Heartbreak Hill Half Recap: Three Races, Two Days, Six Lessons

Trying new things keeps life exciting. Running is no exception. I've been running close to two decades, but I'd never raced more than once in one weekend. So when Runner's World announced the Heartbreak Hill Half, offering the chance to do a 5K and 10K one day, and a half the next -- and to meet the magazine's staff -- I decided to give it a shot. (The 20-minute drive and the familiar course didn't hurt, either.)

To cut to the chase, I ran pretty well, with the exception of the last three miles of the half (not unexpectedly), and I enjoyed the experience, which was as much a festival as a series of races. I also learned a few things about racing more than once in a weekend.

Take it easy. The 5K came first, as it often does on a race festival weekend. I usually throw caution to the wind in a 5K -- at this point in my life, it's essentially a sprint for me -- but about a mile into this one, I knew I needed to hold back a bit if I wanted to make it to Sunday. I ran 20:06, which is quick for me without pushing it. (I ran my 5K PR when I was 17 and have accepted that I will never come close again.)

Study the course. Thanks to a friend, I knew the second half of the out-and-back 10K course had more hills. That, combined with the need to conserve energy, led me to take the first half of this race easy and push it a bit in the second half. It worked: Despite the hills, I ran negative splits. My 43:15 left me about 90 seconds short of a PR -- I ran my PR in an April race on a course that doesn't include Heartbreak Hill -- but this was still my best race of the weekend.

When in doubt, skip the fuel. I ate a granola bar about an hour or so before the 5K, which started 75 minutes before the 10K. Between races I ate nothing and drank a bottle of water. I saw folks who were running both races eating a bagel in between. My educated guess: They regretted it. Yes, 9.3 miles is a lot, but you shouldn't need to refuel if you run that distance -- and if you do, it shouldn't be a giant lump of carbohydrates, even if it's free. If you do need fuel, opt for a sports drink, gel or banana -- provided you’ve used that type of fuel before and know it doesn’t do funky things to your gastrointestinal system.

Look for shade. It was a good 10 degrees warmer on Sunday, and with more sun, than Saturday. Not a day for PRs. (Unless you're my aforementioned friend, who did it in the half AND the 10K -- and on the opening weekend of a community theater production of Hamlet. Clearly I'm an underachiever.) It was a day, though, to find the shade wherever I could out on the course and drink plenty of water (not to mention dump some on my head). My 1:33:12 half was several minutes off a PR, but, in a race that felt like a war of attrition, I was far from the only one to miss his or her best time.

Take it in stride. An event such as the Heartbreak Hill Half is less about racing and more about running -- pounding the pavement, meeting fellow runners and celebrating the sport we all know and love. You can't expect to excel at all the races of a festival weekend. Focus on one -- you can decide which one at the last minute, or even after you’ve started, as I did -- and use the others as faster-than-usual training runs with water stops and cheering crowds and tables of free food and drink at the end.

Pack extra clothes. You may not necessarily need to change after your first race of the day, but you most certainly will after the second. (I’m not sure, but I believe protocol allows you to wear the race shirt once you’ve collected your medal.) If you think you might change shirts, consider pinning your bib to your shorts (which you’re less likely to change, I imagine) so officials, volunteers and the like can verify that you did, in fact, run.

Complete more than one race in a weekend, and most of your friends and family will (continue to) think you are a little nuts. In the grand scheme of things, though, it’s not that difficult or painful -- certainly not in comparison to a marathon -- and the swag, the compliments and the sense of accomplishment make it all worth the effort. If you’re up for the challenge, you’re healthy and you’re willing, I say you give it a shot.

What I Learned From the Maine Coast Marathon

I signed up for the Maine Coast Marathon several months ago, knowing full well the race would be sandwiched between two weddings on opposite coasts. I figured I could pull it off pretty easily -- the trip to San Francisco was one week before the race, amid my taper, and the trip to Disney World three days after the race would offer a nice recovery opportunity. (For the uninitiated, a typical day at Disney requires several miles of walking.) 

For the most part, I did pull it off. I fell short of my lofty goal (a BQ of 3:05) and my more realistic goal (a PR under 3:13), but I ran the race I wanted, for the most part. I'd planned to run negative splits, starting with 7:20s and finishing with sub-6:50s en route to that BQ. This worked well -- that is, up until Mile 19 or so, when the sun, the heat and the pace starting to take their toll. (Any other year, 70-degree temperatures might have been bearable, but after training through the Polar Vortex, not so much.) 

