Falling Toward the Finish talked about using gravity to help pull a runner forward.  A similar visualization helps to clarify why landing feet way out in front of you makes for inefficient running.

First off, imagine running down a steep hill, gravity pulling you forward so much you’re in danger of losing control; a natural response – aside from just stopping (or in fact especially if you decide to stop) – is to stretch your strides so the foot hits well in front of your center of gravity.  A portion of your body’s forward momentum is then transmitted right down through that outstretched leg, pressing the foot harder against the surface (one reason your foot is more likely to skid along the ground running downhill than on level ground).  To the extent you don’t skid, it means friction between sole and earth is eating up momentum, transferring forward motion into grinding and heat. By landing the foot out front, you’re ‘hitting the brakes’ a little bit with every stride.

Second, even on level ground, since the length of your extended leg is fixed, the farther in front your foot hits, the lower your body is to the ground. (Not so obvious? You can prove it with trigonometry if you’re into that, but for the rest of us, stand with feet together, then lift one foot and place it out in front of you – feel your entire torso dropping toward the floor?). In order for your body to move forward over that planted foot, it needs to move upward, like an upside down pendulum. You see this in runners whose feet strike well-ahead of them, a bobbing motion as their bodies rise up and drop down, up and down. (When I first started running, my kids called me ‘the Energizer Bunny’ because of that bobbing, almost hopping, motion; kids can be pretty astute sometimes…) At a cadence of 180 steps per minute, that means lifting your torso, arms and head – the majority of your body weight – some distance, 180 times per minute; a considerable expenditure of energy on something that is not direct forward motion.

And third, the farther you swing your leg out forward, the longer it takes for your body to move past it, which means you can take fewer strides per minute. That might be OK – theoretically, a smaller number of longer strides could gain more distance than a greater number of shorter strides – but since those long strides require extra energy to lift the body and to overcome braking, that leaves less energy to accomplish forward motion – it’s just plain less efficient.  Studies of elite runners prove this out, showing a near-universal correlation between high cadence and speed.  Long bounding strides are relaxing and can be useful to ‘mix it up,’ relieving strains while covering long distance, but they are not as efficient as quick turnunder (that’s like turnover, only since the feet are under us… OK, so, like, forget I said that…).

Avoid the braking effect, reduce energy-wasting up-and-down motion, and allow more strides per minute – multiple reasons why landing the feet beneath the body can help MPRs achieve their full potential.

It’s a platitude that ‘what a thing is’ depends on how you look at it. Usain Bolt speeding toward a victory in the 100 meter sprint, for instance, has been described as a man toppling forward while moving his feet just fast enough to catch himself from falling on his face.

Which is to say that – looked at as a matter of balance – running has a lot in common with falling.

To understand that thought, imagine yourself standing still, and lifting one foot. Thanks to the one-way-folding geometry of knees and hips, that foot comes up well in front of your body, causing your center of gravity to shift out beyond your torso, causing it (and therefore all the rest of you) to start to fall forward. Thanks to eons of collective evolution – and several months of individual toddling at an early age – we nominal grown-ups generally know enough to let that happen for only a brief time before stretching the leg out to hit the ground and keep us upright.

Do that again with the other foot, and you get forward motion. Do it over and over and over, and quickly enough, and you get running: falling forward, and using the feet to catch ourselves and convert that fall into forward motion.

Of course that’s only one way to look at it, and what’s to say it’s any better than a more common image of running – the act of pushing yourself forward with your feet and legs – they both end up meaning the same thing don’t they? Well, no. Not if efficiency is your goal; because ‘pushing’ is all work, while ‘falling’ benefits from free energy – in the form of gravity.

Physics-wise, the main ‘work’ we do in running is to push our body thru the atmosphere (if that sounds insignificant, try running into a headwind). But if you fall on your face, no personal effort need be involved, (something I happen to know from experience, which I will not share here).  It’s gravity that pushes you thru the atmosphere, and not only without effort, but sometimes even against your best efforts!

Yes, there’s still the biological energy required to swing the feet, and then the arms to counter-balance them, and the diaphragm to contract and the heart to beat; but if we can reduce the effort required to move the body thru external space, those internal efforts will all be reduced in proportion, so we’re still way ahead.

