Reading Chris McDougall's Born to Run

Helen and I both just finished reading Chris McDougall's Born to Run. And both of us liked it quite a bit – probably I more than Helen, who found it good but self-serving. But, then, she finished it pretty quickly, too, and even started running around the street without her shoes on lately. Hard to believe that's a coincidence.

One of the most impressive aspects of the book, for me, is the way that it's got so much going on in it, while being such a page-turner. Yes, it's about running. But to be more specific, it's about:
-a tribe of indigenous Mexicans, the Tarahumara
-why shoes are bad
-the ultra-running community, and ultrarunning's evolution as a sport
-how we should run on our midfoot
-who we are as human beings
-traveling in some really remote and dangerous areas of Mexico
-how homo-sapiens defeated the neanderthals (hint: it's got to do with running)
-an 'underground' ultra in rural Mexico
-Chris McDougall himself

It's hard to get that many themes into one book. And yet, there's another list of what the book is about, running paralell to the first list: it's about Scott Jurek, about Bill and Jenn, and about Ann Trason; it's about Joe Vigil and Barefoot Ted and Arnulfo Quimare. It's about the scores of people – runners, explorers, biologists – whom McDougall brings to life through his writing. Above all, it's about a guy known as Caballo Blanco, a white guy living down near, but not among, the Tarahumara. And, yes, it's about McDougall, and his path from oft-injured wannabe runner to barefoot ultra runner.


Running is the one theme running through all of the book. Running really really long distances. One of the book's arguments is that humans evolved as distance runners, using some sort of 'persistence hunting' to track down large animals. So tribes that still do distance running are remnants of our prehistoric past, and events like the Leadville 100 or Western States are a way of humans returning to their original evolutionary purpose. Even marathons – writing about this book, marathons wind up sounding short, even for someone like me who's never run farther than that – represent some sort of biological urge to go back to our roots.

As anthropology, the book isn't great. It's got a lot of the really old anthro, or pop-anthro, with its fetishism of origins: that the Tarahumara are a glimpse at humans as they used to be, somehow closer to the "essence of man"; that there is only value in discovering cultures as they used to be before being contaminated by modernization; you can even add in the view of annual rituals as "safety valves." In anthropology today, you can't make those kinds of arguments. Even in the 1960s, they were pretty outdated. And it could well be that the evolutionary theory and the biological theory are just as weak, it's just too far out of my realm of expertise for me to know.

Still, having said that, I'm very impressed with the book. And I say that more as a writer than as a runner.


McDougall at Vally Green with Bob R

As a runner, I'm not sure what to make of this. For McDougall, humans are meant to run on their forefoot. Running shoes with padded heels give us injuries and weak feet. But I've been running for several years now, and (knocking on wood) I've stayed pretty healthy. I wear cushy shoes, I land on my heel. I do everything wrong, according to this book. But, then, a lot of people do. I'll take another look at this if I become more injury prone. For, now, though, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. But I'll say this: while reading the book, it's really, really convincing. I can't imagine finishing the book and not wanting to run an ultra while landing on my midfoot.

How do you write a book that includes whole sections about evolutionary biology and not make it boring? How do you write a book that inspires people to do something so crazy as running up and down mountains at night? And – for me, this is one of the biggest questions – how do you write such a riveting book that contains so many themes?

I had a similar reaction around 10 years ago, when I read Friday Night Lights. Both are non-fiction written by journalists. Both of them manage to have a huge number of themes running through them. There are just more arguments here than you can pull off in an academic book, without having that book turn into something totally unreadable, without writing something that reads like the Theory of Communicative Action.

It seems to me that there are two keys. One is that, freed from the constraints of academic writing, you can include more suggestive arguments rather than conclusive ones. You can make claims meant to provoke thought rather than to pass peer reviews. And the second key is the characters. You wind up having such a good sense of these people by the end of the book. Without these characters, there's no way that this book – that either book – would be so riveting.

The Day After

Yesterday, I ran 26 miles.
Today, I walked a mile and a half. I'm not sure which hurt more.

