions about a high-carbohydrate diet earlier in his career, but in the past two years has pretty much told people to "rip the dietary advice out of the book." He now recommends a carbohydrate-restricted diet, specifically limited to eggs, fish, organic or grass-fed meat, milk, cheese and yogurt, leafy, low carbohydrate vegetables, nuts with the exception of peanuts, lower carbohydrate fruits like apples and berries, water, tea and coffee.
Of course, the question presents itself both in matters of content and of timing. Alex Hutchinson, Ph.D., "Which Comes First, Cardio Or Weights?" states that the time solid food takes to transit from the mouth to the stomach and upper colon (when nutrients taken from food begin to enter the bloodstream) averages as little as three hours, so that means unless your peanut butter on toast, or a PowerBar, or a bowl of oatmeal is a midnight snack, you'll probably be better off making certain your Saturday lunch and dinner have the right amount of good fats, protein, carbs, micronutrients and sufficient hydration.
I've known folks who can't stand to eat anything the morning of a run. For me, a slice of toast with butter and Nutella or peanut butter and a cup of coffee seems to work quite well; more so for the stimulation to my lower gastrointestinal system than for any nutritional benefit. And if your GI system isn't happy on the long run morning, believe me, you are not going to be happy, either.
When it comes to literature on diet and sport, I claim a certain degree of ignorance. Dietitian Nancy Clark writes a great number of professional and public literature for sports and fitness magazines; most every article I've read of hers has good, solid information. Several other coaches have written on athletic-focused diets, with a look toward the long-term season-to-season building of lean muscle, shedding of excess weight and energy allocation. "Chris Carmichael's Food for Fitness: Eat Right to Train Right." - recommends a focus on certain types of food sources during each phase of training (foundation, preparation, competition, transition).
But...like I said before... n=1. What works best for you might not work as well for someone else. There is no such thing as a single "super-food," and no magic time to eat immediately before a workout that will guarantee the best performance. A diet which is consistent in content as well as in time will.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
This Is Only A Test
Thunder and rain. Perfect.
Like my old coach used to say, "one excuse is as good as another if you don't want to do something."
The original plan was to run a half-marathon about a half-hour's drive from home; over in Gulf Shores, Alabama. The previous week's trip was good training (4,300 foot elevation change = altitude training) but a financial nightmare. Staying as long as I possibly could with family, then flying home the night before the race made it all but impossible to do little more than support the runners I train. The weather encouraged me to sleep another couple of hours.
Later in the day, after a good gym workout, I learned the event had been cancelled. Perhaps sleeping in was not such a bad choice after all.
"So now I'm wondering what to shoot for next. Maybe I should drop the HM altogether and shoot for the shorter stuff." Ashley's message to me made me think about the (long) path of long distance training.
Every so often we need to test ourselves. I think that's the reason many runners sign up for and participate in races. Sure, it can be as simple as drawing a line in the dirt and agreeing upon a particular turn-around point; the old classic "first one out-and-back is the winner" test against the peers with which we run every weekend. Or it can be as complex as Rock n' Roll, the Classic, Peachtree, Cooper River, and the other big races.
Racing is a good way to figure out how well we've trained over the past weeks or months, and when it comes to some events, a year or more. When it comes to the time and effort behind the money on a race entry, it's a good idea to do a status check or a diagnostic on yourself. You can set up the occasional time trial or race-like effort as part of your training plan to see if training paces need to be adjusted or run distances need tweaking.
Depending on the target race distance, a time trial which ranges from two to six miles can measure your progress. Prepare for these tests in the same manner you would prep for the target race, from your dinner the night before, to sleep, to shoes and gear, to breakfast or coffee (or not!) the morning of. If you're lucky you can jump into a local race to use as a rehearsal, but a lightly-trafficked stretch of road or trail which closely resembles the courses on which you're going to run will work just as well. I'm not particular toward any surface, but I like out-and-back courses. Since I wear a GPS/heart rate monitor I don't worry too much about the distance splits. Running watch (low-tech?) enthusiasts might want to have a course with marked splits.