My finishing time, 3:16:15, ranks as my third or fourth best. (I can't remember, really.) I'm still several minutes faster than I was at 21, which is great, and more than half an hour faster than my worst marathon, so I really can't complain. 

Of course, there's a lesson here. I concocted my negative split plan a whopping two weeks before race day. (Great idea, Beastwood.) This means I did none of my long runs as progression runs, which means I wasn't physically prepared to run faster deeper into the race. I thought I was, of course, having made easy work of my tempo runs, often exceeding my target paces by 15 seconds per mile. It takes more than two weeks -- and two weeks of taper at that -- to prepare yourself for a race strategy that you've never employed.

That said, I got the hard part of the marathon right: I started slowly, stayed that way and kept to my target paces for three-quarters of the race. Next time, I'll set less ambitious splits -- and, more importantly, I'll train for those negative splits from the beginning. Setting goals is important, after all, and now I have two clear-cut ones for training for marathon #11. Now, about that sunshine...

It's Not Where You Start, It's Where You Finish

Near the beginning of the Super Sunday 5, during the period when everyone is either heading to the start line or waiting for a vacant bathroom, the race announcer said something over the loudspeaker that, in my years of racing, I’ve never heard before. 

As everyone staked a claim to a small patch of asphalt that, for the next few minutes, would belong to nobody else, the announcer made the usual remark that slower runners should move farther back. Then, to assuage everyone’s fears, he added, “The race isn’t won in the first 100 meters.” 

For someone with a nasty habit of starting races like a bat out of hell, this stuck with me -- especially since, as the crowd gathered, the blue-and-orange START banner seemed to get farther and farther away. 

I lamented about getting boxed in at the start several months ago, in my James Joyce Ramble recap. Back then, I chalked it up to a lack of confidence; I’d bonked badly in a marathon a few months before and remained on the proverbial comeback trail. 

This weekend, though, I directed my ire toward the runners gathering around me. Perhaps I was jealous that they’d located their friends and exchanged pleasantries while I stared ahead in solitude. Perhaps I was a bit chilly. Perhaps their perfectly matching outfits turned me off. Whatever it was, I wanted them gone -- even though, like me, they’d paid to run a race with the express mission of raising money to kick cancer’s ass. 

My ire continued after the gun, when the murderous, thieving horde of peasants refused to part like the Red Sea so I could get to the front of the pack. And it continued when I passed the 1-mile mark about 20 seconds slower than my goal pace, even after adjusting for the gun vs. chip time split. (I also left my watch at home. That may have contributed to my mood.) 

Then a funny thing happened: I got stronger. I wasn’t gassed from an unnecessarily fast start. The gradual hills that lead into Harvard Square didn’t bother me. I didn’t start losing ground to folks who had started even farther back. I actually maintained a constant pace for the duration of the race and finished with the same 5-mile time I ran back in April on a flatter course. 

Sure, I didn’t PR, but I’ve accepted that I can’t PR all the time. (I ran a sub-30 minute 5-miler back in college. That’s never happening again.) I also learned that, sure enough, you don’t win a 5-mile race in the first 100 meters. Finally, I was reminded that it really doesn’t matter where you start but, rather, where you finish.

Running in the Dark: A Cautionary Tale

In the tips for running in the dark I recently provided, I suggested that, for me, the purpose of the head lamp is less to light your way and more to alert oncoming cars, bicyclists and pedestrians that you are coming. Given this philosophy, I make sure my nighttime runs occur on well-lit roads with which I am very familiar. I know where to find the cracks in the sideways, the hidden driveways and the high curbs. (I’d say “sudden turns,” but I also avoid those on nighttime runs, for obvious reasons.) 

This has served me well in my years in suburbia. I’ve probably finished more than 100 runs in the dark without incident. (Sure, I’ve run through my fair share of puddles, but, really, what’s the fun in avoiding puddles?)

My streak ended on Monday. 

Now, don’t freak out. I’m fine. ‘Tis but a scratch. 

The point is this: I have no idea why I fell. I’m pretty sure I just lost my balance -- I actually made it two steps before I hit the ground, which I’m sure looked hilarious -- but it was after 6 p.m. and my headlamp was pointed straight ahead, not at the ground. 

This happened on an out-and-back route I’ve done dozens of times. It’s great for running at night; there’s only one turn and one street crossing, the turnaround is in a parking lot, and I’m always on a sidewalk with a curb and a shoulder. And I still fell.

