Questions Of Our Age

I'm not quite certain whether I'd freak out over that particular observation. I guess I'd be more jealous over the fact some people have jobs that permit them to sit around a Starbucks' (or any other coffee shop) on 11 in the morning on a Monday. Obviously, some of them are spooling up for an afternoon/evening of work...something I used to do. But there have to be some people with little more to do (I was going to say better, but who am I to judge?) than caffeinate themselves into oblivion, read all 15 volumes of Will and Ariel Durant's Story of Civilization, and ponder their navel.

Where do I get a job like that?
Even the moments when I feel inspired to bore people to death with passages of nothingness I think about how bad it would have to be to be a professional writer. There was a terribly funny cartoon drawn by Shannon Wheeler, which I think I referenced a little over a year ago; in essence, it said Anything You Get Paid To Do S*cks. Sometimes there's no music, no art, no television programming, and no life experience that will provide sufficient inspiration for a writer's blathering.

Here's a good question: Why do electronic devices which can last for years in the hands of other runners of equivalent fitness (and equivalent sweat-producing properties) die on me in the space of a year (if I'm fortunate)? It's not like I go out in the pouring rain with them, or leave them in direct sunlight, dusty conditions, near angry (or incontinent) canines/felines/ovines/bovines, whack them against walls or more-resilient structures, etc. These little boogers will last their warranty, then BRZZAAAP! They croak on me. I complained about this before when my last MP3 player went toes (or in this case, case) up. Perhaps I need to stop buying electronic cr*p from eBay. After my Nike Triax SDM went kaput the other weekend, I decided it was time to go back to what Chuckie V(eylupek) called caveman running. No heart rate, save for fingers on carotid pulsation. No distance measurement, save for Gmap Pedometer or MapMyTri. Go back to running by feel. Yes. That's it, young Skywalker. Trust your feelings, you know I am your father.

Of course, the positives of this decision are that I spend less time dumping cr*p into Excel spreadsheet files on my computer. The negatives are that I have less hard data to look back upon when I overtrain myself into that old iliotibial band stress/achilles' tendonitis situation again.
Maybe if I trust the physiological data, including the way I feel in the morning, I might not work myself into a stiff-legged shuffle five or six days a week...or have the deep, unrelenting need for more sleep...or the irrational desire for junk foods I haven't snacked upon since last spring. Then I won't ask myself that other question of the age: How the #@*% did I gain all that weight!?

My Motivation, and Some Questions

The Lower Half of (Tom Gilbert's) Six Boxes (Motivation, Skills, Training):
Doggone. The temperature went up two degrees in the space of time it took me to think about how I was going to start this piece (originally scribbled 19 July 2008). For those who need a more objective measure, that was approximately one minute, from 6:48 to 6:49 a.m. And yes, I'm feeling less than motivated to head out to the track this morning.
Wait a minute. Coach Mike, unmotivated?
It's not just the heat or the bugs that makes me think twice. I have no races planned for the next four months, so I'm doing a long (boring) cycle of base training; swimming two or three times a week, bicycling once a week, and running as often as weather and other conditions permit. When you don't have anything on the immediate horizon for which to prepare, the forecast of working out alone (especially when base or maintenance training) can make any athlete reconsider their workout.

Sure, there are times you need to suck it up and go out, regardless of what your friends are doing. But it's nice to know you are not the only one suffering through a workout. Sometimes that's the only saving grace; knowing there is someone else insane enough to get up earlier than the rest of the world, or get out and run a few thousand meters of repeats with you while the rest of the world is at a ball game or concert.
Yes, I know we all need to have a life outside of running (or swimming, or triathlon). So, I do appreciate the athletes I train who take time out of their week (or weekend) to slog along with me. The prospect of seeing them at the track (during the week) or at the seashell (mid-week or on the weekend) gives me one more good reason to get out and run.
ASK THE COACH:
Do you have any thoughts on stretching?
I think a lot about stretching (some of my thoughts are printable!), but I don't do much more than work on my achilles tendons. Some runners prefer to not stretch and never have, others do it religiously. If you're going to do it, I would recommend two things:
First, don't stretch unless your muscles are warm, following at least five minutes of activity. A cold muscle will not stretch, and is more likely to tighten up more if you try to stretch it cold.
Second, stretch gently and naturally, with slow, smooth movements. You can stretch without throwing your leg up on a countertop, bleacher bench or trash can. Stretches which keep your feet on the ground are better. Those 'throw-your-leg-on-the-bleacher' stretches are probably going to instigate the stretch reflex, and you'll end up with a muscle that's more tight than when you started.
For this weather, do you have any particular sport drink recommendations? For those of us on a tighter budget, does water work just as well keeping us hydrated?
Water works great for hydration. It has no calories and no evil after-effects, unless you're running for four hours and you run low on electrolytes, but that's another issue. If you're running for no more than an hour and you can stand the taste (or lack of taste), water will do well.
However, once you get beyond an hour of exercise, you need to think about replenishing carbohydrates and electrolytes. Depending on weight and intensity of activity, you'll need between 30 and 60 grams of carbohydrates each hour; that's 16 to 32 ounces of Gatorade (200-400kcal). If you drink Accelerade during that same activity it will take 18 to 36 ounces (150-360kcal) to replenish, and you also get 7-15 grams of protein with the deal.
My recent favorite sports drink is PowerBar Endurance Sun Tea formula; I picked up a canister at Running Wild after a friend’s recommendation. A 16-ounce serving contains 42 grams or carbohydrates (so 12-24 ounces per hour), plus 480 mg of sodium and 25mg of potassium, so I don't have to worry about electrolytes. On top of that, there's 25mg of caffeine and a very light flavor. It mixes well and doesn't leave any gunk in your bottles, either.

