Showing posts with label road running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label road running. Show all posts
TOJs, Runner's World and Glamour Girls
I've read "Runner's World" for a long time. I've read it so often that with each new issue my brain sees a predictable pattern in the content. I probably started reading it for the same reason that a pudgy young woman reads in a glamour magazine - that someday I can be like the person on the cover. But that was then and this is now.
I'm convinced the same late twenties/early thirties man or woman body is featured on the cover of every issue. They just Photoshop on a different face, stick it on a different background. Every month you can expect that skinny, lanky runner's body, originally shot by a photographer who was crouched down and shooting slightly up to make the body seem longer and larger than life.
That cover photo is not by accident. It's the perfect runner's body described in the book Runner's World Runner's Body: How the Latest Science Can Help You Run Stronger, Longer and Faster by Ross Tucker, Jonathan Dugas and Matt Fitzgerald. Of course, almost everyone who runs will never look like the people who grace the covers because, as the book points out, elite runners look like that largely because of genetic factors that influence both their shape and the mix of slow and fast twitch fibers in their muscles.
The headers on the cover tease with the same false promises you find in a glamour magazine, too. That inside you will find the secrets of how you can do lots of things faster - run, lose weight, train in less time. You will be able do lots of things more easily and with less pain - train for a marathon, strengthen your core, run your personal best. But, what any athlete knows, there is no quick and easy way to do anything. Real progress takes a long time time, constant discipline and some discomfort. No way to escape it! And, after all that work, you still may not ever break 2 hours in the half marathon.
"Runners World," like all magazines, is formulaic. There are always the magic tips - "7 Ways to Avoid Indigestion as You Run" or "12 Tips to Beat That Lazy Slacker in Your Mind." The diet advice is always the same: eat carbs, proteins, and fats, with very minor proportion changes before, during, and after running. I'm pretty certain for years I've seen the same same recipe for skinless chicken breasts with the only change being one is sprinkled with basil and the other with curry. To their credit, they find some variety with all the different places you can go to race and the stories of people who run.
I guess I continue to read it because it sometimes has an inspiring story or tidbit of information, but "Runner's World" seems less and less pertinent to my interests as time goes by. You don't see many TOJ's in its pages or articles about the challenges of aging runners. Plus there's a lopsided emphasis on race performance versus the sheer joy of running.
Most importantly, more and more evidence from exercise science points away from distance running as the gold standard of a healthy lifestyle. To this TOJ, distance running is just another aerobic option to be included in a well-rounded approach to exercise and fitness. Contrary to a recent best-selling book, we weren't born just to run, which is why most of us don't look like skinny distance runners any more than we do sumo wrestlers.
I'm convinced the same late twenties/early thirties man or woman body is featured on the cover of every issue. They just Photoshop on a different face, stick it on a different background. Every month you can expect that skinny, lanky runner's body, originally shot by a photographer who was crouched down and shooting slightly up to make the body seem longer and larger than life.
That cover photo is not by accident. It's the perfect runner's body described in the book Runner's World Runner's Body: How the Latest Science Can Help You Run Stronger, Longer and Faster by Ross Tucker, Jonathan Dugas and Matt Fitzgerald. Of course, almost everyone who runs will never look like the people who grace the covers because, as the book points out, elite runners look like that largely because of genetic factors that influence both their shape and the mix of slow and fast twitch fibers in their muscles.
The headers on the cover tease with the same false promises you find in a glamour magazine, too. That inside you will find the secrets of how you can do lots of things faster - run, lose weight, train in less time. You will be able do lots of things more easily and with less pain - train for a marathon, strengthen your core, run your personal best. But, what any athlete knows, there is no quick and easy way to do anything. Real progress takes a long time time, constant discipline and some discomfort. No way to escape it! And, after all that work, you still may not ever break 2 hours in the half marathon.
"Runners World," like all magazines, is formulaic. There are always the magic tips - "7 Ways to Avoid Indigestion as You Run" or "12 Tips to Beat That Lazy Slacker in Your Mind." The diet advice is always the same: eat carbs, proteins, and fats, with very minor proportion changes before, during, and after running. I'm pretty certain for years I've seen the same same recipe for skinless chicken breasts with the only change being one is sprinkled with basil and the other with curry. To their credit, they find some variety with all the different places you can go to race and the stories of people who run.
I guess I continue to read it because it sometimes has an inspiring story or tidbit of information, but "Runner's World" seems less and less pertinent to my interests as time goes by. You don't see many TOJ's in its pages or articles about the challenges of aging runners. Plus there's a lopsided emphasis on race performance versus the sheer joy of running.
