The waiting game

The last two weeks before a marathon are the hardest. This is because this period of time mainly involves: waiting around/resting, and attempting to lose weight. As you may have noticed, these pass-times/behaviors do not typically go hand in hand.

Picture: there was lots of down-time in Kenya too, but at least I had daisy to keep me company!

At this stage you’ve been focused on the marathon for months. With eleven days to go before the race, you’re fatigued in the body and in the mind. You haven’t had a sip of beer or a piece of chocolate in weeks, and most of your personal/leisure time in recent memory has been spent resting at home instead of socialising or enjoying the usual pleasures of life (hill walking, holidaying, leisurely cycling to name just a few). But when you’re in the midst of a demanding training regime, you barely have time to notice what you’re missing out on. And the training is often quite enjoyable, so it’s all good. This all changes when the taper starts. From here on in, training will be tapered back in order to let the body recover in time for the London Marathon.

Right now it’s hard to imagine running a marathon at my target pace. In fact, if I were to attempt to run the marathon tomorrow I would fall well short, because I’m tired. To prepare for the race then, I’ll spend a significant amount of time stationary and off my feet. Sitting around or sleeping is usually a luxury that should be appreciated, but it can also get boring fairly quickly. Especially when you’re also trying to lose weight.

Training for a marathon is hard, but sitting around on the couch for two weeks thinking about not eating is even harder. As well, it’s not particularly relaxing sitting around waiting when you are anxiously awaiting the marathon itself! It's the unsettling ‘calm before the storm’.

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely won’t be starving myself. I need to stay strong and healthy so there is absolutely no benefit in depriving myself of essential nourishment. But I will be carefully controlling my diet/food intake in order to shed a couple of kilograms before the race. The idea is that you don’t want to carry any more weight around the marathon course than you need to. So I’ll only be eating as much as I ‘need’ and no more. I won’t be running as much so I’ll be eating less than usual, and I’ll only eat and drink healthy food types with low fat and sugar content. My diet will be fairly unexciting. Not dissimilar from the Kenyan approach, except that now I’m in Dublin so I’ll be surrounded by people who are enjoying the full western diet.

I’m not sure what will come as more of a shock to the body – the marathon itself, or the Big Mac Combo that I throw at it after the race.

The next station is... Greenwich

With less than three weeks to go until London marathon, it seems like as good of a time as any to take stock of where I’m at and assess the task at hand.

Last September I ran the Berlin marathon in a time of 2h39 minutes and 23 seconds. Since then I have spent approximately three months drinking pints and eating chocolate (admittedly I was also training to some degree through November and December). Then I organised my London marathon entry, and I knew that my only chance to get back in the game was to spend a month training in isolation in Kenya.

So after scoffing several pounds of turkey over Christmas in anticipation of a period of culinary austerity, I flew to Iten for some altitude training. These were Spartan times, which gave me little to do except to focus on improving my running and involuntarily (but happily) lose a few kilograms. I then returned to Dublin to work, and more importantly, to continue my training. I also rekindled my relationship with chocolate and beer, but this time I restricted access.

Upon returning to Ireland I ran two good races, including the National Intermediate cross-country and the Ballycotton 10 (54:13). I also ran two disappointing races at the National Senior teams Cross country and the Fr Murphy AC St Paddy's Day 5 mile in Co. Meath (admittedly it was more of a tempo run, but either way I got whipped and ran badly). But I’ve been training through all of these races (not interrupting training to rest up), all of the while focused on Sunday 17 April: the day of the London Marathon.

Here is the course:

As you can see, the marathon starts in Greenwich Park in South East London. The course veers East before turning back on itself and heading West along the Thames towards the city centre. The course crosses the London bridge at the half marathon mark, then meanders eastward around the financial centre before folding back on itself along the Northern side of the Thames. In the last few miles runners pass many of the famous landmarks of London, before passing Big Ben and Westminster Abbey and finishing in the Buckingham Palace Gardens.

