Barefoot in Switzerland: Guest Post by Mary Parlange

Our final guest post of the week brings an international flavor to Running and Rambling.

The topics are familiar ones around here – barefoot running, experimentation with minimalist footwear, and being a disciple of Christopher McDougall and Barefoot Ken Bob. However, her geographic location provides an interesting perspective, perhaps not in the way you might guess.

The post that follows below is the introduction to an ongoing series that will document her progression toward becoming (or possibly not becoming) a barefoot runner. Read her post below – and remember to leave her some comments – then check out the next part of the story on her website, called Gydle (I have no idea what it means, either).

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Barefoot in Switzerland by Mary Parlange

Last summer I read Christopher McDougall’s book, Born to Run. For the ten runners out there who haven’t read it yet, it’s about the Tarahumara Indians, an elusive group of Yoda-like people running vast distances around the Mexican desert in huaraches. McDougall, a journalist, picks up some colorful characters along the way and they challenge the Tarahumara to their own homespun ultra out there in the Mexican outback.

The book inspired me. I’m always a sucker for a well-crafted sentence, and McDougall has a really engaging style. He also interviewed researchers about running form and barefoot running; the science seemed sound and intrigued me. Most of all, I liked the people he was hanging around with in the book. They didn’t seem like the type who worried about their 10K split times. They didn’t run to “get a workout” or lose weight, or because studies show that if you run for 40 minutes every day your risk of heart attack decreases by 23.6%. These were my kind of people. They ran because if they didn’t, they’d go nuts. I dreamed of joining the “ultra” brother(sister?)hood. Switzerland is full of gorgeous trails and crazy ultra races.

I also dreamed of running barefoot, or at least barely shod, like the Tarahumara. True, in my seven years here, I’ve never seen a single person running barefoot. I do see a lot of women walking around in heels, but no one wears Vibram Five-Fingers or huaraches, much less runs in them.

Unable to find a “minimalist” shoe in the local stores, I turned to the Internet and ordered a pair from London. They didn’t fit; even worse, inaddition to a 14-franc VAT charge and a 30-franc customs processing fee, I had to shell out for the return postage. Fail. Fifty francs for absolutely nothing – now that’s minimal!

Like a spurned lover on the rebound, I succumbed to the softness of a new pair of Nikes. I started to run longer distances, taking them off occasionally to run barefoot on the beach or the soccer fields, the Born to Run nirvana shining like a beacon in my head as the sun set over Lake Geneva.

The pain in my right heel started slowly. I kept training, aiming for an upcoming half marathon. Then one day my heel hurt so badly I had to stop mid-run. I could hardly walk home. The extent of my folly began to sink in. I had taken a perfectly functional foot and cushioned it like an egg! Hadn’t I paid any attention to what McDougall was saying? Combined with the sporadic soft-surface barefooting, my foot was thoroughly confused.

I decided the Nikes were to blame. A minimalist shoe would solve the problem. I found a specialized running store and mentioned Born to Run. Never heard of it. “Pieds nus?” (naked feet?) Ah, yes, they’d heard about the “American craze,” but this was a serious shop for serious runners. I left with a pair of expensive trail shoes that resembled a couple of oversized bees. They had the lowest-profile heel in the shop. My foot still hurt, I hobbled out of bed every morning like a 90-year-old, but gradually I began to run again, moderate distances, every other day or so.

But the dream wouldn’t die. I just knew, deep down inside, that I was a crazy barefoot ultra-runner.

While in New Mexico this past July, I bought a pair of New Balance minimalist trail shoes. I hesitated to wear them, though. They sat in the closet while we went hiking in the Alps in August. And they sat in the closet while I ran along the lake, hardly feeling my heel any more. Maybe I should leave well enough alone.

“Guess what your crazy brother has done this time,” my mom said one day. “He ran barefoot for a half a mile, and now he has blisters all over his feet.”

I took it as a sign.

I Skyped him. Turns out he, too, had read Born to Run, and then he’d gone one further and borrowed a copy of Barefoot Ken Bob’s book, Barefoot Running Step by Step, from a friend. The day before, he’d run barefoot for nine minutes on a gravel road in Montana. The blisters were just a little setback. He held his foot proudly up to the camera; the quarter-sized blood-red souvenirs were truly formidable. Maybe I shouldn’t have picked such a steep hill. Um, ya think?

I quickly downloaded Barefoot Ken Bob’s book onto my iPad.

Don’t give up, I urged my brother. I’m joining you!  Let’s Go Barefoot!  Despite the 5,000 miles of ocean and continent separating us, we can run this road together.

