I feel wretched.
How much difference a day can make! I took yesterday off and was feeling great. Went to bed – woke up with a sore throat. Felt a little achy too. Guh. This is why committing to a race makes me so nervous: there are always setbacks. And having a goal makes those setbacks seem more dramatic than they really are.
I didn’t feel so bad that I couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t do work, so I spent the day debating that thorny question – should you run when you feel sick? My coach, Cliff, is of the “better safe than sorry” school. He says he’s seen more than enough runners try to push through illness and fail miserably. Although three days to a week off when symptoms present would do the trick, they run through and end up blowing a month or more because they can’t fully recover. There’s only so much the body can do. If your immune system is compromised and, at the same time, your body has to repair the hammering of workout after workout, you tend to accumulate damage – your body can’t repair it all unless you rest.
So what did I decide? To run, obviously.
15km on the treadmill with Alex, my running buddy (there were 2 treadmills in case you had trouble picturing that scenario). Now, I went easy, nothing more than 8.6 miles/hour (7min/mile or around 4:20/km), but it was a bit of a struggle, mentally and physically.
Nevertheless, here was my penetrating logic: running on the treadmill in my condo building’s tiny workout room tends to raise the temperature of the room quite quickly. As the room temperature soars, my body temperature soars (think hot yoga, here). And isn’t that what your body does naturally when confronted with a virus – it fevers, jacks up the heat to kill the unwanted critters? I figured why not just give my body a hand before it needs to get all fevery? Brilliant.
After the run, I decided to research my little theory – because, of course, the best time to research the pros and cons of a decision are after you’ve made the decision (I learned that somewhere in grad school). Here’s what I found in an article from Runner’s World: "Some people think that they can 'sweat out' a fever by running," says Nieman [a guy who’s actually researched this]. "That's wrong. Running won't help your immune system fight the fever."
(http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-241-286--9082-0,00.html)
Crud.
The article, by Marc Bloom, gives some sage advice about running while sick: “David Nieman, Ph.D., who heads the Human Performance Laboratory at Appalachian State University, and has run 58 marathons and ultras, uses the ‘neck rule.’ Symptoms below the neck (chest cold, bronchial infection, body ache) require time off, while symptoms above the neck (runny nose, stuffiness, sneezing) don't pose a risk to runners continuing workouts.”
My symptoms? Well, the sore throat seems to be in a kind of grey area – it’s neither above nor below the neck; it’s in the darn thing. But feeling achy? Busted. I made the wrong decision.
Oh, and speaking of sore throats, the article has something to say about that too: “How much running can compromise your immune system to the point of making you sick? For average runners, the dividing line seems to be 60 miles a week.” Nieman relates how when he was training up to 90 miles a week, he was constantly getting sore throats, but when he dropped below the 60 mile line, they cleared up. Guess how many miles I’ve been logging on the two “up” weeks of my three-week mileage cycles? You guessed it – 60 or more (around 100km).
Crud... again.
So there it is – evidence on which to base my decisions in the future. So what am I going to do tomorrow morning? See how I feel, of course... and see if I can delude myself into doing the difficult workout Cliff has planned for the group. Can’t miss that!
Perhaps a sore throat is only the beginning of my problems.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Streaking
Some runners love to streak. They just can’t help themselves. Even in winter.
Streaking was once a quiet running subculture, but now it’s full on – and gaining in popularity. I’m a little too modest to be a streaker, but I admire those who do it. They’ve got a rare kind of courage and dogged determination.
I’m hoping right now you’re picturing some runner cruising through the streets naked, but the kind of streaking I’m talking about has nothing to do with being nude and everything to do with being persistent. There’s a whole breed of runners who do everything humanly possible to run every single day for as many days in a row as they can. In fact, there are folks who have run every day since the late 60s. It’s mind boggling to contemplate. Every day for over 40 years! Wife having a baby? Get a run in. Kids graduating college? Get a run in. Husband begging you to spend more time with him? Get a run in. Rain, sleet, snow, broken bones, illness – nothing can stop these runners when they’re on a streak!