As for distance, a two-mile test will do well for those into racing 5Ks, otherwise I consider tests (or race-like efforts) no longer than one half of the target race distance to be best. A 10-kilometer runner might run a 5K (fitness) test every five-or-six weeks during the training cycle; a half-marathoner might do the same with a distance of 5-to-8, perhaps even 10 kilometers. Those folks preparing for a marathon might run a couple of 5K or 10K tests, plus a half-marathon, but no later than eight weeks out from race day.
The goal of the test is either to adjust training paces during the training cycle, to measure increase in performance from the previous test, or to replicate the performance at a subjectively decreased (rate of perceived exertion) or an objectively decreased (heart, respiratory or recovery rate) level of effort. In short, you want to be able to say, "yes, I'm on the right track." Staying static is also acceptable, too. Then again, the runner might also figure out they've begun to overreach (overtrain) and take a little down time.
The most important thing is to leave nothing to chance on race day; in this case one excuse is not as good as another. It means that I as a coach have not prepared the athlete for the optimal performance.
Like my old coach used to say, "one excuse is as good as another if you don't want to do something."
The original plan was to run a half-marathon about a half-hour's drive from home; over in Gulf Shores, Alabama. The previous week's trip was good training (4,300 foot elevation change = altitude training) but a financial nightmare. Staying as long as I possibly could with family, then flying home the night before the race made it all but impossible to do little more than support the runners I train. The weather encouraged me to sleep another couple of hours.
Later in the day, after a good gym workout, I learned the event had been cancelled. Perhaps sleeping in was not such a bad choice after all.
"So now I'm wondering what to shoot for next. Maybe I should drop the HM altogether and shoot for the shorter stuff." Ashley's message to me made me think about the (long) path of long distance training.
Every so often we need to test ourselves. I think that's the reason many runners sign up for and participate in races. Sure, it can be as simple as drawing a line in the dirt and agreeing upon a particular turn-around point; the old classic "first one out-and-back is the winner" test against the peers with which we run every weekend. Or it can be as complex as Rock n' Roll, the Classic, Peachtree, Cooper River, and the other big races.
Racing is a good way to figure out how well we've trained over the past weeks or months, and when it comes to some events, a year or more. When it comes to the time and effort behind the money on a race entry, it's a good idea to do a status check or a diagnostic on yourself. You can set up the occasional time trial or race-like effort as part of your training plan to see if training paces need to be adjusted or run distances need tweaking.
Depending on the target race distance, a time trial which ranges from two to six miles can measure your progress. Prepare for these tests in the same manner you would prep for the target race, from your dinner the night before, to sleep, to shoes and gear, to breakfast or coffee (or not!) the morning of. If you're lucky you can jump into a local race to use as a rehearsal, but a lightly-trafficked stretch of road or trail which closely resembles the courses on which you're going to run will work just as well. I'm not particular toward any surface, but I like out-and-back courses. Since I wear a GPS/heart rate monitor I don't worry too much about the distance splits. Running watch (low-tech?) enthusiasts might want to have a course with marked splits.
As for distance, a two-mile test will do well for those into racing 5Ks, otherwise I consider tests (or race-like efforts) no longer than one half of the target race distance to be best. A 10-kilometer runner might run a 5K (fitness) test every five-or-six weeks during the training cycle; a half-marathoner might do the same with a distance of 5-to-8, perhaps even 10 kilometers. Those folks preparing for a marathon might run a couple of 5K or 10K tests, plus a half-marathon, but no later than eight weeks out from race day.
The goal of the test is either to adjust training paces during the training cycle, to measure increase in performance from the previous test, or to replicate the performance at a subjectively decreased (rate of perceived exertion) or an objectively decreased (heart, respiratory or recovery rate) level of effort. In short, you want to be able to say, "yes, I'm on the right track." Staying static is also acceptable, too. Then again, the runner might also figure out they've begun to overreach (overtrain) and take a little down time.
The most important thing is to leave nothing to chance on race day; in this case one excuse is not as good as another. It means that I as a coach have not prepared the athlete for the optimal performance.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Running, Seriously: The Greatest Joy
I'm visiting my father this week, six months after his initial cancer diagnosis and a series of surgeries. The last time I was here, Dad and I chatted about my run training; where I ran each morning, how my tendons, lungs and heart reacted to the change in altitude, stuff like that. He was honest to the point of envy about the fact he missed his daily walk, and yes, living vicariously through my exertions (and until recently an avid reader of this space).