We also have to accelerate at the start, but that’s only a temporary load (remember Newton: “a body in motion tends to stay in motion”), or climb grades, which is functionally quite similar, since the ‘work’ involved is to counteract an omnipresent accelerative force toward the Earth’s center of mass (otherwise known as – you guessed it – gravity). And any way we can find to use less energy running at a steady speed on level ground just means that much more is available when we do need to accelerate or climb.

Bottom line though, if we get just the right amount of falling forward, balanced with enough putting the feet out at just the right moment, we can take advantage of gravity to pull us forward and use less of our leg strength to push.  Witness, Mr. Bolt.

You might want to give it a try sometime: running at a comfortable pace and a high cadence on level ground, lean your body just a little bit forward, so your chest is ahead of your hips, and see if you can feel the force of gravity pulling you forward just before your foot contacts the ground.  Done right, it’s almost like adding half a percent of downhill gradient to whatever surface you’re running on.

And that is something any runner can use!

(Closely-related topic for another time: where to land ‘em…)

In the beginning (where have I heard that phrase before…), just running for any length of time may be a challenge (see Slow and Steady if you’re still at that stage). Sooner or later though, if you’re lucky and persistent enough to keep with it, you’ll probably find yourself setting a distance goal.  It may be to run for a mile without stopping, it may be to run your first 5K (five thousand meters; just over 3 miles) – or your first marathon.  Whatever the distance, one way to stay motivated and on target is to divide the distance into fractions.  Not only does this give you attainable short term goals (“if I can only make it half way…”) it also provides psychic rewards (“Yes! I’m one quarter of the way there”).  On top of that, doing the math in your head can be a useful distraction (trying to figure out 66.6% of 21.6 in my head pushes the blister on my toe out of mind every time).

Example: a recent ‘long run’ was an out and back from home, and since I’d had a couple of disappointing runs recently, I was not feeling confident I could do the distance without bonking badly. Picturing the distance as a succession of milestones really helped it feel more do-able.  About a third of the way out, there’s a right angle turn from road onto a bike path; I made a point not to check my time until I got there, and could say I was a third of the way to the halfway mark, enough to feel like real progress.  Halfway from there to the turn-around is the high school, where I could congratulate myself again, for being more than halfway to the turn-around.  Thinking of it as ‘two thirds of the way out’  – instead of one third of the total distance – created the impression of nearing the completion of a hard piece of work, sufficient incentive to up my level of effort just a bit.  Then the turn-around of an out-and-back is always great, because you tell yourself you’ve come that far, and it’s no farther going back and every step means less mileage to go ahead than is already behind (plus in this case the outward leg runs up-river, so the return leg is literally ‘downhill all the way’).

Same thing works on the way back: “I’ve made it a third of the way back, which is two thirds of the total, heck I’m more than half way there.” Two thirds of the way back means you’ve already done the remaining distance five times over, heck you’re practically there already…”

These are just mind games of course, but so are a lot of the negative thoughts that may crop up unbidden, like “who am I kidding,” or “this isn’t supposed to be this hard,” or “look at how fast that gal passed me…” Creating your own positive mind games can have real benefits, freeing your body to show what it can do and making the workout rewarding instead of an obligation.

Whatever distance you choose to run, my recommendation is to visualize it divided into fractions, describe them in the most positive way possible and congratulate yourself for each fraction you finish – then any distance will seem easier to conquer.

Living at 6400 feet above salt water, I used to think of winter as ski season and hang up my running shoes until at least the end of March, when I’d start desperately seeking the fitness I’d lost since fall. A few years ago though, the commitment of an April event led me to train all winter long and I found…it wasn’t nearly the problem I’d anticipated!  Herewith; a few suggestions on how to make winter training in harsh climates more tolerable.

First off, is to cross-train. If two or three of your weekly workouts are on a treadmill, stationary bike, elliptical or stepper, that’s fewer days a week to run outside. Start there, and maybe sometimes shift those around to days with the most conducive weather, you greatly reduce the number of days you need to run in mother nature’s worst.

