Joy Ride

Tomorrow, I race.

Today, though, I'm going to run four miles or so, and I'm going to do everything in my power to really enjoy it.

Back in high school, on the cross country team, race-day eve was always spent with a quick, easy three miles. There was no need to push it. Then we'd go home. Practice lasted little more than a half hour.

Before I ran my first half marathon a couple of years ago, I treated my final pre-race practice as a celebration. I had completed the training plan I had set out for myself, and I knew I would be able to finish the race. That had been my chief goal. (It still is.)

I haven't been following a training plan for this race, but I have kept a good schedule the past month or so, and I feel like I'm in reasonably good shape for tomorrow's race. I also know that - barring injury - today's workout isn't going to measurably affect how I run tomorrow.

So I'm going to do four miles. And I'm going to do it with a smile on my face.

Jog, Stalk & Peril?

As I mentioned last week, last Saturday's run was a frustrating one. One of the main reasons was an odd encounter - scratch that - an odd near encounter I had with another runner.

I was only a few miles into what I planned to be a 13-mile run. I came up to an intersection, where my running trail crossed a busy road. There's no crosswalk. I usually err on the side of caution in such situations, so I held back a bit. As I waited, an older runner, tanned, shirtless with short white hair,  crossed the road ahead of me. No problem.

After I crossed the road, I saw him up ahead of me on the trail. It was obvious he was going a bit slower than I was, and within a few minutes I passed him.

Everything seemed fine for a few minutes. I lengthened my distance from him a bit, and put my mind back on the music coming out of my iPod.

Shortly thereafter, though, I heard footsteps. And saw a shadow. The guy was maybe three feet behind me. Personally, I don't like to pass someone right after they pass me. I'm afraid I'll look vindictive. If someone passes me on the trail, I'll usually make a point to stay a bit behind them for a few minutes, even if they slow down.

That same passivity kicked in when this guy started breathing down my neck. My plan for that run was to do eight minutes easy, then two minutes fast, and so forth. I was coming up to my fast minutes, but with the guy obviously about to pass me, I thought it would be rude to suddenly start sprinting. I didn't want to look like I was trying to keep him from passing me.

So I kept my same pace. And so did he.

It became quite disturbing. We crossed another road. Other runners on the trail turned down the road, headed into the city. He stayed right behind me. Every time I looked down, there was his shadow, right next to my feet.

Philosophical detour: I totally get that runners will sometimes use other runners to pace or to challenge themselves. I sometimes pinpoint another runner ahead of me but going slower than I am and try to pass them. I also try not to mind when other runners pass me. My philosophy in these cases is something akin to being "seen by not heard." I want to use the other runner to push or pace myself, but I don't want the other runner to know that I'm using them.


I think that's better for both runners. They (hopefully) don't get annoyed, and I'm careful not to exploit them, for fear of being caught.


So there I was with this 60-year-old man hot on my trail, perfectly content to run at exactly my pace, just a few feet behind me. I kept running through the possible reasons in my mind: Maybe my pace was the perfect pace for him, and he wasn't shy about taking advantage. Maybe he was mad at me for passing him, so he thought he'd annoy me for a while. Or maybe he was just being a jerk.

After about 10 minutes of being stalked, I cam up to an area where a lot of people fish on weekends. There's an adjacent parking lot, and a pedestrian bridge that connects the running trail to the parking area. I decided to hang a right at the bridge. If the guy really didn't realize he was bugging me, he'd keep going on the trail. If he really was trying to annoy - or kill - me, he'd follow me across the bridge to the parking lot. But at least there were other people around, and at least I'd know he really was trying to get on my nerves.

I swallowed hard, gave a nervous look to the fishermen, and angled off to the right. The guy kept running down the trail. I went through the parking lot and onto a nearby road and ran a few minutes down that road for good measure. Then I returned to the trail and never saw the guy again.

Maybe the whole incident shouldn't have been as disturbing as it was, but regardless of how I should have felt, the encounter stressed me out and the rest of the run turned out to be something of a bust.

Sure, it's a public trail and I suppose a runner can run at whatever pace he wants. But at the very least, shadowing a stranger for 10 minutes has got to be a breach of running etiquette. Right?

Necessary Breakdown

Zach Klein/Flickr via Creative Commons

I crossed the 700-mile mark yesterday. It's the first time I've reached that mileage total in a year, and it means I'm now only 300 miles away from my goal of 1,000.

I'm also just two weeks away from my next race, the Delaware and Lehigh Valley Half Marathon.

That's all good news. But yesterday's run was anything but good news. I had a pretty terrible run, but I'm putting a positive spin on it. I'm calling it a "necessary breakdown."

