Brrr-lingame 10-mile Trail Race

I have found that a good gauge of my readiness for a race is the degree of muscle soreness I feel the day or two afterward. This is a retrospective indicator, of course, and does me no good other than to say, "Yeah, I was trained for that," or "Nope. Wasn't ready." A week ago, I was pleasantly surprised to find almost no soreness after my 800 race. I was apparently properly trained for that race. As for Saturday's 10-miler? Not so much. I walked around Sunday and Monday like I had two wooden legs -- sore hips, quads, and hamstrings(?!) making each step painful and awkward. But the worst soreness wasn't in my legs at all; it was on my head, of all places. A well-placed branch that was just lower than the top of my head nailed me on the second loop, dazing me for a second, and leaving me with a huge lump. It even drew blood, which I discovered after the race. Alas, another hazard of thinning hair...

Not exactly the "bloody sock," is it?

This was my third race of the South County 4th Season trail race series (I missed the Resolution Beach race) and the first without snow. It is also my final race of the series, as I will be out of town for the Big River half marathon. I'd fared pretty well in the two earlier races but knew this one would be a test. My training has been focused on running a race 1/20th of this race's distance. In fact, my total weekly mileage two weeks ago was only 13 miles -- three miles longer than I'd have to go in this race. And 10 miles is pushing the limits of my endurance even when I'm trained for it. Add to that a few fresh faces (Greg Hammett, Derek Jakoboski, etc.) and a bunch of familiar faces with increasingly well-trained legs, and I knew I'd be in for quite a race.

One thing I had going for me was that I had zero expectations coming into the race. Really, my only goal was to beat Bob Jackman, because, well, I don't know. We've developed a little friendly rivalry, and I wanted to prove that the Belleville Pond result wasn't a fluke. Aside from that, I just wanted to have some fun.

The race took off across the grass field, and, as described in a few other posts, we funneled into a single track where we found ourselves mixed up with a bunch of the usual suspects and a gaggle of high schoolers. High schoolers are the worst, by the way. They go out too fast, they goof around too much, and they say things like, "We're just doing this as a workout," even though they're secretly racing it. So, imagine my frustration when I got stuck behind them on the first woods loop. I kept reminding myself not to worry, that the race is long, but I couldn't deal with them for more than two minutes. I sprinted through the woods around their pack and settled back in behind Greg Hammett. At this point, I was in fifth place, following a pack of Jonny, Bob, and Greg, and little behind Derek. Bob made a move to try to close the gap, while Greg clung to Jonny's shoulder a little longer. You might say he was following in his older brother's footsteps. Thank you, thank you. Eventually, he too got antsy and moved up to join Bob's chase. I settled behind Jonny until just after the mile mark, when I spotted a little shortcut over a couple of fallen logs on the inside of a turn. I sprinted through, hurdling the logs, and came out on the other side ahead of Jonny. I apologized for the obnoxious move and asked him not to report me.

After we crossed the park entrance road, I found myself in no-man's land. Bob and Greg were maybe 15 seconds ahead, while Jonny and Justin were 10-15 seconds behind. I wanted to keep contact with Bob but didn't want to expend too much energy doing so. It was tough trying to figure out the right effort level during these early miles. I wanted to keep my breathing in check but knew I also needed to keep the pace peppy. I was using the others around me to figure out whether or not I was running the right speed. (A little behind Greg? Check. A little ahead of Jonny and Justin? Check. Behind Bob? Uh oh!) It turns out (as I'll show later) we were probably all doing the same mental pacing checklist and forced each other into an unsustainably fast opening lap.

On the ridge (an esker, perhaps?), I noticed that I was gaining on Bob, while Greg had taken off in pursuit of Derek. I caught Bob on the downhill, and then we ran together on the open dirt road in the campground. It was nice to chat for a few minutes, actually. We made some predictions about whether or not Greg would catch Derek, laughed about wishing that we could catch him, and then I unceremoniously pulled ahead as we exited the dirt road. (In case Bob was nervous about losing points to me in the series standings, I thought about telling him that I wasn't going to be at Big River, so he need not worry. But that would have taken the fun out of it, wouldn't it? Instead, I let him sweat it out until afterward.)