Most importantly, more and more evidence from exercise science points away from distance running as the gold standard of a healthy lifestyle. To this TOJ, distance running is just another aerobic option to be included in a well-rounded approach to exercise and fitness. Contrary to a recent best-selling book, we weren't born just to run, which is why most of us don't look like skinny distance runners any more than we do sumo wrestlers.
Elvis and the Belly Dancers
The 2010 Bolder Boulder. What's to say? It was the best of races, it was the worst of races.
At 6:45 I joined thousands of other runners making their way to the start. The weather was perfect -- already in the 50's, forecast to get in the low 80's. Perfect running weather. I had parked about a mile and jogged slowly to warm up and test my left calf. There was a little pain, but not too bad. It was weird to be headed to the start of a running race when I had only run four times in the past three weeks since pulling my left calf. I didn't know what to expect.
Waiting in a long line for one of the zillion porta-potties, I had a conversation with an almost barefoot runner (he had Vibram Five Fingers) wearing a "Born to Run" T-shirt. I asked him how he liked it, and he told me that he'd been running that way for almost a year and would never go back to shoes, except maybe on trail runs. He said he had to relearn how to run because with barefoot running your weight stays over your forefeet and your calves hurt until your body adjusts. But once you get used to it, your legs feel great. He thinks it's not a fad, but a trend.
My timing was good because I arrived at the start when there were only a few minutes before my wave took off. I took a place towards the rear because I planned to go out slow and see how my leg felt. I turned on my iPod, loaded with 60s classics like the Doors, Lovin Spoonful, Jimi Hendrix, the Beach Boys, the Who and the Byrds. When our wave was next to go, a nice race official checking bibs asked me to remove one of the ear pieces so I wouldn't miss the starting gun. I thought that was pretty funny because the booming sound of the PA system dwarfed my iPod.
The starting gun fired and off went EC wave, carrying me along with it. In the first few strides, I started my stop watch and plugged the earpiece in to hear Jim Morrison singing "Light My Fire" then built steadily to a good pace. I could feel a little pain in my left leg, but nothing too bad, and my breathing was even and relaxed. All good signs. I passed some people in my wave and crossed the first mile marker slightly faster than I planned.
But a half mile later, as the racecourse starts a modest climb, I felt a familiar pain. At first it was just a little twinge with each push off of my foot just above the narrow part of the Achilles tendon. I slowed a little to see if it would go away. But it didn't. Within a couple hundred yards, the pain radiated through my entire calf. It felt just like the first time I injured it three weeks earlier.
I stepped off the side of the course to find myself right next to the belly dancers. What luck! Ahead was a water table, and just beyond it, the excellent Elvis impersonator who's there every year. I watched the belly dancers undulate (which this year included some cross-dressing guy -- hey, this is Boulder!) as I tried to gently stretch the calf and see if the pain would subside. No luck. I limped up to Elvis to watch him sing as he high-fived runners passing by, then went back and got a cup of water.
I sat down on the curb by the belly dancers and thought about my options. I figured my race was over and took off my bib, folded it up, and jammed it in my shorts pocket. I got up and for over twenty minutes walked back and forth between Elvis and the belly dancers, trying to figure out if I'd should walk back to the stadium right then or wait for my wife's wave to come by. While doing this, the pain backed off a little. I paused to watch all the people going by -- all ages, some serious, some laughing, some in costumes, every manner of running style.
I trail run alone in the middle of nowhere most days where I live. I thought about what a unique experience it is to be part of an event like the Bolder Boulder. It was such a beautiful day with the sun beaming down, blue sky. For those runners, there were still five miles of sights, sounds and sensations to enjoy. I concluded it was too much fun to pass up. I took my bib out of my pocket and pinned it back on.
I started jogging slowly at the edge of the passing throng of people, then slowly picked up speed as best I could and moved into the middle of the road where the crown was flattest and pulled least on my calf. I found a running pattern where the pain was tolerable. Within a mile, I found I was even passing people.
The Bolder Boulder ends with a short, steep climb into Folsom Stadium. By then my right hip was hurting, too, because I had compensated with the rest of my body for the stiff peg-leg, flat footed posture I had to use to protect the calf. That hill hurt pretty good, but once my feet got on the rubber surface of the track in the stadium, it was smooth sailing to the finish.
When I looked down at my watch, I had to smile: it was the slowest I had ever run the Bolder Boulder. 1 hr, 23 minutes, 48 seconds. Later that day, my splits were texted to my wife's cell phone: Mile 1: 8:56, Mile 2: 33:28!!!, Mile 3: 9:58, Mile 4: 9:29, Mile 6: 9:55. The second mile was a time killer, and my pain-altered running style cost an average of about a minute per mile.
