Journalism

No, not the kind of journalism that journalists used to practice: the Who, What, When, and Where kind of objective reporting of an event.

In the strange, twisted linguistics of today where a word like “scrapbooking” is constructed from a noun, what we’re talking about is referred to as “journaling,” as in keeping a journal or writing in a journal. Not the kind of journaling that you see people doing on laptop computers while laying a sixhour siege to a seat in a coffee shop.

Just the facts. The facts of your running. With appropriate commentary.

I bring this subject up because so few runners today are making use of a daily journal of their running, yet a journal can be as valuable to arunner’s fitness, health, and progress as the correct pair of running shoes.

The subject of journal keeping as it pertains to yourrunning comes up every time runners want to discuss either how they earned their latest injury or what they need to do to re-create the terrific performance they had in their last good marathon.

“All you need to do is consult your running journal,” I naively say.

“My running journal?” they naively answer.

“Sure. Running injuries, unless they are traumatic, like tripping on a curb, are usually injuries of overuse, so they can usually be traced back to within two

weeks of when they occurred, and then you can make sure that you don’t repeat the steps that caused the injury. It’s all right there in your running journal.”

“My running journal?” they naively answer.

Commercial running journals are available. For years after Jim Fixx died, the author John Jerome filled in to keep Fixx’s annual spiral-bound running journal alive.

Many old-line runners have been keeping a running journal for decades. A few of them I know of have whole bookshelves lined with matching threering binders, each binder a history of one year’s worth of running.

I’ve kept a journal since returning to running on June 13, 1977. I started with a three-ring binder but, inspired by Joe Henderson’s creative and wideranging use of 3-by-5 cards at the office of Runner’s World, 1 changed over to them. (This was before personal computers; Joe kept records of every sub-3:00 marathon in the United States back in those days, each runner having his very own 3-by-5 card.) They’re small, convenient, they travel well, and at the end of the year, you can sort them out like a deck of cards, tie them up with some twine, and store them away in a box.

A running journal needn’t be complicated, but it does need a space where the runner can jot down some notes,

some observations on the day’s run. It is usually in those observations where the danger or the magic lies.

The basic elements of the running journal are the distance you ran, the elapsed time of your run, the surface you ran on, and the temperature and weather conditions. If you are able to estimate the pace of your run, that’s also good to know. If you did some auxiliary exercise, such as stretching or sit-ups, that’s also good to know. If you have a heart rate monitor, that’s worth noting.

But you don’t need much more— except for the space reserved for your observations.

Felt sluggish throughout the run. Started too fast but then settled into an easy 8:30 pace. Outside of right knee again sore until I warmed up; sore again after I stopped. Stepped off the track halfway through the fourth mile repeat; just couldn’t face another lap. Did the Vine Hill course, and it went as smooth as butter. Didn’t sleep well last night, and it showed in my five-mile downtown loop today. Last 20-miler before the marathon; went better than expected.

Each of these observations of a workout is embedded with precious information that will help decode successes or failures in your subsequent running.

If you suffered an injury, by reviewing the previous two weeks’ worth of information in your running journal, you will very likely be able to evaluate just what combination of workouts precipitated the injury.

In a similar manner, if you had a particularly good result at a race, by reviewing the month leading up to it, you will be able to see what combination of workouts contributed to your success, and you can then begin incorporating those combinations in future training toward repeating your success.

Of course the journal entries can be expanded to indicate what besides running you did ona specific day. Once you have amassed a decade’s worth of journals, it can be fun to review your life from seven or eight years ago. It is particularly fun to compare your memories of a specific day or event with what you actually wrote down about that day or event in your journal. It is fascinating—and sometimes frightening—how the brain will modify and edit the memory of events over a long period of time.

These little commentaries are especially valuable for capturing races you have run. Immediately after finishing a race, jot down the high and low points of the race in your running journal. Then check it five years from now and see if your memory and the journal entry match.

John J. Kelley, who won the 1957 Boston Marathon, can relive that day by going back to his running journal:

“12 noon: B.A.A. Marathon: won by 2 minutes, 45 seconds over Karvonen. Ran easily behind group of 8 to 10 until Natick, then accelerated pace with Lin (Korea) and Karvonen until Route 128 overpass (16 miles), pushed pace to build up 1 minute, 40 second lead by BC. Felt good, straining

at finish. Weather fair and warm (71 degrees, fresh SW wind).”

There is an enormous amount of information in a very compact journal entry that would not quite fill one side of a 3-by-5 card.

