Untamed Runner

My family and I travelled for roughly the first two weeks of June. We began the trip with a week in Myrtle Beach, SC where I kept up my training miles, despising the humidity, loving the ample oxygen. From there, we drove to Charlotte, NC where my daughter and I caught a direct flight to Rome, Italy. This father-daughter trip had been in the making for several months and I’d decided early on that I wouldn’t log miles while we were there.

When you’re travelling on your own with a child, there are just too many variables that would mean big problems if she and I weren’t together. For example, maybe while I’m out for a short run, housekeeping shows up at our room, sees her alone, and is concerned, or the hotel fire alarm goes off. The scenario of a child alone in a hotel room in a country where we don’t speak the language and something like the aforementioned circumstances occurring is bad. So, I designated it as a week off and it turned out my legs were ready for a short rest. However, there were a few running notes that I picked up along the way.

We spent our time in Rome and Venice and I had assumed there would be people running in The Eternal City but not in the City of Canals. This turned out to be the opposite. Once we were there, it was easy to see why.

The traffic in Rome is on the verge of pedestrian-hostile and the sidewalks sometimes exist only by definition. In some cases, it’s a narrow strip of cobblestones that are slightly darker than the street. The streets in Venice are fairly empty of people in the early mornings and without any cars to worry about, it would be a pleasant place to run. There weren’t steady numbers of people running in Venice, but a few.

Among the sites that I hoped to see in Rome was the Circus Maximus, or the ancient chariot racing track. Though primarily known for the chariot races, it did hold some long-distance foot races.  In its prime, it was around 600M long and 140M wide along its axes. By comparison, a modern 400M running track would be around 150M long and 90M wide. The stands around the Maximus held anywhere from 150,000 to 250,000 people, which would put it among some of our modern world’s largest stadiums.

Most of it you can access for free. The bulk of the site is grass with a small dirt path on the perimeter. At one end of the track is a section that’s gated off and requires a ticket, which was well worth it. Some of the ancient structure stands there, along with several pieces of sculptures that have been found and saved.

Walking from the lower chambers of the facility through the old tunnel onto the grass and dirt area of the track, presumably as the ancient competitors would have, still sent a small spark of adrenaline through my veins. Though the original track is estimated to be 6M below the current ground surface (following its racing days it was eventually turned into an agricultural area), I ran around 50M along the path, just to say I’d done it. Were I to go back to Rome with my running shoes, I would plan to do several laps there one morning. It wouldn’t be in front of thousands of spectators or with the pageantry, but it’d be fun.

Now back in Colorado, and working my way back into training…

Over the past several weeks, I’ve included speed work in my running schedule. During my formative running years, the total distance in my speed workouts would be around 4,000M. It might be 10X400M or 20X200M. These days, I’ve been topping out my total at 3,200M and I’ve done either 4X800M or 2X1600M. I go with a little less total distance because I’m 43 and I don’t know the impact of adding on more intense training. If I knew I was likely to hit a new PR in a distance, I might go with more but I’m far off of my all-time bests so I’ll err on the side of preserving my running longevity.

Every one of my last three speed workouts has been a dud. One was due to wind. I was doing 4X800M and while I got the first two in under 3:00, they were slightly downhill with the wind at my back. The next two were in the opposite direction and were definitely not under 3:00 each.

The next workout was 2X1600M with a goal of 5:59 per 1600M. I’ve not done a running food review in a while but I can assure you that breaded fried fish fillets and tater tots are not good pre-run food. I wouldn’t have assumed they were, but I also figured I could grind through a speed workout. Nope. My first 1600M was 6:10 and it got worse from there.

For the next workout I attempted 2X1600M again. I went mid-morning and well after my breakfast of plain oatmeal and a banana. There was no wind and I figured hitting 5:59/1600M was reasonable. For the first one, I cruised through in 5:55. The next one was terrible. I was mulling over the reason and remembered that two days before, I’d done a six-mile run where I ran the last three miles fairly hard, with the final mile at under 5K race pace. Most likely I was carrying some leg fatigue with me from that run.

Were my disappointing times all due to external factors, or do I need to tweak what I’m doing? I’m leaning towards external factors though whether I try one of the same workouts next time, as opposed to 3X1000M, is still up for debate.

