I've been doing base training before I kick off the official marathon training. Base training has consisted of some running, a bunch of rest days, and recently, some HIIT workouts - which some people may know as "High Intensity Interval Training", but should actually be called "Horrifically Insufficient Inhalation Trials."
For those of you who are not familiar, HIIT workouts are usually cardio-based - you spend a few minutes (an interval of time) firing your heart rate up, then take a tiny bit of rest, then repeat the procedure. The goal here is to keep the heart rate up, even when in active recovery - this helps build your lungs, blah blah blah VO2 Max yadda yadda... basically you torture your lungs for a few minutes, then rest in the fetal position while gasping for breath, and then go back to feeling like your heart is gonna expel itself out your ribcage.
HIIT workouts differ from "circuit training" (which traditionally incorporates more resistance-based exercises - like lifting weights), but it is not solely an "interval training" scheme, as it straddles the two genres; some workouts can have only aerobic exercises incorporated, while others may add in simple resistance exercises like lunges, push ups, or burpees. Boot camp workouts are good examples of HIIT workouts - a series of high-intensity exercises with bits of active recovery in between.
A HIIT workout could look something like this:
400 meter sprint x 100 meter recover x 4 cycles
Or it could look something like this:
30 push-ups + 20 box jumps
30 sec sprint
10 burpees
30 sec rest
Repeat 3 times
(And note, HIIT workouts are not relegated to land - swimmers use them, too!)
Last weekend I participated in back-to-back HIIT workouts, sponsored by 2 different workout groups. When I initially signed up, I was uncertain whether completing 2 of these workouts within 24 hours was a good idea, but decided to test myself. The Saturday group was a "Spartan Race Training Run" - which is as aggressive and as intense as it sounds. The Sunday group was sponsored by a friendly, neighborhood based boot camp workout group, helmed by a local yokel.
The Saturday Epic workout (as I'll call it) was a training "run" for something called the Spartan Race - much like a mud run, or obstacle-based foot race, the Spartan Race takes its cues from pretending that everyone involved is a Grecian Warrior, and will enjoy not only throwing spears and climbing walls without assistance, but also crawling in the mud underneath barbed wire while being hosed down by a maniacal retired drill sergeant. (Yes, I already completed a Spartan race, and no, I did not enjoy those walls.) While I'm fairly certain Spartans never encountered barbed wire, much less a high-pressure garden hose full of freezing water, let's ignore the blatant disregard for historical accuracy and concentrate on how one prepares for said Spartan Race:
First of all, the Epic group consisted of three young women training for their first Spartan race, four older seasoned-Spartan warrior men, and me, the one in the 5K tee and no water bottle. We did the whole workout outside at a local park, which was great and also awful, since every jogger in Manhattan had time to gawk at us. And by us, I mean me.
We got partnered up by the coach (a 5' 1" former gymnast with biceps the size of my head), and were split into A and B designations. Partners A would start cycling through box jumps followed by push-ups (box jumps = impossible), until Partners B got back from their 400m hill sprint, complete with burpees at the end.
Luckily for me, I got paired with the slowest runner in the group, and enjoyed attempted box jumps until I defaulted into crippling box step-ups. (As every male chauvinist expects in physical test of strength, the women in the group were lagging a bit behind the men, but, in our defense, we were competing against deranged warriors with no sense of historical reality.)
Shortly thereafter (i.e. without a rest interval), we were issued more hill sprints, in increasing distances - meaning we ran up 10 meters, jogged down, repeated that 3 times, ran up 20 meters, jogged down, repeated that a few times, sprinted up the whole frickin' hill and puked on the way back down, begged for mercy in between, and had the former gymnast lie to our sweaty faces that it would be over soon. (Lies, blatant lies she admitted to midway through the third-to-last cycle. Meanwhile, the Hulk-men were chomping at the bit for another cycle.) At that point, I believed I was the only sane person there, but that's what happens when you're the only one who believes that it's 2014, and not 441 B.C.