Surprisingly (or not), there’s an organization called The United States Running Streak Association (USRSA) who sets the rules. You can register with these guys and make your streak “official”. They’ll even list your name in their “rolls” if you’re still going after a year. The rules of the game are simple: you gotta run at least one continuous mile every day under your own body power. And the longer your streak, the more pride there is. If your streak is under 5 years, you’re practically a nobody – the list labels you “neophyte.” But if you last longer than 5 years, the rewards are endless. The runners who’ve done more than 5 years but fewer than 10 are known as, wait for it, “The Proficient.” That title is so worth 5 straight years of running. And every five years after that, you enter a new category, and the air gets more and more rarefied until you become a “legend.” You should check out their web site – these folks are serious: http://runeveryday.com/.
As you can imagine, getting a run in every day can pose some logistical challenges. An article about a 10-year streaker in Amarillo, Texas relates this story:
“While on a trip to Oklahoma City about a year and a half ago, Jones suddenly became ill. Her oldest daughter, Kara, had also been sick so she called to find out Kara's symptoms. Kara asked Jones if she had run yet. She said no. Kara told her mom to get her run in right now because she was about to get really sick. Her husband used the mileage odometer on the Jones' car to map out a mile. She made it through the mile with him following in the car. ‘It's one of the hardest miles I have run. I threw up while I was running and then violently for about five minutes by a bush after I was done. I know it sounds crazy, but you get to that point in your life where you would do seriously anything to keep it going.’”
(http://amarillo.com/news/local-news/2010-12-31/fitness-commitment)
I don’t know about you, but when I’m violently ill, I take the day off.
In fact, I love rest days. I look forward to them. I take one almost every week. I took one today – not because I was beat up or hurt but because I find I can train harder when my body has a chance to recover fully.
Streaking, alas, is not for me. But for some, it helps keep them motivated, and it gets them out the door. Whether you’re a streaker or not, running has a way of becoming a central part of your life. I can relate a little bit to the woman in Amarillo (although not to the puking on the run bit). She first got interested in streaking when her husband challenged her to a streaking duel. He lasted 44 days; she lasted 100. After 100 she stopped: “But the day after,” she says, “I felt a little empty.” When I miss a couple of runs, I feel the same way – there’s a sense of loss.
Although I’ve been a bit tongue-in-cheek about streaking, I have immense respect for streakers. It’s a daily celebration of health and vitality. But what troubles me is how precarious a streak is – anything could happen to end it. But maybe this is streaking’s real strength: the knowledge that the streak will inevitably end simply highlights the need to seize every moment and... well... run with it.
Streaking was once a quiet running subculture, but now it’s full on – and gaining in popularity. I’m a little too modest to be a streaker, but I admire those who do it. They’ve got a rare kind of courage and dogged determination.
I’m hoping right now you’re picturing some runner cruising through the streets naked, but the kind of streaking I’m talking about has nothing to do with being nude and everything to do with being persistent. There’s a whole breed of runners who do everything humanly possible to run every single day for as many days in a row as they can. In fact, there are folks who have run every day since the late 60s. It’s mind boggling to contemplate. Every day for over 40 years! Wife having a baby? Get a run in. Kids graduating college? Get a run in. Husband begging you to spend more time with him? Get a run in. Rain, sleet, snow, broken bones, illness – nothing can stop these runners when they’re on a streak!
Surprisingly (or not), there’s an organization called The United States Running Streak Association (USRSA) who sets the rules. You can register with these guys and make your streak “official”. They’ll even list your name in their “rolls” if you’re still going after a year. The rules of the game are simple: you gotta run at least one continuous mile every day under your own body power. And the longer your streak, the more pride there is. If your streak is under 5 years, you’re practically a nobody – the list labels you “neophyte.” But if you last longer than 5 years, the rewards are endless. The runners who’ve done more than 5 years but fewer than 10 are known as, wait for it, “The Proficient.” That title is so worth 5 straight years of running. And every five years after that, you enter a new category, and the air gets more and more rarefied until you become a “legend.” You should check out their web site – these folks are serious: http://runeveryday.com/.