**
To see Mary’s journal and follow her progression to barefoot running, visit Gydle.



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Marathon Pacing: Guest Post by Danny Miller

Danny Miller runs ultras, and he writes very long posts. It’s no wonder I felt a connection to him.

He contacted me after an article I wrote about pacing, and explained that he was a marathon pacer who had some interesting stories to tell about his experiences, for better or worse. The post that follows is a little bit of both. And yes, it’s long – but like a marathon, once you make it to the end, you’ll be happy you stuck with it.

When you get there, be sure to give Danny some feedback in the comment box below.

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Marathon Pacing       by Danny Miller

I was terrified the first time I lined up to pace. It was the 2010 Kansas City Marathon and I was holding the 4:20 stick in my hand, 20 or so people surrounded me who had told me they wanted to stick with me during the race.

“Crap”, I thought to myself. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Marathons had become training runs for me. I had been exclusively running 50 mile and greater races for at least the past two years. I hadn’t run 26.2 since my marathon PR, San Francisco, a 3:38 five days after fighting through the worst 50-miler I had ever run, at Mt. Hood. I forgot my body glide at that 50 - let your imagination run wild with that.

“I don’t want to screw up someone’s time. What if I do? I’d feel so terrible.”

The only marathon I’d run since then had been in training. We all know what a training run longer than a marathon is like. They typically involve many stops at the car, some sitting down, lots of eating, and a relaxed pace. They weren’t constant stretches of running, plus, nobody DEPENDED on me to run during my training runs. If my shoe got untied during a training run, I just stopped and tied it, then lounged around a bit. No rush.

“I can do this, I ran 100 miles a few months ago. If I can run 100 miles, I can do anything.”

A running buddy of mine was a pacer. He was injured and they were looking for a replacement. He asked me if I was interested. I said sure, and that was about it. I passed along some running qualifications and ended up in his spot, 4:20.

“I did that 18 mile training run at race pace last week, I was fine with that.”

“Crap! I didn’t poop this morning!” I always poop before a race.

With a boom, we were off.

I’m a pacer with a group in Kansas City called Runners Edge. We’ve got a core group of pacers that hit the local races and do some traveling: Lincoln, St. Louis, Denver, and Wichita. We’re growing and it has been a lot to be a part of it from somewhat early on. All our events are road races. Funny seeing how I’m a get-lost-in-the-woods-on-a-trail kind of guy.

We use a strategy called SmartPace. The idea is to run your first mile about a minute slower than your race pace, second mile about 30 seconds slower, then ease into race pace over the next couple of miles. You end up running the core of the race slightly below race pace to make up for the start. This is ok as you’ve had a nice easy warm-up to get you settled into that pace.

We also groom the pace to fit the course. If there’s a big climb at mile 22 (like there is in Kansas City) we slow the pace there and speed up elsewhere to compensate. Most pacers work in walk breaks at the aid stations as well. If I’m due to run a 9:35 for a 2-mile stretch and I know there’s an aid station in that stretch I’ll run a 9:25 and give the runners 20 seconds to walk through the aid stations. My medical training has shown me that Gatorade is more effective in you than on you.

Our coach, Eladio Valdez III came up with this strategy in 2005 after trying lots of other ways to get folks through marathons. He had tried everything – run a mile, walk a minute – even pace – run/walk combinations – nothing was working well. That’s when he tried the “start out smart”, “ease into the race”, “run a race to fit the course”, strategy. SmartPace was officially born in 2008. The group has paced 16 half and full marathons since 2008 using this strategy. (Disclaimer: I have no financial interest in the training Eladio does with his group and I’m not compensated as a pacer aside from free entry to races.)

What we’re doing works. Surveying 700+ runners from two recent races we’ve found that 2/3 of folks who run with our pace groups achieve their goal time. That’s not bad.

Most runners are a little hesitant to start so slow.

“The average pace for 4:00 is 9:09 and you want to run a 10:15 first mile!? Are you nuts?”

Nope, not nuts.

Around mile 5 of the race I had to pee. I wasn’t sure what to do. If I stop for a port-a-potty I’ll get stuck in a line and lose my group. Hmm.

“This is so much easier when it’s just me, nobody else to worry about.”

I spied a parking garage. It looked promising, so I handed the stick off to my co-pacer and sprinted ahead. I did my business and caught back up to the group. Little out of breath, but I was ok.

“Whew, crisis averted. Wait, I still haven’t pooped.”

I used to be one of those runners who, when I wanted to run a 4 hour marathon I started off at a 9:00 pace and held it, the whole race. The math was simple to me: 9 minute miles get me a 4:00 finish with some walking at the aid stations and a potty break. Easy math. Disregard the fact I felt like crap running like that. At least I hit those 4:00 finishes.