We always talk about the fact there are no guarantees in this life; the frailty of our human existence, and how we continually need to live in the moment. There exists a gentle balance between genuine joy and excessive frivolity, and yes, between seriousness and crankiness. Running biographer Chris Lear boiled down the inner workings of coach Mark Wetmore for every running geek to a note reportedly on composer Gustav Mahler's music stand: "Res Severa Verum Gaudia."
"To be serious is the greatest joy."
I like to think of myself as a "serious runner." My family identifies me, as well as Suzanne, as serious runners. We both believe a serious runner is a person who harbors great respect for the sport's individual disciplines, marvels at the exploits of the athletes and coaches who operate at the highest level, and understands that the act of running is a privilege. That's correct. Running is a privilege.
Runners, and their act, are privileged to be the tool of discipline for other sports. How many "My Sport Is Your Sport's Punishment" t-shirts have we seen worn by scholastic cross-country and track enthusiasts? We are privileged to have seasons which never end, but merely transform from cross-country to indoor track to outdoor track to toad racing to marathon (and yes, to triathlon, which I consider part of "the family") and back again. We are privileged by the broad scope of competition, of distance, and of intensity; a four-minute mile and a twelve-minute mile is still a mile. A four-minute miler and a twelve-minute miler are still a runner. A four-mile run and a twelve-mile run is a run.
We are privileged by our egalitarian nature. A pair of shoes, a place to run, we're good to go. Keeping the act simple and pure, without excess frills, I believe are the hallmark of a culture which has it's collective act together. I've wondered why persons would take an act which was meant to be done with as little restraining influences as possible (...while I take umbrage with many of the first-century teacher Paul of Tarsus' doctrinal thoughts, his analogies between religious faith and distance running are pretty good) and add unnecessary hindrances...backpacks, compression tights, and worst of all, costumes. A fast runner who takes their run performance down a notch by, say, dressing up like one of the "Blues Brothers" or Elvis Presley, and still whips most everybody's behind makes a statement that says, "hey, I'm having fun here." But packs of people in tutus and prom gowns (especially guys) at the back-of-the-pack of a race (regardless of the distance) I think kind of missed the joke. That's not joy, folks. That's an exhibitionist "look at me" thing.
That's the kind of "I" that ideally is not in in team, and I wish was not in running. I'm not necessarily saying that we should completely blend in with the crowd. There's a place for funny hats and feather boas, but if you're going to turn a road race into a Mummer's parade, think about the persons who may look and see running as little more than frivolity...and we know there's so much more than that. I don't want to make someone think they need a "special outfit" to earn the privilege to run. I don't want people to equate what I love as a form of punishment, or as something that only military people do when they are forced to.
Running is a sliver of sanity we have in a world gone mad. For some it's perhaps the only thing we do well, sometimes the greatest revenge against slights, insults, insinuations and innuendo. When it comes to the privilege I have my father to thank. He let me run track when my family physician said I couldn't because of asthma. He reminded me about my running posture which was wrong for baseball, but nearly perfect for distance running. As he becomes more frail, I become more serious about the things that matter. And hopefully more joyful with the same.
We always talk about the fact there are no guarantees in this life; the frailty of our human existence, and how we continually need to live in the moment. There exists a gentle balance between genuine joy and excessive frivolity, and yes, between seriousness and crankiness. Running biographer Chris Lear boiled down the inner workings of coach Mark Wetmore for every running geek to a note reportedly on composer Gustav Mahler's music stand: "Res Severa Verum Gaudia."
"To be serious is the greatest joy."
I like to think of myself as a "serious runner." My family identifies me, as well as Suzanne, as serious runners. We both believe a serious runner is a person who harbors great respect for the sport's individual disciplines, marvels at the exploits of the athletes and coaches who operate at the highest level, and understands that the act of running is a privilege. That's correct. Running is a privilege.