Suzanne doesn't like Gatorade or Accelerade at full strength, but she liked the taste of PowerBar Endurance at normal strength. If caffeine isn’t your cup of tea (pun intended), PowerBar Endurance also comes in Lemon-Lime and Fruit Punch.
The best thing you can do is find a drink that meets your needs and stick with it. I can justify spending a little more for a good sports drink when I know it will help me perform well in workouts and on race day.
We've been told to take it easy this summer until it gets a little cooler. How easy is easy, and come fall, how long does it take to recover our strength and get back into racing form?

Just like the workout regimen, easy is in the eye of the beholder. I can tell usually by change in form or footstrike when an athlete is fatigued. Your challenge is to know it for yourself and to be smart enough to back off or pull the plug.
Being in racing form is not a question of how long as much as a question of when. You cannot be at maximal fitness throughout the entire year. You can maintain base through the entire year by running long, aerobic mileage. But the question of racing form is a function of how developed your base is, what variety of speedwork (tempo runs, short specificity, long specificity) you've put in, and how gradual your buildup is intended to be. Longer, more gradual build-ups lead to higher and more extended peak periods of six to eight weeks. Shorter, steeper build-ups lead to lower and shorter peaks.
Ask yourself, 'What is my goal race?' 'How am I going to get there?' 'What am I going to do to make certain I am at my most ready?'

Hey, Buddy, I'm Tired Of Begging

"...I am uncomfortable lying to a child; it feels like building a trap for something wild..." - David Crosby (2000)

I was on my way out of the office this afternoon to teach my study skills and test-taking seminar when a friend began to ask about the running clubs I associate with downtown. Oh, oh. This can't be good.

So, I took the time to hear his issue, and it was one that seems more amazing and frustrating than anything I've ever heard as an athlete, coach, or "overly officious representative of a national running organization," as some have described me.

I'll borrow from the e-mail my friend sent to Ray Palmer, president of the Pensacola Sports Association, as part of his cry for assistance:

"Six Pensacola youth track athletes, part of AAU-Salvation Army Golden Soldiers Track Club qualified for the AAU National Championship meet to be held in Detroit, MI on 25 July-02 August. The excitement of their accomplishment was quickly demoted (sic) when their Sponsor, local Salvation Army, disclosed that they would not be able to support these athletes for the finals thus leaving them on their own for any continued participation."

"The children were told in the beginning of the season that they would be "flown" to the finals if they made it. According to the (track coaching staff), the Salvation Army's response was that they did not expect the athletes to win."

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - I had a conversation with the local Salvation Army's Athletic Director on this particular topic, after asking whether there was any truth to the above. Sounds like there was a case of "Chinese telephony" at best, "CYA" somewhere in the middle, and hyperbole or outright disinformation at the worst. SA's response was more in line with, "we did not expect them to do so well." There also seems to be a conflict between the SA and the coaching staff, the result of a dressing-down of the coach by SA after administrative shortcomings on the coach's part. MB, Jul 25 2008)

Where do I explode or go off on a Postal Service-esque rampage? The first target, as can be expected, should be the local Salvation Army. Why would you even make the faintest promise to someone, without hope of fulfillment? I would prefer to not go into the theological realm and speak about faith, or the lack thereof, on the part of this sponsor.

