Running Gently, Part 1

Two things happened yesterday:

First, I ran 4.3 miles.  This is (sad to say) the farthest I have ever run consecutively.  As in, I didn't stop, I did it on purpose, and I did it as a part of my training for the 10K I have Sunday and my eventual half marathon.  I also did it outside - I don't have access to a treadmill right now, so I'm out pounding the pavement, no matter what the weather.  Turns out today was quite nice, despite not getting very far into the 20's (that's below-zero in Celsius, for all my international readers!).

Second, I started my new internship at a footwear company.  It will not be possible to convey my excitement about this.  For the next 3-6 months, I work in the sports research lab, where I will learn everything I could have ever hoped to know about shoes and shoe construction.  I literally use a saw to cut shoes in half, and then in half again, in an effort to understand what goes into their construction, right down to the last detail (pun intended, for those who know shoes).

What does my day have to do with running gently?  Well... everything.

In addition to the actual research that comes out of a corporate sponsored research lab, it's a pretty neat stop on any guided tour.  Apparently this happens all the time, and yesterday was no exception, as we hosted a large group who does business with the shoe company.  While they are being shown the lab's capabilities, they have the opportunity to ask questions.  One astute participant asked about running form, and if the lab had any empirical data to support the superiority of a mid-foot foot-strike.

My colleague's response so so well-put I found myself wishing I'd had a video camera set up to capture it.  In essence, the research lab has not yet had the opportunity to assess the "superiority" of any particular gait pattern.  A quick review of th available literature suggests that not many others have attempted to answer this question in any resounding manner, either.  He continued, (and of course I am paraphrasing) "The variability of each individual's body type, morphology and individual physical characteristics probably means that there is not any one way that is the right way to run.  This is true of all our research.  When we created (a product), we wanted to know, how does this feel to a majority of people?  Not, 'Does this work for everybody?', because nothing will never be right for everybody.  But, can we manage to provide something for the majority of people who might be interested in it?"

Another colleague chimed in, citing Christopher McDougall, who I referenced in my last blog post.  He mentioned how in McDougall's case, he had tried many, many different options to run comfortably and without injury, all to no avail.  "In his situation, where he has tried just about everything without any success, well then maybe it makes sense to do something completely different - like run barefoot, or in minimal shoes."

While it is a virtual certainty that there is not one correct way for everybody to run (the concept of variability), it is equally likely that it is possible to change your running form (the concept of adaptability).  In fact, it is already known that, like any exercise program, a running program designed to specifically alter your gait in one way or another can be successful - and the empirical evidence will probably be published to back it up soon.  Once again, while this may not be the right idea for *everyone*, it is probably a good idea for some people.

Like me, for instance... which brings me to yesterday's run.  I have always been a sprinter (see my first blog where I begrudgingly admit to transitioning into being a "runner" now).  I train for power.  I know that the more force I put into the ground, the more ground reaction force I get out of it - the harder I push off the ground, the higher I can jump.  Unfortunately, this has not translated well for distance running.  My feet slap the ground with the grace of a drunk clown chasing down children.  My strides are long, because I am used to having short bursts of speed and reaching with my feet, as you do while dribbling a soccer ball (pushing it out in front of you) or challenging an opponent.  These techniques lead to some serious inefficiencies when it comes to endurance training.  Thus, I have consciously worked on adjusting my stride to one that allows me to run longer without sacrificing too much in speed.

In this way, I borrowed the methodology of cyclists, a sport which I am a bit more familiar with (and better at, if only marginally).  Lance Armstrong, among others, advocates using higher gears ("easier") and an increased tempo, somewhere around 90 beats a minute (45 revolutions per foot).  With this in mind, I shortened my stride and increased my tempo - hitting the ground more often but not traveling as far with each step.  I haven't broken down the biomechanics of it yet, but so far it's been successful cardiovascularly.  I can run farther, with roughly the same overall pace, but my heart rate stays lower and I don't feel as "gassed" as I typically do, especially on hills.  My legs also feel stronger throughout the entire run.  In some way, I have found an efficiency increase.

I practiced this on yesterday's run, with great success.  However, by the time I was finished I was having terrible hip pain over both my IT bands and in my right hip flexor (where I've had previous trouble).  I believe it leads back to the concept of "running gently."  Though I promised a conclusion to this discussion in my last post, I will have to put it off for one more entry... I don't want to be late for my other job!

Next time:  Landing postures, warm-up and strength training... How these things have helped me be successful and injury-free.

"Proper" Running Form?

I've had the flu for 6 days, and I am happy to report that I am finally on the mend.  Fortunately, I was sick during a week where my work schedule was light and I had a lot of free time.  Unfortunately, I had planned on using that free time to train for my upcoming 10k in Hyannis next weekend.  Next week I am starting two new jobs... and still working the old job.  That means that when I run the 10k, the farthest training run I will have logged is 3.6 miles, and it was over two weeks before the actual race.  While this is not a training mechanism I would recommend to anyone (and one I will not employ in the future), I am nonetheless going to run the race, come hell or high water!!  I may not finish in record time, but I will finish.