Runners, and their act, are privileged to be the tool of discipline for other sports. How many "My Sport Is Your Sport's Punishment" t-shirts have we seen worn by scholastic cross-country and track enthusiasts? We are privileged to have seasons which never end, but merely transform from cross-country to indoor track to outdoor track to toad racing to marathon (and yes, to triathlon, which I consider part of "the family") and back again. We are privileged by the broad scope of competition, of distance, and of intensity; a four-minute mile and a twelve-minute mile is still a mile. A four-minute miler and a twelve-minute miler are still a runner. A four-mile run and a twelve-mile run is a run.
We are privileged by our egalitarian nature. A pair of shoes, a place to run, we're good to go. Keeping the act simple and pure, without excess frills, I believe are the hallmark of a culture which has it's collective act together. I've wondered why persons would take an act which was meant to be done with as little restraining influences as possible (...while I take umbrage with many of the first-century teacher Paul of Tarsus' doctrinal thoughts, his analogies between religious faith and distance running are pretty good) and add unnecessary hindrances...backpacks, compression tights, and worst of all, costumes. A fast runner who takes their run performance down a notch by, say, dressing up like one of the "Blues Brothers" or Elvis Presley, and still whips most everybody's behind makes a statement that says, "hey, I'm having fun here." But packs of people in tutus and prom gowns (especially guys) at the back-of-the-pack of a race (regardless of the distance) I think kind of missed the joke. That's not joy, folks. That's an exhibitionist "look at me" thing.
That's the kind of "I" that ideally is not in in team, and I wish was not in running. I'm not necessarily saying that we should completely blend in with the crowd. There's a place for funny hats and feather boas, but if you're going to turn a road race into a Mummer's parade, think about the persons who may look and see running as little more than frivolity...and we know there's so much more than that. I don't want to make someone think they need a "special outfit" to earn the privilege to run. I don't want people to equate what I love as a form of punishment, or as something that only military people do when they are forced to.
Running is a sliver of sanity we have in a world gone mad. For some it's perhaps the only thing we do well, sometimes the greatest revenge against slights, insults, insinuations and innuendo. When it comes to the privilege I have my father to thank. He let me run track when my family physician said I couldn't because of asthma. He reminded me about my running posture which was wrong for baseball, but nearly perfect for distance running. As he becomes more frail, I become more serious about the things that matter. And hopefully more joyful with the same.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Want to Be Genuine...Honey
"Things are seldom what they seem; skim milk masquerades as cream..." - 'Things Are Seldom What They Seem,' from "HMS Pinafore," Gilbert and Sullivan (1878)
When Suzanne travels across the Panhandle to visit her parents, she sometimes brings back diabetic condiments containing no natural sugar. I guess if you're a diabetic and you still can't get a grip on your sweet tooth, it's the next best thing. But she made a small goof this past weekend.
Suzanne purchased a bottle of "sugar-free honey" to replenish the big, honking bottle I mix with peanut butter and spread on my morning toast. I had what I like to call a "thirty-second moment," one of those times where I allow myself to get very, very emotional for all of thirty seconds...after which I'm good to go.
'So, what's wrong with "sugar-free honey?"' said the missus. I told her to take a closer look at the dietary information on the back label. A bottle of "sugar-free honey" does not have one bit of honey within it. Period. No bees were involved in the making of the substance.
Chicory. O'Doul's. Tofu. Margarine.
Sometimes a substitute is needful, helpful, or a reasonable alternative. When we change a diet, say, from animal-based protein to one with more plant proteins, legumes, nuts and seeds are a good substitute. With a little imagination and a small amount of luck, even an omnivore can become more flexible with their diet. In the case of my parents and some of my in-laws, the need to drop sugar out of their diet is a necessity.
Not everything in this life which is developed as a substitute is real. That "sugar free" honey is, for lack of a nicer or more diplomatic word, a fake. Certain augmentation procedures performed by a plastic surgeon might look genuine, and might still serve the intended purpose and benefit the originally-intended end-user. But in many cases all it does is appeal to ones' vanity. It's often a "look at me" thing.
When I talk about running to someone who doesn't know that much about it, often there are two questions asked: 'Have you run a marathon?' 'Have you run Boston?'