Half way. Am I jogging?
Photo from Jeff Walker (taken by ??).

I found myself narrowing Greg's gap as we neared the end of the first loop and closed to within a few seconds by the end of the lap. He stopped to grab a drink, leaving me to face the stiff headwind across the field without the luxury of following in his wake. He caught up to me on the single track, and we talked for a minute about how close Bob was and some strategies to put some distance on him. Then, unexpectedly, Greg urged me on to go after Derek alone. I thanked him and slowly pulled away, probably putting 10 seconds on him over the next mile.

After crossing the street, I noticed that I could see Derek way up ahead. I checked my watch and discovered I was about 30 seconds back. At the next opportunity, I checked again, and was now only 20 seconds back. Could he be rigging? Was I going to catch up? Just as these thoughts crossed my mind, I was stunned back into reality as my head smashed into the overhanging tree limb. I yelped out in pain and literally saw stars for a second (you mean that doesn't just happen in cartoons?), but I don't think I ever broke stride. I swore at myself for not paying closer attention and then was quickly able to forget that it had happened (memory loss, maybe?).

Right around then, I noticed that Greg had crept back into the picture and was looking quite strong. Incredible. He caught me just before the ridge, and hung on my shoulder through this technical section. We chatted some more, and he finally made his move as we entered the open dirt road. I wished him luck in catching Derek, who still had a huge lead. If anyone could chase him down, it was Greg.

As for me, I was starting to realize that I was in survival mode. It was interesting, actually. I was not breathing hard. In fact, I was breathing more easily than on the first lap; I simply could not make my legs move any faster. By mile 8, they felt like dead weight. I looked back constantly but fortunately did not see Bob.

My mom's comment upon seeing this: "Nice fancy dinner gloves." 

Photo by Scott Mason.

I was content to finish the race by myself and tried my best to keep up the effort through the finish, which I crossed in 1:03:21. I was amazed when Justin flashed across the line seemingly a moment after I finished. Where the heck did he come from? I had looked back a quarter mile ago and didn't see anyone, but there he was, finishing strong in fourth place. If that race had been a mile or two longer, I'd certainly have been caught. Maybe I should be thankful I'm not racing the half marathon in two weeks!

WTAC had a great race, as always. We're getting faster as a group, too, which is encouraging to see. I also want to acknowledge Greg for having the guts to come out and race on a tough course despite his recent injury and the few weeks of abbreviated training that resulted. It's not easy to put yourself in position to lose to people who should be nowhere near you (i.e., ME), but he did it and then still beat me.

Now, this wouldn't be one of my posts without some graphs. I was curious to see how well we paced ourselves on the two laps, and the incredible Mike Galoob did us the favor of recording our halfway splits to allow the analysis to happen. The chart below plots the 1st lap against the 2nd lap for the top 10 finishers. Perfectly even splits would fall along the green line, while positive splits are above and negative splits are below. Do you notice something about the race? We almost all went out too hard! Only Nicolas Migani -- the sixth place finisher -- is the clear outlier here, as he had a huge negative split. Could it be, as I surmised earlier, that we were all gauging off each other? Migani, the newcomer, wouldn't have known where he should place among us and was able to run his own race. It's a good lesson for next year.

It was interesting that those of us with positive splits all seem to be roughly the same amount above the green line in the chart above. To get a sense of exactly how much we slowed down, the chart below shows our % increase/decrease on the second lap. Most of us hovered in the 3-5% range. Migani is obviously the exception, but look at who else separated himself -- Mr. Bentley, who only slowed down 2% on the 2nd lap.

Justin's sudden proximity at the end of the race had me worried. I wanted to know how and where it happened, so I took to Strava to get some more granularity. I split the course into four segments -- the first woods section, the second woods section, the main part of the campground, and the final piece along the pond. Doing this twice gave eight segments for the race. Our times on each are in the table below.

It's clear that Justin was gaining on me, but how does it look graphically? The waterfall chart below attempts to show this. I put time on him over the first six segments, eventually establishing a 38-second gap. But he closed 11 seconds on the last two to get to our final difference. It's no wonder I didn't see him until the end -- he was chasing me down over the last two miles. These charts are your presents for the fine performance, buddy.

