It looks like my last post on long, slow distance (aka, "LSD") training for ultras set off a veritable firestorm, relatively speaking. In the spirit of continuous improvement and challenging even my own assumptions (I like to go fast), I'm going to go deeper into my thought process, at the risk of offending those who think the very thought of LSD is akin to blasphemy and idiocy.
When you train for a marathon, usually you have a goal time in mind. If that goal is 2:59, then that means you need to train a lot at 6:50 pace--with many long runs hitting that pace. The more volume you can put in at 6:50 pace, the more prepared you will be for 26.2 miles. Goal-pace training is a big part of what we refer to as specificity.
But specificity is about more than goal-pace training. It's also about preparing yourself for the conditions and contours of the course. If the course has hills, like what you find in Boston, then you'd better put in some time on ups and downs. If your race is likely going to be in the heat, then you'd better be ready for that. Etc., etc.
I think that, in many respects, the principles of successful marathoning are fairly well established, even as new understandings come about regularly. It's a safe bet that Renato Canova, Jack Daniels, Brad Hudson and others are onto something.
Like many, I do not think the same principles that guide successful marathoning necessarily apply to racing 100-milers, especially 100-milers of the mountainous, high-altitude variety. Hundred-milers require a lot of mental toughness, but they also require a lot of physical preparation. You have to run a ton in your training, and it's best if most of your training is in the same conditions and environment as the race itself. Ah, but proper pacing is also critical.
Let's go back to the marathon. If your goal is a 2:59, then it's probably best that you attack that goal with relatively even splits the whole way. You wouldn't want to go out and do the first half in 1:25 if you'd trained specifically for a 2:59. To do so would be to risk blowing up.
Especially in mountain 100s, oftentimes we see huge variations in splits between the first half and the second half. The Leadville 100 is Exhibit A for this phenomenon. It takes a special (and smart) Leadville runner to do a negative split on that course (unless they were totally sand-bagging it for the first 50 miles). In 2011, when I ran a rather decent 22:35, my first-half split was in the neighborhood of 9:15 (11:06/mile, including stops), meaning it took me 13:20 (16:00/mile) to do the second half.
In 2009, I won a 100-mile race in the last 20 miles because I'd started conservatively enough to save my energy for a strong final push.
What if I'd run the first half of Leadville in 2011 in, say, a time of 10:00 or 10:30 (~12:00-12:30/mile including stops)? Would a slower start have allowed me to have a stronger second half? Ah, perhaps we have an example to work from!
At the 2012 Leadville 100, the runner who, in my opinion, executed the smartest race was Brandon Stapanowich, a young up-and-comer from Colorado Springs who has a very bright future in the sport. Brandon, who, unlike me, has a lot of talent and brains, finished the race in a very impressive 19:32, which was good for seventh overall. But that's not what most impresses me. What most impresses me is the intelligence behind Brandon's race strategy. Guess what his first-half split was? It was 9:06. He went into Mayqueen, the 13.5-mile mark, in a rather pedestrian 1:57. As many of us know, Brandon could have run to Mayqueen and covered the first half a lot faster than he ultimately did last August. Instead, he chose a conservative first-half approach, which then helped set the table for an impressive second-half split. I also think Brandon arranged his approach around the fact that he's a super strong climber, which helped him excel at the Hope Pass and Powerline sections. To wit: I believe he was the only top finisher whose return trip on Hope was faster than his outbound. So, it's quite obvious that Brandon held back a bit in the first half, and then decided to up his intensity in the second half.
While some of the guys in front of Brandon may have run faster second halves, few achieved a more consistently paced first and second half.
When I think about running 100s, it seems to me that proper pacing, like what we see in Brandon's 2012 Leadville 100, is critical. Does it make sense to go out in a 100 at 8:00/mile pace, when deep down you know you're not going to be able to hold that pace in the end? Or, does it make better sense to go out at, say, 10:00/mile pace and save energy that you'll need in the end? A 100-miler doesn't have to end in a death march to the finish. If one paces themselves correctly, one can stay strong from start to finish. Herein lies my own $60,000 question: What is the ideal pace for me in a 100 like Leadville? And by ideal pace I mean the pace at which I achieve optimal efficiency. Is my optimal pace the pace I purposely train at for months, or is it some arbitrary pacing schedule I choose on race day?
Again, in 2011 I ran a 9:15 first half and a 13:20 second half at Leadville, clearly a larger than ideal separation. What if I'd come into Winfield in 10 hours rather than 9:15. Would my second half have then been much faster than 13:20 since I'd held back even more for the first 50 miles? Could I have maybe run the second half in 11 hours or 11:30 instead of 13:20? Which begs the question: Does it make better sense to train a lot at that pace (about 10:00-11:00/mile) rather than at 7:00 or 8:00 pace? For me, being a guy who likes to run fast, it's hard to imagine training at paces that slow, but maybe doing so, along with plenty of exposure to the Leadville course itself (which I'm going to get this summer), would enable my body to achieve super efficiency--a level of efficiency I've never had in 100s.
It's good to ask these questions in February, when my training hasn't really begun. Questions are good. It's healthy to probe deeply into one's training habits, because there are almost always better ways to do things. My search for those better ways continues.
Showing posts with label Challenging Assumptions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Challenging Assumptions. Show all posts
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Friday, May 18, 2012
So, Who Wins...the Fast Guy or the Mountain Guy?