I’m sharing this story not because I want sympathy -- had I really been hurt, I wouldn’t have snapped a picture -- but because it serves as a cautionary tale. No matter how well you prepare yourself for a run, accidents happen. Take them in stride, brush (or rinse) yourself off, count your blessings and move on.

Oh, and be careful the next time you approach that mystical spot that, for no apparent reason, made you fall.

Running in the Cold: Hey, You, Cover Up!

A while back I wrote a post about running in the dark and promised to follow it up with one about running in the cold. Now seems like the good time, what with the Polar Vortex threatening to envelop us all and derail our spring marathon training plans.

Above all, don't be a hero. If it's really freaking cold, just stay inside. You can always run another day. (How cold "really freaking cold" happens to be is going to be a matter of opinion, geography, mental stability and what your spouse/partner tells you. For me, it's somewhere around 0 degrees Fahrenheit.)

Cover your head. Nothing frustrates me more than seeing people (runners or otherwise) out and about on cold days without a hat. I pretty mush wear one whenever the temperature dips below 50 degrees -- I have big ears, plus I get cold very easily -- and I tell myself that's a big part of the reason I typically make it through the winter without getting sick. It's worth investing in a good hat that will keep you warm without trapping so much heat that you need to doff the hat because it's wet, sweaty and gross.

Cover your hands, too. This goes without saying, really. If it's really cold, go with two pairs of gloves. Most of the time, I wear cheap grocery store bargain bin gloves -- that way, I don't feel guilty when I rub snot on them -- but when it gets below 20 degrees I need to break out the big guns.


Try not to overdress on your long runs. You're gonna start sweating as you run, and then your sweat will freeze, and then you'll get cold. The conventional wisdom says to dress for a temperature that are 15 to 20 degrees warmer than it actually is. If it's 30 degrees, for example, dress as though it's 50. Yes, you'll be cold for the first mile or so, but that will change quickly. Don't forget about win,d too.

On your short runs, though, who cares? If you're not going to be outside for more than, say, 45 minutes, you're probably OK overdressing a bit -- especially if that extra layer is the difference between making it out the door and staying on the couch.

Generally speaking, for shorter runs, I generally wear two layers if it's in the 40s and 30s, three layers if it's in the 20s and teens, and four layers if it's in single digits. (Again, I get cold easily.) The layer closest to my chest is a moisture wicking one, but after that I'm not afraid to wear cotton. (I know this is uncouth, but I have a soft spot in my heart for cotton hoodies.) For long runs, I play it a bit differently and also stick to wicking shirts, since I sweat a lot more.

Stay thirsty, my friends. You still need to hydrate. It's definitely tougher -- on one long run a couple years ago, the water inside the bottle I was carrying up and froze on me -- but it needs to be done. Bonus: If it's cold out, there's probably also snow, and if it's clean, you can eat it! Score!

Pace yourself. Don't make your first cold-weather run a 20-miler at marathon pace. It's been a while since you first ran in the cold. Overdress a bit, run around the neighborhood and remember what it's like before you start doing serious workouts in the cold.

Maintain perspective. If you're training for the Hyannis Marathon, the Lake Effect Half Marathon or even a St. Patrick's Day 5K, then yes, you'll need to stop making excuses and start running in the cold. If your target race is somewhere warm, or in the spring, then you don't really need to acclimate to below-freezing temperatures. My marathon is in May, so while I know I have cold weather runs in my future, I also won't feel too guilty about rescheduling key workouts to days when the conditions are better.

I'll still feel guilty, of course, because running in the cold makes you tough, and I like to think that I am tough.

Running in the Dark: Be Bright (See What I Did There?)

The onset of winter presents two challenges to runners: Running in the cold and running in the dark. I’d planned on addressing the cold first, but then the cold snap that hit New England departed with little fanfare, and I thought it might be odd to write about cold weather running when I’m hitting the road while wearing shorts. So darkness it is. 

As I’ve noted before, I’m not a morning runner, so my “darkness running” occurs in the evening. That said, these tips apply to morning or evening runs, both of which are likely going to be in the dark until March. (Running at night is significantly easier than gardening at night, that's for sure.)

Be bright. Wear a headlamp and a vest. Little blinking lights are optional. (Where I live, there are enough streetlights that it's not pitch black, so I don't need them.) The more ridiculous you look, the better. That way, drivers can actually see you.

