Running, and the Long Game

I’ve had a long and gradual running progression that began in late January and ended with a 10k event, the Summer Sizzler, last week. This phase lasted as long as it did partly out of a hellbent intent to overcome a foot injury from a year ago. I had one ambition this year: to not only heal my foot, but to run faster than I ever had before.

That’s about 7 straight months of running volume buildup. I decided the 10k race would be as good an event to end this “phase” of running as any. As July acceded to August, I realized that it was time to rest the running muscles.

The Summer Sizzler 10k took place at Forest Park in Saint Louis on a cool and balmy Saturday morning. My legs felt reasonably fresh, though I had raced a 3200 meter timed event just a few days before.

The runners gathered near the start as the announcer counted down to takeoff. The course directions seemed barely marked, with only a smattering of signs pointing which way; I hoped that I wouldn’t get lost. I settled near the front of the starting line, only allowing some younger runners (I later discovered both were under age 20) to start ahead of me.

The race started and I felt the exhilaration of being part of a large group embarking on a quest, an army of feet smacking against earth, bodies darting up and down park hills. There is an initial adrenaline rush that makes speed feel easy for the first kilometer or so.

About two miles in, I passed one of the two young males ahead of me. I sensed some of his fatigue and decided to take advantage by accelerating to a higher place. I had no real “race” goals, but knew quickly that I was already in second place, that a hundred people were behind me, and that the leader was 18 years my minor.

I kept the leader in my field of vision as my hamstrings and quads pushed me up a long hill that spanned the entire third mile. Eventually I noticed the leader slowing and I realized that he wasn’t running a 10k; he was only running a 5k and finishing for the day. I still had half of my race remaining. This also meant that I was firmly in the lead for the 10k.

I held my pace steady for the second half, only fading on the final uphill mile of the course, to claim a victory and pose proudly for the camera at the finish. I had something to be proud of: a year ago, I was not sure if I’d ever run again. Crazier yet, in college, my 10k timed run was about 56 minutes, and that was almost 20 years ago. On this day at Forest Park, one year after tearing several ligaments in my right foot, I clocked 39 minutes and won. I felt the closure from my foot injury that I desperately needed.

I am 17 minutes faster in a 10k than I was 20 years ago. Time is an illusion. That excites me more than any finish. I believe that I still have ample room for improvement. Regardless of how much improvement is in store, even if there is actually none left, I intend to keep running for many years into the future.

I remind myself that I am not striving to maximize my performance. I am in what I call “the long game.” The long game, for me, supersedes any “short-term outcomes.”

The “long game” goal has nothing to do with place, rank, or time. The aim is to continue having active adventures well into my 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s. I’d rather be the first centenarian to bike across Europe than a winner of any near-term race. I plan on signing up for plenty of events and having fun with all of them, but the long-game is where I set my sights.

Playing the long game helps put my exercise into perspective. So many people frown while they run, eyes glued to GPS watches, their banter mostly about boring adult things such as stride length and cadence.

All those things are relevant to running, certainly, but a soul tethered to a watch will inevitably miss the joy of gliding through summer air on two feet, for miles on end, possessing the ability to outlast every other animal on this earth with human endurance. It is the closest we can get to our ancestors as they persistence hunted their prey, running until their targets collapsed and their bodies crashed to the earth.

If affixed to a watch, how can one have the courage to accelerate madly downhill with a smile on the face and a childlike reckless mentality? Steady pace is the way of the watch. Steady pace can be boring, though it does have value in allowing for time to connect and chat with other people. There is no gambling, however, in steady pace. I think we need to gamble every so often. Still yet, the eyes that only see clocks will miss the wildlife that envelopes the environment.

In playing the long game one can appreciate longevity. I do not necessarily mean life longevity. How much exercise can actually extend lifespan is debatable (probably not as significant a factor on lifespan as our genetics). However, I do believe that the quality of our years spent on this planet can be extended. I’d rather be a 60-year-old still running like a 20-year-old than a 60-year-old struggling to mount a flight of stairs.

So the 10k was exciting. It was fun, it put me in a great mood, and it left me planning the next run. It brought back the adrenaline rush I always felt from competition. Winning and breaking 40 minutes were welcome surprises. To quote Ozzy Osborne, “I don’t wanna stop.”

But now that 10k is in the past. The medal I was awarded is a bit of history. Life moves on to the next event and the next adventure.

Right now, I’m resting the running legs for my birthday month and focusing on cycling. Running will pick up again in September.

Next week, to combat mortality and 37 years on planet earth, I will bike up the Eastern United States, from Virginia to Pittsburgh. It will take several days and hundreds of miles.

It’s the next adventure, and a relevant stage in the long game.

Peak Summer

The Missouri sun swelters in July and ensures any outdoor exerciser a challenge in maintaining a low heart rate.

I found my running pace steadily slowing this morning, mile after mile, as I lowered my cadence to keep my heart beating at a relatively easy effort. My run was essentially a long deceleration from what started at a slow pace to begin with.

Regarding “slow runs,” I’m of the belief that heart rate is more important than pace. Why would there be a pace dictating “easy effort?” Easy effort is simply an effort that feels easy. That feeling should not have a “pace requirement” to it. I think that we are too obsessed with clocks.

These days I do monitor my speed more closely when embarking on higher intensity runs; I used to just run for as long as I felt like it.

I try not to obsess over the clock. It was Captain Hook’s downfall to have his ears acutely attuned to a clock that signified his own mortality.

