Truth in Advertising
I am a slow runner. When I say this, people often try to reframe this statement with various qualifiers;
I will take the compliments that are probably embedded within these (and other) statements, though in the interest of honesty and full-disclosure, I stand by my first statement - I am a slow runner.
I'm bringing this up now, because I recently registered for my first marathon. Over the next six months, I will share photos and blog postings related to training for the Driftless 50 marathon. In the process, I don't want to nurture any mythologies surrounding my running prowess. I am a (very) slow runner.
Watching me run is like watching a slow-motion video. While many people are hoping to compete at 8-minute/mile pace, I'm ramping up my training so that I can run this marathon at approximately twice that pace. Seriously - I am shooting to run 13-15 minute/mile pace in this trail marathon. I'm not sure why I am such a slow runner, though it is not for lack of inquiry.
A few years ago I tried to get to the bottom of why I'm such a slow runner, and went to an exercise physiology lab to have my VO2max tested. Three separate tests all came up with the same result - I am a very aerobically fit person. I have an aerobic capacity (VO2max) that's just this side of what exercise physiologists call "superior." Oddly enough, though, this cardiovascular fitness doesn't translate into horizontal displacement.
More than likely my joint laxity factors in. As I've found with many clients, the looser one's connective tissue, the more the surrounding muscles have to work to hold everything together. Rather than efficiently using energy to propel forward, people with joint laxity are using all sorts of energy to keep a knee from tracking over there, an elbow from flailing the other direction, and so forth. This is one reason why people who are very flexible may look a bit, umm, not-so-integrated when they run. Relatedly, I seem to do better with cardiovascular activities that are more horizontal than vertical. What does that mean for performance?
Being upright falls under the category of orthostatic stressor. While that may sound ominous, it's really just a statement of fluid dynamics. Gravity pulls stuff earthward, fluids included. Since the human head is perched several feet above the ground (in my case, six and one-half feet above the ground), blood tends to pool in locations closer to the ground. As a result, it takes more than wishful thinking to keep the brain sufficiently perfused with oxygen-rich blood. In the case of lax connective tissue, which effects veins as much as it does ligaments, the heart has to beat faster to keep blood from pooling in the legs when in an upright position. Many people with joint laxity, myself included, tend to thrive in less-vertical pursuits such as rowing, swimming and biking.
In my own case, I've found that my power output on a rowing erg matches the results of my VO2max tests. In the more horizontal positioning of a rowing machine, my heart doesn't have to work as hard to pump blood up to my brain. As a result, I am able to produce a power output that's more in line with my VO2max test results. Once I'm up on my feet and running, though, it's an entirely different result.
Some people may ask, since rowing shows that you are capable of producing your VO2max-proportional output, why don't you just push harder and run at a more running pace? I've tried this strategy, and indeed I can crank out long-ish runs in the 10-minute/mile range. For better or worse, though, I end up with my heart beating in the 170-180 beats per minute (bpm) range. While I can hang at that pace for protracted periods of time, the intensity of that training load tends to leave me amped up for a couple days. If I didn't have work, school, family and other considerations, I'd be more inclined to lean into training at a higher percentage of my full capacity. Unfortunately, this training intensity negatively impacts my sleep (hello, 2am fretting) and fans the flames of my already not-insignificant tendency to be anxious. Through experience, I've found that I thrive when I train in the heart rate range of about 125-140bpm.
All this to say, I really enjoy getting out in the forest and running. Walking doesn't get my heart rate into the zone where I feel best, so I prefer to run (even though my running is scarcely faster than a walk). I am still a bit self-conscious about my running pace, though I am leaning into this negative inner-dialogue by publicly signing up for a marathon. I'm not quite to the point of publicly posting my workouts in forums like Strava, though who knows, maybe this training goal will reinforce my resolve?
- You're not slow for your age.
- You are holding yourself to too high a standard.
- You're faster than I am!
I will take the compliments that are probably embedded within these (and other) statements, though in the interest of honesty and full-disclosure, I stand by my first statement - I am a slow runner.
I'm bringing this up now, because I recently registered for my first marathon. Over the next six months, I will share photos and blog postings related to training for the Driftless 50 marathon. In the process, I don't want to nurture any mythologies surrounding my running prowess. I am a (very) slow runner.
Watching me run is like watching a slow-motion video. While many people are hoping to compete at 8-minute/mile pace, I'm ramping up my training so that I can run this marathon at approximately twice that pace. Seriously - I am shooting to run 13-15 minute/mile pace in this trail marathon. I'm not sure why I am such a slow runner, though it is not for lack of inquiry.
A few years ago I tried to get to the bottom of why I'm such a slow runner, and went to an exercise physiology lab to have my VO2max tested. Three separate tests all came up with the same result - I am a very aerobically fit person. I have an aerobic capacity (VO2max) that's just this side of what exercise physiologists call "superior." Oddly enough, though, this cardiovascular fitness doesn't translate into horizontal displacement.
More than likely my joint laxity factors in. As I've found with many clients, the looser one's connective tissue, the more the surrounding muscles have to work to hold everything together. Rather than efficiently using energy to propel forward, people with joint laxity are using all sorts of energy to keep a knee from tracking over there, an elbow from flailing the other direction, and so forth. This is one reason why people who are very flexible may look a bit, umm, not-so-integrated when they run. Relatedly, I seem to do better with cardiovascular activities that are more horizontal than vertical. What does that mean for performance?
Being upright falls under the category of orthostatic stressor. While that may sound ominous, it's really just a statement of fluid dynamics. Gravity pulls stuff earthward, fluids included. Since the human head is perched several feet above the ground (in my case, six and one-half feet above the ground), blood tends to pool in locations closer to the ground. As a result, it takes more than wishful thinking to keep the brain sufficiently perfused with oxygen-rich blood. In the case of lax connective tissue, which effects veins as much as it does ligaments, the heart has to beat faster to keep blood from pooling in the legs when in an upright position. Many people with joint laxity, myself included, tend to thrive in less-vertical pursuits such as rowing, swimming and biking.
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| I've been running to class lately, albeit very slowly. |
Some people may ask, since rowing shows that you are capable of producing your VO2max-proportional output, why don't you just push harder and run at a more running pace? I've tried this strategy, and indeed I can crank out long-ish runs in the 10-minute/mile range. For better or worse, though, I end up with my heart beating in the 170-180 beats per minute (bpm) range. While I can hang at that pace for protracted periods of time, the intensity of that training load tends to leave me amped up for a couple days. If I didn't have work, school, family and other considerations, I'd be more inclined to lean into training at a higher percentage of my full capacity. Unfortunately, this training intensity negatively impacts my sleep (hello, 2am fretting) and fans the flames of my already not-insignificant tendency to be anxious. Through experience, I've found that I thrive when I train in the heart rate range of about 125-140bpm.
All this to say, I really enjoy getting out in the forest and running. Walking doesn't get my heart rate into the zone where I feel best, so I prefer to run (even though my running is scarcely faster than a walk). I am still a bit self-conscious about my running pace, though I am leaning into this negative inner-dialogue by publicly signing up for a marathon. I'm not quite to the point of publicly posting my workouts in forums like Strava, though who knows, maybe this training goal will reinforce my resolve?
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