Regarding this post, which continues to get a lot of reader interest, I haven't yet provided my own take on who has the better chance at a fast finish at Leadville--the fast guy or the mountain dude. But now I'm ready to offer my take.
I see myself more as the guy whose weekly approach is to run 100 miles in 13 hours versus 100 miles in 18 hours. That's partially a product of the environment in which I live (Parker, Colorado, which has limited dirt trails and is 40 minutes from the mountains) but also of my identity as a runner. When it comes to races, I'm a runner, not a hiker (though I love recreational hiking). I do like the occasional difficult mountain race, such as the Jemez 50-Mile (which involves some insanely steep, scree-laced climbs and descents), but by and large I'm attracted to races that involve a lot of running, not hiking. That's not to minimize races that involve a lot of hiking; I consider Hardrock to be the ultimate challenge and one day I will confront that gnarly course as an official entrant.
What I most like about Leadville is that it gives me everything I want in a race at this stage in my life--mountains, beautiful trails and a little bit of road. My favorite section of Leadville is when you're dropping into Twin Lakes on the outbound. This part of the Colorado Trail is awesomely runnable and you can just fly into Twin Lakes.
Getting back to who has the better approach--the fast guy or the mountain guy--I think that for Leadville the faster guy's training is, by its nature, higher-risk/higher-reward than the mountain guy's. Because he did his intervals, tempo runs, etc. and has good turnover and efficiency, the fast guy stands the chance of running a stout time at Leadville since it's a "runner's race." But, if things go bad for him, which is very possible in a high-altitude environment like Leadville, he may have a hard time getting into the finish since he didn't put in a lot of time on his feet like the mountain guy.
Conversely, the mountain guy, even though his speed and efficiency aren't as good as the fast guy's, has put in the time on his feet to be able to withstand lots of punishment and a long day out there on the Leadville course. His training approach, while quite taxing from a time standpoint, has built up tremendous strength that will benefit him on Hope Pass as well as late in the race. His approach is lower-risk, but I'm not sure if it's higher-reward or lower-reward since he probably wouldn't stand a chance if the fast guy is having a good day.
At Leadville, I give the slight nod to the fast guy. Only slight, though.
In a race like Hardrock, I go with the mountain guy ten times out of ten.
I believe to my marrow that if you want to be a better runner, yes, you have to hit some good volume and go really long on a regular basis. If you're doing a race like Leadville, you'd better get out there on the mountain trails and do some serious climbing and descending. But you also need to log good quality. Go to the track and challenge yourself with some fast intervals that will improve your VO2 max and efficiency. Do a weekly tempo run, which will enhance your strength and lactate threshold, allowing you to go harder for longer. If you do no quality and just emphasis long, slow distance, you're not going to get faster.
Ultimately, I think the optimal training program is to marry both approaches and get to the mountain trails while also spending time at the track and on the road doing fast stuff. If you can do both, you're in a good place.
Where am I right? Where am I wrong?
I see myself more as the guy whose weekly approach is to run 100 miles in 13 hours versus 100 miles in 18 hours. That's partially a product of the environment in which I live (Parker, Colorado, which has limited dirt trails and is 40 minutes from the mountains) but also of my identity as a runner. When it comes to races, I'm a runner, not a hiker (though I love recreational hiking). I do like the occasional difficult mountain race, such as the Jemez 50-Mile (which involves some insanely steep, scree-laced climbs and descents), but by and large I'm attracted to races that involve a lot of running, not hiking. That's not to minimize races that involve a lot of hiking; I consider Hardrock to be the ultimate challenge and one day I will confront that gnarly course as an official entrant.
What I most like about Leadville is that it gives me everything I want in a race at this stage in my life--mountains, beautiful trails and a little bit of road. My favorite section of Leadville is when you're dropping into Twin Lakes on the outbound. This part of the Colorado Trail is awesomely runnable and you can just fly into Twin Lakes.
Getting back to who has the better approach--the fast guy or the mountain guy--I think that for Leadville the faster guy's training is, by its nature, higher-risk/higher-reward than the mountain guy's. Because he did his intervals, tempo runs, etc. and has good turnover and efficiency, the fast guy stands the chance of running a stout time at Leadville since it's a "runner's race." But, if things go bad for him, which is very possible in a high-altitude environment like Leadville, he may have a hard time getting into the finish since he didn't put in a lot of time on his feet like the mountain guy.
Conversely, the mountain guy, even though his speed and efficiency aren't as good as the fast guy's, has put in the time on his feet to be able to withstand lots of punishment and a long day out there on the Leadville course. His training approach, while quite taxing from a time standpoint, has built up tremendous strength that will benefit him on Hope Pass as well as late in the race. His approach is lower-risk, but I'm not sure if it's higher-reward or lower-reward since he probably wouldn't stand a chance if the fast guy is having a good day.
At Leadville, I give the slight nod to the fast guy. Only slight, though.
In a race like Hardrock, I go with the mountain guy ten times out of ten.
I believe to my marrow that if you want to be a better runner, yes, you have to hit some good volume and go really long on a regular basis. If you're doing a race like Leadville, you'd better get out there on the mountain trails and do some serious climbing and descending. But you also need to log good quality. Go to the track and challenge yourself with some fast intervals that will improve your VO2 max and efficiency. Do a weekly tempo run, which will enhance your strength and lactate threshold, allowing you to go harder for longer. If you do no quality and just emphasis long, slow distance, you're not going to get faster.