We hit a big hill, a quarter mile behemoth below the Liberty Memorial in KC - a beautiful monument with a crappy hill to run up. We walked it. It was planned out for us. Tons of other runners passed us, huffing and puffing up the hill. Groaning and sweating. We kept walking. We had a plan.

It was stressful to walk the hill, especially so early in the race. I knew once we were at the top we’d pick it up again. A little faster than our race pace, but we had 4-5 miles of easy terrain ahead of us. My runners could handle it.

“Hey, I called them ‘my’ runners. Maybe I can do this, maybe I’m not as nervous as I was at the start.”

I still hadn’t pooped.

We give out wrist bands at the pre-race expo. Sometimes the race funds this, sometimes we sell them, gotta pay for the printing. We always have a shirt that says ‘pacer’, plus we carry a stick with our time. No balloons for us. Some folks take multiple times, not sure which they’d prefer. I enjoy imagining them at home or in their hotel later, map of the course pinned to a large board in front of them, meticulously considering every second difference between 4:15 and 4:20 on the course. Not sure which band to put on their wrist. Maybe they put on all three bands. I saw a guy with five on one arm once - no joke.

The next several miles were amazing. Kansas City is famous for wide avenues and the KC Marathon uses them. Lots of space. We cruised through old Westport, and window shopped at the Plaza. Ward Parkway is beautiful as it runs along Brush Creek, huge trees surround you, cool breeze with a soft sun.

Couldn’t pick a nicer day.

Another hill presented itself, this one almost a mile long. That’s ok, it’s built into the pace. We slowed, we held our jog but we pulled way back.

“Nice and steady everyone, this is the roughest part of the race.” That was a lie.

We made it to the top, all of our crew in tow. Little bit of zig-zagging through some beautiful old neighborhoods and we were back on Ward Parkway and 4 miles of dependable terrain. Waldo awaited us.

A pain tore through my belly.

“Was that my stomach?! That’s really uncomfortable. Ohh, I really have to go.”

When you’re pacing, people are depending on you whether you know it or not. Some folks stay behind you and chase you. Others stay ahead of you, never letting you pass. They may never say one word to you, but they’re watching you.

Then there are the folks who run with you, chatting the whole time. Asking your running history, what you do for a living, what you’ll name your kids. Everything. One thing I try to do is to never let on that I run ultras. The pacer isn’t there to boast. The pacer is there for the runner. Someone running their first race doesn’t need to know about how you felt at mile 80 of your last hundred. 26.2 is an enormous distance for them, don’t degrade it. It’s all about the runner.

I have buddy who brings Trivial Pursuit cards with him. Runners love that.

“I have to stop, it’s either coming out of me in the port-a-potty or on the course, my choice.”

I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I told my pacer I’d catch them, but I had to go to the bathroom. So, I found a port-a-potty with no line and went for it. My group was gone. At least I could go.

Ten minutes later I was done. TEN MINUTES. How could I make up ten minutes of time? I was a failure.
I couldn’t keep up with my group, I’d abandoned them. I started running and freaking out. People would judge me: “who’s that pacer without a group, he must be worthless”.

I started sprinting, but I knew I couldn’t keep that up at mile 18. I needed a plan.

A guy in front of me passed his wife, as he did she yelled: “we’ll see you at the next aid station!”

Jackpot!

“Hey, I know this is going to sound really weird, but can you give me a ride to the next aid station. I’m a pacer and I had to go to the bathroom and I lost my pace group and I really need to catch them! I swear I’m not weird or creepy!”

She did it, she gave me a ride. I freaking hitchhiked.

I always hate losing people during a race. You can usually see it coming from a few miles away. They get quiet and fall back a bit. They take a few extra seconds during the walk break. I can always spot it. It sucks. You run 20 miles with someone you really want to see them finish with you. But you can’t slow down for them. You have a job and there’s others depending on you for that.

I was standing at the next aid station, several cups of water in hand when I saw my group coming.

“Where you guys been?”

They got a kick out of what I did. I felt guilty, but whatever, they were what was important. We headed off for the last six miles. Little did I know we had one more hiccup in front of us.

It got hot, real hot. Real fast too. At the worst place possible. Around mile 22 in Kansas City you get a nice little surprise, in the form of a 2-mile long uphill. No bueno.

We slowed for the hill. We slowed too much. We were falling behind pace, and fast. I wasn’t sure if I should hang onto the group or keep moving. I was a newbie, didn’t know how to handle it. Turns out my co-pacer was a newbie also. Dang.

