The following appeared in When Running Was Young And So Were We. A critically-acclaimed compendium.
The first day of January is a good time to give some thought to those New Year’s resolutions.
I have a sneaky sensation these are my notes for a talk I gave at a marathon symposium, likely in Greece, in 1979. – JDW
The legendary Jack Foster has said he doesn’t train, he just runs every day. He does it well enough to have run a 2:11 marathon at the age of 41. Do not be misled by Foster’s disclaimer – he is most certainly training. Frank Shorter once pointed out, “You don’t run 2:10 on good looks and a secret recipe.” You have to train, and you have to train properly.
A runner cannot possibly train properly unless he knows why he is training. An athlete should think of his training as a jig-saw puzzle. Each day, every workout, is another piece.
To successfully complete that puzzle, he must have a good understanding of what it will look like when’s he’s finished putting the puzzle together.
Do you run to race faster, to lose weight, or to forget the stock market? Are you trying to run a half-mile PR or break 3 hours for the marathon? Unless you are running for the sheer thrill of the wind in your hair – not that there’s anything wrong with that – you should know why you are out there. You should design your running to maximize the likelihood you’ll attain your goals.
Perhaps the optimal design for a training program is according to the principle of specificity. Simply put, specificity means the best way to learn to do something is by doing it. A boy or girl becomes a good basketball player by playing basketball, not by bowling. An athlete who wants to race fast should prepare by running fast in training. Jogging slowly will make you a good slow jogger. (LSD training has demonstrated an athlete can indeed run slowly in practice and race much faster in competition.
Remember, however, one does not necessarily follow the other, as does night the day.)
Specificity describes training designed to mimic the desired response. A runner who wants to cover 26.2 miles in less than three hours will not train by running repeat 100-yard sprints. He will, however, run long distances at a pace around 6:50 per mile. At least he will, if he knows what training is meant to accomplish.
Training is meant to cause the athlete’s body to adapt to specific stresses. If a person trains by covering one mile in 5½ minutes, his body will modify its physiological functions to meet the demand. The runner will adapt so he will be able to run that distance at that pace.
A 10-kilometer race requires a 5% anaerobic effort. A marathon is about 99% aerobic, but there is still that 1% without oxygen. If that percentage correlates exactly – and I imagine it does not – then one minute and forty-eight seconds of a three-hour marathon require anaerobic ability. The runner who has not prepared in training to perform anaerobically is therefore handicapped. A marathoner who trains 10 miles daily can run just one fast mile weekly and exceed the 1% anaerobic level.
Specificity applies to factors other than speed. It makes sense to me, if you want to race long, you must train long. Why should a body that has never run farther than 10 miles in training be expected to go another 16 in competition?
Certainly there are many marathoners who never run long workouts, yet they can cover the 26.2 miles with aplomb.
I myself have run a marathon personal best without a single training run exceeding 12 miles. That does not make it an intelligent scheme, however. Note well: my run was most assuredly achieved without aplomb.
I am unaware of any runners who perform well on hilly courses without having run hills in training. Uphill running is cardiovascular interval work. It’s tough, and it must be practiced to allow the runner to adapt to that particular stress.
Once you go up a hill, you’ll probably have to run down. That is not as easy as it may sound. The legs take a terrible beating on a downhill course. If you don’t believe anything else you read here, please believe you had better practice downhill running before you compete at Boston or the Fiesta Bowl marathon. That is, if you want to be able to walk up a flight of stairs the next couple of days.
A few more words about specificity. Train at least once weekly on the surface upon which you plan to race. Although I would love to run a marathon with a slight downhill grade on a firm, yet yielding surface – preferably with a tail wind – I have yet to locate such a venue. I doubt you have either. If you are racing on hard macadam roads, it is important you occasionally train on them. The legs must be introduced to the stress they will encounter during the competition.
Beach runs are an excellent example. Since your foot goes “beneath” the plane of the surface, your Achilles tendons are stretched much more than normal. Anyone who races in sand should run on the beach several times before the actual competition. Clearly, additional stretching of the lower leg is similarly advisable.
If you expect to race well, you might think – strongly – about simulating race conditions in training. Long after your body has surrendered to the rigors of competition, your mind can continue to push and strive. I do not believe it is reasonable to expect such desire will naturally evolve from the race situation itself.
Training must be done in doses, and I mean that in a pharmaceutical sense. Two aspirins may cure a headache, yet a bottle of the same compound will most likely cause death. The same principle applies to training. 10 x 440 twice weekly might make you a faster runner. 10 x 440 twice daily might make you a golfer with a limp.
Many modern athletes seem to ask, “How much is too much?” Instead of trying to determine how little they need to succeed, they invariably see how much they can do before breaking down. You can only discover the answer to “How much is too much?” when it is too late.
Better training is not necessarily more training. Sometimes less can be more. More better. The athlete must evaluate his entire lifestyle, not just his running. Eight hours of basketball on a rest day is obviously not a respite from the physical rigors of running. Okay, it is a respite from running, but not from the “rigors.” A sleepless night, or an argument with your spouse, must be acknowledged because this, too, is stress.
It is essential to purge your mind of the idea the more miles you run, the better/faster you will become.
Many runners count miles as if they were coins of the realm, each alike, each of the same value. An athlete may jog five miles one day, then race a five-mile personal best the next day; he will log ten miles total in his diary. The first run is seen the same as the second. After all, five miles is five miles, right? Wrong. Ludicrous, but many people count their miles just that way. Why? Because they evaluate their running by the total mileage accumulated.
The running community continually reinforces this “miles-are-everything” syndrome. Every profile of an athlete contains a note about his mileage totals. Runners are always comparing their weekly sum against that of others. The first thing non-runners ask is “How far do you run?” And don’t you just love it? Your spine straightens, your chest swells: “Oh, I’m injured, so I’ve cut back to just 80 miles a week.”
I actually said that once. Once, at least. And I hereby publicly apologize. (One of my fonder sports memories is hearing my non-running brother exclaim, with not a little bemusement: “You know, you put more miles on your legs this year than I did on my car.”)
Let’s stop comparing mileage. The next time you get into a conversation with another runner, don’t ask how far he or she ran last month. Instead, inquire: “How many runs did you enjoy? How many times last month did you dread going out in the rain?” (Here you can insert your own climatological burden.) Compare something meaningful, something important, something real, if you must compare anything at all.
Those running magazines which publish training schedules could use this theory to great advantage. After all, who wants to emulate some star who dreads every workout? I would much rather see something like… Frank Shorter, 30 years old, 2:10:30 PR. Trains 10 great, 15 okay, 3 poor, 2 abysmal days per month.
This method of running measurement would do much to eliminate the unfortunate prejudice leveled at those people who run fewer miles. Just as skin color is no indication of one’s worth as a person, mileage is no gauge of a runner. I know it is simplistic, but these prejudices exist.
Since mileage is not a rational indicator of one’s running, ummm, worthiness, a three-mile a day runner can be just as admirable as the person who does twenty miles. The person who jogs seven great runs weekly is surely “superior” to one who runs faster but logs just a single great day.
And if you must compare mileage still, the first runner would run 21 great miles weekly, whereas the second could only manage 20. Less is truly more.
Hubert Humphrey often said that life is not to be endured, but enjoyed. You should apply that wisdom to your training.
RUNNING, Fall 1979
I wrote these notes nearly 35 years ago. Probably after a 100-mile week. In those days, I often went out at 10:30 at night, because I needed to get in a few more miles. Needed to.
And what you learn about running and what you learn about life is… it’s not the stuff you do, but how you do the stuff you do… that’s what really matters. – JDW