My wife ran a Personal Best, faster than me. I was elated for her. I ran my Personal Worst, but was still elated. This TOJ made it. Some days that's good enough.
At 6:45 I joined thousands of other runners making their way to the start. The weather was perfect -- already in the 50's, forecast to get in the low 80's. Perfect running weather. I had parked about a mile and jogged slowly to warm up and test my left calf. There was a little pain, but not too bad. It was weird to be headed to the start of a running race when I had only run four times in the past three weeks since pulling my left calf. I didn't know what to expect.
Waiting in a long line for one of the zillion porta-potties, I had a conversation with an almost barefoot runner (he had Vibram Five Fingers) wearing a "Born to Run" T-shirt. I asked him how he liked it, and he told me that he'd been running that way for almost a year and would never go back to shoes, except maybe on trail runs. He said he had to relearn how to run because with barefoot running your weight stays over your forefeet and your calves hurt until your body adjusts. But once you get used to it, your legs feel great. He thinks it's not a fad, but a trend.
My timing was good because I arrived at the start when there were only a few minutes before my wave took off. I took a place towards the rear because I planned to go out slow and see how my leg felt. I turned on my iPod, loaded with 60s classics like the Doors, Lovin Spoonful, Jimi Hendrix, the Beach Boys, the Who and the Byrds. When our wave was next to go, a nice race official checking bibs asked me to remove one of the ear pieces so I wouldn't miss the starting gun. I thought that was pretty funny because the booming sound of the PA system dwarfed my iPod.
The starting gun fired and off went EC wave, carrying me along with it. In the first few strides, I started my stop watch and plugged the earpiece in to hear Jim Morrison singing "Light My Fire" then built steadily to a good pace. I could feel a little pain in my left leg, but nothing too bad, and my breathing was even and relaxed. All good signs. I passed some people in my wave and crossed the first mile marker slightly faster than I planned.
But a half mile later, as the racecourse starts a modest climb, I felt a familiar pain. At first it was just a little twinge with each push off of my foot just above the narrow part of the Achilles tendon. I slowed a little to see if it would go away. But it didn't. Within a couple hundred yards, the pain radiated through my entire calf. It felt just like the first time I injured it three weeks earlier.
I stepped off the side of the course to find myself right next to the belly dancers. What luck! Ahead was a water table, and just beyond it, the excellent Elvis impersonator who's there every year. I watched the belly dancers undulate (which this year included some cross-dressing guy -- hey, this is Boulder!) as I tried to gently stretch the calf and see if the pain would subside. No luck. I limped up to Elvis to watch him sing as he high-fived runners passing by, then went back and got a cup of water.
I sat down on the curb by the belly dancers and thought about my options. I figured my race was over and took off my bib, folded it up, and jammed it in my shorts pocket. I got up and for over twenty minutes walked back and forth between Elvis and the belly dancers, trying to figure out if I'd should walk back to the stadium right then or wait for my wife's wave to come by. While doing this, the pain backed off a little. I paused to watch all the people going by -- all ages, some serious, some laughing, some in costumes, every manner of running style.
I trail run alone in the middle of nowhere most days where I live. I thought about what a unique experience it is to be part of an event like the Bolder Boulder. It was such a beautiful day with the sun beaming down, blue sky. For those runners, there were still five miles of sights, sounds and sensations to enjoy. I concluded it was too much fun to pass up. I took my bib out of my pocket and pinned it back on.
I started jogging slowly at the edge of the passing throng of people, then slowly picked up speed as best I could and moved into the middle of the road where the crown was flattest and pulled least on my calf. I found a running pattern where the pain was tolerable. Within a mile, I found I was even passing people.
The Bolder Boulder ends with a short, steep climb into Folsom Stadium. By then my right hip was hurting, too, because I had compensated with the rest of my body for the stiff peg-leg, flat footed posture I had to use to protect the calf. That hill hurt pretty good, but once my feet got on the rubber surface of the track in the stadium, it was smooth sailing to the finish.
When I looked down at my watch, I had to smile: it was the slowest I had ever run the Bolder Boulder. 1 hr, 23 minutes, 48 seconds. Later that day, my splits were texted to my wife's cell phone: Mile 1: 8:56, Mile 2: 33:28!!!, Mile 3: 9:58, Mile 4: 9:29, Mile 6: 9:55. The second mile was a time killer, and my pain-altered running style cost an average of about a minute per mile.
My wife ran a Personal Best, faster than me. I was elated for her. I ran my Personal Worst, but was still elated. This TOJ made it. Some days that's good enough.