USATF Masters Nationals

In case my two previous posts didn't give it away, the Indoor Masters Nationals track meet was held this past weekend at the Reggie Lewis Center in Boston. My race -- the Men's 30-34 800 meters -- is the one I've been training for during the past two-plus months. I recorded some notes the night before the race, so let's get to those first, and then I'll take you through race day.

3/15/14 - Thoughts from the night before

My head is all over the place right now. For some reason, I'm coughing a ton tonight, and my wife is trying to convince me not to run. To be specific, she said, "You're stupid if you are going to run." She also asked, "Don't you just want to sleep in tomorrow and relax around the house all day?" Well, of course that's what I want to do, but this is THE RACE, the one I've been keying on all year. She's like the angel (or maybe the devil) on my shoulder, trying to sway me. But I can't give in to the temptation. It's the easy way out, and I'm not interested. Also, so many people know that I'm supposed to be running tomorrow; how will it look if I'm a DNS? Darn you, Commitment Principle. 

My only real worry is that I'll somehow do permanent damage to my poor lungs. After my last 800, I couldn't stop coughing for a good five minutes, and that was pre-bronchitis. What will an all-out 800 do to my already suffering respiratory system? Whatever, I can always drop out if things don't seem right during the race. I'm doing this thing.

Goals and plan for tomorrow's race:

Goal: Break 2:00. I don't care what place I get. I just want my time to start with a '1'.

Race plan: There are two guys in the race who are almost certainly faster than I am. One won the 400 on Friday in 51 seconds and is seeded at 1:54. The other won the mile Saturday in 4:29 and is a former 1:51 800 runner. My hope is that they will take it out hard, and I can settle in behind them and get dragged along to a decent time.

As far as pacing goes, my first lap needs to be sub-30 if I'm going to have a chance at this. No lollygagging in this race. I need to remember to run on the verge of discomfort that first lap. After that, it's just a matter of maintaining pace and kicking. I'm anticipating having a clock at the end of the homestretch to gauge my time each lap. I need to make sure I'm under pace the whole way.

Prediction: I think it's going to be very close. If I do it, it won't be by much. I'd say I have an equal chance of breaking 2:00 as I do of not breaking it. On my best day, I might be able to run 1:58. I could also very easily see myself running another 2:02. My point is this: I have no idea whether or not it's going to happen. I haven't been on a track in over a month, so for all I know I've been running 34-second 200s in my workouts. Here's hoping that wasn't the case!

3/16/14 - Race Day

After last night's uncertainty, I decided to run the race. Katie, Seb, and I hopped in the car and drove the 90 minutes up to the Reggie Lewis Center. For all the running I've done on Boston-area indoor tracks, this would be my first time running at this legendary arena. I was quite nervous the night before the race, but having my family there for the drive up helped distract me. We found an incredible parking spot almost right in front of the building, which was surely an omen that this would be a good day (as long as pig man didn't jump on it).

The atmosphere of the meet was pretty cool. Like the last meet, there were A LOT of grandparent-types running around in spandex, but this time they were quite a bit faster. The most amazing thing I saw was an 80-year-old lady run the 200 in 36 seconds, breaking the WR by 5 seconds! It was ridiculous. Only two individual track events were being contested on the day -- the 200 and the 800. There were so many age groups, however, that these two events alone were going to take up many, many hours.

The little guy was excited to cheer on the runners.

We sat and watched a bunch of events, while I tried to figure out the best time to take a warm-up jog. It was hard to judge where we were on the schedule. The meet seemed to be running behind, but they were also running somewhat out of order. Between every few heats of an 800, they threw in the odd 200 trials, which were supposed to have been held in the morning. I decided to go outside at what I estimated to be roughly 40 minutes before my race would go off. It was cold and very windy, and I was glad I'd be racing in the controlled environment of the indoor track on this day. I ran for 10 minutes and threw in a 30-second surge to wake up the old body. I headed back inside to check on the meet's progress. Still running behind by 20 minutes or so.