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - After receiving clarity from the SA athletic director, they are off the targeting list. The track coach, on the other hand... For me, this may be an expensive lesson learned. MB, Jul 25 2008)

Secondly, why my friend expected assistance of the PSA, a for-profit organization that puts on one running event a year, is beyond me. I'm going to try to not throw stones at one single running group within the Pensacola area, of which there are (at least) five. Why didn't the friend of Pensacola youth sports, as my friend identified himself in his letter to the PSA, know to speak to two or three of the larger clubs, or any of the local running impressari?

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - SA Athletic Director has not been in contact with PSA, nor the "friend of Pensacola youth sports." MB, Jul 25 2008)

I guess it's fortunate he knew my role as a coach, athlete and sometimes officious running bureaucrat. However, outside of a token amount of support from some of the local running community and a down-home version of an economic stimulus package, the six youth are getting squat from the local running community. I could get very cranky and play a few cards, but I'm going to hold them close to my vest for future use.

(EDITORIAL COMMENT - The "friend of Pensacola youth sports" did not know of any other source within the local running community, ergo he went to PSA. MB, Jul 25 2008)

No athlete should have to go hat in hand to the general public in order to participate in the sport they love and in which they excel.

I've gone hat in hand to the local club leaders in order to support RRCA's "Kids Run The Nation." I've mentioned the matching support of the RRCA Vice President David Cotter. I am not certain how many clubs have donated, or whether the word has been passed along to their general membership.

Imagine if each RRCA member, 175,000 strong, were to donate $5 apiece. That's over $850,000 that could be funneled into youth running programs. How many youth, of all ages, of all socioeconomic categories, could be served by a Kids Run The Nation grant?

Running is too much fun to be left on the sidelines, hat in hand.

Swedish Speed Work By Any Other Name

In order to delay inevitable shagginess, as well as the revelation of way too many gray hairs, it was definitely high time to put myself back in the barber's chair. There was a time when I looked at a visit to the barber shop with much the same dread as a visit to the dentist. However, I'm losing my teeth (only a little) faster than my hair.

I did have once upon a time what could be best described as an educated mullet, simply because I was an educated person. I didn't have the Joe Dirt thing going, not quite that serious a mullet. In fact, I never considered it to be a mullet. To me it was simply long hair. It was my thumb in the eye of society to have enough hair to pull it back into a (small) pony tail, put on my white oxford dress shirt and tie, and step into the classroom. There are a couple of photos floating around of me that way.

However, my wife cannot bear the thought of the man of her life having long hair. She considers it unnatural. I've threatened to grow it down to my butt in order to spite everyone...but I do like the regular income. Everyone says there's no such thing as a dress code with the federal government, but just try to get a promotion without being able to wear business attire. I don't care how smart you are, no one will listen to your smart ideas if you're wearing a loud-a$$ Hawaiian shirt and ratty jeans. As of last week I'm ten years out from my pension; after that, however, all bets are off on the hair limit. Of course, I might not be able to grow it that long by then. I wouldn't call the last two workouts fartlek by any stretch of the imagination. If you were or are a music enthusiast, it was probably closer to 30 minutes of rock and roll, followed by 30 minutes of a funeral dirge/death metal mash-up. Not pretty, huh?
It always helps on those days when you are running alone to be mindful of the effort...yes, listen to your body (and not the music in your Oakley Thumps). The music initially was there for entertainment purposes, keeping ennui at bay. I won't use them when I'm running with someone else, because it's unkind to not carry on a conversation with them. Yes, I know we're usually not carrying on a conversation during the latter half of the run, but it's nice to know we could always back off and have one if we really wished. And there have been days we have done so.
Effort is a relative thing, especially when you're five minutes behind the rest of the group at the outset of the run...I knew that second potty break this morning was going to come back to haunt me. However, I consider it better to have been five minutes back and hurrying like mad to try and catch up than to go out with the group and have one eye constantly on the horizon looking (desperately!) for the porta-potty.

And believe me, I don't think the Swedes were thinking about porta-potties when the term fartlek was coined.

Hating Goodbyes

Dinner last night at a Thai restaurant with Christian and Petra, our German friends. Normally we would hold off on dinner and do the New Yorker Deli on Friday evening, but they're now temporarily billeted in the Officers' Quarters on NAS.

The bad news is there's no kitchen.

The good news is there are no dishes.