In the meantime, I wanted to build on my last blog, where I started to discuss proper running form.  As I mentioned, running shoes have taken a lot of blame for the gait of many of today's athletes.  As Townsend pointed out in the article I linked to, until very recently all athletic shoes were built with cushioned heels that were designed to reduce impact forces during heel striking.  This leads to a "chicken-or-egg" scenario: Did running shoe companies provide cushioned heels because athletes were hurting themselves while heel striking and needed such cushioning?  Or did athletes begin heel striking with the creation of shoes that allowed them to do so?

Before I answer this question, I want to point to another blog post, by RunBlogger's Pete Larson.  Larson is a biologist, and in his post, he brings up a point that anyone who has ever done a science experiment is familiar with: variability.  As a biologist, Larson has come across variability in his research, and his knowledge of the world around us leads him to believe that the same variability he finds in other organisms probably exists in humans.  He is, in fact, correct.  While we often hear that there is one "correct" way of doing something (for instance, how to squat), the truth is that humans have a high amount of variability between them, and even within them.  In the RunBlogger post, there is a video of 4 of the top 5 finishers at the 2010 Boston Marathon.  Even among these elite runners, there is variability in all aspect of their gait.

Back to the heel striking question: were shoes designed because we were heel strikers, or did we become heel strikers because of the way shoes were designed?  A quick personal anecdote gives you my answer.  I have used a wide variety of athletic footwear in my life, at one point wearing orthotics and motion-control shoes, and at others wearing minimalist shoes.  All other factors aside, when I run in minimalist shoes (ones with no cushioning or drop, like the Vibram Five-Fingers), I am physically unable to run with a heel-strike.  Simply put, I'd break my calcaneus (or at least bruise it really badly).

So, most people were probably running with a mid-foot or fore-foot strike prior to the introduction of cushioned athletic shoes.  *But,* and this is important, how do we know that this was the "correct" running form?  Just because it was how people were running before technology allowed them to change does not make it the "right" way - it was the only available way.  There was no other choice!  Could it be possible that, at least for some people, heel striking is actually a more natural running pattern, and these shoes now allow these people to run more comfortably?

Many people point to Christopher McDougall's book Born to Run and the story of the Tarahumara, a people left untouched by modern society.  In short, without any modern amenities whatsoever, a tribe of people run as their only means of transportation, sometimes hundreds of miles a week.  Despite the fact that they live in the woods and have little more than rawhide to cover the soles of their feet, running injuries and "overuse" injuries are nonexistent.  McDougall has made a career out of the idea that going barefoot is the way to freedom - freedom from pain, injury and the cost of useless technology that is, at best, not helping us and at worst, actually causing injuries.

Could there possibly be another explanation for all this?  The Tarahumara run.  That's what they do - that's how they get around.  Seems pretty obvious that they would have adapted well to not getting injured from running when that's how they survive.  But you and me?  We run for fun.  I'm willing to bet that while awake, dear reader, you spend at least 50% of your time seated (and the only reason I'm not guessing higher is that I know some pretty active people).  Do you work on a computer?  Drive a car?  We ALL do.  It's a part of modern life!  And guess what, there are consequences for our bodies that come along with that.  Just like our bodies would adapt if we ran all day, every day, our bodies have adapted to being awfully sedentary.  Though I am not saying this is a good thing, I am saying that along with variability between and within individuals, I can also guarantee the human body's ability to adapt.

So.  We've been running in cushioned shoes for roughly 40 years.  We've been in increasingly sedentary jobs for about the past 30 years.  We've moved from an industrial economy to... whatever it is we are now - certainly, computer-based and consumer-driven, but certainly not factories and brick-and-mortar.  Does anyone personally know a farmer?  Does that farmer hoe his own land, or does he ride a giant tractor?  You get my drift.  Could it be possible that our running form - whatever our personal running form might be - has degraded due to a confluence of factors?  Even McDougall says, "But ultimately, the debate isn't about Bare Soles vs. Shoes.  It's about learning to run gently.  Master that, and you can wear - or not wear - anything you please."

More on running gently in the next post...

Winter Lightning

I've lived in the Northeast for all but 4 total years of my life, and this is the first time I can remember a thunder-and-lightning storm in the middle of February. I am sitting here in the dark, watching the storm out my back windows - admittedly, jumping out of my skin with every flash that lights up the night sky (I have an irrational fear of lightning, and I would prefer to be hanging out with my cat right now, who has sought refuge from the storm under my bed).  There is something brilliant about such a powerful display of energy in the form of weather.  The lightning and thunder have retreated now, and - as always - the emergency sirens rise in the distance.

This seasonal anomaly had me pondering other things that don't make sense.  For instance, the preposterous amount of injuries sustained in non-contact situations by runners.  OK, the storm didn't directly lead me to think about hurt runners - this article did.

The author, John Converse Townsend (a somewhat ironic name, given who he is upset with), takes aim at the footwear industry, joining the growing legions of voices who place blame for poor running technique and the host of injuries that accompanies it square on the shoulders those who design and manufacture athletic shoes.  I do not wish to echo his sentiments here - you can read what he has to say, as he put it quite succinctly.  However, I would like to highlight one aspect of his article.