The broader point with this post is that it’s important to evaluate whether you need to keep trying at something, or reconfigure. Several years ago, I was doing speed workouts that focused on very short distances, such as 200M and 400M. These had worked in the past so I figured they would again. However, my times were only changing marginally. I switched to a strategy of doing primarily threshold work (running three or six miles all-out). I had also done this in the past with good results and I figured it would work again. My times did get faster so I stuck with it.

I’ve been including more true speed work (4X800M) because that also worked over the past year, in addition to threshold runs. It’s partly why I still think external factors are what affected my times before, and why I’m not quite ready to make a switch.

In many ways, running and training are going to be similar among athletes. Professional 5K/10K runners may log 80-100 miles per week but there will likely be subtle differences among them. Plans will be tailored and adjusted to accentuate strengths and shore up weaknesses. We also can be in an ongoing state of evaluation and experimentation to see what works best to keep us moving forward as fast as possible.

At the 1996 Summer Olympics, Michael Johnson wore solid gold-colored spikes. These were the coolest race shoes I’d ever seen and they still rank at or near the top for me in that category. He won gold medals in the 200M and 400M at those games. Does what you wear or do for style matter for a race or training run, for you or for your impression on the competition?

Way back in my high school days, one of my teammates remarked that if a runner from a different team did something out-of-the-mainstream with their hair (dye it an unnatural color, have a man-bun before those were popular, etc.) he felt they were probably fast. This was an illogical thought that also made sense. I didn’t gather any data around it but when I ran the Columbus Marathon several years later, I bleached my hair to near-platinum ahead of time and showed up feeling confident I would crush it. A couple of years after that, I ran the Cleveland Marathon. In the interest of gearing up for the event (pun intended) I bought a new, flashy, bright orange racing singlet. It seemed like a good mental edge.

Even for training runs, I may pick faster-looking gear depending on what I’m doing. If it’s a four-mile run at 5:30 in the morning, I know my pace will be slow and it’s maintenance miles so I’ll toss on something plain and just get the run finished. For a speed workout or longer run where I’m pushing the pace, I’ll definitely get something on that looks sleek.

How much does having flashy clothes and shoes (or dyed hair) help? In my last post I mentioned that in 2019 I’d run an 18:42 5K at sea level and in 2020, I’d run 18:56 at elevation. Realistically the run at elevation is more difficult so the 18:56 is “faster.” For the 18:42, I was in a drab pair of gray trainers with a regular green shirt. For the 18:56, I had on menacing-looking racing flats and also used neon yellow sleeves and shorts. In the Columbus Marathon I referenced above, I fell apart at mile 19 and barely held on until mile 26.2. In Cleveland, I ran a negative split (the second half being faster than the first half) and thus finished the race feeling strong.

Do the clothes and style matter? They obviously don’t directly make you faster, and I’ve had excellent races and training runs where I was wearing something plain. But, they can make you more excited to toe the line, and that’s worth something. In the meantime, I keep my eyes out for a pair of solid gold-colored spikes…

The Untamed Runner celebrates a fourth birthday this year. Four years isn’t very long-one Olympic cycle-but a fair number of notable things have occurred.

I managed to finally get back under 19:00 for a 5K (18:42 in an official race in 2019 and 18:56 on a track in 2020) and I ran a marathon where I had a stark reminder of “the wall” at mile twenty. For the first time in many years, I toed the lines of races as a member of a team, first with Runners Roost and now with the Dry Creek Striders. I expanded the number of states I’ve run in and found some that served strictly to expand my list and others that I hope to go back to, such as Highway 373 near Amargosa Valley, NV.

Given that in-person racing was nearly non-existent for 2020 and some of 2021, I did a bunch of time trials. This allowed me to connect with friends and we were able to do different distances that are not common among standard road races. In some cases, we had two-for-one. We did a 3200M on a track but we marked 16M past the finish so we could stretch it out and also record our full two-mile time. We also did a downhill mile race which was preceded by an uphill mile race (or slog). I think for the latter that was our first and last attempt. While I’m not sure I can quantify how these less common distances impacted my racing and training, they posed different kinds of challenges and were fun, which is what running should be.

This blog has been a fun way to relay information and news about running. I appreciate your reading it and look forward to writing more content. The topics will likely be varied and the next one will be on the possible impact of flashy gear. Stay tuned…

One challenging aspect of local races is that while you know the distance and (hopefully) have a reasonably good sense of your ability, the competition around you may be unknown. If you race consistently in an area, it’s likely you’ll start to see familiar faces and know their respective times. Even then, it may not be a given. For example, one runner I know posted a 20-something 5K when we were in the same race a couple of years ago. All of a sudden, he’s now running down in the 18s.