Setting a target time

After completing the Berlin Marathon in September, I set myself a goal of running 2h32 minutes in London. This goal was the driving force behind my motivation through the cold dark months of winter (ok fair enough, it wasn’t that wintery in Kenya). But in the final lead-up to the race it is important to set a ‘target time’ which will underpin my race plan and pace throughout the race.

When the starting gun fires at the beginning of a marathon, the field takes off and everyone feels super. Well prepared runners have fresh legs for a change, and should feel well rested after a decent taper period (rest). The adrenal glands are firing rounds of borrowed energy into the bloodstream, courtesy of your anxiety combined with the buzz of the crowd. For this reason, many people are over-confident and take off like a rocket from the gun. But as these folk learn when they hit the half way mark: adrenaline doesn’t last for 26.2 miles (42.2km). There is no hiding from your actual physiological capacity and preparedness for the task.

The fastest way to run a marathon is to pace it more-or-less evenly throughout the entire race. Common theory holds that if you run the first ten kilometres one minute too fast, then you’ll probably run the last ten kilometres two minutes slower than you otherwise would have done. So it pays to be acutely aware of your physical condition, and to get the pace right. The best way to assess your physical capacity is to analyse your race results and training performances. I have yet to complete my test sessions. But based on my performances and training so far, my goal time of 2h32 minutes remains a realistic target, if not a little ambitious.

Last year I targeted sub-2h45min in Rotterdam marathon and ran 2h44min (in April), then targeted sub-2h40min in Berlin Marathon and ran 2h39min (in September). Both times I felt that I had run well and had paced it conservatively, but perhaps could have run quicker if my target time had been quicker. So this time I’m happy enough to take a risk and set a more demanding target time. Time will tell whether that is a good decision.

Next is to break-down the race based on the target time.

Finish time: 2 hours 32 minutes

3:36 minutes/km (or 5km splits of 18:00)

5:48 minutes/mile (5 mile splits of 29:00)

When I’m standing on the starting line in Greenwich, I’ll be thinking almost entirely about getting my pace right and listening to my body. My Garmin watch will bleep at me every kilometre during the race and display my kilometre split. And there will be mile markers along the way with large clocks fitted. Initially, this prescribed pace should feel very comfortable (in fact easy). If I have set my target time and pace correctly, then all will feel comfortable for a good while, before getting steadily harder over the last ten kilometres. By the time I hit the 40km mark if all goes well I’ll be giving it everything just to hold on. If I have over-estimated my fitness however, then I'll suffer a long and painful struggle to the finish line.

Hitting this target is anything but a foregone conclusion. As I said in my blog post before Berlin Marathon, there are many obstacles that could present themselves (wind, stomach cramps, toilet stops, heat). These need to be accounted for on the day. Failure to be flexible in light of extraneous factors can be catastrophic to performance. For example, if it’s hot, I’ll probably have to recalibrate the goal time to a slower time and pace the race accordingly from the start. Otherwise there is a high risk of blowing up.

Despite the focus here on pace, in reality you have to run based on how you feel. If it feels hard when it shouldn’t feel hard (i.e. early on), then I’ll slow down.

More to come on the pain that it took to get here…

From the depths of marathon training

When I first began running with a club in September 2008 (Rathfarnham W.S.A.F), I was preparing to attempt a sub 3 hour performance in the Dublin Marathon. I introduced myself to the coach (Adam Jones), whom then introduced me to the lads with whom I would run a set of 5x2000m on the grounds of Terenure College in South Dublin. Welcome to the world of pain. Many of the lads who were kicking my ass around the park at training looked at me like I was mad, or extremely brave, when I told them I was training for a marathon (and especially an ‘Ultra-marathon’). I was puzzled by this sentiment, because these guys were clearly not afraid of pain, and were obviously extremely fit. They were notching up as many miles overall as I was in my marathon training, and at a greater intensity. Most of were capable of running well under three hours for a marathon, if only they had decided to turn up on race day. To put this in context, only about 5% of runners typically break the three hour mark in any given marathon.

