For Speed Work to Succeed, You Need the Will to Run Through the Pain

As marathon training has progressed in earnest, I’ve been reintroduced to the funtasticness that is the speed workout. Aside from the occasional fartlek, I hadn’t done legitimate speed work since college and hadn’t set foot on a track since high school. 

I never really liked speed work. Anything shorter than a mile felt like a sprint, and, let’s face it, I wasn’t a sprinter. I spent most of my time toward the back of the pack, simultaneously marveling at the speed that my teammates had and cursing them for it. 

These days, speed work feels much different. It’s a solitary activity, as I’m not on a team, so I am only running against the clock. It’s also specifically targeted to a race goal -- a 3:10 marathon -- not to going balls to the wall and/or impressing the girls’ team as much as possible. 

The targeted times of Run Less, Run Faster help, as they make it easy (in theory, at least) to set a pace, stick with it and maintain it over the course of a workout. But they still make you hurt -- and it’s a different sort of hurt than grinding out the last miles of a long run or hitting the pace goal of a tempo run. 

Track workouts hurts because they beat you up from the first interval and don’t stop. Your legs continue to burn with each rep, and it becomes harder and harder to hit that goal time. 

This leaves you with two choices. One is to stop, to say you did all that you could, scrape what remains of your pride off the track, and stumble home with your tail between your legs. The other choice is to reach down, deep within yourself, and finish the damn workout. 

(Yes, this song is longer than some track workouts. It’s also awesome. So there.) 

I’d be lying if I said this was easy. I’d also be a hypocrite if I neglected to mention that I’ve been guilty of taking my foot off the accelerator this summer. “Who cares if my sixth 800 is a few seconds off,” I told my sweat-covered self, “if my first five 800s were all within one second of my goal pace?” 

Here’s the thing: The pain goes away. If your cooldown is slow enough and long enough -- mine is close to 1.75 miles, or the distance from the track to my house -- you’ll feel fine by the time you get home. Stretch and foam roll later on, and you won’t even be sore when you go to bed. 

But the next time you step onto the track, you’ll remember that you do, in fact, have enough in you to throw the hammer down for the entire workout. And when you step to the line for your next race, you’ll be that much more prepared than the folks in the crowd around you.

Sometimes, You Gotta Let the D-Bag Drivers Win

I made the mistake of running during Monday morning rush hour this week. In a span of 20 minutes, distracted drivers narrowly avoided hitting me five separate times. (A sixth such driver was shaving at a red light. Luckily, he was on the other side of the street.) 

One driver readily admitted, after I yelled “Pay attention!” at his open window, that he didn’t see me. Another was too busy munching on a breakfast bar to acknowledge that he didn’t see me and probably still hasn’t seen me, a day and a half later. The others were making right turns and neglected to look for pedestrians in the crosswalk before inching forward. 

At first, I was mad as hell. I’m still mad, mind you, but I’ve come to a Zen sort of conclusion. (It won’t sound Zen at first, but trust me.) 

People are douchebags. People are also morons. Yelling at them while they are driving and not respecting your right to share the road with them isn’t going to suddenly turn them into MIT-bound saints. It’ll probably just piss them off -- or, if they really are morons, confuse them. 

Instead, do what I did in the remaining few miles of my run this week: Pause. Make sure the driver sees you. If he or she lets you go, give ‘em a friendly wave. If not, put your head down, curse to yourself (not to them) and use the adrenaline burst to make up the whole five seconds of time you have lost. 

By waiting for cars, even when we’re on crosswalks, are we letting the douchebags win? I suppose. But are battle scars from a fight on the side of the road or, worse, months in a wheelchair after a car accident really worth proving a point? Runners, by their very nature, are stubborn people -- but we also all have partners, spouses, pets, children, jobs and friends to come home to. 