Ultimately, I think the optimal training program is to marry both approaches and get to the mountain trails while also spending time at the track and on the road doing fast stuff. If you can do both, you're in a good place.
Where am I right? Where am I wrong?
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Speed vs. Time...You Make the Call
Note to Reader: This is the fourth article in a series that challenges various assumptions in ultrarunning. In some cases, we may find that certain assumptions are correct; while in others we may find a new and better viewpoint. Please contribute your insights in the comments section. Enjoy!
Runner #1 and Runner #2 are both training for a fast time at the Leadville Trail 100 but take different approaches in their preparation--mostly because of varying interests, time availability, and strengths.
Both runners live in the Denver area. Both are the same age and gender (male). And both are about equally experienced.
Runner #1 runs 100 miles a week in 13 hours, averaging about 7.5 miles/hour. He runs most of his miles on roads and smooth trails and gets to the mountains once a week for some quality climbing. Runner #1 also does very solid quality at the track and in his tempo runs and has excellent efficiency and leg turnover. He rarely does training runs over 3 hours (except in races) but has excellent daily consistency. He trains on parts of the Leadville course a few times during the summer.
Runner #2 also runs 100 miles a week, taking him usually 18 hours, for an average pace of about 5.5 miles/hour. He trains mostly on mountain trails, never goes to the track, and rarely does a tempo run except for some fast descents. Runner #2 isn't that fast but he's strong on the big climbs, pretty formidable on the downs, and an excellent hiker. He often does training runs of 4-6 hours on mountain trails and runs on the Leadville course a few times during the summer.
For Leadville, who's doing better training and has the better shot at a top finish...Runner #1 (the fast guy) or Runner #2 (the mountain guy)? And why?
Runner #1 and Runner #2 are both training for a fast time at the Leadville Trail 100 but take different approaches in their preparation--mostly because of varying interests, time availability, and strengths.
Both runners live in the Denver area. Both are the same age and gender (male). And both are about equally experienced.
Runner #1 runs 100 miles a week in 13 hours, averaging about 7.5 miles/hour. He runs most of his miles on roads and smooth trails and gets to the mountains once a week for some quality climbing. Runner #1 also does very solid quality at the track and in his tempo runs and has excellent efficiency and leg turnover. He rarely does training runs over 3 hours (except in races) but has excellent daily consistency. He trains on parts of the Leadville course a few times during the summer.
Runner #2 also runs 100 miles a week, taking him usually 18 hours, for an average pace of about 5.5 miles/hour. He trains mostly on mountain trails, never goes to the track, and rarely does a tempo run except for some fast descents. Runner #2 isn't that fast but he's strong on the big climbs, pretty formidable on the downs, and an excellent hiker. He often does training runs of 4-6 hours on mountain trails and runs on the Leadville course a few times during the summer.
For Leadville, who's doing better training and has the better shot at a top finish...Runner #1 (the fast guy) or Runner #2 (the mountain guy)? And why?
Friday, March 23, 2012
5 Mistakes Ultrarunners Make
Note to Reader: This
is the third article in a series that challenges various assumptions in
ultrarunning. In some cases, we may find that certain assumptions are correct;
while in others we may find a new and better viewpoint. Please contribute your
insights in the comments section. Enjoy!
In many ways, I feel like I’ve learned more about running in the past three months than in the previous eight years (I “started” running “serious” distance in 2004 at the age of 31). A rash of injuries over the past two years has forced me to rethink many assumptions I've always had about how to train properly for ultras and get into peak shape. Here are five concepts I’m only beginning to fully understand:
Weekly mileage is over-rated and arbitrary. Did I just say that? Yes, I did. A year ago I never would have even remotely entertained the notion that weekly mileage is over-rated. But the truth is that exclusively measuring your training according to a constantly revolving 7-day week starting on Monday and ending on Sunday is a faulty approach because it’s based on an arbitrary timeframe. When you're caught in the mousetrap that is the 7-day week, you can become obsessed with mileage to the point of risking injury. Here’s an example of why the 7-day running week is faulty: You can run two consecutive weeks of 70 miles and, in your log, that’s what it says—you ran 70 miles each week, end of story. But within those two weeks you have 14 days, and within those 14 days you might find a 7-day stretch where you ran 90, or maybe even 100, miles. Here’s an example of what I mean:
Week 1
Monday – 7M
Tuesday – 10M
Wednesday – rest
Thursday – 10M
Friday – 8M
Saturday – 20M
Sunday – 15M
Total: 70 miles
Week 2
Monday – 10M
Tuesday – 15M
Wednesday – 15M
Thursday – rest
Friday – 7M
Saturday – 13M
Sunday – 10M
Total: 70 miles
Note that in the above, 93 miles were run between Thursday of week 1 and Wednesday of week 2. It would be hard to pinpoint--and maximize--that excellent 7-day cycle if all you thought about was weekly output. You just ran 93 miles in 7 days and you may not have even known it.
Personal example: Last year I didn’t log a single 100-mile "week" (I came close a few times), but in April I had a 7-day stretch where I ran something like 107 miles, including a 50K race. It’s better to structure your training around cycles than weeks. If you structure around cycles, you’re more likely to schedule rest and cross-training days (those days constitute "rest cycles"), because then you won’t be obsessed with getting in a certain number of miles in a single week come hell or high water. In other words, you have different types of cycles, rest being among them. Make your cycle what you want it to be--7 days, 10 days, etc., and be sure to schedule some rest! All that said, I do look at weekly mileage as one of many measures, but my greater emphasis is on cycles—because cycles are more accommodating of recovery.