Because of the unknowns of the competition around you, it can also be difficult to know how to race against folks. Are they someone who starts fast, then fades? Do they maintain an even pace? Do they have a solid final kick over the last 1000M or are they more of a runner who sprints the last 200M?

All of that being said, there are certain tactical rules that apply. Assuming you’re running within your time abilities, if there’s someone nearby, then it’s safe to assume you should be smart tactically. In a 5K several years ago, there was a pack of three of us through the whole race, all vying for third place (numbers one and two were too far ahead). I know that I don’t have exceptional sprint speed so if I’m near some other folks in the latter stages of a race and want to make sure I put myself in a good position to finish ahead of them, I may start pushing further out from the finish. In this race, I started my kick with about 1200M to go. It would either work, or the other two would hang with me and outsprint me. Fortunately for me, they weren’t able to hang and I ended up in third.

However, it’s also possible to have tactical missteps, even if you think you’re making a solid decision. In the CMRA Clear Creek 5K race a few weeks ago, after the initial squall of runners at the start, we all settled into our spots. I was in third; fourth was right on my shoulder and he stayed there. (To his credit, when we got to a turn that wasn’t well-marked, he affirmed my decision to go left, the correct direction, when he could have bought himself a few extra seconds by allowing me to go off course.)

Now, generally you don’t want to be the person leading in a situation like this. It takes more energy, especially mentally. Even knowing this, I persisted. Why did I think the rules didn’t apply to me? I was feeling really good, even though my pace was a little faster than planned. Also, I didn’t know this runner on my shoulder. It was possible he was using me as a pacer and was also above his planned speed. Yet, the way he was hanging on made me suspect otherwise and at 1200M to go, my suspicions were confirmed and he threw in a good surge.

We were running along a creek and in the upstream direction. This meant that we were on a very gradual climb and combined with the fact I’d pushed myself beyond my pace, I didn’t have enough in the tank to make a push to reel him back in.

Whether the actual mistake was pushing too hard at the beginning or not dropping back a bit to let him take the lead is hard to say. Even if I had held back a little earlier, I’m not sure I would have caught him. Still, it was a good reminder that even though there are cases where rules can be ignored, they also exist for a reason.

Two of us on the Dry Creek Striders, Collin Knaub and I, ran this race. He won in 17:09 and I got fourth in 19:22. We went to another race last weekend, the 5K In My Shoes, in Evans, Colorado. This one wasn’t timed and there were no awards but if someone was counting, we got first (Collin in 17:10) and I cruised into second place in 19:30. The next DCS race is on 7 May (no firm list of participants yet) and then we’ll do a 10K time trial on 18 May.

I’ve written posts on running while travelling and it’s often a pleasant way to see an area. It’s also the case that not all places are suitable for running and there have been times on the road where I’ve stuck to a treadmill or rolled off laps in a hotel parking lot. 

On a recent road trip, we stayed in the Los Angeles area and after looking at the immediate surroundings and knowing that city blocks are not ideal for logging miles, my first thought was to go to the fitness center in the basement.

However, I checked a map and found a promising spot located about a mile from our hotel, Runyun Canyon Park. There were multiple access points and trails labeled on it so once I got off the main road, I figured it would be a good urban path. 

On the way to the park, the road I used to go in led straight up a steep hill and this was my first clue that this place might not be exactly what I had expected. The gate for the park was on the hill and when I went through it, the road ended, the dirt trail started, and simply kept climbing.

This trail leveled out at one point into a wide dirt area and from there, I got an excellent view of the Los Angeles area. In the distance, through the late afternoon glare and haze, I could just barely see the Pacific. The trail continued to climb and in theory would have afforded a better view further up but I could tell that if I went that way, I would not enjoy navigating it back down (think height exposure) so I turned back.

At the bottom, I found another path, this one paved, that went up into the hills via a different route. Similar to the other one, it only climbed up; there was no roll or change in the terrain. This was not a run I’d expected nor one I would normally choose, at least in terms of elevation gain and loss. The one thing I had as an advantage is that I was at sea level which helped with the steady climbing.

Was it a dud of a run? Not with the view, even if the nature of the rest of the run was not my first choice. When running in unfamiliar areas, sometimes it’s a mixed bag. It’s a good reminder to mix up training runs and routes. You may get surprises, but you’ll be better acclimated for them.