When the time does come to run outside, be prepared by having already checked out which routes are going to be most runnable.  Look for pavement that get lots of southern sunlight to burn it to slush or dampness, even if not scraped clean by Mr. Snowplow – a good candidate is park paths that are maintained by staff.  If totally-clear pavement is not available, look at least for some that’s packed down, or has a solid base underneath the light stuff.  Up to about four inches of fresh snow can be good running with Yak tracks or other traction devices – if it’s got hard pavement or packed snow underneath.  Much more than four inches of soft snow is pretty demoralizing to run in, and I’d try to re-schedule. If there are maintained cross-country trails in your area, their margins may be useable, but make sure you’re not messing up the grooved ski tracks, or creating potholes in a width designed for skate-skiers.

Regardless of the route, when the weather is cold ya’ gotta layer-up, to be comfortable at the stat, not too hot once warmed-up, and safe in case you need to stop. A common guide is to dress (the layers you’re not going to strip-off) as if the air is going to be 20 degrees warmer than the thermometer shows, to allow for the heat of exertion,.

Running feet generate their own heat, so I find a pair of light wool socks inside Gore-tex oversocks are enough even in very cold air and snow. Running legs tend to warm themselves too, and even evaporate what little snow falls on them, so one layer of tights works down to maybe twenty degrees.  If it’s colder, a second pair of tights might be in order, or nylon wind pants, saving anything heavy like warmups until the very coldest times.  At any weight, avoid cotton; heavy, saggy sweatpants impede movement and accumulate moisture, holding the cold against your skin.

Hands are the opposite of feet, blood flow goes elsewhere, so they are in real danger of getting uncomfortably (even dangerously) cold. Below 32 f, I wear insulated ski mittens, over light gloves.  Not that cold, maybe ski gloves rather than mittens, but always a over a lighter pair, that give some protection even when (not if) I need to pull off the outer layer to adjust something.  For the most extreme, use or carry those little packet handwarmers; toasty fingers can make the difference between a tortured slog and a cheerful adventure.

Above the waist, choose multiple light wicking layers that can be peeled off one at a time to avoid getting wet from the inside. The fine-temperature-adjustment possible with zip-neck layers is much preferable to turtle-necks, and pit-zips are a real plus for the same reason. I find a breathable rain jacket with open pit-zips is the best surface layer when it’s snowing but not terribly cold, and only when the air gets down around 10 degrees do I consider wearing an insulated jacket – synthetic, not down, and again with pit-zips – always making sure to have a plan to stash it when things get too warm.  (Most ski and boarding gear is actually designed for short bursts of activity interspersed with sedentary periods on chairlifts, in trams or waiting for your friends to pick themselves up off the snow, so it’s not well suited to the constant-heat generation and limber motions of running.  Apply sparingly.)

Knitted hats are good for keeping the ears warm, but can be too hot on the head, and a billed-cap is essential whenever precipitation is expected, to keep the flakes off eyes or glasses. On balance, a Buff or other lightweight scarf-type covering, paired with a visor may be a good choice – lightweight and flexible.  Sunglasses are a must to protect from glaring white snow, and if the white stuff is coming down hard enough to coa them with droplets, goggles are worth trying (by then you’re not likely to meet anyone you know out there, so who cares how dorky you look?).

Night falls early in winter, so if there’s the slightest chance you’ll be out after dark, headlamp, flashlight and reflective clothing are in order as well. In the unlikely event you have to bail from a run, waiting for a ride in good weather is mostly just a drag – but in winter it can become life-threatening, so I recommend bringing your cell as well, and maybe an extra warm hat or pair of gloves.  Between emergency items like those, plus water and goo and the need to stash what layers come off, a lightweight backpack is essential for long winter runs, especially solos.

Beyond comfort and safety comes the challenge of setting realistic goals. Uncertain surfaces and all that gear slow the stride, and periodic stops to add, remove or adjust gear are another reason cold weather running tends to be slow, so plan winter workouts by duration and effort, not distance or pace.  These runs are best suited to maintaining an endurance base – the ability to sustain a moderate level of exertion for periods over an hour (or several, depending on your level).  Look to treadmill workouts to maintain foot speed and max VO2.

If it’s truly too bad outside to run, give in and substitute an indoor workout. My go-to at the local rec. center is alternating half-hour segments on the treadmill and exercise bike for a long high-effort workout with a Special Bonus Feature – it only takes one of those sessions to make me really look forward to my next outdoor run, regardless of weather!