Mileage in general is over-rated. Again, this is another statement I never thought I’d make. In ultramarathon training, especially out here in the Mountain West, mileage often doesn’t tell the full story. If I decide to train on Hope Pass for the Leadville 100, on paper I’m doing a 21-mile “run” (it’s 21 miles from Twin Lakes to Winfield and back). But that doesn’t tell the full story—far from it. Those 21 miles, which bring 12,000 feet of elevation change between 10,200-12,600 feet, are going to take me upwards of 5-6 hours—that’s 5-6 hours on my feet in the mountains. On flat road I can pretty easily run 21 miles in 2:30 or less, but no one would argue 21 road miles is equivalent to 21 miles in the Colorado high country, just as 100 miles at sea level isn't equivalent to 100 miles on, say, the Hardrock course (I might catch hell for saying that...). Another example: It takes most well-conditioned athletes 30 or fewer minutes to complete the 1.3-mile Manitou Incline, which brings 2,000 feet of climbing. But there’s far more to the Incline than a distance equivalent to five laps around the track. The larger point I'm making is that time on your feet and terrain are just as relevant, if not more relevant, than mileage. I know guys and gals who run 60-70 miles a week in mountains, but they’re finishing top-10 in big races like Leadville, Hardrock, Wasatch, etc. Just as I know folks who run 100 miles a week on the road and crash and burn in mountain races. Now, let the arguing begin....
LSD is overrated and quality is under-rated. If all you do is run long, slow distance (LSD) in your training, you’re not really going to get faster or better. It’s far better to incorporate some quality into your training—like tempo running, intervals and/or fartleks—to improve your efficiency so that you’re able to cover the miles with less energy expended per step. If you’re not able to do much quality because you’re often too tired or beat-up from your training (a situation I have found myself in on occasion), you need to cut back on your overall volume and incorporate enough rest in order to allow for faster stuff. Eighty miles in a 7-day cycle with track work and tempo running is far more beneficial than 110 miles with zero quality in that same time span.
An ounce of recovery is worth a pound of peak performance. Lots of ultrarunners shun recovery because they think rest is counter to the gritty nature of the sport. The conventional wisdom is that ultrarunners grind out the mileage because that’s the only way to train properly for a race. And there is some merit to grinding out the mileage now and then, like on long back to backs (one of my staples). But recovery allows your body to heal, strengthen and improve from your training, so that you can move to the next level of fitness rather than remain in a plateau. If you never allow time for recovery, you’re going to eventually experience a deficit and actually go backwards. Believe it or not, but you can arrive at the starting line of a race in worse shape than when you began your training, even if you had grinded out mega-mileage for 18 weeks straight. Incorporate recovery—via days off and/or cross-training—and you’ll find that you are stronger in your long runs, are able to get in some good quality to maximize your efficiency, stand a much greater chance of avoiding injury, and will arrive at the starting line much more physically and mentally dialed in. Bottom line: Training serves to strengthen your body; recovery allows you to benefit from your training. Zero recovery = zero gain.
We too often over-race. Back in the day there were few races between November and March, leaving ultrarunners with 4 or 5 months to rest and recover. I was recently reading about how the Way to Cool 50K in Cool, California (a race I really want to do one day), held in early March, used to serve as a kickoff event for ultrarunning out West. No more. There are now races year-round. This presents some dangers to us ultrarunners because we too often convince ourselves that more is better. If you race year-round, without any time for recovery, you place yourself at risk of over-training and injury. You need a few months "off" (and by off I mean easy training and no racing) every year to regenerate. No runner can remain in peak shape all year. Better yet, within those few months of rest, take at least two weeks completely off from running and instead cycle, swim and/or walk. You would be shocked how much a few weeks completely off from running will help you.
Where am I on the right track? Where am I on the wrong track?
In many ways, I feel like I’ve learned more about running in the past three months than in the previous eight years (I “started” running “serious” distance in 2004 at the age of 31). A rash of injuries over the past two years has forced me to rethink many assumptions I've always had about how to train properly for ultras and get into peak shape. Here are five concepts I’m only beginning to fully understand:
Weekly mileage is over-rated and arbitrary. Did I just say that? Yes, I did. A year ago I never would have even remotely entertained the notion that weekly mileage is over-rated. But the truth is that exclusively measuring your training according to a constantly revolving 7-day week starting on Monday and ending on Sunday is a faulty approach because it’s based on an arbitrary timeframe. When you're caught in the mousetrap that is the 7-day week, you can become obsessed with mileage to the point of risking injury. Here’s an example of why the 7-day running week is faulty: You can run two consecutive weeks of 70 miles and, in your log, that’s what it says—you ran 70 miles each week, end of story. But within those two weeks you have 14 days, and within those 14 days you might find a 7-day stretch where you ran 90, or maybe even 100, miles. Here’s an example of what I mean:
Week 1
Monday – 7M
Tuesday – 10M
Wednesday – rest
Thursday – 10M
Friday – 8M
Saturday – 20M
Sunday – 15M
Total: 70 miles
Week 2
Monday – 10M
Tuesday – 15M
Wednesday – 15M
Thursday – rest
Friday – 7M
Saturday – 13M
Sunday – 10M
Total: 70 miles
Note that in the above, 93 miles were run between Thursday of week 1 and Wednesday of week 2. It would be hard to pinpoint--and maximize--that excellent 7-day cycle if all you thought about was weekly output. You just ran 93 miles in 7 days and you may not have even known it.