I took my time gathering my stuff and strolled with my family over to the indoor gym to do some active stretching. After I few minutes, I did some short sprints in the upstairs hallways while monitoring the meet through the windows overlooking the track. All of a sudden, I realized that the meet was catching back up to schedule. The men's 35-39 800 was on the track. My race was next! Panic stricken, I bolted downstairs to my bag and grabbed my spikes. I ripped off my trainers, pulled out the orthopedic insoles, chucked them into the spikes, and then threw on the spikes as quickly as I could (still taking the time to triple-knot them, of course). My insoles were totally in the wrong spot, sitting under my arch instead of my heel, but there's was nothing I could do about that now. I got over to the starting line just in time to see the previous race end. Wow, that was a close call.

I was seeded third in the race. As I mentioned before, I wasn't expecting to hang with the guys on my inside, but I couldn't let anyone on the outside cut in front of me at the start. It was time to be aggressive. At the gun, I shot out, held off the outside attackers, and let the two top seeds slide to the front. I settled in behind them, hooking my car onto their train for the ride. There were two clocks visible from the track, so I was able to monitor my splits every hundred meters. I'd have no excuses not to maintain my goal pace. We hit the 100 in 14 seconds or so, and I reminded myself that this should feel fast but relaxed. I stayed close to the leaders through the 200 in 29.3. Perfect. Now I just needed to run 30's the rest of the way.

The top guys slowed almost imperceptibly at the start of the second lap, but that kind of pace change feels enormous in an 800. I thought about trying to make a move, but winning was not the point here. I wanted a fast time and wasn't going to waste any energy yet. The guy in fourth clipped my heel, and I briefly imagined tumbling off the banked curve onto the infield. Focus, focus, focus. I maintained contact over the rest of the lap but felt a presence on my shoulder the whole time. As we approached the 400, the fourth place guy made a move to pass me. I let him go. If he beats me, so be it. I want that sub-2:00 and need to save myself. The 400 split was just under 60 (lap split 30.6). Maintain for one more lap, and then kick.

Midway through the third lap, I realized I hadn't planned on exactly when I would kick. On an indoor track, you can lose track of where you are in the race, and that happened to me. I remember going around the final curve of the third lap and thinking to myself, oh no, there's less than 300 to go, I should be kicking by now! The leaders were starting to gap the third guy, and I didn't want to lose sight of them completely.  This was a race after all. I used a small surge right before the final lap to move around the guy and get closer to the second place. This was the only time during the race I moved outside of lane 1. I needed to minimize the extra distance I ran to have a chance at sub-2. The lap split was 30.4, and we were now slightly over 2:00 pace. I needed a final lap of under 29.5 to get it. I was still feeling very good, but I wasn't sure I had that kind of speed in me. This would be close.

Trying to close the gap on the final curve.

By the backstretch on the last lap, the race was out of reach. The top two guys didn't seem to be slowing down and had probably a second or two on me. It was just me against the clock. I didn't even bother looking at the time with 100 to go, I just dug down and pushed as hard as I could over the final stretch. I ended up closing on the leaders a bit in the last 50 but not enough to scare them. I watched the clock tick up closer and closer to 2:00 and crossed the line as it changed over to that dreaded number. Did I get it? It was going to be awfully close.


The scoreboard showed the winner's time - 1:59.03. Oof. I was pretty certain I didn't finish within a second of him. Then the 2nd place time showed up - 1:59.26. Ugh. Not looking good. I mentally prepared myself for 2:00.00 to show up next to my name. And then it came: 1:59.90. I clapped and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

It's crazy that if I'd run a tenth of a second slower, I would have been immensely disappointed in my race, yet there I was, ecstatic, as if I'd just won the Olympics. A tenth of a second is nothing. In basketball, you're not even allowed to catch a pass and shoot the ball if there are fewer than three-tenths left on the clock. But that's the nature of these arbitrary "barriers" -- like breaking 17 (or 16) in the 5K or 3:00:00 in the marathon. If you don't go under, you might as well have missed by an hour.

So, just under 11 years since the last time I did it (and almost exactly 11 years to the day since the last time I did it indoors), I was back on the right side of 2:00. What a relief.

Incredibly, I didn't have a coughing fit after the race. In fact, I coughed less the night after the race than I had the night before the race, and now my cough is all but gone. That doesn't make sense. Also, my knee pain that had absolutely killed every time I tried to run fast was a non-factor. I didn't feel it at all, and it, too, now feels much better. Maybe I just need to run all-out for two minutes every time I get sick or injured. It's apparently the miracle cure.