On a random side note, we visited the new Academy Museum of Motion Pictures while we were there and it’s very worth the time to explore it. The exhibits are engaging and cover a range of film technology and history. Good stuff.

Kipchoge won Tokyo by thirty-three seconds and I have speculation about what could come next if it’s not New York, but that will be for a future post.

This past weekend, the Dry Creek Striders ran in the Go Erin Bragh 7.77K in Westminster, CO. The race company created the distance for “luck” for St. Patrick’s Day. It was my first 7.77K and it probably goes without saying that it’s not a common distance. Since it was my first, if I finished I would have a personal best. I penciled in a goal of 31:00 (6:25 per mile pace) which I knew would be a stretch based on my recent 5K times, but not unreasonable.

On the day of the race, there was a heavy breeze and its direction meant we’d be facing a headwind through the second half of the course. There were also some hills to contend with.

My first mile was 6:13, the second was 6:34, and it got slower from there. I finished in 32:11, or a 6:40 per mile pace. I started the race in third place and by the halfway mark, I knew getting a 31:00 was out the window. My only goal at that point was to not fall back to fourth. I could tell by the cheering behind me that I was about forty seconds ahead of the next runner. When I got to 1.5 miles to go, that gap was down to twenty seconds. This was concerning as they had gotten considerably closer in just less than a mile.

Fortunately, the last stretch was not a steep climb and I kept in mind that the next person still had to run twenty seconds faster than me in order to catch up. If I pushed hard on flat stretches and had enough left over the last half mile, I could probably hold on. As I hit the last stretch where spectators lined the course, I kept my ears open. Closer to the finish, I heard no cheering, which bode well. Still, I kicked into a slightly higher gear and got across the line in third in 32:11.

On a technicality, I had a personal best. Was it an excellent race? No. Part of it was out my control (the wind and hills) and part of it was going out closer to 5K pace instead of being more conservative. Had I knocked out a 30:59 or faster, I’d be pleased to say it was a personal best. For this one, well, I won’t be bragging about it and if I run the distance again, I’ll be a bit wiser. Maybe the wind will take a break, too.

On a positive note, the Dry Creek Striders put two people on the podium (second and third) and a third person earned an age group award. This was all despite being down a runner. To date, DCS has won 15 of 17 races (all 15 wins by our founder, Collin Knaub) and we’ve had multiple races with multiple podium finishers. We’ll hope to add to our accolades with the next race…

Growing up in the 1980s and 1990s, I’m not sure how much my peers and I appreciated the context of just how once-in-a-generation Michael Jordan’s playing was. How could we? It was clear that he was incredible, and his presence in the NBA was all we knew and that was just how the game was. In the decades since, many outstanding players have followed but many, maybe most, still argue that Jordan’s the greatest player ever.

Probably many runners in their formative years during the past decade won’t fully appreciate the dominance of Eliud Kipchoge at the marathon. To be fair to them, if his streak is all they know, then it’s how the sport is.

Some wondered if COVID delaying the Tokyo Olympics by a year would diminish Kipchoge’s chances of repeating as the Olympic gold medalist, and his eighth-place finish at London in 2020 reinforced those questions. He crushed the field in Tokyo, winning by eighty seconds.

Another COVID quirk is that the major marathons’ schedules have gotten scrambled and this has affected their elite fields in unusual ways. All six 2021 major marathons were held this past fall which effectively limited elite runners to one major for the year, instead of two. However, the 2022 Boston and Tokyo marathons are being held this spring and because they’re the only two, the elite fields for both are stunning. Even more fun? Kipchoge will run a major for the first time since 2014 that’s not Berlin or London. He has selected Tokyo which is this weekend, 6 March for Japan and 5 March for the U.S. (As an added bonus, both Tokyo and Boston are easier for US fans to watch, since Boston’s on Eastern Standard time and Japan’s early morning correlates to our late evening.)

If Kipchoge wins Tokyo, he will have crossed the line first at four majors (he won Chicago in 2014) and he would be a big step closer to winning all six. The logical thought is that he would do New York next fall and then Boston in spring of 2023. Of course, he still has to win this weekend.

The race starts at 5:10 p.m. mountain standard time in the U.S. (LetsRun.com has an excellent preview) so we’ll know by a little after 7:00 if Kipchoge has maintained his unprecedented run of dominance.