We slowed. Newbie mistake.

By the top of the hill we were at least two minutes behind pace with about three miles to go. Whoops.
We never made the time up. We finished around 4:22.

The lady tried to put a medal around my neck – “no thanks, I didn’t run the whole race.”

I was sure I’d never be asked to pace again.

I was asked to pace again. I’ve paced seven races now with four more scheduled for the fall of this year. The butterflies before the race have disappeared also, although there’s still some there – I think it’s good to be a little nervous about everything. I also learned that Imodium AD before the race helps with GI issues. This saves me some sprinting.

Course markings are always fun. Usually they’re right, sometimes they’re not. Trust your Garmin, that’s my mantra. Well, trust it to within .1 miles. If you’re at 11.5 and you haven’t seen the 11 mile marker yet, you won’t. Or, if you do, and it’s in the wrong spot, move on. Bank those minutes for the end of the race. Maybe they fix it later, maybe they don’t. Coming in sooner is better than later.

Also have learned to stick to my pace, I have to leave people. They understand.

My goals? I’d love to pace a really huge race like Chicago or New York. That’d be fun. Although, I like the little ones too. I like the chance to really get to know the runners. That’s really why I’m out there anyway, for the runners.

**
Danny Miller is MD/PhD student at the University of Kansas Medical Center.  Read more from him at A Marathon Is A Warmup.



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Life in Miniature: Guest Post by Al Olsen

My relationship with Al Olsen goes back a few years to when this was a very triathlon-centric blog, and “Spokane Al” began dropping into the comment section more and more frequently.

I started visiting his own blog, where he has the following bio: an early 60s year old human doing the best he can with what God gave him as he attempts the never ending odyssey of transforming his body into that of a triathlete and endurance athlete. On several of his posts, I found myself appreciating his perspective not just on triathlon, but also life in general.

He and I have also had several e-mail conversations on the subject of classic rock, which is a passion for both of us. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when the article he submitted came complete with a Beatles lyric. Check out his post below, and please weigh in with some comment feedback when you’re finished.

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Life in Miniature     by Spokane Al

“Woke up, fell out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head … ‘
- The Beatles, “A Day in the Life” (song after post)

Waking up in the morning and climbing out of bed, I feel my age and then some. The creakiness of my bones, along with the accumulated soreness from previous days’ training efforts, causes me to move as if I am in my eighties.

I slowly work my way downstairs, and if I am up to it, perform some abdominal exercises or a stretching routine and am feeling better and have knocked at least a decade or so off my body.

Breakfast comes and my morning fueling routine leaves mefeeling strongeryet again as I take a quick look at the headlines over my bowl of oatmeal.

Moving, puttering, taking care of tasks and talking with friends and neighbors helps to drop some more years from my body and mind. I am once again feeling alive and living with purpose. The warm summer sun is a welcome friend and later, as I enjoy a protein smoothie on my patio for lunch, with only the birds and some good reading material for company, I am appreciative and thankful for my great life and am looking forward to the evening workout.

I eat an early, light dinner in preparation for what is to come, and give myself plenty of time to bond with the bathroom facilities before heading out.

This evening’s workout is a speed work effort with members of my triathlon club. We meet at the coach’s house and walk and jog up the hill towards the track.

A couple of warm up laps followed by some technique efforts in the soft grass in the center of the track gets me feeling a bit better prepared to run.

This evening’s workout is 6-10 x 400 which means that it will hurt a bit.

I shuffle forward to the start with my gaggle of tri-buddies and soon we are off. We run like the wind, and although the speed of each of us is relative, it feels good to be pushing my pace on the smooth, flat track.

A short recovery jog between each effort helps at the beginning but as the intervals begin to pile up, the effort needed to continue and maintain the pace does as well.

Before long I have finished eight intervals and we are done, and we gather around, all glossy with sweat and good cheer, as we relive this workout and old races, and discuss upcoming events. We are all equals in this circle.

Afterwards, as we walk back to the coach’s house, lively conversations can be heard rising up through the warm summer night.

We once again gather in the coach’s front yard and he brings out a cold, frozen box of popsicles. As I enjoy that mixture of sugar, water, and artificial flavorings frozen on a stick, I am once again just a youngster, laughing and talking with friends, before responsibility steps back in and calls each of us.

As in most other days, I have completed another modified, sped up version of my circle of life. It will begin anew in the coming morning and it is good.

Thank you for visiting.


Read more from Spokane Al at his website www.spokaneal.blogspot.com.


The Beatles, "A Day in the Life" (click to play):






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