This torture continued as she then tricked us into doing wall sits for 2 minutes, after which we ran even longer hill sprints, complete with burpees and squats at the top of the hill. Let me reiterate: HIIT workouts usually include a rest period, but this gymnast was perhaps operating under the assumption that, in ancient Greek, "rest" stems from the root for "more sprints." I was also quite certain, by this point, that the Spartan men were each packing an extra set of lungs.
Thankfully, after an hour, it was all over and we could walk back to the gym. I was thankful that I could even walk, seeing as how my quads were giving out on me during the last cycle of "sprint rests."
I realized two things, on my walk back: 1) that I had rightfully earned a bagel, and 2) that I would be facing five more Saturday sessions with this crowd....this crowd that seemed to do dead lifts in their sleep, and eat hill sprints like candy.
Waking up Sunday morning, I wasn't sure what I was in for with the local boot camp in Prospect Park, but I was certain it could not be worse than the suffering I had endured nearly 24 hours previously. In fact, I assured myself, this was great mental training for the marathon, since I really didn't want to complete another intense session of not breathing, but that's what happens at mile 21, so I got out of bed and headed over to the park. Luckily, this group consisted of sleepy-eyed locals who were half-heartedly completing knee push-ups: we had actual rest intervals that more closely aligned with the traditional Latin root for "requiem", for which I was eternally grateful.
While we did some light stretch-band exercises and ran to a tree, I was so much at ease that I could challenge myself more than I expected. The whole workout felt more like active recovery from the Epic run, rather than another grueling workout. I actually did break a sweat and feel some muscles screaming from PTSD, but I ended the weekend without too much residual pain, and even signed up for two more boot camp sessions that week.
My workout mindset, I realized, depends on previous performance. If I complete a grueling workout and have to follow up with something that is not as demanding, I'm more inclined to not only enjoy the second one, but also commit to doing both workouts (rather than opt for sleeping in on my beloved weekends). Ok, that's not entirely true: I would rather sleep in, but holding myself accountable was not as insufferable as I expected. And that's what it really comes down to when you're training yourself - finding and clinging onto whatever will help keep you accountable. Whether you're motivated by money, personal gain (or loss), or just simply need an excuse to be outside and/or socialize, I believe that finding your accountability factors and keeping them in perspective can help you build a habit. While I have a few more sessions lined up with the local yokel boot camp, I'm actually looking forward to them in comparison to the Epic workouts I will endure over the next few weeks of base training (especially since I now know how awful my lungs can feel). And even then, while I acclimate to hill sprint recovery, I'm sure it will all be put in perspective when I ramp up my mileage for the old 26.2.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Friday, May 2, 2014
Walking is a Strategy, Not a Surrender
"You ran how many miles? For how long?"
I'm still surprised when people are awed by the idea of running of marathon. Granted, 26 miles is not a short distance, but after you've run that far for that long, the shimmer of the feat wears dull. The truth is, the race is only shocking when you imagine how much time you have to spend doing one thing repetitively, along one route, with minimal breaks. (Comparably, however, Ironman races, ultramarathon-ing, or even desert relays are practically unfathomable.)
I believe the real reason people are still awed by completing a marathon has to do less with the distance, and more with the how? your body handles the task of mobilizing itself for that long, for (seemingly) no point at all.
Take last weekend, for example. I participated in a half-marathon (funny, I thought it was too early in my training to be running that far too!), and although my finish time marked needed improvement, I finished strong, my quads didn't hate me, I didn't puke, and I even managed to survive a 2-hour tap class the very next day with minimal muscle soreness. So in terms of how I managed it all, I'd credit it to strategy, a trigger-point foam roller, and lots of protein. The only remaining shimmer is in how I managed to talk myself into keeping up a slow jog during miles 9-13, when I really just wanted to walk.