The plan for today was simple: head out to the bank, cafe, and drug store. All are in the neighborhood. My game plan was pretty conservative; I even left my netbook at home, thinking that the extra 2.8 pounds might make this too hard.
My original goal was to go the bank first. That's the longest walk, so I wanted to get it out of the way first. But I had to adjust my goals after I'd started. It was just too hard. So I made an on-the-fly decision – 'called an audible,' if you will – to go to the coffee shop first. There, I could sit and rest up, while reading. I could also get some more fuel in my system.
I pulled off the stop in the coffee shop fine. But the whole time I was there, I knew that I was just delaying the inevitable: the trip to the bank. It really weighed on me. So finally, I decided to take the bull by the horns, got up, and headed out.
The trip to the bank wound up being ok. But the bank isn't a rest-up spot. You're standing the whole time you're there, and you're only there for 2-3 minutes. And let me tell you, the walk from the bank to the drug store is NOT easy.
I chose the route down Durham street. I knew that there was something of a descent there, but I'd underestimated it. Somehow, it got steeper today. I tried to go gingerly. At around the point where I passed the one-mile mark, there were some fences I could hold. But when they end, I was on my own – just me, a slippery brick sidewalk, and some overgrown grass. On a hill. I mean, come on! It was step after painful step until I reached Cresheim. But I made it.
The walk from there was easier. Flat, or uphill. I stayed conservative, crossing at green lights and looking for cars. I knew, once I made it back to our block, that I was going to make it home.
In retrospect, I was right to leave the netbook at home. The walk was tough enough as it is. But I'm also glad to have gone on the walk. Not because I needed to do the errands, but because it's this sort of mental toughness that helps you through difficult times later on.

-
So, listing the pains:
1) Thighs.
Mostly, the quads, but both thighs are sore. This really comes out walking up stairs, walking down stairs, walking on flat land, and sitting still.
This I expected. It hurts, but I expected it.
2) The bottom of my right foot.
This really hurts when I'm walking, specifically when I land on my right foot.
This one I expected, too. I've got some weird corn/callous/growth right where under the ball of my foot. By the end of the race it was really hurting. And today, yeah, I still feel it.
3) My right ankle.
This one I didn't expect. It hurts when I bend my ankle, when I rotate it. Monitoring this one.
4) My lower back.
I don't think that's from the race. I think it's from walking around since then, trying to control my body and taking smaller steps.
All in all, I'm doing around how I expected. Sore, but I can move. I've even been going up and down stairs. I just do it one at a time.

2:57:44

Today I ran the Philadelphia Marathon.


I'd had this marathon on my radar for a while. I'd decided over a year ago that I'd do the 09 Philly marathon. And I'd decided that I'd try to finish it in less than three hours.
Someday things will come crushing down on me. Someday I'll set myself a goal and not reach it. Someday my streak of a PR at every race will end. So far, I've been lucky. But on the eve of the marathon, I was worried – worried that my feet would bother me, worried that my shoes would be too uncomfortable. Mostly, though, I was worried about my stomach. It was kind of bugging me.

But things worked out. Thanks, pepto-bismol.

I went into the race with two plans. On my right wrist I had a wrist band with the mile goals for a 3-hour marathon, with even times for each mile. On my left wrist, I had a more aggressive, Philly-specific wristband, designed for a 2:56:30 marathon. With secret plans of trying to break 2:55. But I always knew that was a pipe dream. The plan was to run a 1:28 first half and then see from there.
The race started out easy enough. I was worried about congestion at the start, but that was not a problem. I was able to settle into a pace pretty well. It was never that easy a pace, but I concentrated on keeping calm and keeping my shoulders relaxed. I was able to get a little time cushion in front of even my more optimistic left-arm wristband.
The first 7 miles were fun, and fairly easy. The only down point was not seeing Helen at mile 6, where I expected her. She saw me and called my name – but here's the thing. My bib said "Noah" on it. People were yelling "go Noah" and "good job Noah" the whole race.
So it threw me a little, not seeing her, but I knew it was tough to see people in the crowd. I just tried to keep going. I started pacing off of this group of three guys with "runner's alley" shirts on – they were going just a little faster than I would have, so it helped keep me focused. Having run all of the route before in training helped a lot psychologically. I did pretty well going through the west park, generally keeping pace with my left arm wristband. I knew that somewhere behind me was a 3 hour pace-group, so I wouldn't panic unless I saw them.
This approach got me through the first half. I was able to get past one of my worries, by not going through the half marathon finish line. Soon, I was back on the main route, ready to start the second half.
Helen joined me at that point, and kept me company from mile 14 to mile 18. These were relatively easy miles. The three guys slowed down, so I ran past them. I was impressed that Helen could keep up, since she'd just run the four corners the day before, but she didn't even seem to be struggling.
Helen stopped off at mile 18, at the Wanderers' water stop. Afterwards was a low point. I'd counted on getting gels at that water stop, but there weren't any. This was a major blow to my strategy, which basically involved eating a lot of gels.
That low point wouldn't last. Running through Manayunk was fun. My sister and my nephews were there to cheer me on, which was a huge boost. There was a spot to get gels, saving my strategy. The crowd there was good. And there was even one spot where they were playing Eye of the Tiger.
At around 20 miles, you make a 180 degree turn and start heading back to the Art Museum. I'd told myself that if I felt good at this point, I could speed up a bit. By this time I was a little behind my left arm wristband, but still well ahead of my right arm wristband. I didn't really have it in me to speed up, though. So I concentrated on keeping a good pace and staying relaxed. I was starting to get sore, but optimistic about a strong finish. That optimism lasted through the return trip to the Wanderers water stop. Not much longer, though.
Somewhere around mile 22-23, the pounding started really adding up. My shoes felt too hard, my legs too sore. I stopped looking at my wrist bands. The three-hour pace group hadn't caught up to me, so I knew I wasn't fading too fast. I started timing miles. I kept my focus on staying loose, but that wasn't easy. My legs were hurting. I tried to pass more people than passed me, but a bunch of people passed me. I had to let them go. I missed having Helen run with me in the last stretch, like she had at National. One of my miles was around 7 minutes, which was slower than I was going for. 2:55 was gone. That was ok. That was always a pipe dream. I still wanted to break 3 hours, though. The math was on my side - I knew I had a little bit of a cushion. But I also started to feel my calf start to cramp up. It was like a cramp-breeze blowing across my calf – it started to seize up and then went away. But I knew that I had to monitor that.