Earlier this summer, I said no run is worth a trip to the hospital. The context then was running in the heat and humidity. The context now is different, but the message is the same. Sometimes, even when you’re right, it’s not worth fighting -- especially if it’s a fight you’re pretty much guaranteed to lose.

How Running Makes Me a Better Person

I’ve been running for almost 18 years, and I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I wasn’t a runner. 

There are a few things that might be better. My wallet, for example, freed from the annual burden of buying three pairs of sneakers, several race entries and, most recently, tubs of Generation UCAN, would be considerably lighter. I’d also launder my clothes far less frequently and be able to get away with using bath towels more than once. I’d actually get to sleep in on Sunday mornings, too. 

But, let’s face it, running makes me a better person. There are many reasons why, but these are the ones that come to mind first. 

I’m hearty. Regular exercise gives you more energy, strengthens your immune systems and makes you less prone to the colds and flus that knock most everyone else down. I get a cold once or twice a year, but that’s it. And they never last more than a couple days. (Everyone hates me.) 

I’m confident. Twenty mile marathon training runs suck, and in the hours that follow, I often find myself questioning the majority of my life decisions. But the next day -- or, let’s be honest, two days later, since I’m not getting any younger -- I’m proud of what I’ve done. This pride seeps into other facets of life, too, and it makes me realize that I’m perfectly capable of taking on tough tasks at work, at home and in life. It may hurt, but I’ll power through. 

I eat as much as a small nation in the South Pacific. Yes, this lightens the wallet, and yes, I stick to a pretty healthy diet as it is, but it’s nice to know that I can enjoy free pizza or cake at work and not feel guilty about it. (Did I mention that everyone hates me?) 

I can handle adversity. I can probably count on one hand the number of perfect races I’ve had in my life. In all the rest, one, two or 1,002 things have gone wrong. But I’ve finished every race, no matter how much it hurt or how embarrassing my finishing time would be. So, when I get stuck at work late, or traffic sucks, or I spill my coffee before even taking a single sip, or the stupid raspberries in my stupid backyard scratch my stupid arms, I can shrug it off without getting stressed, panicked or otherwise freaked out. 

I never pay for T-shirts. Road race shirts are great conversation starters, too. 

I know my body well. Run long enough and you start to tell the difference between a tight muscle (which you can relieve by walking it off or stretching), a sore muscle (which you can relieve by resting) and an injured muscle (which you need help fixing). You can also tell the difference between being fatigued, exhausted and worn down to the point that you need a day off. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid injury in my running career, and a big part of the reason is knowing the difference between good pain (which builds a foundation for better, faster, stronger running) and serious pain. 

 

I have great friends. Runners are genuinely awesome people -- often humble, occasionally snarky, incredibly supportive and always welcoming. When I’m down, they cheer me up. When I have a bad workout, they encourage and motivate me. I gladly do the same for them, too. (I only hope I return the favor as well as they stick up for me.) 

I definitely have bad runs, bad workouts and bad races, but these seven reasons -- along with others I can’t quite articulate -- clearly illustrate why running makes me a better person and why I will never, ever regret taking up this sport. 

Running makes all of us better people. How has it changed your life?

Running Through the Dog Days

In New England, the term "dog days of summer" refers to the hot, hazy and humid days we typically have between the Fourth of July and Labor Day. (Yes, it’s hotter, hazier and more humid elsewhere, but we often get all three at once. Plus, let’s face it, we wouldn’t be New Englanders if we weren’t complaining incessantly about the weather.)

For many, these conditions coincide with fall race training plans -- and, not coincidentally, a spike in half-full but fully nasty loads of laundry, electrolyte consumption and smothered hot dogs eaten with absolutely no guilt whatsoever.

That’s the glorified part of summer running. The tough part is getting out there in the first place. But I’m getting better.

I like cold weather running. (When cold weather returns, I’ll explain why. To do so now would just be mean.) I hate hot weather, period, whether I’m running, walking, doing yard work, or sitting two feet in front of a window air conditioner. Once I start to sweat, I can’t stop. It’s so bad that my friends, God bless them, know better than to plan events that involve long hours in the hot sun.