A 2x2 TOJ in the Tracks of a 4x4
It snowed 3" Friday night. Not much by Colorado standards, but enough to put me on an asphalt road instead of a mountain trail. See, last week it got too warm (even rained - global warming) and turned the foot of hardpack on the trail into a rotten, unreliable crust. With 3" of new cover down low and more up higher, the footing on the trail would be too dicey.
So, shortly after sunrise, I was on the county road that winds up through ranch land for a five mile run. Running on 3" of snow covered asphalt road is not bad. But even in 3" of fresh powder, you'll get some slippage, making you tire faster and slower. Remember: The White Dragon rules.
I started off slowly to warm up, running in the fresh powder along the side of the road. Towards the middle of the road was a single set of tire tracks from a vehicle that had come down the road earlier that morning. The snow was packed firm and some rock aggregate poked through it. After a quarter mile of warm up, I stepped into the truck track to pick up my pace a little.
Being an quasi-environmentalist, I have a love-hate relationship with big 4x4 pickups, ATVs and snowmobiles. I enjoy the quiet of being outside and inhaling cold, fresh air. When the machines are around, the air stinks of combustion and the engines loudly rumble and drone. Snowmobiles are the worst because their engines rev with a high pitched whine and, when the conditions are just right, leave a trail of blue exhaust that lingers for several minutes.
Yet many times I have found myself running, snowshoeing, and skiing in their tracks. The deeper the snow, the more irresistible it is to get into their tracks because they improve your footing and conserve your energy. And on a couple of occasions years ago when I was quasi-lost in heavy snow in the back country, I followed snowmobile tracks to get back to my car and civilization.
Yesterday I was grateful for the tracks. Only a couple of trucks came by during my run. One passed just before I turned around. I held my arm out and waved and saw the driver wave back as he sped by in a swirl of snow. He was in a big three quarter ton with dual rear wheels. He'd packed a nice wide swath.
Going back, the road is mostly downhill. Between the downhill and the truck tracks, I was able to open my stride up and get into a smooth groove. Off to my left, I spotted a black horse galloping effortlessly through deep snow across a hillside pasture. I think I know what he felt.
So, shortly after sunrise, I was on the county road that winds up through ranch land for a five mile run. Running on 3" of snow covered asphalt road is not bad. But even in 3" of fresh powder, you'll get some slippage, making you tire faster and slower. Remember: The White Dragon rules.
I started off slowly to warm up, running in the fresh powder along the side of the road. Towards the middle of the road was a single set of tire tracks from a vehicle that had come down the road earlier that morning. The snow was packed firm and some rock aggregate poked through it. After a quarter mile of warm up, I stepped into the truck track to pick up my pace a little.
Being an quasi-environmentalist, I have a love-hate relationship with big 4x4 pickups, ATVs and snowmobiles. I enjoy the quiet of being outside and inhaling cold, fresh air. When the machines are around, the air stinks of combustion and the engines loudly rumble and drone. Snowmobiles are the worst because their engines rev with a high pitched whine and, when the conditions are just right, leave a trail of blue exhaust that lingers for several minutes.
Yet many times I have found myself running, snowshoeing, and skiing in their tracks. The deeper the snow, the more irresistible it is to get into their tracks because they improve your footing and conserve your energy. And on a couple of occasions years ago when I was quasi-lost in heavy snow in the back country, I followed snowmobile tracks to get back to my car and civilization.
Yesterday I was grateful for the tracks. Only a couple of trucks came by during my run. One passed just before I turned around. I held my arm out and waved and saw the driver wave back as he sped by in a swirl of snow. He was in a big three quarter ton with dual rear wheels. He'd packed a nice wide swath.
Going back, the road is mostly downhill. Between the downhill and the truck tracks, I was able to open my stride up and get into a smooth groove. Off to my left, I spotted a black horse galloping effortlessly through deep snow across a hillside pasture. I think I know what he felt.
Running Against Time in the Bolder Boulder
As "E" wave approached the starting line of the Bolder Boulder, I remembered to switch my watch into stopwatch mode to keep track of my splits, especially the first couple of miles because I have a tendency to go out too fast. Today would be different. And although I was excited to be there and ready to go, I was thinking more about life-time than clock time.
Earlier in the week I learned that two friends from my youth had died, in their sixties, from cancer. Their names were Bill Slauson and Jim McCurry. Bill was a university teacher, researcher, philosopher and botanist. Jim was a college professor and poet. Both were good men with many talents. I wished, too late, that I had followed their lives more closely, but the tides carried us in different directions, to different places and interests.