I won't say that most persons only know about the marathon when they think of distance running, but it's the most-publicized race distance. When we talk about publicized races, at least in the States, Boston would either be at or near the top of the list. Once you explain to the uninitiated that a runner either has to run a time that qualifies them for Boston, or earn a boatload of money for a charitable cause, the event has a certain "look at me" factor.
How much does it cost to qualify for Boston? According to the Running USA Core Runner Profile 75 percent of the U.S. core running population claim to have earned an average household income of 75,000 dollars or more in 2013. (The US median household income is 52,000 dollars a year). That's more or less 35 dollars an hour. For this hypothesis, let's use a 35 year-old female training on a 24-week training program. The training cycle includes one half-marathon as a training race, mileage average of 45 per week (30/week at the start, near 60/week at the finish), and one 60-minute strength training session or massage each week. The time and effort taken to train for a marathon is difficult to quantify; I like to use the economic term "opportunity cost," what you would be doing if you weren't doing 'this.'
In the case of the 35 year-old, an hour of training is worth 35 dollars.
Training sessions at an 8:00/mile (equals a Boston Qualifying time of 3:35:00) pace, is an opportunity cost of 210 dollars each week.
Multiply that by 24 and run training has an opportunity cost of a little over 5,000 dollars.
Another 850 dollars in opportunity cost or real cost, goes toward strength training, self-massage such as Trigger Point, or genuine hands-on professional body-work.
The number of miles run during 24 weeks, at an average of 45 miles per week is a little under 1100 miles in total.
Most runners rotate their shoes out at the 400 mile-to-500 mile point, so I can safely assume a third pair of shoes on race day if she had a brand new pair at the beginning. Three pairs, at 100 dollars, three 'Franklins' toward the cause.
Add a half-marathon race entry and incidentals, we'll say 300 bucks for a little bit of travel and an overnight stay. Entry, travel, prep and other incidentals for the target marathon would be a little more pricey, about 500 dollars.
When it comes time to play accountant...
Training (oportunity cost) --- $5040
Ancillary (opportunity/real) --- $850
Equipment (real) --------------- $250
Half-marathon ------------------ $300
Marathon ------------------------ $500
TOTAL ------------------------ $6940
What is a slot at Boston worth? Naturally, worth is in the mind of the beholder. Charity entries for Boston, depending on the organization, are in the 4000 dollar range. Naturally, there is that intangible "look at me" factor, especially when you see a BAA jacket or other piece of attire. Worth goes way beyond the dollars-and-cents factor, and very few persons will ask the "cheaper to qualify versus give it to charity" question. I'm not saying necessarily that charity runners don't need or deserve an entry for Boston. The persons who have earned their way In probably don't think too much about the charity entries.
What would be more frustrating? Two words: Rosie Ruiz.
Not many remember Jacqueline Gareau, which is a shame, because that's the woman who won the 1980 Boston Marathon. But Rosie...everyone remembers her, because she came across the line first.
Because she was clueless about the things most serious marathoners know stone cold. Because she finished 25 minutes faster than her qualifying time the previous fall in New York.
Because (as Bill Rodgers mentioned seeing her come through the finish) of her leg "contents."
Because she didn't look sweaty.
Given a moment of ethical weakness, I might have also run a few miles, jump on the "T" somewhere close to Hopkinton and get off close to Boylston Street, but there's something about being able to look at my face in the mirror each morning and take the razor to my cheek and not across my jugular. I'd much rather lose my hearing at Wellesley and be an honest...albeit...slow guy.
It didn't take long for a preponderance of data to the contrary to prove ol' Rosie was a fake. At first glance you might believe it to be the genuine article, but, on closer inspection, not worth the money spent. Make certain that what you say you are on the front label can be found when it comes to the "nutritional data"...don't be a fake...honey.
When Suzanne travels across the Panhandle to visit her parents, she sometimes brings back diabetic condiments containing no natural sugar. I guess if you're a diabetic and you still can't get a grip on your sweet tooth, it's the next best thing. But she made a small goof this past weekend.
Suzanne purchased a bottle of "sugar-free honey" to replenish the big, honking bottle I mix with peanut butter and spread on my morning toast. I had what I like to call a "thirty-second moment," one of those times where I allow myself to get very, very emotional for all of thirty seconds...after which I'm good to go.