They clearly knew something that I didn’t, and over time I have come to realise why so many serious runners (club runners) steer clear of marathons. Of course there are the obvious reasons, like the arduous and largely unpleasant 30km plus runs that are required to train your body for the marathon (let’s be honest, long road runs aren’t much fun). But that didn’t add up, because these club guys actually like running, and would normally run 90 minutes on a Sunday anyway.

The less obvious reason that so many competitive runners don’t run marathons is the toll that marathon running takes on the body. And perhaps more importantly to competitive runners, it is feasible that running marathons can slow down a runner’s rate of improvement.

About a month ago I was running well in training and in races. Since then I have really stepped up the long runs (23 miles at 6:30 min/mile average, or 36km at 4 min/km), and have been focusing on getting the endurance together in time for London Marathon in April (sitting on 140km total per week). After a month of peak marathon training, I’m struggling to hit the same interval splits or pace in training sessions that I was a few weeks back. I’m chasing my own shadow. This is because every Sunday I get out and flog myself on the pavement for 2 ½ hours. And then try to hammer out three sessions per week on legs that are never fully recovered.

The constant fatigue that is synonymous with marathon training prevents me (and I presume other marathoners) from extending myself and pushing the pace in training. It is logical then that speed and in particular the development of anaerobic capacity is sacrificed in the effort to improve endurance. This effect is easy to detect when you begin the season running side-by-side with club mates, then as the season goes on you fall behind in sessions, despite putting in hundreds of miles of good quality uninterrupted training.

But that’s only part of it. The taper stage, combined with the recovery time after race day, knock a marathoner out of serious training for at least a month. Meanwhile, my cross-country and track focused friends are hammering out quality training sessions time and time again. It makes you think.

Having said all of that, there is almost no feeling like the satisfaction of honing in on the finish line at a big marathon, knowing that months of training have gone into this moment and it is paying off. That atmosphere of mass crowds and celebration (see photo of starting line at the London Marathon - 40,000 runners and over a million spectators). Crossing the line, and knowing that in about an hour you’ll be smashing a Big Mac combo (for the first time in six months) and will already be on your second pint or stein after weeks of strict dieting - probably in an amazing city like Berlin or Amsterdam or London! By contrast, if you were a 5k runner, you’d cross the line, look at your watch, chat to the guy who just outkicked you at the line (or vice versa), then casually drive home (because the race would probably be local) and check online to see whether there is another similar race on next weekend.

Marathons are a high stakes game. You only have one shot every six months to nail it, so you’d better get it right.

Ballycotton 10 Mile 2011: Race Report

Race distance: 10 miles
Finishing time: 54:14 (5 mile split 27:11 negative split)
Average pace: 3:22 min/km
Average speed: 17.8 km/h
Finishing position: 20th (2500 starters)
Results: http://www.ballycottonrunning.com/

For the second year running, I took to the start line on the crowded main street of Ballycotton for the annual ‘Ballycotton 10’ road race. The race is a classic ten mile event on the Irish calendar, and draws a large crowd of club and fun runners from across the country. The race organiser limits the number of entries to 3000, and it’s hard enough just securing a place on the start line. The Ballycotton 10 was one of my favourite races of 2010, and serves as an excellent warm-up for a spring marathon (in my case London Marathon in April).

Ballycotton is a small and charming coastal village in County Cork, Ireland. The village essentially consists of one narrow main street that runs parallel to the coast, which is bordered by rows of shops and houses on each side. The race starts and finishes at the top of the main street, and for the first two miles descends down the main street towards a junction just outside of the village. The last two miles of the race goes back up this street in the opposite and up-hill direction. The mid-section of the course is fairly flat, with only a few undulating parts.

The race has a reputation for a fast start (on the downhill), and the unforgiving and seemingly endless uphill drag to the finish. My race strategy was to avoid getting carried away with the current of over-confident runners off the start, and to keep something in the tank for the last two miles. My goal pace was 5:25 min/mile, or 3:24 min/km, and I normally try to set an even pace. If possible, I would try to join a pack of runners for the following reasons (a) running in a pack is easier because you’re less exposed to the wind and (b) a pack can help you set the pace, and stick to it throughout (c) being in a pack feels easier, as if you’re in it together.