Next up is the Brrr-lingame 10 mile trail race. Only 20 times longer than this weekend's race. Can't wait! (No, really, I can't wait.)

Race video taken by my wife is below. My son handled it better this time. The video is tiny, so you might want to make it full screen. And don't worry, we've already had the discussion about landscape vs. portrait videography. It won't happen again.

Pre-Race Thoughts, Part II - The Positives...I guess

This was supposed to be a more optimistic post than the last. Maybe it will be by the time I'm done, but my outlook is decidedly negative at the moment for a couple of reasons. First, my grandfather passed away over the weekend. It wasn't unexpected -- he was 88 and had been quite sick for some time -- but it was nonetheless jarring. He was the grandfather that every kid wishes they had. He was goofy, had an enormous belly, and did magic tricks. He was also full of wit until the day he died. (The doctor checking his mental acuity on that day asked him if he knew what day it was. He replied, "What, you don't know?") I don't normally run for anyone but myself, but this weekend I'll be running for Gramps.

The second reason for my negativity is that, yet again, I got sick. Now, given the short amount of time most of you have known me, you've probably concluded that I'm either perpetually unhealthy or, as Mike G suggested, this is all psychosomatic. Neither is true! And, for the record, I am also quite a cheery and optimistic person. (Now you're thinking I'm in denial.) I am as flabbergasted by this series of illnesses as anyone. The short of it is this: I have a cold and sinus infection, and I feel miserable. [Note: I wrote this on Wednesday. It is now Friday, and I'm feeling quite a bit better.] I'm not complaining or making excuses in advance of the race. Writing about it is a form of therapy and maybe the only thing I can do that makes me feel better. On the brighter side, all signs of my bronchitis are almost completely gone (still some coughing/wheezing at night). On that positive note, let's turn to the good stuff.

Number Crunching
I'm not ashamed to admit it...I like numbers. I also like running. So, naturally, I had to find a way to combine these two objects of affection. In baseball, you might have heard of Sabermetrics -- "the search for objective knowledge about baseball."  Sabermetrics uses novel statistics to improve our understanding of the game. These are tools designed to better assess players' and teams' performance and include both the simple (e.g., OPS - on-base plus slugging percentage) and the complex (e.g., WAR - wins above replacement).

In running, the need for such analytics is seemingly small. We have had the best performance measure available to us for centuries - our finishing time. While baseball needs elaborate equations to determine whether Player A is better or worse than Player B, in running all we need is a stopwatch. But there still seems to be a gap in our understanding of how we can run our fastest in any given race. We might, through trial and error, figure out an approach to training and racing that works pretty well. But is it the ideal approach? Is there something more we could have done had we had the right information?

When preparing for my 800 meter training this year, these were the types of questions dancing around in my mind. To begin to answer them, I wanted to do an analysis, but I also wanted to keep it simple. I thought about finishing time. Finishing time is a function of speed, and speed is a combination of how far we stride and how rapidly we turn over from one stride to the next. (Distance per stride x Strides per minute = Distance/Minute, or velocity.) There must be a trade-off here - in order to stride farther, we have to sacrifice turnover, and vice versa. Given this, I wanted to know two things:

1. Is there an optimal stride length/rate combination for me in the 800?
2. What was the length/rate combo in my 800 race earlier this year, and can it give me insight into what my training should focus on this year?

But where do I get the data for this, you ask? Well, um, I watched some video...a lot of video...video of over 70 of my past 800 meter races, to be exact. (By the way, this was done a few years ago, before I had a kid. So, I was only neglecting my wife, not my son, while poring over these videos.) I took lap splits and literally counted my steps. A lot of effort for something pretty meaningless, sure, but I mentioned I like numbers, right? After it was collected, the data just sat in a spreadsheet for a while. It was high time to put it to use.

I calculated the average stride rate for each race (total number of strides divided by finishing time) and an average stride length (total number of strides divided by 800 meters). I then plotted these two numbers against each other to see where things fell.