I hate hot weather, but I like running fast. And, as more than one person on Twitter has put it, “Suffer in the summer, fly in the fall.” Work your way through tough conditions in July and August, the saying goes, and your autumn race will seem like a walk in the park.

So I've been taking my own hot weather running advice while, at the same time, slowly overcoming my fear of the sun when it makes sense to do so. (I've found, surprisingly, that track workouts are good candidates for warm weather runs, thanks to the frequent breaks.) Each run, in turn, gets a little bit easier, and the heat affects me a bit less.

You know what? Running in the heat ain't so bad. And if it'll help me fly in the fall, even better.

My (Somewhat Pathetic) Marathon Bucket List

Most runners have a bucket list of races they want -- nay, need -- to do in their lifetime. Some even aspire to run a marathon in all 50 states. 

I have no plans to do so. I’m cheap, for one, plus there are many parts of the United States I have little desire to take one step in, let alone 40,000 or so. I also really, really don’t like to travel, as I’ve pointed out. Finally, I’m not a fan of enormous marathons such as New York and Chicago. They overwhelm me. (Though I do have a very unbiased exception, as you’ll see.) I prefer smaller, local marathons within a reasonable drive. 

However, seeing Big Sur 2014 sell out in like an hour got me thinking about my own marathon bucket list. Admittedly, it’s not very long, nor is it terribly specific, but it gives me something to strive for, even if it's decades away.

Boston. It’s the original, for cryin’ out loud. Plus I live less than half a mile from the course. I’ll endure the huge crowds at the start in Hopkinton to run in what’s arguably the greatest marathon of them all. 

Mount Desert Island. This one’s in Acadia National Park in Maine. It’s a beautiful setting for a tough race full of hills. Definitely not one to run if your primary goal is a BQ. 

Bay of Fundy. This one’s in Lubec, Maine. This tiny town, the easternmost in the 50 U.S. states, is across the bay from Campobello Island in New Brunswick. You run in two countries. (Passport required.) It doesn’t get much cooler that that. 

Big Sur. A few folks I know ran this year, and their pictures were so amazing that I was convinced to run it at some point in my life. 

Disney. My wife has no interest in running, and for that reason I let her stay home and sleep when I get up at the crack of dawn to go run a race. But Disney is her favorite place on earth, and if I run this one I know she will be there, waving some sort of sparkly princess accessory, as I cross the finish line. Then she’ll tell me to go shower. 

Somewhere in Canada. I'd love to embrace my Canadian heritage (my dad was born in Kapuskasing, Ontario and my family is sprinkled throughout the Great White North), so any of a number of marathons in eastern Canada -- Ottawa, Quebec City or either Toronto marathon -- sound great to me. (Montreal is now part of the Rock n Roll Marathon conglomerate, so that's less appealing.)

Bonus: Antarctica. I’ll never be able to afford this, and spending so much time on a boat before I run would be drive me bonkers, but running with penguins might actually be cooler than running a marathon in two countries at the same time. 

Since this list is a little pathetic, help me out. What marathons are on your bucket list? If you’ve done them, did they live up to the hype? If you haven’t, how are you going to make sure you get there?

Morning or Evening Runs: Pick Your Poison

As it begins to get (choose your favorite expletive) hot here in New England, I'm increasingly considering early morning runs. As I've repeated here, I'm not a morning runner. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and sometimes I have little choice but to hit the road only slightly after dawn. (Not today, though. Damn cats woke me up twice in the middle of the night, so I just snoozed right through the 6:30 a.m. alarm.)

From my experience, here are the cons of morning vs. evening runs. (Why just the negatives? I'm a smartass.)

Mornings are early. And the warmer the climate, the earlier you need to get up. A friend in Texas is running at 5 a.m. to beat the heat. No thank you.