Stick to a well-known route. The routes I run in the dark are routes I've done dozens of times -- so much so that I know where to find the cracks in the sidewalk. This serves a dual purpose: You're not gonna get lost in the dark, and you're not gonna get hurt. (The headlamp shouldn't necessarily light your way -- it's more for oncoming traffic.)

Be safe. Run with a buddy. Avoid dodgy areas. Stick to well-lit roads. Cross the street when a) there are no cars coming and b) you are under a streetlight, in case a car manages to come out of nowhere.

Don't go crazy. Most of my nighttime runs aren't insane workouts. I save my long runs for daytime, for example, as well as my long tempo runs. But I'll do a short tempo run or fartlek workout in the dark, since there's much less chance of bonking.

Fuel appropriately. If you're running at a time when you usually eat dinner, you're obviously going to be hungry. Have a carb- and protein-rich snack an hour and a half or so before your run so you don't spend the duration of the workout listening to your stomach growl like an angry dog.

Tell folks where you're going. Let your spouse, roommates, parents or close friends know how long you're going to be gone and where, roughly, you plan to go. Granted, you should do this all the time, but your loved ones are going to worry about you more when you run in the dark, no matter how garishly bright your gear.

Running in the dark doesn't have to be difficult -- or, for that matter, different. A little bit of advanced preparation and scheduling will go a long ay.

What It Takes to Beat Marathon Taper Madness

For many runners training for a marathon, the hardest part of training is actually the part that, on paper, should be the easiest: The taper. 

“Tapering” refers to the two- to three-week period between a final long run and race day. It’s a time to let your legs, your mind and your psyche rest after months of abuse. Put another way, it’s a time to heal, and stay healthy. before you hit the starting line. 

Why, then, do so many runners experience taper madness? 

For starters, it just feels weird. After running 40, 50 or 60-plus miles per week, we’re suddenly scaling back. We know, understand and readily accept why we’re doing it, but that doesn’t mean we like it. 

In addition, with less time to focus on training, our minds start to wander. Millions of things could potentially derail a two-mile jog around the neighborhood. Run 26.2 miles and you’re talking trillions of possibilities: Dehydration, pulled muscles, bloody nipples, wrong turns and a shortage of bagels and peanut butter at the finish line. It's even worse if you're running your first big race.

Finally, there’s the anticipation. Months of training, dedication and focus all hinge on an experience that will last anywhere from a little more than five hours to less than three hours. It’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself during the final countdown to race day. 

Conquering taper madness isn’t easy. That said, I’ve actually been pretty blase over the last three weeks. Going to two conferences for the day job, picking up extra shifts at the night job, and attending a wedding and engagement party in one evening have luckily kept my mind well occupied. (Plus, as I’ve noted a few times by now, I bonked horribly in my last marathon and know that I’ve done just about everything I can to make sure I don’t do it again.) 

Maintaining your sanity during a marathon training taper ultimately comes down to a few key steps: 

Keep yourself busy. Go to that movie, museum exhibit or show you’ve been meaning to see. Catch up on your DVR. Call your mother. Do some yardwork. 

Stay healthy. Retain the good eating habits that powered you through marathon training. Sleep. Avoid alcohol. (Unless you have a wedding and engagement party in the same night. In that case, celebrate, but drink lots of water and take some ibuprofen / aspirin before bed.) Don’t do dumb things that could result in bodily harm.

Trust your training. You made it, right? And even if you didn’t, you can’t go back in time. What’s done is done. 

Don’t overthink your outfit. Just pretend you’re packing running clothes for a few days and you’ll be fine. Seriously, though: Pack the clothes you like the most. Don’t worry about getting all matchy-matchy -- your clothes will be so absolutely disgusting by mile 15 that no one will notice if the trim on your shirt matches your shoes. 

Check the weather and, if necessary, adjust your goal. Remember, you’re most likely to achieve your goal when it’s 60 degrees, overcast and calm. Even the slightest hint of inclement weather will adversely affect your time. If you know this going in, you can adjust your pace accordingly and reduce the likelihood of both bonking and disappointing yourself. Aside from my PR race, I’m most proud of the marathon I ran in the snow -- I knew my pace would be off, so I dialed back and ended up coming as close to a negative split as I ever have.