'So, what's wrong with "sugar-free honey?"' said the missus. I told her to take a closer look at the dietary information on the back label. A bottle of "sugar-free honey" does not have one bit of honey within it. Period. No bees were involved in the making of the substance.
Chicory. O'Doul's. Tofu. Margarine.
Sometimes a substitute is needful, helpful, or a reasonable alternative. When we change a diet, say, from animal-based protein to one with more plant proteins, legumes, nuts and seeds are a good substitute. With a little imagination and a small amount of luck, even an omnivore can become more flexible with their diet. In the case of my parents and some of my in-laws, the need to drop sugar out of their diet is a necessity.
Not everything in this life which is developed as a substitute is real. That "sugar free" honey is, for lack of a nicer or more diplomatic word, a fake. Certain augmentation procedures performed by a plastic surgeon might look genuine, and might still serve the intended purpose and benefit the originally-intended end-user. But in many cases all it does is appeal to ones' vanity. It's often a "look at me" thing.
When I talk about running to someone who doesn't know that much about it, often there are two questions asked: 'Have you run a marathon?' 'Have you run Boston?'
I won't say that most persons only know about the marathon when they think of distance running, but it's the most-publicized race distance. When we talk about publicized races, at least in the States, Boston would either be at or near the top of the list. Once you explain to the uninitiated that a runner either has to run a time that qualifies them for Boston, or earn a boatload of money for a charitable cause, the event has a certain "look at me" factor.
How much does it cost to qualify for Boston? According to the Running USA Core Runner Profile 75 percent of the U.S. core running population claim to have earned an average household income of 75,000 dollars or more in 2013. (The US median household income is 52,000 dollars a year). That's more or less 35 dollars an hour. For this hypothesis, let's use a 35 year-old female training on a 24-week training program. The training cycle includes one half-marathon as a training race, mileage average of 45 per week (30/week at the start, near 60/week at the finish), and one 60-minute strength training session or massage each week. The time and effort taken to train for a marathon is difficult to quantify; I like to use the economic term "opportunity cost," what you would be doing if you weren't doing 'this.'
In the case of the 35 year-old, an hour of training is worth 35 dollars.
Training sessions at an 8:00/mile (equals a Boston Qualifying time of 3:35:00) pace, is an opportunity cost of 210 dollars each week.
Multiply that by 24 and run training has an opportunity cost of a little over 5,000 dollars.
Another 850 dollars in opportunity cost or real cost, goes toward strength training, self-massage such as Trigger Point, or genuine hands-on professional body-work.
The number of miles run during 24 weeks, at an average of 45 miles per week is a little under 1100 miles in total.
Most runners rotate their shoes out at the 400 mile-to-500 mile point, so I can safely assume a third pair of shoes on race day if she had a brand new pair at the beginning. Three pairs, at 100 dollars, three 'Franklins' toward the cause.
Add a half-marathon race entry and incidentals, we'll say 300 bucks for a little bit of travel and an overnight stay. Entry, travel, prep and other incidentals for the target marathon would be a little more pricey, about 500 dollars.
When it comes time to play accountant...
Training (oportunity cost) --- $5040
Ancillary (opportunity/real) --- $850
Equipment (real) --------------- $250
Half-marathon ------------------ $300
Marathon ------------------------ $500
TOTAL ------------------------ $6940
What is a slot at Boston worth? Naturally, worth is in the mind of the beholder. Charity entries for Boston, depending on the organization, are in the 4000 dollar range. Naturally, there is that intangible "look at me" factor, especially when you see a BAA jacket or other piece of attire. Worth goes way beyond the dollars-and-cents factor, and very few persons will ask the "cheaper to qualify versus give it to charity" question. I'm not saying necessarily that charity runners don't need or deserve an entry for Boston. The persons who have earned their way In probably don't think too much about the charity entries.
What would be more frustrating? Two words: Rosie Ruiz.
Not many remember Jacqueline Gareau, which is a shame, because that's the woman who won the 1980 Boston Marathon. But Rosie...everyone remembers her, because she came across the line first.
Because she was clueless about the things most serious marathoners know stone cold. Because she finished 25 minutes faster than her qualifying time the previous fall in New York.