Evenings are dark. It's cooler after sunset, yes, and running in the heat sucks, but you must wear reflective gear, including a headlamp. And what's attracted to bright lights after dark? Bugs. Yep.

Mornings are sluggish. It takes longer to warm up because you have to wake up. Getting up early, for me, isn't the issue. To wake up, on the other hand, I need to shower, eat and have a cup of coffee (or five). I'm not doing that before a run. That's just silly.

Evenings are unpredictable. Early sun can give way to late thunderstorms. Your boss can schedule a last-minute 5 p.m. meeting. Lunch can disagree with you (or, if you're busy or forgetful, not happen at all). Or 1,234,567,890 other things can happen after you wake up.

Mornings are early. Yes, I said this already, but it bears repeating. You burn the midnight oil? Watch Conan? Own pets who love to wake you up in the middle of the night? Yes? Then you're hitting snooze.

Evenings are busy. Like eating dinner at a normal time? Meeting friends after work? Showering only once a day? Actually relaxing at the end of the day? Yeah, I thought so.

In a perfect world, I'd always run in the morning. It leaves me energized for the rest of the day, due in no small part to having accomplished something great before I even get to the office. I also wouldn't have to spend as much time weighing my water vs. coffee consumption.

Then again, I wouldn't have stiffening legs as the day dragged on, a hankering for lunch at 10 a.m. or a need for a nap in the early afternoon, either.

In the end, it makes sense to stick to what works for your work, school, life and biological schedule. Old habits die hard, after all -- and if you do want them to change, it takes time and effort. 

You can’t, ahem, wake up one morning and decide that you want to run in the morning. You have to make a conscious effort to change -- record Conan instead of watching it live, lay out your running clothes before bed, make a date with someone who actually likes getting up at the crack of dawn to run, and so on. You won’t like it -- and, as I can attest, it may never work -- but you’ll never know if you don’t try.

Whatever you do, though, be safe. Leave the headphones at home and, if it gets too hot, dial it back a bit. Remember, no run is worth an ambulance ride.

Run to the Hills

Eight miles into this week's 15-mile run, I met an old friend: A hill.

As long as I can remember, hills and I have gotten along quite well. (I thank my high school cross country coach, who dragged us to Heartbreak Hill, Nashoba Valley Ski Area and other God-forsaken spots for hill workouts.) In crowded races, I almost always pass folks on hills and often use them to begin a surge or, if nothing else, regain momentum lost.

This hill hit me hard, though. I don't know why. My route was a familiar one (heck, it used to be my drive home from work), I was running well (I'd eventually finish 20-plus seconds faster than my target pace) and the temperature had finally dropped to a relatively comfortable level.

For eastern Massachusetts, it's a decent hill -- probably half a mile, and steep enough that your quads burn even after the terrain levels. As I ran on Wednesday, I remembered ascending the same hill a couple winters ago, when it had been about 70 degrees colder, quite a bit darker and a teensy bit more slippery.

Suddenly the present didn't seem so bad. As I have many times before, I held form on the hill and coasted home.

Don't get me wrong. Hills suck. But powering through them will only make you a stronger runner. There's a reason I remember those workouts from high school, along with the topography (but not the name) of several streets in my hometown. Simply put, those workouts worked.

The next time you do a familiar run, scope out the hills. The time after that, turn the run into a fartlek workout: Sprint up the hills and rest in between.

Or, if there's a hilly neighborhood nearby, and a street bisecting it, run intervals on the side streets. Initially, aim for a pace that makes you breathe hard but isn't an all-out sprint -- after all, you should do several intervals. The stronger you get, obviously, the faster you should go. 

Hills take a toll on your quads, so be sure to stretch well after your run, and don't do hills more than once a week. After a few weeks, those hills will get a bit easier -- and, in your next race, you very well may find yourself leading the charge up the biggest hill on the course.