The crack of the starting gun brought me back to realtime. No time for deep thoughts and reminiscences, the race was on! I punched my stopwatch. 29th Street was smoother and more forgiving than I was used to. I felt too strong to stop and listen to the Blues Brothers at .6 miles, and passed through the first mile 30 seconds faster than planned. Then I ran right by the great Elvis impersonator at 1.8 miles and was still under pace. I ran by a water station. Of course, when it dawned on me the pace was unsustainable, it was too late. The lactic acid was already doing its work. By the time I got to the belly dancers at mile 3, I was slowing, but I didn't want to lose more time than necessary and try to get ba.JPG)
ck on pace, so I ran by them too.
I pushed through the next couple miles, which is slightly downhill. With a mile left, I passed a mother and her 10-ish son, who was holding his side. He told his mom he wanted to walk because his side hurt. She said, "No, we need to stay on pace. This is a race." Most of the people passing me were younger, and I remembered how a few decades ago I used to be able to run more than two minutes a mile faster than I do now, but even then I wished it was faster. Although I felt heavy and tired, time flew, and before I knew it I was on the bouncy track inside Folsom Stadium.
As I crossed the finish, I stopped my watch -- no surprise, slower than I wished. Another Bolder Boulder. In some ways I was more disappointed that I didn't take the time to catch more of the eclectic entertainment along the course. I always assume that the Blues Brothers and Elvis and all the others will always be there as they have been for years, but someday they won't, nor will I. Races are measured in fractions of seconds, seconds, minutes. It's fun to pretend those times are important, though in the great scheme of things we know they aren't.
Standing in a long line of several long lines to pick up post-race refreshments, the 20-something in front of me told his friend, "Man, I don't know what happened to me. I trained harder than ever. I worked my ass off. Then I run slower than last year." I felt his pain.
After drinking a free Ultra Michelob beer (not bad for 8:30 am -- after a race everything is permitted), I walked to my car to get some dry clothes. I passed a guy in his late teens, who was on a cell phone. He was explaining that he ran it in 44 minutes but felt like shit, maybe because he ate a giant burrito from a fast food joint the night before. He just didn' t know what happened. I felt his pain, too.
After I got back to the stadium, a friend joined me up in the stands where we meet every year after the citizens race to watch to elite races and the Memorial Day celebration. I asked him how it went. He said he had a good race, but wasn't able to break his PR. He and a friend from his running club pushed hard the first three kilometers but realized it just wasn't there and they cruised the rest. He was a little disappointed, though his time was great for a TOJ. I didn't feel his pain. There's no telling how good he might have been during his prime when he was in medical school, which I'm sure he thinks about as well.
Later my wife joined us. This was the first time she had run a full 10K. After walking it for years, she decided to run it. She had trained hard and completed the course faster than ever. I was glad for her. There were no if onlys, excuses, regrets. Just deep fatigue and satisfaction. She said next year she would try to beat her time, though it would be harder because she would be a year older. Whoops, I realized she had caught the bug. I wondered why these target times are so important and why they are usually just out of reach. Is it a yet-to-be-named psychiatric disorder common to runners?
Each year now, my goal is to run a time in minutes less than my age in years. So far, so good. But soon, I will reach the crossover point, where I can't anymore. When that time comes, I'll still participate in the Bolder Boulder and stop and listen to a whole song by the Blues Brothers and Elvis and the young bands too. I'll dance with the belly dancers.
1972 Olympic Gold Medalist Frank Shorter did the live commentary for the elite women's and men's races, which were on the JumboTron. He told a stadium full of 40,000 plus people that the elites were running at a very fast pace, and added for every runner there, at all levels, that weather could not be used as an excuse for a slow time because it was perfect. In fact, he said, the atmospheric conditions were actually pooling additional oxygen onto the course, which is above 5,000 feet, that would help everyone run faster.
He was right, the weather was perfect for the race. Everything about the race was perfect, whether you ran it slow or fast. The Bolder Boulder is one of the great ones. The race, the bands, the volunteers, the elites, the skydivers, the tribute to veterans. The final event of the day was a low fly over by three dark fighters that roared above against an even darker sky. All the time we had been enjoying the scene in the stadium, a black thunderhead had been sneaking up from the south.
The second the jets passed, marking the end of the 2009 Bolder Boulder, the rain came down hard. We were all soaked and happy.
I remembered of a couple lines by the great poet Dylan Thomas:
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
I thought about what a beautiful day it was, and how time passes. We are so lucky to be alive.
Earlier in the week I learned that two friends from my youth had died, in their sixties, from cancer. Their names were Bill Slauson and Jim McCurry. Bill was a university teacher, researcher, philosopher and botanist. Jim was a college professor and poet. Both were good men with many talents. I wished, too late, that I had followed their lives more closely, but the tides carried us in different directions, to different places and interests.