There were, in fact, many moments during the race where I decided to walk for a bit - specifically around mile 6, I was coming down from a great slow incline, and had been jetting through a long out-and-back section of the course when I decided to slow it down for a moment to walk and eat a GU packet. There was a young woman, slight in frame but breathing raggedly, who saw me start walking and shout-whispered, as she slowly limped past me in her broken-form jog: "You can still do it! Don't give up!"
...while this young lady's encouragement perhaps/hopefully stemmed from a place of sincerity and empathy, it became apparent to me that we had very different perceptions about what was actually happening, mentally and physically, for me, in that moment.
Let's talk about walking during race: it can be a good strategy to walk a bit throughout the race, since it gives your running muscles a break. It's quite difficult, as many long-distance runners will attest, to start the running up again after a walk. However it's a clever mental strategy, one I've used time and time again to help my mind realize that the pain is only temporary, the race isn't going to last forever, and if I want to get running again, it will all be over sooner. Walking, for me, has always been a strategy, not some sort of defeated surrender to "not-running".
Throughout training for my first marathon, Coach Terry always reminded us: "Run your own race." This has been my guiding principle over the years, a strategy I employ as I begin every race - surrounded by energetic, nervous runners who trot out from the starting line as if they were running for 30 minutes instead of 3-plus hours. It's a weird sensation, purposefully holding back and slowing down at the beginning of a race, as trillions of people whoosh pass you like buffaloes on stampede. But, it pays off miles later when you slowly succeed in surpassing all the broken-form Quasimodos who are now heaving air through their mouths as if they were drowning. "Doing great, keep going!"
People wonder how you run that far, for that long, and I'm telling you: it's all about pacing yourself. You have to pace yourself before the race, during the race, and throughout the mental roadblocks. Strategies can manifest in walking, in whether or not you carry a water bottle, in talking aloud to yourself at mile 15, in counting backwards and focusing on form, in packing your drop bag three days before a race...every runner is different. But it's all for the sake of pushing your limits, for pacing yourself through those mind-boggling challenges that a long-distance race still inspires.
I was out for a run with some local running yokels a few weeks ago, and one of them runs ultra-distance races. I asked her how she did it, and she explained her most recent race, a 100-mile partner race consisting of running repeatedly around a 12-mile loop:
"I'd just start with one 12-mile loop, and my running partner coached me by saying, at the very beginning of the first loop, 'Ok, you're going to run these next 12 miles at a 12 minute per mile pace. Go...'", she continued, "And then when I finished the first loop, he said to me,'Ok, you're going to run these next 12 miles at a 12 minute per mile pace....' - so I just kept doing that at the beginning of every loop, and after about 8 loops, it was all over."
She also explained that she ate a lot of food while she was running, to keep up her energy - including (but not limited to): chicken noodle soup, a grilled cheese sandwich, hot dogs, and three pints of beer.
Now, I don't know if I'd be able to do 12-mile loop repeats just yet, but her strategy was reasonable - you just have to break it down into little bits, and keep your focus on that one task at hand - running that loop.
When I signed up for my first marathon, I had no agenda. In truth, I had no idea what I was signing up for actually. I only realized after I completed it how much it altered my ideas about my limitations, about what I could accomplish when I pace(d) myself, about how a strategy can make or break your efforts. And I think that's the thing most people don't consider - what they are really truly capable of in terms of "putting your mind to it."
I think beer can be a wise strategy as well, but I'll save that for another post.
I'm still surprised when people are awed by the idea of running of marathon. Granted, 26 miles is not a short distance, but after you've run that far for that long, the shimmer of the feat wears dull. The truth is, the race is only shocking when you imagine how much time you have to spend doing one thing repetitively, along one route, with minimal breaks. (Comparably, however, Ironman races, ultramarathon-ing, or even desert relays are practically unfathomable.)
I believe the real reason people are still awed by completing a marathon has to do less with the distance, and more with the how? your body handles the task of mobilizing itself for that long, for (seemingly) no point at all.