As you can imagine, getting a run in every day can pose some logistical challenges. An article about a 10-year streaker in Amarillo, Texas relates this story:
“While on a trip to Oklahoma City about a year and a half ago, Jones suddenly became ill. Her oldest daughter, Kara, had also been sick so she called to find out Kara's symptoms. Kara asked Jones if she had run yet. She said no. Kara told her mom to get her run in right now because she was about to get really sick. Her husband used the mileage odometer on the Jones' car to map out a mile. She made it through the mile with him following in the car. ‘It's one of the hardest miles I have run. I threw up while I was running and then violently for about five minutes by a bush after I was done. I know it sounds crazy, but you get to that point in your life where you would do seriously anything to keep it going.’”
(http://amarillo.com/news/local-news/2010-12-31/fitness-commitment)
I don’t know about you, but when I’m violently ill, I take the day off.
In fact, I love rest days. I look forward to them. I take one almost every week. I took one today – not because I was beat up or hurt but because I find I can train harder when my body has a chance to recover fully.
Streaking, alas, is not for me. But for some, it helps keep them motivated, and it gets them out the door. Whether you’re a streaker or not, running has a way of becoming a central part of your life. I can relate a little bit to the woman in Amarillo (although not to the puking on the run bit). She first got interested in streaking when her husband challenged her to a streaking duel. He lasted 44 days; she lasted 100. After 100 she stopped: “But the day after,” she says, “I felt a little empty.” When I miss a couple of runs, I feel the same way – there’s a sense of loss.
Although I’ve been a bit tongue-in-cheek about streaking, I have immense respect for streakers. It’s a daily celebration of health and vitality. But what troubles me is how precarious a streak is – anything could happen to end it. But maybe this is streaking’s real strength: the knowledge that the streak will inevitably end simply highlights the need to seize every moment and... well... run with it.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Wednesday Weather and a Box of Kraft Dinner
I’m eating Kraft Dinner. Spirals. Actually, I’m eating an entire box of Kraft Dinner spirals. Supper of champions. Sometimes this is just how it’s gotta be. I’m late getting home from tonight’s workout. J-A isn’t home. I’m tired; I’m ravenous; I hate cooking for one. This is the perfect time for a box of Krappy D. I mean, I can’t make quinoa minestrone or some other healthy delight every night. Sometimes I just can’t face an hour of chopping fresh vegetables. Sometimes I just wanna get down and dirty with some quick, simple carbs and a pile of radioactive-orange processed cheese-like food-ish product.
I’m not the only runner who eats bad food with impunity, though. When I first started training with Cliff and got to know some of the real elite road racers in the city, I was shocked at how crappy some of them ate. It was liberating, actually. I wasn’t the only one who’d eat an entire bag of chips just because it was there. There were others like me. And my world was made complete when the top marathoner in the province strolled into one après-long run brunch with a beer in hand. It’s everything you need after a long run, he said. I believed. Still do.
This is not to say all those top runners eat poorly – or eat poorly all the time. But extreme health ascetics are much rarer than I thought among runners that I train with, which is very good news for me. We run to eat. Or as my training buddy Alex says (quoting a local songwriter), everything in moderation, including moderation. Very wise.
Tonight’s workout was moderate. Cliff had initially planned a 5k race pace session of intervals at the North Commons, but conditions were far too icy for speed – so he scaled it back to threshold running (about half marathon race pace). Normally, we would’ve moved the workout indoors to the Dartmouth Sportsplex, but the track there is closed for the Canada Games. Go Nova Scotia!
The workout was conservative: 1 x 6min and 4 x 8min @ 3:37/km with 90s rests. The pace felt comfortably quick, which is exactly what a threshold pace should feel like. There should be no straining for the pace, and you should feel like you could hold it for about an hour, even though you are doing much less running than that.
Despite the ice and the cold, the workout felt great – and I was pretty excited because a 3:37/km pace translates to a 1:16 half marathon, which is exactly where I hope to be on race day. The fact that I can do close to 40 minutes of race pace comfortably in February is a big confidence boost.
But what I was thinking about while I was running over patches of ice and feeling the cold wind cut through my running tights in all the wrong places was that one of the main things that unites all runners in Nova Scotia is the inconvenient weather. I saw so many people out there running, and we were all dealing with the same ice and the same cold as best we could. We’re all a little bit crazy in the same way. Each one of us had to talk ourselves into our layers of gear and out of our warm houses. I like to think that this shared set of gestures means we run as a community, even when we run alone.