The crack of the starting gun brought me back to realtime. No time for deep thoughts and reminiscences, the race was on! I punched my stopwatch. 29th Street was smoother and more forgiving than I was used to. I felt too strong to stop and listen to the Blues Brothers at .6 miles, and passed through the first mile 30 seconds faster than planned. Then I ran right by the great Elvis impersonator at 1.8 miles and was still under pace. I ran by a water station. Of course, when it dawned on me the pace was unsustainable, it was too late. The lactic acid was already doing its work. By the time I got to the belly dancers at mile 3, I was slowing, but I didn't want to lose more time than necessary and try to get ba
.JPG)
ck on pace, so I ran by them too.I pushed through the next couple miles, which is slightly downhill. With a mile left, I passed a mother and her 10-ish son, who was holding his side. He told his mom he wanted to walk because his side hurt. She said, "No, we need to stay on pace. This is a race." Most of the people passing me were younger, and I remembered how a few decades ago I used to be able to run more than two minutes a mile faster than I do now, but even then I wished it was faster. Although I felt heavy and tired, time flew, and before I knew it I was on the bouncy track inside Folsom Stadium.
As I crossed the finish, I stopped my watch -- no surprise, slower than I wished. Another Bolder Boulder. In some ways I was more disappointed that I didn't take the time to catch more of the eclectic entertainment along the course. I always assume that the Blues Brothers and Elvis and all the others will always be there as they have been for years, but someday they won't, nor will I. Races are measured in fractions of seconds, seconds, minutes. It's fun to pretend those times are important, though in the great scheme of things we know they aren't.
Standing in a long line of several long lines to pick up post-race refreshments, the 20-something in front of me told his friend, "Man, I don't know what happened to me. I trained harder than ever. I worked my ass off. Then I run slower than last year." I felt his pain.
After drinking a free Ultra Michelob beer (not bad for 8:30 am -- after a race everything is permitted), I walked to my car to get some dry clothes. I passed a guy in his late teens, who was on a cell phone. He was explaining that he ran it in 44 minutes but felt like shit, maybe because he ate a giant burrito from a fast food joint the night before. He just didn' t know what happened. I felt his pain, too.
After I got back to the stadium, a friend joined me up in the stands where we meet every year after the citizens race to watch to elite races and the Memorial Day celebration. I asked him how it went. He said he had a good race, but wasn't able to break his PR. He and a friend from his running club pushed hard the first three kilometers but realized it just wasn't there and they cruised the rest. He was a little disappointed, though his time was great for a TOJ. I didn't feel his pain. There's no telling how good he might have been during his prime when he was in medical school, which I'm sure he thinks about as well.
Later my wife joined us. This was the first time she had run a full 10K. After walking it for years, she decided to run it. She had trained hard and completed the course faster than ever. I was glad for her. There were no if onlys, excuses, regrets. Just deep fatigue and satisfaction. She said next year she would try to beat her time, though it would be harder because she would be a year older. Whoops, I realized she had caught the bug. I wondered why these target times are so important and why they are usually just out of reach. Is it a yet-to-be-named psychiatric disorder common to runners?
Each year now, my goal is to run a time in minutes less than my age in years. So far, so good. But soon, I will reach the crossover point, where I can't anymore. When that time comes, I'll still participate in the Bolder Boulder and stop and listen to a whole song by the Blues Brothers and Elvis and the young bands too. I'll dance with the belly dancers.
1972 Olympic Gold Medalist Frank Shorter did the live commentary for the elite women's and men's races, which were on the JumboTron. He told a stadium full of 40,000 plus people that the elites were running at a very fast pace, and added for every runner there, at all levels, that weather could not be used as an excuse for a slow time because it was perfect. In fact, he said, the atmospheric conditions were actually pooling additional oxygen onto the course, which is above 5,000 feet, that would help everyone run faster.
He was right, the weather was perfect for the race. Everything about the race was perfect, whether you ran it slow or fast. The Bolder Boulder is one of the great ones. The race, the bands, the volunteers, the elites, the skydivers, the tribute to veterans. The final event of the day was a low fly over by three dark fighters that roared above against an even darker sky. All the time we had been enjoying the scene in the stadium, a black thunderhead had been sneaking up from the south.
The second the jets passed, marking the end of the 2009 Bolder Boulder, the rain came down hard. We were all soaked and happy.
I remembered of a couple lines by the great poet Dylan Thomas:
And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
I thought about what a beautiful day it was, and how time passes. We are so lucky to be alive.
Shoes Should Fit Your Body, Not Just Your Feet
When buying a new pair of running shoes, the challenge is to find a pair that fits your body, not just your feet. It took me a long time, and lots of shoes, to realize that it wasn't enough that the shoe felt good on my feet in the store, but that my entire body felt good many miles later.