Personal example: Last year I didn’t log a single 100-mile "week" (I came close a few times), but in April I had a 7-day stretch where I ran something like 107 miles, including a 50K race. It’s better to structure your training around cycles than weeks. If you structure around cycles, you’re more likely to schedule rest and cross-training days (those days constitute "rest cycles"), because then you won’t be obsessed with getting in a certain number of miles in a single week come hell or high water. In other words, you have different types of cycles, rest being among them. Make your cycle what you want it to be--7 days, 10 days, etc., and be sure to schedule some rest! All that said, I do look at weekly mileage as one of many measures, but my greater emphasis is on cycles—because cycles are more accommodating of recovery.
Mileage in general is over-rated. Again, this is another statement I never thought I’d make. In ultramarathon training, especially out here in the Mountain West, mileage often doesn’t tell the full story. If I decide to train on Hope Pass for the Leadville 100, on paper I’m doing a 21-mile “run” (it’s 21 miles from Twin Lakes to Winfield and back). But that doesn’t tell the full story—far from it. Those 21 miles, which bring 12,000 feet of elevation change between 10,200-12,600 feet, are going to take me upwards of 5-6 hours—that’s 5-6 hours on my feet in the mountains. On flat road I can pretty easily run 21 miles in 2:30 or less, but no one would argue 21 road miles is equivalent to 21 miles in the Colorado high country, just as 100 miles at sea level isn't equivalent to 100 miles on, say, the Hardrock course (I might catch hell for saying that...). Another example: It takes most well-conditioned athletes 30 or fewer minutes to complete the 1.3-mile Manitou Incline, which brings 2,000 feet of climbing. But there’s far more to the Incline than a distance equivalent to five laps around the track. The larger point I'm making is that time on your feet and terrain are just as relevant, if not more relevant, than mileage. I know guys and gals who run 60-70 miles a week in mountains, but they’re finishing top-10 in big races like Leadville, Hardrock, Wasatch, etc. Just as I know folks who run 100 miles a week on the road and crash and burn in mountain races. Now, let the arguing begin....
LSD is overrated and quality is under-rated. If all you do is run long, slow distance (LSD) in your training, you’re not really going to get faster or better. It’s far better to incorporate some quality into your training—like tempo running, intervals and/or fartleks—to improve your efficiency so that you’re able to cover the miles with less energy expended per step. If you’re not able to do much quality because you’re often too tired or beat-up from your training (a situation I have found myself in on occasion), you need to cut back on your overall volume and incorporate enough rest in order to allow for faster stuff. Eighty miles in a 7-day cycle with track work and tempo running is far more beneficial than 110 miles with zero quality in that same time span.
An ounce of recovery is worth a pound of peak performance. Lots of ultrarunners shun recovery because they think rest is counter to the gritty nature of the sport. The conventional wisdom is that ultrarunners grind out the mileage because that’s the only way to train properly for a race. And there is some merit to grinding out the mileage now and then, like on long back to backs (one of my staples). But recovery allows your body to heal, strengthen and improve from your training, so that you can move to the next level of fitness rather than remain in a plateau. If you never allow time for recovery, you’re going to eventually experience a deficit and actually go backwards. Believe it or not, but you can arrive at the starting line of a race in worse shape than when you began your training, even if you had grinded out mega-mileage for 18 weeks straight. Incorporate recovery—via days off and/or cross-training—and you’ll find that you are stronger in your long runs, are able to get in some good quality to maximize your efficiency, stand a much greater chance of avoiding injury, and will arrive at the starting line much more physically and mentally dialed in. Bottom line: Training serves to strengthen your body; recovery allows you to benefit from your training. Zero recovery = zero gain.
We too often over-race. Back in the day there were few races between November and March, leaving ultrarunners with 4 or 5 months to rest and recover. I was recently reading about how the Way to Cool 50K in Cool, California (a race I really want to do one day), held in early March, used to serve as a kickoff event for ultrarunning out West. No more. There are now races year-round. This presents some dangers to us ultrarunners because we too often convince ourselves that more is better. If you race year-round, without any time for recovery, you place yourself at risk of over-training and injury. You need a few months "off" (and by off I mean easy training and no racing) every year to regenerate. No runner can remain in peak shape all year. Better yet, within those few months of rest, take at least two weeks completely off from running and instead cycle, swim and/or walk. You would be shocked how much a few weeks completely off from running will help you.
Where am I on the right track? Where am I on the wrong track?
Friday, February 17, 2012
Youth is Over-Rated!
Note to Reader: This is the second article in a series that challenges various assumptions in ultrarunning. In some cases, we may find that certain assumptions are correct; while in others we may find a new and better viewpoint. Please contribute your insights in the comments section. Enjoy!
Youth is over-rated!
Species go extinct when they are unable to adapt to new conditions (think dinosaurs). We humans are for the most part very adaptive, though certainly not immune from extinction. Short of the sun burning out, a great flood, a meteor hitting the Earth and other catastrophes, we posses a unique ability to evolve to conditions and find a way toward survival.