This has happened before. Shortly before a race, I set out on a long run and have a horrible experience. In this case, there were a few factors.

First, the weather was warmer than I was expecting. I ran in the afternoon, and it was 76 degrees outside. That's not that warm, but I'm used to running in the early morning, and for the last few weeks it's been cool outside.

Secondly, (and here's where I show myself to be a hypocrite) I didn't bring water, and I should have. Runners World pretty consistently says you should bring water for every run longer than an hour. I knew I'd be running for at least two hours, and I didn't bring any water. That was stupid.

I'll get more into the third reason for the bad run in a later post, but suffice it to say I exerted myself too much early on in the run.

The end result of all of this was that I had to stop and walk after about 9 miles. I then resumed running, but did so on a stair-step system, walking three minutes, jogging three minutes, running hard one minute, jogging three minutes, then starting over. In my head, I know that incorporating periods of walking into a run is a completely valid workout method. We did it back in high school on the cross country team. But it was frustrating. I omitted the walking periods from the mileage and time I put in my training log.

So it was terrible run and I was foolish. But I think it's actually OK.

If memory serves, it's not unusual for me to have a demoralizing, or slow, or dehydrating run shortly before a race. I get to the point where I'm thinking hard about the race, thinking about my training times, and thinking about what those times imply about my potential race time (very little, I think), and with that as the backdrop, I set out for a long run and come home defeated.

Then something good happens. I realize the pressure is off. I realize that my main reason for running is because I like running. I like logging miles, and I like running races.

I know I can run 13.1 miles. And I know I can survive a terrible outing. So I might as well enjoy the ride. I might as well have fun. As I do my long run next weekend, that will be my only goal: Have fun. Relax. Enjoy it. Don't strain.

Lessons from a self-coach

The New York Times interviewed Ryan Hall for a story examining a provocative question: "Is a coach necessary?"

Hall, as you may recall, parted ways with his coach last year, opting instead to be his own coach. The story notes that self-coaching is rare among elite athletes, but there have been some notable successes - including Hall (so far, at least).

The "coach or no coach" question isn't much of an issue for me, of course. I don't think I have the focus or time to train with a coach, and even if I could afford it, I'm not sure I'd want to spend the money. Still, Hall's experience has prompted some insights that can be instructive for all runners.

“The beauty of coaching yourself is being able to be really flexible,” Hall said. 

Flexibility is a constant battle for me. On the one hand, I want to keep a rigid schedule and rigid goals in order to ensure that I don't fall off the wagon. On the other hand, rigidity can lead to demoralization when I don't keep to my schedule or when I miss a goal.

The solution, I think, is balance: Setting out goals, but being flexible enough to be OK with missing or changing goals. I like the idea that running is very personal and very intuitive. The trick is getting my brain to agree.

Speaking of individuality, Hall also tells The Times that he prefers to run alone.

And, he added, running by himself, “I don’t turn every workout into a race.”

I can relate. I run about half of the time with a friend, and about half the time by myself. Running with a partner ensures that I have a solid base of miles each week, giving me the motivation to get up and out the door on cold, dark mornings.

But I also need to run alone sometimes, particularly on my long runs. If I do a long run with someone else who runs a bit faster than I do, I end up straining myself. I end up in pain. And I end up dejected.

One final point from the article: Being your own coach means you have to be honest with yourself. The Times also interviews Hall's former coach, Terrence Mahon, who says it's critical that a runner understand the big picture, and honestly evaluate a bad run or race to figure out what went wrong and why.

Read the full story here: Top American Marathoner's Success Raises Question: Is a Coach Necessary?

Banner Year

I have run more miles in 2011 than in any other year. This morning, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. to sneak in a 3.3-mile run. That gave me 680 miles for the year, slipping past my previous record of 679, set in 2009.

The milestone wasn’t on my mind during the run. I had thought about the coming record last week, so I knew in the back of my mind that it was coming. But it wasn’t until I had returned home, showered, and made my lunch that I realized today was the day.

It’s definitely been an up and down year. I started out very well, and then slowed down significantly in the summer. I’ve gotten better over the past couple of weeks, though.

I’m still far away from my goal of hitting 1,000 miles for the year, but I think that goal’s reachable. Stay tuned.

Studies: Marathoners May Be Mis-Hydrating

Roger H. Goun/Creative Commons

The New York Times
Most experts now advise runners to drink less - not more - during marathons and marathon training, reports Gretchen Reynolds. New studies, however, suggest that many runners have no hydration strategy, or have a hydration strategy that involves too drinking too much.