For 2022, I ‘m on the Dry Creek Striders racing team. It was started a couple of years ago by a friend of mine with two people and it’s now four. While most of us have run longer races including marathons, we primarily enter 5Ks and 10Ks and our individual training plans revolve around those distances. (We also do light training runs together, followed by heavy burritos.) We’ve not done any official races yet this year, but we did a 5K time trial this weekend on the Dry Creek Trail. This is an east-west suburban trail system that runs from Standley Lake in Westminster to I-25. And, it’s obviously the source of our team name.

Our 5K course was out-and-back on the central portion of the trail and its advantage is that it’s very flat. We did it last year and a ridiculous headwind on the out portion ruined the trial, though it did nearly guarantee a negative split on the return portion.

It’s important to clarify these as time trials. Not only are they not official races but the only variable is our individual times. To mix things up, we’ll sometimes do waterfall starts, where we start in reverse order of how we usually finish. We depart the line one at a time, separated by the amount of time we think we’ll be behind the next person. If we’re all accurate on our predictions, we should have everyone finishing at the same time and pushing each other as we sprint towards the line.

This weekend, with no wind in the forecast, a good, flat run was in the works. As it was the first time we’d all run at race pace in some months, no one figured to have a personal best. In a dramatic and unwelcome twist, the wind showed up right before we started, pretty much guaranteeing a slower day. We’d considered a waterfall start but bagged that at the last minute for a traditional one.

At first, the wind didn’t seem too bad. As we ran further along the course, the wind intensified, leading us to wonder if this course is cursed. By the turnaround, our paces all dropped to levels we barely felt comfortable acknowledging. We did still enjoy the benefits of a tailwind on the way back, but it never seems like that perfectly balances out the headwind going out.

The times at the end? Suffice to say it’s probably a good thing we did a trial instead of a formal race. It can teach you quite a bit about where you are speed-wise, and what needs to happen so that the next race is better. Generally it’s not rocket science (one needs more miles and/or more speed) but the stark reminder is useful.

Next up for the team? Most likely an official race in mid-March that’s 7.77K in celebration of St. Patrick’s day. Possibly heavy burritos afterwards.

The majority of my running years and miles have been in Colorado and I’ve realized that while everything here can still feel new, I simultaneously find the trails and roads here familiar. It’s an odd contrast, but the sensation of being settled is reinforced when I travel and return. Running here feels natural.

My first years of running were in the town where I grew up, Lynchburg, Virginia. The miles and routes I covered there are my formative ones and I feel a certain kinship with them given how they helped form my running foundation. My parents still live in Lynchburg but when they said they were moving, I decided to go back for a few days to help them prep their house to put it on the market. I also wanted to hit a couple of my old favorite running routes.

I’ve not lived in Virginia for quite some time and it’s interesting to see the area with a different perspective. Many things appear smaller, such as local businesses and other buildings. The massive, yawning ravines in the wooded areas along the roads still look as if they could easily swallow me up if I were to stumble into them. In a running context, the routes I did before feel smaller, yet they still carry the thrill that I felt when I ran them before. The memories of where they’re particularly difficult, or where I had noteworthy triumphant or lousy moments, are vivid. And, when I go along them, in many ways it feels like I’ve never stopped training there.

There were two specific routes I wanted to run: a six miler with some good climbs and an eight miler with ridiculous hills in the middle. Both served as staple training runs and despite the difficulties of each, I enjoyed the challenge and preparation they provided.

At the 2.5-mile point on the six-mile loop, the road crests after a long climb and there was a view there that I always enjoyed of the hills rolling away into the distance. Especially right around or after sunrise, it was pleasant to see. It’s also the point where you hit roughly a mile of downhill and flat and can pick up good speed. As I hit the crest this time, I was greeted with a new, tall thicket of growth that obstructed all of the former view. Instead of rolling hills, it was a scraggly bunch of something. I still had the downhill and flat to look forward to so I forged ahead.

On the eight mile loop, the brutal hills start at mile two and it’s not until mile five that the course levels out for a bit. I always felt a sense of relief when I would make the turn there and that hasn’t changed a bit. The hills are still nasty and that route still pushes me in a way that I both loathe and relish.

Doing the routes again was a healthy reminder of the nature of change, at least of one view, and there was enough of the same from the past that they didn’t feel very different. Though I still can easily run faster at sea level, and though the roads and sidewalks there felt comfortable, when I got back I was reminded of how acclimated I’ve gotten to running in Colorado. I went for a run the day I returned and it felt perfectly natural. Good (likely) farewell miles in Lynchburg, continue to move forward.