I ran through the soupy summer air and my feet skipped over the debris from the previous night’s Fourth of July downtown festivities. The sun already pierced at 7:00 am and I was drenched thirty minutes into my run. It was assuring to know though that my heart rate did in fact remain low for almost 8 miles (about 13 km) and I finished the run feeling invigorated.

The previous night, the cynic in me enjoyed the fireworks while also noting a great fallacy in the urban world: the concept that fun must be linked to consumption. The holiday must be celebrated by buying beers, buying food, buying firecrackers, and in turn doing very little. Pleasure comes from spending money on someone else’s creation. No action is required or recommended.

Meanwhile, I read somewhere that most adults cannot run one mile. This would not surprise me.

The value of running, to me, is the possibility of connection to the earth that it provides. How many people can genuinely feel the earth with their feet? In this day and age the modern human is either propped up, seated, or standing with a physical barrier (typically cushion) between his or feet and the earth.

There are currents and micro currents that sift through our DNA when we are outside and walking under sunshine. What happens to a soul that fails to feel the earth, the sun, and all of its magnificent invisible remedies?

I reckon that running, like cycling, is a stand against the urban rat race. It is a reach backwards, in a sense, to the persistence hunt and the evolution that occurred from the first bipeds.

Over thousands of years we learned to run. It would be a tragedy to lose that gift in a century.

Pain Tolerance

I woke Thursday morning and had an epiphany that I wanted to test the limitations of my pain tolerance as it relates to exercise.

The evening before, I attended a weekly “speed run” session that I signed up for. At that session I ran a little more than 7 (11 km) total miles, 4.5 (7.25 km) of which were at high intensity. The intensity marker used was my approximate 5 km road race pace.

When I woke on Thursday my legs were not exactly fresh. Usually I let myself recover immediately after a high intensity session. I was curious, though, about my body’s ability to rebound. When we are younger, after all, it’s common for training programs to force athletes into back-to-back high intensity sessions. It had been a few years since I’d tried something similar. Is my body still capable of repeat speed sessions?

I decided not to ingest a single calorie before the workout in order to add to the challenge. I had a cup of coffee and some water only.

I started with a 24 mile (38 km) bike ride along the Riverfront Trail. The cycling legs felt fresh and I maintained a moderately intense pace with relative ease, probably because cycling uses different movement patterns than running.

I returned home, drank some salted water, and immediately embarked on a 9 mile (14.5 km) run. I usually don’t engage in cycling and running back-to-back, but I wanted to attempt the double.

In the middle of the long run were 8 repeats of the following: half a mile at fast pace (a little slower than 5k race pace) and a quarter mile recovery jog. My fast pace was my fastest average yet and I maintained a consistent time for all 8 repeats. I did feel fatigued from the night before, but it was nice to see that maintaining race pace was still very manageable.

The session as a whole was one of my better workouts. More affirming was that I don’t necessarily need any calories to have a quality endurance workout. Sometimes we become overly dependent on calories for workout sustenance. Carbohydrates tend to be the fuel of choice. I suspect that they may not be as necessary as consensus seems to believe, at least for endurance activities. It’s freeing to be able to just “go for it” on an empty stomach. Word of caution if attempting this though: I routinely fast in the morning and have been doing so for years, so an “empty stomach exercise” was nothing new. The only unique part of this workout’s zero calorie attempt was the longevity of the session.

I spent the day sore, but I also still wanted to see just how far my own mileage could take me. I still had a free evening; maybe I’d try another bike ride! So after work, I logged another 21 mile (34 km) bike ride, also with moderate intensity. The ride could have lasted longer, but my left foot and leg started cramping. I did the cycling equivalent of a “limp to the finish line.” It was time to call it a day.

I woke several times throughout the night with severe cramps in both legs. Obviously I stressed the muscles more than was necessary. I don’t regret the attempt though; I think it’s important to overdo it every once in awhile; physical barriers are meant to be crossed. It’s important to know one’s own limitations, and the only way to truly know a limit is to push past it. Further, I don’t think it was the mileage that overtaxed me so much as it was the constant high intensity (emphasizing speed for several straight sessions).

I bring this up because I worry about the tendency with age to want to “keep things manageable.” We cross from childhood to adulthood and with that crossover can come a desire to have life more or less “figured out.” Failure should be kept to a minimum, we often think. How often are adults willing to “burn out in a blaze of glory!” We are supposed to have “made it,” which in theory means that discomfort steadily dissipates. Heaven forbid we struggle with something like we did when we were kids. Comfortable walks replace dangerous desert adventures.

I want to keep the habit of burning out in a blaze of glory. That’s the “maximalist” in me. Rather than keeping exercise “moderate” I think there is some value in sometimes (obviously not always) attempting a feat that is utterly unmanageable.

I did a recovery bike ride today along the Riverfront Trail. The legs definitely needed to heal a little after the previous night’s struggles.

Taking the time to appreciate my environs brought one obvious thing to the forefront: the city’s rabbit population is multiplying rapidly. While the American robins and geese claim the trail as their domain in the winter months, it seems to belong to the rabbits in summer.

A rabbit darted across my path every few minutes, likely fearful of the strange large two-wheeled object hauling itself forward that may or may not be a predator.

I stopped my bike ride and turned back when a flock of geese blocked the trail. One of the geese hissed and chased me for a bit. I couldn’t help but smile and submit. Let the geese have the trail, I say. Life’s too short to compete or threaten them back. There’s some beauty in a goose’s aggression. They’re just protecting their own, after all. Larger animals such as humans must be utterly terrifying to them.

Plus, there are plenty of other trails.