Take last weekend, for example. I participated in a half-marathon (funny, I thought it was too early in my training to be running that far too!), and although my finish time marked needed improvement, I finished strong, my quads didn't hate me, I didn't puke, and I even managed to survive a 2-hour tap class the very next day with minimal muscle soreness. So in terms of how I managed it all, I'd credit it to strategy, a trigger-point foam roller, and lots of protein. The only remaining shimmer is in how I managed to talk myself into keeping up a slow jog during miles 9-13, when I really just wanted to walk.
There were, in fact, many moments during the race where I decided to walk for a bit - specifically around mile 6, I was coming down from a great slow incline, and had been jetting through a long out-and-back section of the course when I decided to slow it down for a moment to walk and eat a GU packet. There was a young woman, slight in frame but breathing raggedly, who saw me start walking and shout-whispered, as she slowly limped past me in her broken-form jog: "You can still do it! Don't give up!"
...while this young lady's encouragement perhaps/hopefully stemmed from a place of sincerity and empathy, it became apparent to me that we had very different perceptions about what was actually happening, mentally and physically, for me, in that moment.
Let's talk about walking during race: it can be a good strategy to walk a bit throughout the race, since it gives your running muscles a break. It's quite difficult, as many long-distance runners will attest, to start the running up again after a walk. However it's a clever mental strategy, one I've used time and time again to help my mind realize that the pain is only temporary, the race isn't going to last forever, and if I want to get running again, it will all be over sooner. Walking, for me, has always been a strategy, not some sort of defeated surrender to "not-running".
Throughout training for my first marathon, Coach Terry always reminded us: "Run your own race." This has been my guiding principle over the years, a strategy I employ as I begin every race - surrounded by energetic, nervous runners who trot out from the starting line as if they were running for 30 minutes instead of 3-plus hours. It's a weird sensation, purposefully holding back and slowing down at the beginning of a race, as trillions of people whoosh pass you like buffaloes on stampede. But, it pays off miles later when you slowly succeed in surpassing all the broken-form Quasimodos who are now heaving air through their mouths as if they were drowning. "Doing great, keep going!"
People wonder how you run that far, for that long, and I'm telling you: it's all about pacing yourself. You have to pace yourself before the race, during the race, and throughout the mental roadblocks. Strategies can manifest in walking, in whether or not you carry a water bottle, in talking aloud to yourself at mile 15, in counting backwards and focusing on form, in packing your drop bag three days before a race...every runner is different. But it's all for the sake of pushing your limits, for pacing yourself through those mind-boggling challenges that a long-distance race still inspires.
I was out for a run with some local running yokels a few weeks ago, and one of them runs ultra-distance races. I asked her how she did it, and she explained her most recent race, a 100-mile partner race consisting of running repeatedly around a 12-mile loop:
"I'd just start with one 12-mile loop, and my running partner coached me by saying, at the very beginning of the first loop, 'Ok, you're going to run these next 12 miles at a 12 minute per mile pace. Go...'", she continued, "And then when I finished the first loop, he said to me,'Ok, you're going to run these next 12 miles at a 12 minute per mile pace....' - so I just kept doing that at the beginning of every loop, and after about 8 loops, it was all over."
She also explained that she ate a lot of food while she was running, to keep up her energy - including (but not limited to): chicken noodle soup, a grilled cheese sandwich, hot dogs, and three pints of beer.
Now, I don't know if I'd be able to do 12-mile loop repeats just yet, but her strategy was reasonable - you just have to break it down into little bits, and keep your focus on that one task at hand - running that loop.
When I signed up for my first marathon, I had no agenda. In truth, I had no idea what I was signing up for actually. I only realized after I completed it how much it altered my ideas about my limitations, about what I could accomplish when I pace(d) myself, about how a strategy can make or break your efforts. And I think that's the thing most people don't consider - what they are really truly capable of in terms of "putting your mind to it."
I think beer can be a wise strategy as well, but I'll save that for another post.
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