The last 3.2 weren't fun. I was just hoping on surviving, hoping my calf woudn't cramp up. I did and it didn't. I managed to get a little kick in the last quarter mile. I ran past the finish line in 2:57:44.

Now, I'm recovering. In other words, I'm really, really sore. And I'm in no rush to run another marathon – or at least, to race another marathon. For now, I'm looking forward to some time off, and then to getting back into running on the trails, and riding my bike some more. I don't know if I've got many more marathons in me.

One More Day!

Ok. The taper madness wasn't as bad as it could have been.
It wasn't easy, but I didn't buy anything particularly silly this time. And it's almost over!
It's now one day from the Philly Marathon. As I write this, I'm around 23 hours from starting. And I'm nervous.

It's not the big things that worry me. I've done a lot of training. And yes, I think I've tapered too much and that I've lost all my fitness, but I know that's how I'm supposed to feel.

And, contrary to my expectations, I have not contracted swine flu during the taper period.

On the other hand, I'm kind of worried about my feet. I'm still wandering around lost in the sea of running shoes, ever since Mizuno changed the wave riders. I've got a new pair of new balances, which I'm going to wear, but they're a lot harder than I'm used to. Plan is to have a back up pair of running shoes at mile 18. Just in case. Meanwhile, the weird little callous/corn/unidentified growth I've got under the ball of my right foot... well, the taper period hasn't turned out well. It seems to have taken the opportunity to grow a bit more. So, the conundrum: leave as is, or risk last minute changes? Ugh.

So, that's what I'm worried about. I'm hoping that, in the excitement of the day, all this won't matter. I'm also hoping that I can do well tomorrow. We'll know soon.

let the taper madness begin!!!

Ok. I'm now officially in my taper.
In some sense, I'm over a week into the taper. I went with a 3-week marathon taper; the first week is pretty mild, though, more like a light week during the training. I had had some pretty big weeks – a few over 50, and one that even peaked over 60. Last week was down to 40, so that's still a whole lot of running. And it included a 15 mile run this weekend.
That should be enough to keep me sane, right?
Maybe. Maybe not.
On the one hand, I don't remember yelling at anyone, picking any fights, or generally being disagreeable to the point where strangers would notice.
On the other hand, I did drag Helen all the way to the Bryn Mawr Running Company, because I was convinced that I didn't have the right kind of shoes for the race.
And that was in a week that still had a fair amount of running.
This week will be far less running, more like 30 miles. I don't know why that seems so light, lots of weeks this summer were like that. But it does seem light. No more running home from class, no more running to class from home. No more 20 milers, no more yasso-800s, no more 2-mile repeats at the track. Whaddameyegonnado?
And all the symptoms are there. I feel sluggish. I feel slow. I'm convinced that I blew my training. That I peaked too early. That I'm just not gonna be ready. I even felt a little under the weather the other day. Luckily that passed.
But with close to 2 weeks still to go, I just don't know. I'm hoping that my taper tantrums are mild. That I don't burn any bridges. But I just don't know.