As expected, the lads took off at a decent clip, led by some of Ireland’s top runners (including Sergiu Ciobanu, Mick Clohisey, Sean Hehir and James McCarthy). When I reached the 1 mile mark and the clock on side of road read ‘5:06’ it became apparent to me that I had failed to implement the first component of my strategy. But the pace felt entirely comfortable, so I wasn’t worried. I consciously backed off and settled into my target pace, if not slightly quicker.

The crowd thinned out as the top runners surged ahead at ridiculous speed, never to be seen again. Meanwhile other over-ambitious starters quickly hit their anaerobic threshold (because they’d gone out too fast) and fell away. At the 2 mile marker, I was running alone but there was a group of about ten lads forming 15 metres ahead of me. It was decision time. Should I ramp up the pace and attempt to pull them back, or let them go. If I manage to catch them without busting myself, then I gain all of the benefits of pack running (mentioned above). The risk of going after them is that I would exert too much effort catching them, and then not be able to hold on to the group.

I felt comfortable, so I decided to go after them. I would be able to recover a bit at the back of the pack once I caught them. I focused my sights on the group and accelerated after them. Good decision – I caught them without much trouble and joined the group, immediately feeling vindicated.

The group ploughed on for the first 8 miles at a steady pace between 5:25 and 5:30 per mile (Garmin was ticking over at 3:22 min/km). It was led for the most part by a couple of runners from St Finbarr’s AC and by Rob Cross from Crusaders AC, whom was also looking strong and steady. The pace felt quick, but also comfortable, as the group pulled back a couple of guys who were out on their own (not a good place to be).

It became obvious that this was going to be a race of tactics. Pushing ahead of the pack before the eight-mile mark was not a viable option, because the lads would most likely work together to hunt you down before the finish line. The course reaches a junction and turns onto the climb with 1.5 miles to go, and we all knew that this was a natural point in the course to make a move. The hill would almost certainly break up the pack, and it would be ‘each man to himself’ from that point on. The question on my mind was – who would make the first move, and what would they have left in the tank?

The pack swung a left at the junction and hit the first hill. The race leaders were well ahead (out of striking distance), so this show down was to be ‘a race within a race’. Rob Cross pushed off the front. Rob is a class runner, with a background on the track. He beat me only last week in the National Senior Cross Country championships, so I was happy enough just to be running in a group with him at this point. I knew he’d have a decent kick (last 400 metres), and that I couldn’t afford to give him any space. So I broke through and went after him. The pack followed suit, and we remained a unit. With a mile to go, one of the St Finbarr’s lads stepped out and pushed to the front of the pack, but didn’t make any further ground and the group closed in around him. Then Rob pushed the lead again. The group remained intact.

As we closed in on the ‘1000 metres to go’ sign-post, I felt ready for a battle, and I recalled (to inspire confidence) all of the dark, cold and rainy Tuesday nights I’ve spent running 1000 metre intervals with my Rathfarnham club mates at Nutgrove Park. The pain of running 1000 metres at pace is certainly not an unfamiliar feeling. I stepped to the left of the group and accelerated. I could hear the footsteps and heavy breathing behind me as I approached the 600m to go mark, so I changed up a gear and dug deep. All of the speed work I’ve been putting in must be helping, because with 400 metres to go I couldn’t hear the sound of footsteps any longer.

The performance represents progress for sure (near on a 4 minute PB). Though it is clear that there is still a long way to go before I close in on the top ten lads in these big races, so I have my work cut out for me over the summer! The good news is, that I’m on track to hit my target time in London Marathon next month (sub 2h32min). The bad news is, that the next month of training is the hardest part.

The definition of success

This seems to be a polarizing issue for NZ at the moment:

http://www.stuff.co.nz/sport/other-sports/4646268/Controversy-over-All-Whites-Halberg-Awards-win

It lead me to thinking – how should we define success? As it happens, I completely agree with Dick Taylor.