I discovered a few things from this analysis:

• There's quite a bit of variability in both stride length and rate. Average length has varied between 1.90 and 2.10 meters, and stride rate has gone between 92 and 108 strides per minute.
• There's some clustering by year (i.e., there's more variation between years than within years). This might have been due to differences in fitness/strength or race strategy or both. 
• To my original question, there doesn't seem to be an optimal combination. Check out the graph below. The dashed green line represents the combination of stride length and rate that equates to a 2:00 800. Anything above it is a sub-2:00 performance; anything below is over 2:00. So, the farther above the line you go, the faster the race. You can see that my fastest times came with all sorts of different combinations. This is interesting and not really what I expected.

As I mentioned, the other thing I want to know is what I needed to do to get under 2:00 this weekend. Looking at the data from my January race (circled in the chart), the shortest distance to the 2:00 line would be to increase both turnover and stride length slightly. But perhaps the easiest way to get to the line is to work on what seems to be the biggest weakness -- stride length. You can see in the graph below that the average stride length in my January race was among the shortest of my running career.

Fortunately, I did this analysis shortly after my last race and was able to base some of my training plan on the findings. I made the assumption that stride length is partly a function of explosive leg strength. I knew that this would likely improve on its own through any 800-meter training program, but I wanted to supplement the training with something more targeted. Conveniently, I have a book called "Explosive Running," that gives examples of various plyometric exercises designed to improve leg strength and power. (By the way, check out my endurance library, and literally check out a book if you'd like.) After doing my research, I added some simple one- and two-leg jumps to my twice-weekly lifting sessions. I haven't done anything like this in a long time, and the only other time I routinely did these types of exercises, I ran my PR.

[Interesting anecdote about that PR: I was injured after the '02 XC season and didn't run a step until January '03. I started up a conservative running plan but added box jumps after most of my workouts. By the end of February, I was running 2 seconds faster than I'd ever run the 800 before. It's a small sample, but my coach and I were confident that the jumps had something to do with my sudden and unexpected improvement.]

All this analysis must seem like overkill. I'm clearly over-thinking something quite simple. But if I have the data, why not try to learn something from it? Sure, I could go on forever repeating the same training plan, making little tweaks here and there as I learn, but I'd rather innovate. We'll see this weekend how much, if at all, this little addition to my training program helped. If nothing else, at least I'll have another data point to add to the spreadsheet.

Running doesn't need a bunch of nerds to come in and invent new metrics with confusing acronyms; there are enough of us already here to do it ourselves. We all obsess over numbers anyway (mileage, times, elevation, rankings, etc.), why not take it to the next level? Isn't there something you'd like to figure out about your own racing or training? Maybe it's time to start gathering data.

Pre-Race Thoughts, Part I - The Negatives

"Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place." 
- the Red Queen, Alice in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll)

For nearly three months, I've been trying to get my body ready to run a sub-2:00 800. As I detailed in a previous post, it's been a long time since I broke this barrier, and, if I want to do it again, it has to be soon, or I'll likely miss my chance entirely.

Things got off to a smooth start this year, as I was able to build up some speed in preparation for the USATF-NE Masters meet in late January. I popped off a 2:02.6, narrowly losing to Mike Galoob, who was at the front end of a long (and still going) string of impressive races. That time was run on a flat 200m track and equates to a 2:00.8 on a banked track using the NCAA recommended conversion factor. Given that I also ran a poorly paced race that day, I probably wasn't far from being in sub-2:00 shape at the time. All I needed to over the ensuing month and a half was to maintain or slightly gain some speed (and then run a smarter race) to crack 2:00. It all seemed so straightforward at the time. Unfortunately, a spate of bad luck struck, and now I'm not sure I've gained any fitness at all since then.

As I write this, I have a piercing pain in my knee. My ankle is throbbing. I can hear my lungs wheeze with every breath. Am I 85 years old? What happened?

It was really just three independent events over the course of two weeks that resulted in this sorry state of affairs:

January 30th

What happened: The well-documented and complained-about ankle sprain. I recovered unusually quickly but still feel pain after hard workouts.

How it could have been avoided: Don't try to step on ice chunks of unknown size and firmness when running in the dark.

February 3rd through today

What happened: This requires a timeline of events.