In the world of running, the ability to adapt is critical to longevity. Especially when you enter your late thirties, the body starts to age and the benefits of youth become fewer, requiring some adaptation. And yet many choose not to adapt. How many of us know a runner who won't change his or her practices despite what the aging process is doing to their body? "I don't care if I'm 40 and my body feels like I got run over by a Mack truck. I'm running 110 miles this week come hell or high water!" It's usually these types of runners who eventually find themselves constantly injured, unable to run and and relegated to cycling for the rest of their lives (nothing against cycling, but it's not nearly as fun as running). Or, worse yet, they have to do CrossFit :-)
I think I began to feel the years when I turned 37. One day--I don't remember when exactly--it hit me that I wasn't recovering the way I used to and injuries seemed to happen more frequently and last longer. Back in my younger days, if I had a muscle pull or tendon issue, I could slap some ice on the effected area and be good to go in almost no time. No more. (Fortunately, age hasn't yet robbed me of speed; I'm pretty sure I haven't lost a step...yet). Then it hit me that, at my age, pro athletes are considered way over the hill and many are forced into retirement. At 38 years of age, I'd be a geezer if I were a pro athlete. They might call me gramps.
Every year, people spend billions trying to fight the aging process, mostly because they refuse to adapt to what's happening and see aging as a new stage of life with many unique opportunities. Fighting the years is a waste of time and money. Aging is natural and inevitable; better to embrace and adjust to it than fight what cannot be stopped. For me, changing some of my practices as a runner, recognizing that a little pain here or there might be a call for rest, focusing more on recovery, incorporating cross-training, seeing the benefits of strength-training and investing in things like Hokas have been ways to adjust to the aging process and keep doing what I love. But I'm still figuring this aging thing out. The good news is that I'm not stupid enough to actually think I can outrun Father Time. (Click here for a fantastic book by Ironman legend Chris McCormack, who writes at length about how he adapted to Father Time and enjoyed even more success in his demanding sport.)
What if I said Father Time can be our friend? More on that below (or read Macca's book linked above for a more information).
Don't get me wrong; youth is wonderful. It is indeed true that "youth is wasted on the young." One of my great regrets is not taking full advantage of my youth when I had it. I didn't start running seriously until I was 31 (though I started running cross-country at age 12). I had a a few good years in 2008 and 2009 and they were, indeed, fun. But at the time it never hit me that this wouldn't last. I wish I'd taken advantage of my youth when I had it--ah, the 20s--and really gone for it in this sport. I often look at the young pups all around me at races and I wonder if they really know what they have and what they can do.
But youth is over-rated! Did I just that? Yes! Why? Because, at least in the sport of ultrarunning, experience usually is an advantage (and maybe in running in general--back in September I out-kicked a 16-year-old track star at a local 5K, beating him by a half-second). Racing 100 milers is almost all about experience. The young pup explodes out of the gate and runs recklessly, finding around mile 60 that things have turned bad. But he lacks the experience to battle through the bad patch. Meanwhile, the older, more mature runner, running a patient race from step one, is just starting to get into a groove at mile 60 as he/she passes the exhausted, discouraged young runner. Of course, it doesn't always happen that way; sometimes the young pup possesses that special combination of youth and patience. But it seems to me that ultrarunning is a sport that rewards those with discipline and experience.
So, at least in the sport of ultrarunning, maybe aging isn't all that bad!?!?!?!
Do you consider yourself an aging athlete? If so, have you taken any steps to adjust your approach to the sport?
Youth is over-rated!
Species go extinct when they are unable to adapt to new conditions (think dinosaurs). We humans are for the most part very adaptive, though certainly not immune from extinction. Short of the sun burning out, a great flood, a meteor hitting the Earth and other catastrophes, we posses a unique ability to evolve to conditions and find a way toward survival.
In the world of running, the ability to adapt is critical to longevity. Especially when you enter your late thirties, the body starts to age and the benefits of youth become fewer, requiring some adaptation. And yet many choose not to adapt. How many of us know a runner who won't change his or her practices despite what the aging process is doing to their body? "I don't care if I'm 40 and my body feels like I got run over by a Mack truck. I'm running 110 miles this week come hell or high water!" It's usually these types of runners who eventually find themselves constantly injured, unable to run and and relegated to cycling for the rest of their lives (nothing against cycling, but it's not nearly as fun as running). Or, worse yet, they have to do CrossFit :-)
I think I began to feel the years when I turned 37. One day--I don't remember when exactly--it hit me that I wasn't recovering the way I used to and injuries seemed to happen more frequently and last longer. Back in my younger days, if I had a muscle pull or tendon issue, I could slap some ice on the effected area and be good to go in almost no time. No more. (Fortunately, age hasn't yet robbed me of speed; I'm pretty sure I haven't lost a step...yet). Then it hit me that, at my age, pro athletes are considered way over the hill and many are forced into retirement. At 38 years of age, I'd be a geezer if I were a pro athlete. They might call me gramps.
Every year, people spend billions trying to fight the aging process, mostly because they refuse to adapt to what's happening and see aging as a new stage of life with many unique opportunities. Fighting the years is a waste of time and money. Aging is natural and inevitable; better to embrace and adjust to it than fight what cannot be stopped. For me, changing some of my practices as a runner, recognizing that a little pain here or there might be a call for rest, focusing more on recovery, incorporating cross-training, seeing the benefits of strength-training and investing in things like Hokas have been ways to adjust to the aging process and keep doing what I love. But I'm still figuring this aging thing out. The good news is that I'm not stupid enough to actually think I can outrun Father Time. (Click here for a fantastic book by Ironman legend Chris McCormack, who writes at length about how he adapted to Father Time and enjoyed even more success in his demanding sport.)