So, we ended up talking triathlon and training over dinner, trading notes and looking forward to future events. For them it's Ironman Germany in Frankfurt. For me, it's probably going to be either a sprint triathlon or a couple of long races in the autumn. It depends on the work schedule and how busy we are at Chez' Bowen.

Since they're doing IM.de, we'll be able to keep track of them courtesy of IronmanLive. Christian comes back to finish his tour, then goes back to .de. I have the sneaking suspicion they'll remain close (enough) to us in the coming years. I certainly hope so, for a number of good reasons. A life always benefits from diversity:

The more closely your companions and confidants resemble you, the less likely you are to stretch your horizons or consider differing viewpoints. Without the encouragement (or would that be a dare?) of Christian and Petra, I never would have considered doing a half-iron distance triathlon. No, I would not have run the numbers and considered a half-iron triathlon (or a full Ironman triathlon, for that matter!) as an achievable goal.

Christian and Petra also saved me from tuning in to the BBC to get a diverse take on the news; we could always ask what Deutsche Welle, ARD, ZDF, or BRW were saying about American policies and politics. We were able to clue them in on some of the incomprehensibilities of the American political system, usually with much eye-rolling and humor.

Race, religion, culture, sports icons..."third-rail" topics were always fair game, because we knew we could speak in honesty, truth and candor to each other. And for that we have been grateful these past couple of years.

I hate goodbyes. I do poorly with them. Doesn't matter how much you promise to drop an e-mail to each other monthly, or pick up the cell phone (especially if they're on your network!) to stay in touch, it seems small orbits become large ones; large ones become like the orbit of comets that show once every 75 years. Of course, there's Web 2.0 and Skype and all those other things, but it isn't the same as killing three (four? five? I don't recall...) mini-kegs of Heineken on a Saturday, then going out into the front yard to watch the International Space Station whiz by.

Some people bring joy by their arrival, others by their departure. As for Christian and Petra, it's been a joy to be in their presence. Every time I see a triathlete walking a flat-tired bike on a training run I hear the "don't ever go out on a training ride, no matter how short, without a flat kit" lecture.

We will see you soon, my friends. Until then, I'll do my best to hold the tears.

Revenge of The Fat Lazy B@st@rd

I talked myself into this race about six weeks ago as a tip of the hat to the local running club. Since one/more of their board of directors asked me the 'why don't you race local races any longer?' question, it seemed like a reasonable idea. I figured I was in better shape than I was after my horrible marathon experience in December, and had recovered enough from the half-iron distance triathlon. However, logic and reason began to scream in the back of my mind, 'why would you choose to run a race in the latter part of June, on Pensacola Beach, during the middle of the day!?'
Even my training runs weren't all that encouraging leading into the event. I kept feeling like ten pounds of used kitty litter in an eight-pound sack during my easy afternoon runs; and track work wasn't looking all that great, either. Mind you, most of the efforts were what I outwardly considered maintenance workouts; ideally at an aerobic (somewhere in the 70 percent maximum heart rate) pace. But, when I looked at my heart rate data afterward the efforts were lots closer to 80 percent, which could tell me one of two things:
1. The heat and humidity were worse than I feared, or
2. I was still a fat, lazy b@st@rd.
So, I didn't have too many expectations on this race. All I wanted to do was run as hard as I could for 3.1 miles and not embarrass myself too much.
Saturday's conditions were fairly conducive to racing; a bit of a breeze along the shoreline, partly to mostly cloudy, a little bit of rain (sprinkles) here and there. Since I hadn't raced a short race in a long time I made certain to be a little more ready, taking 30 minutes to walk along the bicycle path, then jogging easy for another 15 to 20 minutes. By the time I finished the warm-up I felt pretty good. Not confident, but good.
The first moments before the race are always hell on square wheels. While I wanted to line up as close to the front as possible I didn't know whether I was going to have the sustained power to keep from getting stomped on by some of the local greyhounds. However, I took my chances and stood one stride off the line. When the start was called it seemed like everyone and their mother went roaring past me; it probably was not so bad (high school runners and the really fast local dudes) as I feared. I tucked in behind five or six of the high school guys and cruised through the first 600 to 800 yards without too much strain. At about 800 yards it seemed like they were dawdling just a skosh (and I was concerned about a couple of my age group staying a little too close this early), so I gently knifed through the middle of their five-abreast formation and started to pick up my pace a little bit.
The time clock was set at about 1450 meters rather than a mile, so I couldn't take the time split or the call as gospel. In fact, when I looked down at my watch I knew the split was off; I haven't run a mile that fast in about four years. As always, the second mile would be the proof of how well I was doing. Got into the rhythm until it was time to turn back into the wind and run back toward the aid station. At that point the breeze seemed to pick up a skosh and reality began to set in. I managed to get past the second mile split before strange things began to happen (loose shoelaces, excessive heart rate, panic, and so on). I tried to stop for a second or two to at least tuck my shoelace into my training flats, to no avail. At that point I lost mental focus and all the bad things started to come into my mind...and when the mind goes the body is not long to follow.
My last mile and tenth was not particularly pretty; well, it was good for a half-marathoner or the run leg of a triathlon but not so good for a 5K road race. I ran a 19:16, which would time out to a respectable 10K or half marathon, and was good enough for a top-20 and age group first place. I groused for all of three minutes, then put it all in perspective as I watched some of my friends and athletes come in...it was warm, humid (not terrible) and not a goal race. And age group hardware is age group hardware no matter how you slice it.
What bothered me more was to see a guy in his early 50s, who uses me as a target for his training and racing, looking much like his life was over. He finished about 30 seconds behind me and looked absolutely despondent. I guess it's worth feeling that way if there's money or honor involved, but with a local race with little more than a beer glass (and perhaps local bragging rights) at stake...I'm not so certain.
I took the time to chat with him, ask a few questions about his training (he works strictly on speed training) and recommended he train with my friend George. I also told him what I felt it would take for him to beat me at a 5K. Dude, it doesn't mean that much to me...if it means that much to you, then here is what you'll have to do.
But, I did tell him the bottom line - you are only as good as your next race. Who knows when mine will be? Hard to tell.
Until then, it's back to training. Being a fat, lazy b@st@rd is no fun.