Developing confidence and self-sufficiency is one of the keys to success at distance running – and simultaneously one of its greatest payoffs – and there’s nothing better for the self-image than comfortably completing a long run in conditions that send most of the populace scurrying for the couch and remote.

There are also many truly beautiful experiences to be had on winter routes emptied of walkers, bikes, dogs and cars; where the loudest sound is your own breathing, or footfalls muffled by powder or crunching into yesterday’s crust. Winter light does wonderful things to familiar vistas, as do ice crystals, vaporous breath and swirling gusts of an atmosphere rendered visible by frozen moisture.

Be prepared, be flexible, and think of cold-weather running as an adventure – a chance to access experiences and sensations from which our modern lifestyle often insulates us. It’s rarely boring, and – if nothing else – may make you appreciate next summer’s heat in a whole new way!

Usually this blog is about general observations of the MPR universe, but yesterday I demonstrated something to myself so clearly, I’ve just gotta share it.

I’d been having a good running season, building up for the Salomon Golden Leaf trail hemithon in late September, a favorite event that I’d done seven times before, with gradually improving times. I managed a PR by a few seconds on the last scheduled event beforehand, then had planned six weeks to recover and taper for the GL.

Just about a perfect set up, except that somewhere in between there the local paper mentioned a nearby event I’d heard of but never run, just two weeks before the GL. Another trail run, 25k this time, with an even bigger climb in the early miles than the GL, and reputed to be the most beautiful autumn course around these decidedly beautiful parts  Telling myself it would be a perfect last long run before tapering to the GL, I signed up and headed off for the Lead King Loop.  Baaad ideaaa….

Mistake number one: I have learned over the years that for this MPR and this not-getting any-younger body, it takes three weeks recovery after a big effort to be ready for another biggie. If I make big efforts every two weeks, I end up hitting walls. But I’d been running longer than the LKL all summer so that shouldn’t be an issue; or so I told my nagging left brain.

Mistake number two: If you’re gonna shortchange recovery time, at least do it in a small way, maybe a quick short distance that exercises the muscles and reflexes but doesn’t tap out all your reserves. (Problem: the LKL is longer and has more climb than the GL – which is not the intended meaning of the term ‘reverse-taper.’)

Mistake number three: since I more or less knew those things already, I signed up for the LKL telling myself I was just there for the scenery, and that a slow time would actually be best so I could come back next year and beat it. Then in the first half mile I overheard a couple of folks in my division talking about who was gonna do what to whom, which tweaked my competitive radar, with the result I pushed all the way and ended the morning totally sapped.

Mistake number four: so here I am with a tired body and two weeks to the GL – every bit of advice I’ve ever heard says taper and recover, which for me at my age would mean nothing but short, moderate runs. Which I managed – for six days. Then, on the Saturday in between I decided I needed a little uphill to keep my edge on, so I ran a quick five miles, and because the summer had been going so well, I pushed that training loop faster than ever before.  And then the week before the GL was so busy I couldn’t get out for a mid-day stress-relief quickie, and by Thursday was wondering if I might have completely forgotten how to run, so I squeezed in a gentle evening three-miler only to be shocked me by how tired and slow it felt.  Well duh.

You can guess the rest. GL Saturday dawned sunny and perfect – neither cold nor hot, the trail dry and fast, but even as I ran a few yards to warm up before the start, I could tell what was coming – legs heavy and unresponsive, as if someone had inserted an extra mile of leaky-coax cable between brain and muscles. Still, I’d been having a good summer right, all those other events had gone well, so I must be fit enough to do this, right? Heck. I’d run a tougher 25K just two weeks ago…

Predictably, I hit the wall early, struggled to keep myself motivated enough to even finish, and did so with a time that would have been disappointing five years ago, and was much more so this summer.

Please don’t get me wrong here – Any day I can run is a blessing, for which I am truly grateful. And this year’s GL was pretty fantastic: a beautiful and challenging course, gorgeous weather and fall colors, wonderful people to run with and meet.

 But it could have been even better if I’d stayed with the plan and not gotten greedy.

Recovery is training too, and every bit as important as wind sprints or that ‘75% of the goal distance’ long run two three weeks before a big event.

I may have learned that now.