Townsend discusses running form during basketball games.  This is an important, and significant, departure from the current conversation about running that is entirely about, well, runners.  But what about the millions of athletes who run as a part of their sport?  Basketball, soccer, lacrosse, field hockey, rugby, American football - these are just a few of the sports in which running is required for success, but is not the actually the primary goal of the athletic event.

So, what if we're (mostly) all doing it wrong?  Shoes may play a role in this.  Townsend's article quotes a colleague of mine, Dr. Irene Davis, who gamely states, "We've seen tremendous innovations in motion control and cushioning.  And yet the remedies don't seem to defeat the ailments."  Does this mean the shoes are actually the problem?  While I am convinced that the footwear industry has not lived up to the hype in terms of providing the promised benefits of shoes that cost half my weekly salary, I am not yet convinced that said shoes are actually the culprit - or, at the very least, the *only* culprit.

That said, this idea of improper biomechanics strikes a chord with me.  In an era where most business is conducted from a seated position and activity is not the norm, it is not surprising that something about our gait may have changed.  In the interest of brevity (and the fact that I am still fighting the flu and would like to go lay down now), I will explore this issue more in another post.

Until then, have fun doing something active!

Confessions of a Reluctant Runner

I am a runner.

I wince at the sight of that sentence.  A fitness professional I know asked me recently about sports I used to do. He followed it with, "And now you're... a runner?"  The hesitation, and the slight trace of a smirk that played at the side of his mouth gave away his feelings on "runners."

I am a runner.

Truth is, I was once probably worse than he was about "runners."  I still harbor many of the feelings I did previously, and with good reason.  I have dealt with self-proclaimed runners, of both the competitive and casual collection, in various settings for years.  Here is what I have learned: They are nearly always hurt.  Runners, as a group, seem to have the highest incidence rate for chronic, nagging injuries.  Maybe this makes intuitive sense - they engage in exercise that is of a chronic, nagging variety (you can see how thrilling I think running is).  But something about runners, and the injuries they sustain, is different.  No athlete who is serious about his or her sport is going to want to take a day off, even if it means the chance to be better, longer.  Nearly all athletes are hard-wired to want to go, push, practice, participate - this is one of the greatest challenges of working with athletes.  But runners... they are another animal entirely.  I once asked a runner to please, please take the day off from running to let some Achilles inflammation calm down.  He proceeded to run 3 miles, only to return and tell me that he DID take the day off.  And you know what?  He truly believed that running 3 miles was "a day off."

I am a runner?

Okay, I am not *that* kind of runner, and let's be honest, I'm never going to be.  For the first 29 years of my life, running was something you did out of necessity, as a part of something else.  You ran to first base.  You ran the length of a soccer field.  You ran to catch the T.  Thus, my running was mostly of the sprinting variety. I scoffed at distance runners.  Who the heck wants to pound pavement for hours on end, only to end up injured?  What's the point?  Where is the goal-scoring?  Where is the team you are benefiting?  I smirked at athletes who used jogging as a training mechanism.  I couldn't wait to show them how they were training themselves to be slower.

But, now I am a runner.

Nearly every sport I've ever participated in, from soccer to softball to pick-up dodgeball games, has had an explosive component to it.  Thus, I have always trained for explosive power and speed.  I am at home under an Olympic bar.  I live to single-leg box jump.  I find joy in repeated sprints, pushing myself to be faster every time.  About a year ago, though, I realized that it had been quite some time since I had actively participated on a sports team.  What, exactly, was I training for?  I was becoming the gym-rat I abhor - the person who is in the gym, and is "fit," but for what purpose, exactly?  To be better at being in the gym?  Ugh.  I needed a goal.

Enter: cycling.  (Gotcha.  You thought I was going to say running).  When someone very close to me was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, I did the only thing that felt like helping - I bought a bike, organized a team, and did the MS 150 Ride in South Florida.  I actually fell in love with cycling.  It was the first time I experienced any sort of joy while doing an endurance-type sport.  Eventually, I figured that if I could transition into cycling with such enthusiasm, maybe it was time to give running another chance.  After all, I'd never run with a purpose (apart from not keeling over while slogging through some pre-determined distance that would be considered a successful "workout" for the day in the years before I knew better).

So, here I am.  I have signed up for several races (mostly 5Ks and one 4-miler) over the past few months.  It's been... interesting.  I don't love it - not yet.  But I'm giving it a chance.  I'm doing my first 10K in a week and a half.  I plan to do a half marathon this year - two weeks before my 30th birthday.  That's the plan.  I needed to have goals again, and now I do.  The thing is, it's not a competition - the only "competition" is with myself, something I've never really found that motivating.  Where's the team you don't want to let down?  Where are the fans you want to do well for?  This purpose of this blog is two-fold: First, put this experience out there.  My "team" will be the people who read this and relate, or at least feel like they come away with something new.  Second, say it with me now, accountability.  I've worked in the fields of rehabilitation and fitness long enough to know that without accountability, every goal is harder to attain.  So, I put this out into the interwebs as my way of saying, "I will do what I say I will do."  Half-marathon, here I come.

Because I am a runner.