It’s easy to drive yourself crazy during a taper, but it’s also easy to shift a bit of focus away from your marathon and back to the things you had to give up when your training was at its worst. You can’t forget the big race altogether -- nor should you -- but you can make sure it doesn’t take over your life.

13 Tips For Your First Road Race

A colleague recently asked a couple folks on Twitter for some advice about preparing for his first 5K. I suggested that he not think too much about it. 

As it turns out, there is a lot to think about before your first road race. After all, it’s your indoctrination into the Cult of Running, and it’s human nature to not want to be That Guy, whether you’re standing in the wrong spot, wearing the wrong shirt or hitting the wall less than a mile into the race. 

To avoid embarrassment, real or otherwise, here’s a few things you should do. 

Stick to what you know. Now’s not the time to try something new. Wear clothes, including shoes and socks, that are comfortable and familiar to you. If you eat, make it the same light breakfast you usually have. (If you’re a bacon-and-eggs type, save that for post-race brunch.) If you drink anything, make it water or your sports beverage of choice. Coffee is OK in limited quantities. Don’t drink a ton, though, unless, you know, you like waiting in line for Port-a-Pottys. 

Plan, plan and plan some more. Give yourself plenty of time to get to the starting line. Research your parking options and try to find a spot convenient to bib pickup, the starting line and the finish line.(If you’re lucky, all three are in the same spot.) Plug the race address into your phone and review the directions the night before, as you may wake up so early that you're incapable of rational thought. 

Leave early. I like to leave my house such that I’ll arrive an hour before a race, perhaps earlier if it’s a long race, a race I’ve never done before or a race where I expect a lot of traffic. If I’m early, I’ll just sit in the car and kick out the jams for a bit. 

That said, stay loose. You don’t need to jog for half an hour, but you shouldn’t sit in your car until two minutes before the gun goes off. Walk around a bit. Take a swig or two of water. Do some dynamic stretches, such as squats or lunges, to get your blood flowing. (This has the added effect of psyching people out.) Don’t head to the starting line until it’s about 10-15 minutes before gun time. 

On the line, breathe. There will be a lot going on. People pose for pictures. People look for friends. People violate your personal space. People pose for more pictures. Do your best to ignore it all. 

Don't stand up front. Unless you plan to win, you wore the greatest costume ever or you personally know the race director, you can stand back with the hoi polloi. Larger races will use corrals that put faster runners up front and increasingly slower runners further back. Look for signs that mention a specific pace per mile, find the corral that best fits your pace and make some friends. 

Don't take off like a bat outta hell. It's hard to avoid starting too fast. I've been running for 18 years and I still do it myself. About 95 percent of the time, I regret it. You will, too. Keep breathing, stick with the pack around you (you made friends, right?) and remember that the thundering herd will quickly thin out. 

Push yourself, but not too hard. I know, it’s like saying, “Take your time, but hurry up.” Presumably, you signed up for this race in part to see what you’re made of. You should be going faster than you did on your training runs. Don’t hold back, and you’ll surprise yourself. That said, it’s your first race, so be careful. At any sign of non-routine discomfort (that is, anything that’s not the usual soreness or tightness that all runners feel), dial it back a bit. 

Don’t worry about hydration. Unless it’s obscenely hot out, you’re probably not going to need to drink water during the course of a 5K. If you do, one little cup will suffice. (Obviously, this will be different for longer races, but for now you’ll be fine.) Anything more and it’s gonna slosh around in your stomach. 

Enjoy yourself. Odds are you’ve never had people cheering you on. Soak it all in. Use that to push you if you start getting tired, sore or cranky. Once you cross the finish line, make the most of the post-race festivities (especially the food). Rehydrate. Find the friends you made, or the friends you already have, and cheer them on as they cross the line. Make plans to run together again. 

Stretch. You don’t have to do this at the race itself -- though if you’re feeling tight, you probably should. But at some point during the day, take a few minutes to stretch. Remember, you’ve never run this fast, so you owe it to your legs to treat them right. (You’ll probably want to stretch the day after the race as well.) 

Treat yourself, albeit within reason. I usually grab coffee and breakfast on the way home. You should, too. And it’s more fun with friends. If it’s the right time of year, you could always get ice cream. 

Oh, one final thing: The race T-shirt is like the concert T-shirt. Don’t wear the race T-shirt during the race itself. Amateur. But if you need to change after the race, the race T-shirt is acceptable. Plus, it’s a silent way of explaining to the folks in the coffee shop why you smell so bad.

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.

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.

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.