Fair play to the All Whites for putting in a proud performance in the World Cup. They served their country well, and deserve respect for stepping up to the big boys of their sport and being counted. But I think it’s a sad reflection of our times when the Halberg Award is given to a team to that didn’t actually win anything (or qualify for the second round of their focal tournament).

Rewarding mediocrity - it’s symptomatic of the PC ‘every participant deserves a medal’ culture that is now pervading in our society.

The whole argument about ‘football is the biggest sport in the world… etc’ seems like a red herring. The ultimate objective of a competitive sporting outfit (or individual) surely remains the same – to win. And if you're going to play with the big boys, then you have to compare yourself to the big boys.

In this case it comes down to one group of men against another. On what basis do we lower the threshold of ‘success’ to merely ‘not losing’ or ‘not getting hammered’? And then commend ourselves for achieving that level of ‘success’. Is there an assumption that the Spanish or Dutch possess some sort of super-power that Kiwi men don’t enjoy, which warrants the application of a ‘handicap’ on how we define success in the context of World Cup football?

Or is it because a couple of the All Whites had to lodge an annual leave request at the local bakery in order to travel with the team to the World Cup? Does the amateur and underdog status mean that by showing up and not being disgraced, they are more ‘successful’ than a team like the All Blacks? (note the irony there that someone so ‘successful’ is unable to secure a profession in the sport)

As far as I could see, the 2010 All Blacks side was a model of what a successful team looks like. What more could they have done to deserve this award?

What do you think?

Show me the money - the pursuit of professionalism in Kenyan athletics

Fancy this as a day job? Running hill repeats at Singore forest, near Iten

Iten is for Kenyan runners what Los Angeles is for aspiring actors and actresses - a chance to make the big time.

If you are good enough to make it as a professional runner, then you stand to be rewarded with the glory, fame and cash that comes with success. But very few will succeed.

There are a select few runners here who have lucrative sponsorship deals and/or make big money from winning races in Europe and the US. These athletes are heroes in Kenya. Their photos and stories dominate the main sports page of the Sunday newspaper.

Many of these successful athletes have bought property and built nice houses in the area. Their lives differ significantly from the average Kenyan. You can tell who they are, because they wear the latest Adidas kit and drive a motor vehicle (while the regular punters ride the matatu). The successful professional runners occupy a high social standing in the community.

Lornah Kipligat is one example of an athlete who has invested her winnings in a business venture (Lornah's high altitude training camp). Another example is the former Dublin Marathon winner, Lezan Kumutai, who has invested in residential property and has also built a school in a small village close to Iten.

But most runners that you meet on the street in Iten have very little money or income, and are just getting by day by day (not that they need much money to support their regimented lifestyles). They live in basic rented shared houses with groups of other runners, all sharing the same goal. These runners are vying to be noticed by someone who might launch their career.

In order to make a living out of running, an athlete needs to either gain a spot on the Kenyan international squad (and hopefully pick up a big sponsor); or find a way to get to races in Europe. Specifically, those races that offer an attractive prize package and ideally an appearance fee.

However, runners face a catch-22 because they need to train full time in order to get good enough. Yet if they train full time, then they have no income to cover their cost of living in the meantime.

This is where talent scouts, agents, and training camps come into the picture. Some athletes are good enough and lucky enough to be scouted as juniors. Those who show the most promise (i.e. by winning national medals), may be noticed by scouts and coaches and offered places in training camps, where they are given food and accommodation. This means that they can focus entirely on training, from the time they finish school.




It's an early start for professional runners in Iten - 6am is rush hour for foot traffic

But very few are so lucky. And those who do find themselves in that privileged position are expected to continue performing in order to justify their place. For every one of these supported runners, there are many who are largely unsupported. Perhaps relying on their families for assistance. Let's call these the 'tier two' runners.