Feedback, Continued

Someone suggested last week (through the survey/grapevine) I needed to be less ego-driven and more nurturing, less short-tempered. It was a response I kind of shrugged off; consider the source as someone who didn't want to hear me tell them what I felt they needed to do (one of those things a coach - and a person who is in charge - does).
I did get a little reinforcement of the perception the other afternoon: One of my athletes tries to come out once a week and works hard when at the track. They mentioned I got a little cranky during a workout the previous week. Of course, I was surprised at the honesty in bringing the issue to my attention. I quickly explained myself and told them I would make an honest effort to not be so short-tempered.
It was easy to figure out the root cause of the cranky moods. When I'm trying to run my own workout and organize/supervise...or, better yet, coach other runners at the same time I can get a little short, sweet and to the point. When you're training, it's all about me is the mantra; how much sleep do I need to recover, how much time do I need to set aside for this long run, this cross-training, this therapeutic modality (massage and stretching for those of you who hate those fancy words), and so on. It makes spouses, employers, and family members lose their even keel...especially when they are the ones who always have to adjust their (overcommitted) schedules to fit those of the runner.
In performance improvement, we are often told to ask the why question four or five times in order to get down to the real root cause of the problem.
Problem: Coach Mike is cranky.
Why is Mike cranky? Because he feels his workouts (at the same time as his athletes) are interrupted to deal with stuff.
Why are Mike's workouts interrupted? Because Mike is running his at the same time as his athletes.
Why is Mike running at the same time? Because Mike has a work project that keeps him from running earlier in the afternoon. Mike also has an athlete who runs workouts by himself and needs to control his pace a little better.
So, one issue meets one root cause, or two. Coach Mike's real job (which cannot be changed all that much) compresses his schedule. Coach Mike has an athlete who is running faster than he needs to be at this time of the year. Normally, I wouldn't gripe too much, save for the painfully obvious fact running hard during the heat of the Florida summer is going to do a number on your body. I could let this athlete drive himself into the ground, or I could suggest from the sidelines that he back off. When recommending an easing back on the throttle, I get the I only went (blank) seconds faster on this 400 than the last one response. Of course, then I have to mention another painfully obvious fact; multiply those (blank) seconds on that 400 by four and figure the difference per mile. Bouncing around with (blank x four)-second variations per mile of running is not the way to become a good runner.
I tend to set high (and often, unrealistically high) expectations for myself. I have always done this, not to mention projecting those high expectations onto those around me. In educational theory, it's a well-proven fact teachers who set and communicate high expectations for their students find the students will meet those expectations more often than not. So, while it may seem to the outsider I do not care to the persons who don't want to vault over the bar I set, the exact opposite is true. I care a great deal about every athlete who expresses the desire to improve and makes the honest, consistent and continuous effort to improve.
It's all I can ask from any athlete. It's all I'm entitled to ask from any athlete.