Because (as Bill Rodgers mentioned seeing her come through the finish) of her leg "contents."
Because she didn't look sweaty.
Given a moment of ethical weakness, I might have also run a few miles, jump on the "T" somewhere close to Hopkinton and get off close to Boylston Street, but there's something about being able to look at my face in the mirror each morning and take the razor to my cheek and not across my jugular. I'd much rather lose my hearing at Wellesley and be an honest...albeit...slow guy.
It didn't take long for a preponderance of data to the contrary to prove ol' Rosie was a fake. At first glance you might believe it to be the genuine article, but, on closer inspection, not worth the money spent. Make certain that what you say you are on the front label can be found when it comes to the "nutritional data"...don't be a fake...honey.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
When Do I Have To Say No?
Snowmageddon, Snowpocalypse, Sneaux Day.
Call that stretch we endured at the end of January what you like. My friends who live in areas of the continent which have all that winter stuff were in a state of "schadenfreude;" the German term for "bless your heart," and not in the good way, either.
I should have seen it coming, weeks ago.
First, my loving bride informed me she's slated to work an IT conference in Miami Beach. Then comes a text message from one of my athletes; an illness has laid him low. The next morning's long run was a very solitary affair.
The week's catch-phrase was going to be "Semper Gumby." Those of you who speak U.S. Marine probably have that term down. For the rest of us, that's "always flexible."
One of Timothy Noakes' 14 Laws of Training recommends to not set a training schedule in stone. A modicum of flexibility or modification can mean the difference between happiness and frustration. There are days when your run training should be set aside completely, and others where a minor modification to duration, activity or intensity may be all that's necessary.
When it comes to a running-related injury the immediate knee-jerk response is to say "no running, period." Exercise which closely replicates running form and with sufficient intensity without aggravating the injury is best. The next best choice is exercise which replicates running, at lower intensity and without aggravation. Third-best is exercise which is intense and doesn't aggravate what hurts...kind of like the joke where the guy goes to the doctor and says, 'Doc, it hurts when I do this...'
If it hurts, don't do it. Heal up and figure out what caused the injury in the first place.
Most runners are obsessive-compulsive, and will try to train through every illness, from the lowest level creeping crud all the way to two steps shy of the Black Death.
Are you having a problem breathing? The "chin rule" is probably the best counsel for airway issues; if the airway or breathing problem comes from inflamed sinuses, sniffles and such you might be all right with an easy run. If the congestion source is below the chin level you'd be best off taking at least a day away, and pay close attention to how you feel on a daily basis. If you're sick and tend to use gym facilities, it's best to stay at home. Don't pass what icky-doo which got a hold of you on to someone else. And if you work out in a group, for heaven's sake, use universal precautions...that means no sharing of anything.
Some days you simply feel like a "semi-solid waste-to-receiver sack capacity mismatch" exists, favoring the former. Fatigue, pure and simple, may require a variation or temporary cessation in activity, duration, intensity, time of day...one, some or all of the above factors.
It might be a day where you simply need to curl up on the couch in your sweats and read a good book. Unless you're a parent of a really young person, in which case all bets are off.
The family is support structure number one for every runner. You might be a participant in this sport for a few years or a few decades, but you got to live with most of these folks for a long time. Right off the bat, I have fervently agreed that "parentism" tops all other belief structures and constraints, especially when the children are not able to fend completely for themselves.
Infants, toddlers, and rugrats with issues? No arguments from me on those fronts. If you can slide the workout time "to the left/right" or adjust the duration so as to maintain domestic tranquility, by all means consider what must be done.
Youth, teens, young adults; it better be a genuine emergency, defined as near-life-threatening. Otherwise the issue falls in the category where it can most likely be worked through or around.
There are social functions which come rarely within a lifetime, and where family attendance and participation is strongly encouraged. If the immediate family understands your passion for running or fitness they might, say, remind others in the family about the habit of "the crazy runners," and to adjust accordingly...or at least leave you a seat on the aisle.