These tier two runners are battling to perform well enough to capture the attention of agents. For example, I have spoken to a 2:15 marathoner living in Iten who is struggling to get by because he can't find an agent who will fund his travel to races (because he's not quick enough to guarantee a good commission for a prospective agent). Like many others, he doesn't have the cash to get there himself. And he needs someone to organise transport and negotiate appearance fee with the race organiser.

By way of another example, I am told that a male 5000m runner won't be noticed unless he runs under 13:15. That gives you an idea of the standard required to make it as a professional.

The cost of failure is massive for these runners. Not only does it mean giving up the dream of fame and fortune, but also swallowing one's pride and returning to your hometown with your tail between your legs and perhaps being branded as a 'failure'. It is quite likely that you'll end up working on the family farm, operating a kiosk, or driving a matatu for a modest living. For an aspiring runner here, these prospects are fairly grim.

Most people here live very simple lives, particularly compared with the lifestyle of a successful professional runner. For example, the appearance fee earned by successful Kenyan runners in some European races would easily exceed the average annual wage in Kenya.

There is clearly an affinity between the people of Kenya and the sport of running. After all, it's not often in Dublin that groups of laughing children will sprint across a field to greet you and then run along beside you for several minutes (let alone the man dressed in a business suit who ran with me for ten minutes after I jogged past him the other night).

However, the reality is that, unlike the millions of amateur adult runners in western countries who run purely for the love of it, many of the runners here are simply trying to achieve a higher standard of living than what is available through other avenues.

Perhaps people read too much into the 'genetic advantage of African runners' theory. It seems to me that the financial motive for Kenyan athletes, combined with the undesirable alternative (a subsistence lifestyle), is part of the driving force behind the success of Kenyan running. With the sheer number of athletes dedicating their lives to running, it's little surprise that countries like Kenya and Ethiopia keep churning out champions.

Just a thought: imagine if your next pay-check (and indeed your livelihood) depended on your race performance. Now that is an incentive to train hard!

Finding my place in the pack

The senior men line up for the Discover Kenya 12k X Country event in Eldoret yesterday - Mzungus stay clear

After 20 minutes of jogging from the house on Thursday morning, the girls and I arrived at a junction between two main trails. As per the usual, I had little idea of what was on the cards for the morning.

The conversation over dinner the night before had gone something like this:

"What are you running tomorrow morning?"

"We run 1 minute fast, 1 minute easy, for 20 times."

"Is it ok if I come with you?"

"We run with a group. Yes. Maybe you can run behind with the ladies if you have energy." (not helping my already diminished confidence level)

But the girls hadn't explained that 'the group' consisted of half of the population of Iten! At best guess, there were two hundred local runners gathered at the corner, rearing to go. And then there was me - questioning whether I should have instead done my own thing on this particular morning.

One guy stood on a fence and unhelpfully (from my perspective) gave instructions to the 'group' in Kiswahili. The smiley curious guy standing beside me quietly greeted me and asked me whether I was feeling strong today. I told him that I was feeling unnerved.

After a countdown from the apparent leader, the group took off. Happily, it was 'easy' first. After 60 seconds, the sound of footsteps got louder, and a gap started building between me and the runners in front of me. I quickly found my place in the pack - near the back, where there was much more space, fewer fellas, and most people around me looked like they had eaten something dodgy for breakfast. It wasn't so bad.

I took it steady, pacing myself carefully because the mid-morning sun was beating down and I had a long way to go. The good thing was, that there were a few people behind me.




Madness ensues after the starting gun, as 400 of Kenya's top senior men descend on the bottleneck at eye watering pace

After twenty minutes, I had that comforting thought of knowing that I was closer to the end than I was to the beginning. I had run 5.2km on undulating trail. Half of it hard, half easy.

At this point I started picking people off! It was just like the second half of Berlin Marathon, except this time I was only passing women, and it wasn't lashing with rain. I kept pushing until eventually I could see my housemates about a hundred metres ahead. Then all of a sudden after 37 minutes, everyone within sight of me stopped and started walking home.

In fact, we walked four kilometres back to camp. They seem to like walking home here.