What if I said Father Time can be our friend? More on that below (or read Macca's book linked above for a more information).
Don't get me wrong; youth is wonderful. It is indeed true that "youth is wasted on the young." One of my great regrets is not taking full advantage of my youth when I had it. I didn't start running seriously until I was 31 (though I started running cross-country at age 12). I had a a few good years in 2008 and 2009 and they were, indeed, fun. But at the time it never hit me that this wouldn't last. I wish I'd taken advantage of my youth when I had it--ah, the 20s--and really gone for it in this sport. I often look at the young pups all around me at races and I wonder if they really know what they have and what they can do.
But youth is over-rated! Did I just that? Yes! Why? Because, at least in the sport of ultrarunning, experience usually is an advantage (and maybe in running in general--back in September I out-kicked a 16-year-old track star at a local 5K, beating him by a half-second). Racing 100 milers is almost all about experience. The young pup explodes out of the gate and runs recklessly, finding around mile 60 that things have turned bad. But he lacks the experience to battle through the bad patch. Meanwhile, the older, more mature runner, running a patient race from step one, is just starting to get into a groove at mile 60 as he/she passes the exhausted, discouraged young runner. Of course, it doesn't always happen that way; sometimes the young pup possesses that special combination of youth and patience. But it seems to me that ultrarunning is a sport that rewards those with discipline and experience.
So, at least in the sport of ultrarunning, maybe aging isn't all that bad!?!?!?!
Do you consider yourself an aging athlete? If so, have you taken any steps to adjust your approach to the sport?
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Are You Wearing Too Much Damned Gear?
Note to Reader: I'm starting a short series of articles that seeks to challenge certain assumptions in ultrarunning. In some cases, we may find that certain assumptions are correct; while in others we may find a new and better viewpoint. This is the first article in the series. Enjoy!
Running has gotten too damned complicated.
Nine years ago I ran in cotton--from head to toe--and in shoes I bought from Famous Footwear.
Today, I have all the latest stuff. In the morning, after I put on my compression shorts, tights, socks, base layer, mid layer, vest, mittens and skull cap (my winter apparel, all of which is super-expensive), I attach my blinking red light and head lamp (so I can see and be seen in the pre-dawn hours), iPhone and iPod. Oh, and then I strap on my RoadID and Garmin GPS watch, along with my Timex Ironman so I know what time it is. Damn, I haven't put on my shoes yet. What should I wear today...this pair of Hokas, that pair of Hokas, or maybe my Kayanos or DS Trainers? Hmmmm. And where are my orthotics? While we're at it, my calves are a little sore today--maybe I should also wear my calf sleeves.
In the time I spend screwing around with my gadgets, I could have run an extra mile that might just pay off at the Leadville 100 in August. If that's a mile a day I'm missing because I'm screwing around with my gadgets, we're talking about 7 additional miles a week. Some weeks that could be the difference between 90 and 100 miles.
Yeah, running has gotten way too damned complicated (and expensive). I've gone soft and gotten too reliant on crap that has nothing to do with why I run: the pure love of it.
Memo to self: I don't need all this crap. Yeah, I need to stay warm, and I do like my GPS, but is all this other extra stuff really necessary? No. It's a distraction.
I think I enjoyed running the most back in the day when I didn't wear a GPS or iPod, and a cell phone was so small I barely knew it was there.
Whether we want to admit it or not, most of us play right into the hands of advertisers and marketers. We get a RoadID because we're scared of getting hit by a car and being found by someone who doesn't know who we are. This is fear-based marketing at its best (or worst?). Then you have the iPod. We're told iPods help pass the time and get us focused. But have you ever listened to nature in all her beauty (her beauty sometimes being silence)? Isn't that the best music of all? Don't get me wrong; I LOVE my iPod. But do I need Eminem on every single run?
Now let's get dawn to the GPS watch, shall we? I know I'm on hallowed ground here. Many of us like to know how far we went, what our pace was, how much vertical we did, etc. But is that info really important? Granted, knowing how long you ran is pretty important, but why do we need to know exact pace, mileage and climb? We're not professionals, and so we shouldn't get caught in the trap of taking what we love to do in our free time so seriously when there's not a paycheck involved.
Last time I checked, I judge a great run not necessarily by the numbers on my watch, but by how I felt. There's such a thing as an awesome 6:00 mile and a crappy 6:00 mile, a strong 1,500-foot climb and a feel-like-death 1,500-foot climb. A GPS watch can't distinguish between the two, though maybe a heart rate monitor can. While we're on the subject of heart rate monitors, that's one gadget I've never gotten into. I don't see the point. I guess my heart's not in it.
Geez, how did the greats back in the day ever do it? All they had were a pair of shoes and cotton clothing and a stop watch! I'm surprised they could even walk, let alone set records. Imagine what Billy Mills or Roger Bannister could have done if they only had a Garmin on their wrists! Calf sleeves might have made them faster, too.
One of the most popular, followed ultrarunners in the world today is a guy who frequently runs shirtless, without socks and in super minimal shoes--and who sometimes lives for days in his truck up in the mountains living on little more than Nutella, gels and creek water. People follow what he's doing like he's some kind of a prophet. And yet, while we admire how he lives and runs (I admit I greatly admire him), we're strapping on gear out the wazoo that costs us money (that we could be saving or even donating to a worthy cause, such as the local track or cross country team) and has nothing to do with our passion for running. Maybe I'm missing something, but there seems to be a disconnect.