Not that it stops me from whining about the weather...
I’m not the only runner who eats bad food with impunity, though. When I first started training with Cliff and got to know some of the real elite road racers in the city, I was shocked at how crappy some of them ate. It was liberating, actually. I wasn’t the only one who’d eat an entire bag of chips just because it was there. There were others like me. And my world was made complete when the top marathoner in the province strolled into one après-long run brunch with a beer in hand. It’s everything you need after a long run, he said. I believed. Still do.
This is not to say all those top runners eat poorly – or eat poorly all the time. But extreme health ascetics are much rarer than I thought among runners that I train with, which is very good news for me. We run to eat. Or as my training buddy Alex says (quoting a local songwriter), everything in moderation, including moderation. Very wise.
Tonight’s workout was moderate. Cliff had initially planned a 5k race pace session of intervals at the North Commons, but conditions were far too icy for speed – so he scaled it back to threshold running (about half marathon race pace). Normally, we would’ve moved the workout indoors to the Dartmouth Sportsplex, but the track there is closed for the Canada Games. Go Nova Scotia!
The workout was conservative: 1 x 6min and 4 x 8min @ 3:37/km with 90s rests. The pace felt comfortably quick, which is exactly what a threshold pace should feel like. There should be no straining for the pace, and you should feel like you could hold it for about an hour, even though you are doing much less running than that.
Despite the ice and the cold, the workout felt great – and I was pretty excited because a 3:37/km pace translates to a 1:16 half marathon, which is exactly where I hope to be on race day. The fact that I can do close to 40 minutes of race pace comfortably in February is a big confidence boost.
But what I was thinking about while I was running over patches of ice and feeling the cold wind cut through my running tights in all the wrong places was that one of the main things that unites all runners in Nova Scotia is the inconvenient weather. I saw so many people out there running, and we were all dealing with the same ice and the same cold as best we could. We’re all a little bit crazy in the same way. Each one of us had to talk ourselves into our layers of gear and out of our warm houses. I like to think that this shared set of gestures means we run as a community, even when we run alone.
Not that it stops me from whining about the weather...
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
I'm Committing to Run the Bluenose Half Marathon
This always makes me nervous. Commitment. I know, I know – it’s cliché: a man afraid to commit. Imagine. But still, there it is. It took me five years to screw up the courage to ask my wife to marry me. It’s taken me longer to commit to the Bluenose.
Okay. The comparison is silly. But any spouse of a runner will tell you straight up with a head shake and an eye roll: runners are married to their goals. And this one is a big one for me. I’ve been watching this race from afar for six years. I’ve volunteered as a course marshal twice; I’ve watched friends run it year after year – but every year I find a reason not to run it. Like last year – I wanted to focus on the Cabot Trail Relay, which is always the following weekend. But this year, the team I ran with (Dennis Fairall’s Grey Hair) is not returning to defend the title. So that excuse is gone.
But where did this fear of committing to the Bluenose Half come from? I mean, it’s not the distance. I’ve done 5 marathons and 5 half-marathons. That’s certainly not a remarkable number, but it’s enough that I feel comfortable racing 21.1km. It’s not even the challenging topography of the half – I’ve done the Valley Harvest Half twice, and I think the course there is at least as challenging. So what is it?
Well, to be honest, it was all about first impressions. For this story, we have to go way back to 2005. That’s the year my wife and I moved to Halifax from London, Ontario. I’d just BQ’d at the Forest City Marathon (my second) a couple of weeks before, so I was in no shape to run the Bluenose. But I wanted to be a part of my new home city’s race, so I volunteered to be a course marshal and was assigned to Point Pleasant Park. Very nice, I thought. Very wrong, I was.
Race day was madness. I don’t think it was a hurricane by whatever technical measurements the warm and dry folks sitting in the Environment Canada weather office use to define “hurricane” – but whatever it was, it was miserable. I showed up to the Sailor’s Memorial right at the unpleasant point of the park, only to discover the port-a-potties strewn about like dead soldiers, leaking their blue fluids everywhere. Not only that, I was alone – soaked, cold, and alone. They’d delayed the start; nobody told me.