For very few persons is the 60-minute run part of a typical day in the office. There are employers who are really understanding when it comes to the physical fitness needs/wants/aspirations of their workforce. Others are encouraged to let workers adjust their schedules and take time off for exercise, given certain constraints. And if you're fortunate you'll know in advance whether there's a major project on the horizon. Or a business trip. In those cases you might have to adjust the schedule, make certain there's a workout facility in the hotel, or a good path, or a running club or track. This category is often the easiest to plan around.
In closing, the choice to run is not a strict zero-sum "you do or you don't" equation. A little of some exercise is better than a lot of no exercise.
Call that stretch we endured at the end of January what you like. My friends who live in areas of the continent which have all that winter stuff were in a state of "schadenfreude;" the German term for "bless your heart," and not in the good way, either.
I should have seen it coming, weeks ago.
First, my loving bride informed me she's slated to work an IT conference in Miami Beach. Then comes a text message from one of my athletes; an illness has laid him low. The next morning's long run was a very solitary affair.
The week's catch-phrase was going to be "Semper Gumby." Those of you who speak U.S. Marine probably have that term down. For the rest of us, that's "always flexible."
One of Timothy Noakes' 14 Laws of Training recommends to not set a training schedule in stone. A modicum of flexibility or modification can mean the difference between happiness and frustration. There are days when your run training should be set aside completely, and others where a minor modification to duration, activity or intensity may be all that's necessary.
When it comes to a running-related injury the immediate knee-jerk response is to say "no running, period." Exercise which closely replicates running form and with sufficient intensity without aggravating the injury is best. The next best choice is exercise which replicates running, at lower intensity and without aggravation. Third-best is exercise which is intense and doesn't aggravate what hurts...kind of like the joke where the guy goes to the doctor and says, 'Doc, it hurts when I do this...'
If it hurts, don't do it. Heal up and figure out what caused the injury in the first place.
Most runners are obsessive-compulsive, and will try to train through every illness, from the lowest level creeping crud all the way to two steps shy of the Black Death.
Are you having a problem breathing? The "chin rule" is probably the best counsel for airway issues; if the airway or breathing problem comes from inflamed sinuses, sniffles and such you might be all right with an easy run. If the congestion source is below the chin level you'd be best off taking at least a day away, and pay close attention to how you feel on a daily basis. If you're sick and tend to use gym facilities, it's best to stay at home. Don't pass what icky-doo which got a hold of you on to someone else. And if you work out in a group, for heaven's sake, use universal precautions...that means no sharing of anything.
Some days you simply feel like a "semi-solid waste-to-receiver sack capacity mismatch" exists, favoring the former. Fatigue, pure and simple, may require a variation or temporary cessation in activity, duration, intensity, time of day...one, some or all of the above factors.
It might be a day where you simply need to curl up on the couch in your sweats and read a good book. Unless you're a parent of a really young person, in which case all bets are off.
The family is support structure number one for every runner. You might be a participant in this sport for a few years or a few decades, but you got to live with most of these folks for a long time. Right off the bat, I have fervently agreed that "parentism" tops all other belief structures and constraints, especially when the children are not able to fend completely for themselves.
Infants, toddlers, and rugrats with issues? No arguments from me on those fronts. If you can slide the workout time "to the left/right" or adjust the duration so as to maintain domestic tranquility, by all means consider what must be done.
Youth, teens, young adults; it better be a genuine emergency, defined as near-life-threatening. Otherwise the issue falls in the category where it can most likely be worked through or around.
There are social functions which come rarely within a lifetime, and where family attendance and participation is strongly encouraged. If the immediate family understands your passion for running or fitness they might, say, remind others in the family about the habit of "the crazy runners," and to adjust accordingly...or at least leave you a seat on the aisle.
For very few persons is the 60-minute run part of a typical day in the office. There are employers who are really understanding when it comes to the physical fitness needs/wants/aspirations of their workforce. Others are encouraged to let workers adjust their schedules and take time off for exercise, given certain constraints. And if you're fortunate you'll know in advance whether there's a major project on the horizon. Or a business trip. In those cases you might have to adjust the schedule, make certain there's a workout facility in the hotel, or a good path, or a running club or track. This category is often the easiest to plan around.
In closing, the choice to run is not a strict zero-sum "you do or you don't" equation. A little of some exercise is better than a lot of no exercise.
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