A good shoe is the most important purchase a runner makes, and that's even more true for a TOJ who needs good protection because his/her body already has wear and tear. I've never scrimped on running shoes and have owned over a hundred pair. Many of them have ended up barely used at a bargain price in a Goodwill store, and, hopefully, on the feet of somebody for whom they were perfect. Even after years of running, finding the best shoe takes some study and luck.
The comparative performance ratings in the running magazines and online are getting better and better at objectively assessing some of the important differences that exist between shoes. As one who ran in the Adidas Cross Country and early Nikes with a black rubber waffle sole, I can attest that all the engineering and materials in today's shoes have really improved their durability and performance. The innovations in new shoes are not all marketing hype. I use the ratings to pick out a half dozen or so promising candidates, if I'm ready to take the risk of a model or brand change.
But I also try to ignore the lure of the hot looking shoes on the lean and mean (10K, marathon, ultra, whatever) superstar in the ads showing him or her triumphantly breaking the finish ribbon. I (or likely you either) don't belong in that shoe because I neither run nor am physically like the guy in the ad. And though the zippy graphics on his shoes are cool, they won't protect me in steep, rocky and remote terrain.
Of course, you have to do the in-the-store drill. Put on socks of the same weight and material in which you prefer to run. Try on both shoes. Lace them just as you would when you are going to run. Check that there's a about 1/4 thumb of space between your toes and the end of the shoe. Check that the heel cup is snug but not tight, and that your forefoot doesn't float sideways and isn't cramped. Walk then jog around the store (or outside if allowed) to see if there are any spots that rub (even a little bit!), if you feel stable, and adequately cushioned the full length of the foot, especially under the arch. If they feel close-to-perfect, congratulations, there's a chance they might work.
You may not really know if the shoes are right for you until you've run anywhere from 1 to 50 miles. I've had shoes that made me slightly change my gait. My feet felt fine, but during the run I would notice something didn't feel right, like I wasn't centered over the shoe or I needed to run slightly pigeon-toed to get them to roll properly trough a full stride.
Even small changes in the way you naturally run can cause a repetitive motion injury that manifests elsewhere in your body. While running, your whole body is rewarded or punished by your shoes. Even a couple of degrees of change in the angle a shoe engages the road or trail surface can radiate out of the feet to the knees and hips. If you start compensating by adjusting your stride by moving your pelvis or arms more, you can aggravate your shoulders and neck, which are a long ways from where your feet pound on the earth. Sometimes you don't even realize it until you feel pain after a hard run.
I bought a pair of North Faces, which felt great in the store. They hugged my foot like a glove and were grippy on the loop I ran around the store. After I bought them, they weren't bad on the trails either for the first part of a run. But after running for a half hour or more, I had low level pain pulsing through my legs, and not in the usual places. I'm a stocky runner who has had an ankle injury and both knees scoped. I expect a little discomfort there. Some soreness, especially in muscles, is to be expected after a long run. To me, it's a pleasant reminder. But I was feeling some pain in my thigh bones and hips joints, too. The shoe just wasn't offering enough cushioning or holding my foot laterally stable. I concluded it might be a good shoe for a lighter runner, but not for me most of the time. I now reserve them for short runs on softer surfaces, where they do fine.
A good shoe is the most important purchase a runner makes, and that's even more true for a TOJ who needs good protection because his/her body already has wear and tear. I've never scrimped on running shoes and have owned over a hundred pair. Many of them have ended up barely used at a bargain price in a Goodwill store, and, hopefully, on the feet of somebody for whom they were perfect. Even after years of running, finding the best shoe takes some study and luck.
The comparative performance ratings in the running magazines and online are getting better and better at objectively assessing some of the important differences that exist between shoes. As one who ran in the Adidas Cross Country and early Nikes with a black rubber waffle sole, I can attest that all the engineering and materials in today's shoes have really improved their durability and performance. The innovations in new shoes are not all marketing hype. I use the ratings to pick out a half dozen or so promising candidates, if I'm ready to take the risk of a model or brand change.
But I also try to ignore the lure of the hot looking shoes on the lean and mean (10K, marathon, ultra, whatever) superstar in the ads showing him or her triumphantly breaking the finish ribbon. I (or likely you either) don't belong in that shoe because I neither run nor am physically like the guy in the ad. And though the zippy graphics on his shoes are cool, they won't protect me in steep, rocky and remote terrain.