I could go on and on detailing the miseries of that day, but to make a very long, arduous, and self-pitying story short, I stuck it out for 6 hours or more in wind and rain and cold, trying to keep the brave runners on course – and swearing I would never even contemplate running this event. But after I got warm and dry and regained feeling in my extremities, I couldn’t help but be a little proud of what the runners and volunteers had accomplished that day. Underneath my grumbling, there was a burning love for the race.
There’s a darker reason for why I’ve never committed to this race, though. One I don't like to talk about. Vanity. There. I admitted it. Maybe I’ll be free of it now. After my first few races, I became obsessed with time and with setting personal bests. The Bluenose, with its challenging course and eccentric weather, never struck me as the place to set a personal best. But every year that I watched this event, I got caught up in its energy, and I regretted not running – I regretted putting my vanity above my love for running in this city. I mean, this is Halifax’s marathon, damn it; this is the big one, and I’ve never run anything in it. Well, no more. I’m running this year. I’m joining the thousands of folks who train like stink through ice and snow and frostbite to get ready for whatever Halifax will hurl at them on Victoria Day weekend.
I’m down on one knee, here. I’m committing to you, Bluenose Half Marathon. Will you be mine? Will you be gentle?
Okay. The comparison is silly. But any spouse of a runner will tell you straight up with a head shake and an eye roll: runners are married to their goals. And this one is a big one for me. I’ve been watching this race from afar for six years. I’ve volunteered as a course marshal twice; I’ve watched friends run it year after year – but every year I find a reason not to run it. Like last year – I wanted to focus on the Cabot Trail Relay, which is always the following weekend. But this year, the team I ran with (Dennis Fairall’s Grey Hair) is not returning to defend the title. So that excuse is gone.
But where did this fear of committing to the Bluenose Half come from? I mean, it’s not the distance. I’ve done 5 marathons and 5 half-marathons. That’s certainly not a remarkable number, but it’s enough that I feel comfortable racing 21.1km. It’s not even the challenging topography of the half – I’ve done the Valley Harvest Half twice, and I think the course there is at least as challenging. So what is it?
Well, to be honest, it was all about first impressions. For this story, we have to go way back to 2005. That’s the year my wife and I moved to Halifax from London, Ontario. I’d just BQ’d at the Forest City Marathon (my second) a couple of weeks before, so I was in no shape to run the Bluenose. But I wanted to be a part of my new home city’s race, so I volunteered to be a course marshal and was assigned to Point Pleasant Park. Very nice, I thought. Very wrong, I was.
Race day was madness. I don’t think it was a hurricane by whatever technical measurements the warm and dry folks sitting in the Environment Canada weather office use to define “hurricane” – but whatever it was, it was miserable. I showed up to the Sailor’s Memorial right at the unpleasant point of the park, only to discover the port-a-potties strewn about like dead soldiers, leaking their blue fluids everywhere. Not only that, I was alone – soaked, cold, and alone. They’d delayed the start; nobody told me.
I could go on and on detailing the miseries of that day, but to make a very long, arduous, and self-pitying story short, I stuck it out for 6 hours or more in wind and rain and cold, trying to keep the brave runners on course – and swearing I would never even contemplate running this event. But after I got warm and dry and regained feeling in my extremities, I couldn’t help but be a little proud of what the runners and volunteers had accomplished that day. Underneath my grumbling, there was a burning love for the race.
There’s a darker reason for why I’ve never committed to this race, though. One I don't like to talk about. Vanity. There. I admitted it. Maybe I’ll be free of it now. After my first few races, I became obsessed with time and with setting personal bests. The Bluenose, with its challenging course and eccentric weather, never struck me as the place to set a personal best. But every year that I watched this event, I got caught up in its energy, and I regretted not running – I regretted putting my vanity above my love for running in this city. I mean, this is Halifax’s marathon, damn it; this is the big one, and I’ve never run anything in it. Well, no more. I’m running this year. I’m joining the thousands of folks who train like stink through ice and snow and frostbite to get ready for whatever Halifax will hurl at them on Victoria Day weekend.
I’m down on one knee, here. I’m committing to you, Bluenose Half Marathon. Will you be mine? Will you be gentle?
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