Addicted to the Lightning

Burn hot – fizzle fast. That pretty much sums up one of my major training and racing weaknesses. I go out like a shot… then I fade… and fade… and… fade. I’m not alone in this habit: many runners are addicted to the lightning. In fact, it’s an ancient tradition. Even goode olde Socrates knew about the phenomenon. Take a look at this passage in Book X of The Republic – it sounds eerily familiar:

Do not clever but unjust men act like runners who run well for the first part of the course, but not for the second part? At first they leap away sharply, but they become ridiculous by the end with their ears sunk into their shoulders and they leave the track without being crowned, whereas true runners get to the end, take the prizes, and are crowned. (613b-c)

So even back in the day, guys were giv’n’er way too hard doing intervals around the Parthenon – makes me feel a bit better… although the suggestion that runners who fizzle and “clever but unjust men” act similarly makes me bristle. Well, at least he only says that the unjust “act like” fizzly runners – fortunately it does not follow logically that “ridiculous” runners are unjust… just stupid.

You’d think that after years of going out too fast in speed work, long runs, and races, I’d freakin’ learn to slow down. But no. It feels so good to go fast with fresh legs… even though no long-term good has ever come of it.

Ridding me of this addiction has become one of Cliff’s (my coach’s) projects. He wants me not only to understand intellectually and theoretically that an even pace is superior in interval training and racing, but he also wants me to experience this truth viscerally – right in the guts. And he did just that this past Saturday.

Here’s how it went down. The football dudes were occupying the track at SMU, so we headed to Point Pleasant Park to get our workout in. Cliff paired me up with a great guy named Alexander and laid out what he wanted: 3 x 1 mile intervals at Threshold pace – 5:45/mi – with short rests and 2 x 1 kilometre repeats at VO2 max pace – 3:20/km. Now, for Alexander, who used to run for Windsor back in the 90s when they regularly won CIS cross country, this workout was a piece of cake. But for me, this was stretching things a little.

Regardless, I was up for the challenge. Hey, why not? If Cliff says I can do it – I can do it. So off we went.

The way interval training works in Point Pleasant is that Cliff stands at a certain trail intersection (I like to call it Cliff’s corner) while his runners go madly off in all directions. As we run, he stands there, holding three or four watches to keep track of each group’s splits. It’s crazy. What’s neat is that there’s this one loop that, by some supernatural grace, is pretty much exactly 800m. So for our mile repeats, we simply do two loops… this gives Cliff a chance to yell at us to slow down if we cross 800m too fast.

And it’s inevitable that we go too fast. For example, in our first interval, Alexander and I crossed the 400m mark in 76s – we were supposed to be on an 86s pace. Not wanting to disappoint Cliff, we reined it in, but we still crossed 800m way too fast. “That’s a bit fast guys,” Cliff said quietly as we passed. I winced with shame. We waved our apologies and ran the second half pretty much how we were supposed to. Actually, after that second loop, our legs got a feel for the pace, and we were pretty much right on for the second two mile intervals.

However, Cliff’s style is always to change things up – and he likes to throw in different paces in the same workout to keep our legs guessing. On our first VO2 max kilometre interval, we tried to guess the right pace… but we were way off. We were supposed to be on a 2:40 800m pace, but we crossed somewhere in the low 2:30s… I’m not sure what it was – I didn’t look at my watch because I was trying like hell to keep up with Alexander who had way more gas in the tank than I did. Cliff was not impressed.

He urged us to slow down for the last interval, but this one was even worse. We crossed 400m in 72s – we were supposed to cross in 80s. My legs filled up with lactic acid, and I struggled just like Socrates’ unjust man for the last 600m. I had no clever quip when Cliff asked how I was through 800m. It was obvious I wasn’t okay at all. A VO2 max interval is not supposed to hurt like that – I was screwing up the workout.

After the workout, we were chatting about pace. I told Cliff that I thought maybe the workout was a bit too fast for me, at least the VO2 max stuff. My last interval was 3:16, but I struggled for it. “The 3:20 pace isn’t the problem,” Cliff replied. “It’s your pacing.” I frowned in disbelief. “No. No. Look,” he said (Cliff’s always saying this). “You went out too fast, but if you relax and pace evenly, you can run 3:20 no problem.” I looked sceptical and continued stretching. This is where things took a turn.

“Come here,” Cliff said. I looked over. “You’re going to run another one.”

“What?” I looked at the other runners who were finished – they all looked puzzled.

“Yeah. Do one more. But this time run relaxed. Don’t go crazy.”

“But…”

“No. You can handle it.”

I was a bit shocked, but I lined up for another interval. What the heck, right? As I was about to take off, though, Cliff interrupted me.

“Wait a second. Give me your watch.”

“What?” I felt naked without my watch, but I gave it to him.

Then he spoke to me very quietly, almost a whisper. “Just relax. Go.”

I could hear him start his stopwatch as I went. I tried to relax. Every time I felt that lactic acid pain in my gut, I backed off and relaxed. I crossed 400m and had no idea how fast or slow I was going. But I kept his voice in my head. Relax. Focus on your form. As I neared the 800m mark, Cliff started reading out the times: “2:38, 2:39, 2:40.” I crossed 800m in 2:40… exactly on pace for a 3:20km. “Stop!” he yelled, figuring 800m was enough to drive his point home. It was.

As I wandered towards him with a stunned look on my face, he smiled. “How did that feel?”

“Way better than the last two.” I was running about the same overall pace as the last two, but this one felt easier, much easier.

He nodded. He could see by my face that I got it. I could run a comfortable 3:20km, even after 7km of fast running. All it took was relaxed, even pacing. In one dramatic pedagogical decision, he’d both made his point about pacing and given me new confidence.

It was awesome.

I doubt my addiction to the lightning is cured. But I won’t soon forget all of Cliff’s dramatic efforts to get me to quit.