Of course, you have to do the in-the-store drill. Put on socks of the same weight and material in which you prefer to run. Try on both shoes. Lace them just as you would when you are going to run. Check that there's a about 1/4 thumb of space between your toes and the end of the shoe. Check that the heel cup is snug but not tight, and that your forefoot doesn't float sideways and isn't cramped. Walk then jog around the store (or outside if allowed) to see if there are any spots that rub (even a little bit!), if you feel stable, and adequately cushioned the full length of the foot, especially under the arch. If they feel close-to-perfect, congratulations, there's a chance they might work.
You may not really know if the shoes are right for you until you've run anywhere from 1 to 50 miles. I've had shoes that made me slightly change my gait. My feet felt fine, but during the run I would notice something didn't feel right, like I wasn't centered over the shoe or I needed to run slightly pigeon-toed to get them to roll properly trough a full stride.
Even small changes in the way you naturally run can cause a repetitive motion injury that manifests elsewhere in your body. While running, your whole body is rewarded or punished by your shoes. Even a couple of degrees of change in the angle a shoe engages the road or trail surface can radiate out of the feet to the knees and hips. If you start compensating by adjusting your stride by moving your pelvis or arms more, you can aggravate your shoulders and neck, which are a long ways from where your feet pound on the earth. Sometimes you don't even realize it until you feel pain after a hard run.
I bought a pair of North Faces, which felt great in the store. They hugged my foot like a glove and were grippy on the loop I ran around the store. After I bought them, they weren't bad on the trails either for the first part of a run. But after running for a half hour or more, I had low level pain pulsing through my legs, and not in the usual places. I'm a stocky runner who has had an ankle injury and both knees scoped. I expect a little discomfort there. Some soreness, especially in muscles, is to be expected after a long run. To me, it's a pleasant reminder. But I was feeling some pain in my thigh bones and hips joints, too. The shoe just wasn't offering enough cushioning or holding my foot laterally stable. I concluded it might be a good shoe for a lighter runner, but not for me most of the time. I now reserve them for short runs on softer surfaces, where they do fine.
I also have a pair of Montrails that felt a little clunky in the store and a bit roomy in mid-foot. I wasn't sure about them. But the heel absorption felt right and the sole very firm. I gambled and bought them. For the rocky trail where I run often, they work very well. They fit snug enough on my foot, and, more important, they fit they way my body runs. my weight, and the terrain. At the end of the run, my feet and the rest of my body, feel tired and a normal post-workout sore, but there's no unusual pain. That tells me I'm in the right shoe.
Yet my Montrails, like any shoe, have their limits, too. A good shoe may work on one surface but not on another. With the Bolder Boulder 10K coming up, a few months ago I started running once a week on an asphalt country road. Running on mountain trails and asphalt roads is very different, not just because of the difference in hardness of the surfaces. Running trails with steep ups and downs strengthens your legs, but it also shortens your stride length -- not good for a road race. I've also found from wearing a heart rate monitor that I tend to work at a higher rate on flat roads than going up a hill. Road running presents much less variation to the body. So to get ready for the Bolder Boulder, I try to get acclimated to the asphalt and find a mile-by-mile sustainable pace, which is impossible to do with the ups and downs on a mountain trail.
The first couple of times I ran on the asphalt during late winter in my Montrails, I felt crappy. My entire skeleton ached, as did my toes and the middle of my feet. It didn't help that the county went cheap on road maintenance by capping it with 3/4 inch gravel, making a surface that is tough for runners and bikers. On that hard, abrasive surface, the Montrails felt like I was running on short slabs of 2x4, and 10K seemed like a long, long ways. Something was wrong.
I wondered if the problem was due to my shoes. I happened to be in Boulder, Colorado, and went into the Boulder Running Company, a runner's mecca. A nice young woman asked me what I was looking for, how many miles I was running, etc. It was nice to have a store clerk take a TOJ like me seriously.
I told her all about what was going on. She asked me to take off my shoes and socks, then stand evenly on both feet. She told me I had a little over-pronation. After getting my size, she disappeared into the stock room and came back with three pairs of shoes, all of which felt good at first touch. She insisted I take each of them out of the store for a run. I followed her advice and returned sweaty and sold on a pair of Saucony's, a brand I have never owned before. They have made the runs on asphalt much more tolerable, sometimes even pleasurable, and I eagerly anticipate what they will do on the comparatively smooth streets of Boulder. The knowledgeable clerk reminded me of why it's always best to buy your shoes in a speciality store. You want to buy your shoes from someone who loves running as much as you do.
My body has taught me a lot about how to buy running shoes. Thirty years ago I made the right pick about 20% of the time. Now I guess correctly more than 60% the time. It's good the odds are getting so much better because, as a TOJ ages, the physical stakes get much higher. And the return on investment good shoes give me by keeping me on the trail and out of the doctor's office is better than I'll ever earn in my IRA. I figure I better buy more running shoes to save more money.
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