I don't want to keep ranting . What I do want to do is lay down the gauntlet. Next week I'm going to leave my iPhone at home. My iPod also will stay home. I'll keep wearing my RoadID and lights for my own safety since I do have a family to think about when I'm out there in the dark. I think I might also refrain from wearing my GPS on a few runs and instead just wear my good old fashioned Timex Ironman and estimate my mileage like I used to do back in the day.
While we're at it, do I really need to enter all my damned runs into a freaking website when my paper-based logs (which I've been keeping for several years) will suffice just fine?
Maybe simplifying will help me get in some extra mileage and time on my feet and remove some distractions that only take me away from the spiritual, meditative aspects of running--aspects that make me a better endurance athlete and person.
Are you willing to give anything up, even temporarily? If so, what?
Running has gotten too damned complicated.
Nine years ago I ran in cotton--from head to toe--and in shoes I bought from Famous Footwear.
Today, I have all the latest stuff. In the morning, after I put on my compression shorts, tights, socks, base layer, mid layer, vest, mittens and skull cap (my winter apparel, all of which is super-expensive), I attach my blinking red light and head lamp (so I can see and be seen in the pre-dawn hours), iPhone and iPod. Oh, and then I strap on my RoadID and Garmin GPS watch, along with my Timex Ironman so I know what time it is. Damn, I haven't put on my shoes yet. What should I wear today...this pair of Hokas, that pair of Hokas, or maybe my Kayanos or DS Trainers? Hmmmm. And where are my orthotics? While we're at it, my calves are a little sore today--maybe I should also wear my calf sleeves.
In the time I spend screwing around with my gadgets, I could have run an extra mile that might just pay off at the Leadville 100 in August. If that's a mile a day I'm missing because I'm screwing around with my gadgets, we're talking about 7 additional miles a week. Some weeks that could be the difference between 90 and 100 miles.
Yeah, running has gotten way too damned complicated (and expensive). I've gone soft and gotten too reliant on crap that has nothing to do with why I run: the pure love of it.
Memo to self: I don't need all this crap. Yeah, I need to stay warm, and I do like my GPS, but is all this other extra stuff really necessary? No. It's a distraction.
I think I enjoyed running the most back in the day when I didn't wear a GPS or iPod, and a cell phone was so small I barely knew it was there.
Whether we want to admit it or not, most of us play right into the hands of advertisers and marketers. We get a RoadID because we're scared of getting hit by a car and being found by someone who doesn't know who we are. This is fear-based marketing at its best (or worst?). Then you have the iPod. We're told iPods help pass the time and get us focused. But have you ever listened to nature in all her beauty (her beauty sometimes being silence)? Isn't that the best music of all? Don't get me wrong; I LOVE my iPod. But do I need Eminem on every single run?
Now let's get dawn to the GPS watch, shall we? I know I'm on hallowed ground here. Many of us like to know how far we went, what our pace was, how much vertical we did, etc. But is that info really important? Granted, knowing how long you ran is pretty important, but why do we need to know exact pace, mileage and climb? We're not professionals, and so we shouldn't get caught in the trap of taking what we love to do in our free time so seriously when there's not a paycheck involved.
Last time I checked, I judge a great run not necessarily by the numbers on my watch, but by how I felt. There's such a thing as an awesome 6:00 mile and a crappy 6:00 mile, a strong 1,500-foot climb and a feel-like-death 1,500-foot climb. A GPS watch can't distinguish between the two, though maybe a heart rate monitor can. While we're on the subject of heart rate monitors, that's one gadget I've never gotten into. I don't see the point. I guess my heart's not in it.
Geez, how did the greats back in the day ever do it? All they had were a pair of shoes and cotton clothing and a stop watch! I'm surprised they could even walk, let alone set records. Imagine what Billy Mills or Roger Bannister could have done if they only had a Garmin on their wrists! Calf sleeves might have made them faster, too.
One of the most popular, followed ultrarunners in the world today is a guy who frequently runs shirtless, without socks and in super minimal shoes--and who sometimes lives for days in his truck up in the mountains living on little more than Nutella, gels and creek water. People follow what he's doing like he's some kind of a prophet. And yet, while we admire how he lives and runs (I admit I greatly admire him), we're strapping on gear out the wazoo that costs us money (that we could be saving or even donating to a worthy cause, such as the local track or cross country team) and has nothing to do with our passion for running. Maybe I'm missing something, but there seems to be a disconnect.
I don't want to keep ranting . What I do want to do is lay down the gauntlet. Next week I'm going to leave my iPhone at home. My iPod also will stay home. I'll keep wearing my RoadID and lights for my own safety since I do have a family to think about when I'm out there in the dark. I think I might also refrain from wearing my GPS on a few runs and instead just wear my good old fashioned Timex Ironman and estimate my mileage like I used to do back in the day.
While we're at it, do I really need to enter all my damned runs into a freaking website when my paper-based logs (which I've been keeping for several years) will suffice just fine?
Maybe simplifying will help me get in some extra mileage and time on my feet and remove some distractions that only take me away from the spiritual, meditative aspects of running--aspects that make me a better endurance athlete and person.
Are you willing to give anything up, even temporarily? If so, what?
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