Feb 3 - Started feeling sick midday. Flew to California for work. Felt terrible by the time I arrived.
Feb 5 - After resting for two days, felt better. Did a hard hill workout. Felt sick again for the next few days.
Feb 9 - Belleville Pond 10K race. Felt pretty strong during race and ran well.
Feb 10 - WTAC party. Got sore throat from talking so much (I am usually a selective mute). Lost voice over next few days.
Feb 11-14 - Developed cough that kept me up most nights. Took off from running a few days and didn't do any workouts.
Feb 16 - Finally did a workout again. Went well but cough was awful at night.
Feb 17-19 - Three days off. Cough is bad. Have to excuse self from meetings at work to deal with coughing fits.
Feb 20 - Short speed workout. Survive.
Feb 21-Mar 1 - A few runs and one workout. Almost stopped a run early after nearly puking following a particularly fierce coughing fit. (I wound up getting lost on this run, so maybe the coughing fit was a sign from the running gods.) Decided it's time to go to doctor. Have bronchitis. Get prescribed an inhaler and cough pills.
Mar 2-5 - A welcome excursion to Disney World thanks to Ma and Pa Garvin's generosity. Cough subsided almost immediately in the warm weather. Hmm. Got in two workouts in a week for the first time since January.
Mar 6 - Home again. Freaking cough and wheezing are back.

How it could have been avoided: Rest when feeling sick until completely better, especially in the winter. I'm starting to wonder if I somehow damaged my lungs by trying to run through this. What will happen if I try to race an 800 with already suffering lungs? Am I risking a long-term issue?

One other note is that I should be extra cautious during February. Thanks to my data obsession, I have the nice frequency histogram below showing the number of illnesses I've had by month since 1998. February, October, and November are the clear "winners." Maybe I should live in a bubble during those months. If I do, let's just agree right now not to play Trivial Pursuit.



February 9th

What happened: Ran Belleville 10K. Tweaked something in an unusual spot on the inside of my right knee due to rough footing. It's not a normal running injury but seems more like a basketball/football/skiing injury, like I strained my MCL or something. My internet-based self-diagnosis is actually Pes Anserine Tendinopathy (say what?), as it really only hurts when running fast, doing hamstring curls, and twisting my knee getting out of my car or stepping over baby gates.

How it could have been avoided: Don't run a snowy trail 10K when training for the 800! There's no way I wasn't going to run this race, but if I want to seriously focus on a single event, I shouldn't be messing around with these unrelated races. Even after the injury, I could have approached the recovery differently. This actually isn't the first time I've had this bizarre injury. In 2011, I injured the same exact spot during the one and only yoga class I ever took. (We were repeatedly told by the instructor that yoga isn't a competitive sport, but I totally won that class.) After that, I took a week off completely, and the injury went away shortly thereafter.

Summary

It all seems so simply avoidable in retrospect, but is there anything more difficult than deciding whether or not to back off when you're feeling a little sick or a little injured? As runners, we're always striking that delicate balance between not enough and too much, and when something comes along that threatens the balance, we make small adjustments to keep it in check without going too far one way or the other. Inevitably, we look back with regret when we fail to take the prudent path. "If I'd just taken off a week, I would have kicked the cold/injury right away and been able to gain back all that fitness and more." But when you're in the fog of a training plan, it's hard to know how those decisions will play out. I keep intricate records of all my past injuries and illnesses specifically so I don't make the same mistake twice, yet I'm learning that every situation is different, and I don't have enough data points to know how my body will respond to the particular set of variables it faces each time.

To be honest, I'm not sure I would approach things differently if I had to do it over again. I already take off three or four days a week; in my mind, that should be enough to kick a nagging illness or injury. Anything more seems like overkill. Had I taken the time off, I might still be sick and sore but also slower. Who's to say I didn't already take the ideal path and that my current state was a guaranteed outcome regardless of my approach.

Despite all this, there were some positives to come out of February. I managed to maintain some fitness (I hope) by doing one hard workout per week. (I should note that I have no idea what pace I've been running, since the snow has rendered track work impossible and I don't trust my Garmin on short intervals.) I kept my injuries at bay. I got in some decent mileage (for me) and feel pretty aerobically fit. If I could just get rid of this darn cough, I'd be feeling pretty good about things.

Stay tuned for Part II (The Positives) in a few days. There will be more charts and more data!