Besides, should you ever get on the wrong side of the law, you can immediately consult your running journal to establish your alibi. Of course, the opposing lawyer will then petition the court to see all of your journals, and that might be too much to let out to a panting public, especially if you’re in the habit of embellishing your day’s exploits.

Just keep it to the facts, man, only the facts.

* * Eo We did want to say a few words about the next two issues of Marathon & Beyond.

Our November/December issue will be heavily slanted toward introducing our readers to interesting and accomplished people who run long.

You will meet John Wallace, who ran solo across the United States from west to east. You’ll also meet George Crandell. One of our favorite writers, Tim Martin, returns to our pages to tell George’s story. Tito Morales will introduce you to super-ultrarunner Scott Jurek, and Ed Mayhew will take you on a run with Kiddy & Trapp—which is not a law firm. We’ll also help you get caught up with Steve Jones, one of the world’s most accomplished marathoners. And our favorite diarist, John J. Kelley, will introduce you to Frankie &

Vonnie as we get a preview of Johnny’s in-progress autobiography, where the information was gleaned from a combination of Johnny’s journals and his memories.

The November/December issue will also put aside some space in the Editorial to report on some of the interesting running books that have crossed our desk in 2006.

sue will be our third sports medicine special. The two previous sportsmed specials (volumes 2.6 and 7.3) are among the hardest-to-find back issues of M&B, and for good reason: they are stuffed with cutting-edge information that presents numerous opportunities for runners to improve their running.

Already in-house and eager to go to press are an extensive piece on the physiology of marathon running by Jake Emmett; a report by Bill Pierce on the FIRST method of training; “Imagery for Marathoners” from Joe Weber; a four-section study from the famed Comrades Marathon in South Africa by Lindsay Weight; a pair of stories from Jason Karp (“On Science and Running” and “The Top Three Marathon Workouts”); as well as a piece enticingly titled “Three Days a Week to Faster Running” by Bill Pierce, Ray Moss, Scott Murr, and Mickey McCauley.

We’ve solicited additional pieces from our Science Advisory Board. The special sportsmed issue is shaping up to be another issue for the ages.

—Rich Benyo

GUEST EDITORIAL

Are Runners an Endangered

Species?

The 2006 Hong Kong Marathon, which was held on Sunday, February 12, attracted over 40,000 enthusiastic participants, a remarkable number for the relatively small population. After days of weather that was cool and pleasant if somewhat overcast, Sunday morning was marred by thick gray clouds of polluted air that made it difficult to see even the massive high-rise office and apartment buildings for which the Hong Kong area is famous.

The start of the marathon was delayed for 15 minutes, but a decision was made to go ahead with the race. After the race, that decision was questioned by many in Hong Kong.

The pollution created problems for many runners. About one in 10 runners—4,000—tequired medical treatment, and at least 22 required hospitalization. Tsang Kam-yin, an experienced 53-year-old runner who had run two previous marathons, died shortly after he collapsed at the 13K marker. Chu Man-chung, a 33-year-old runner said to have been in good health, collapsed near the finish line, and his breathing stopped. He was resuscitated before being taken to the hospital, but two days later he was wheezing and short of breath. He had not fully regained

FOWLER, PH.D.

consciousness, and his breathing was labored. There are fears that the oxygen deprivation he suffered when his breathing stopped might have resulted in permanent brain damage.

Unlike most marathons, the HK Marathon has checkpoints at various mile markers: runners who have not kept up a pace sufficient to finish in under five hours are stopped and put aboard buses to the finish line. Quite a few runners were stopped along the way. Many of those who were stopped resented not being able to complete the marathon, but the fact is that it may have saved some of those in the back of the pack from serious health problems. Running over five hours through polluted air is a major physical challenge for anyone, and especially for inexperienced or older runners.

The bad air did not come entirely from Hong Kong. Two major power plants that contributed sulfur dioxide were responsible for some of the pollution, but winds blowing from the mainland probably accounted for more. Hong Kong has a high population density, but it has mostly clean businesses, and ocean breezes help to reduce the level of pollution. But Hong Kong residents have no protection from the

industrial pollution of the mainland, which grows worse every year and creates a health problem in the major cities of China.

What happened in Hong Kong was not, unfortunately, an isolated event. Some nations in the developing world that are moving toward heavy industry with few if any controls over pollution are facing massive health problems. China, in its headlong race to become a major industrial power, has perhaps the most serious problems. I attended the International Congress of Psychology, which was held in Beijing in 2004. It was an excellent congress, but the pollution was so pervasive that many participants rarely left their hotels. The sun was hardly visible through the thick clouds, and the air had an unpleasant smell and taste. On most days, the pollution was much worse than the conditions in Hong Kong in

health problems.

I went out for runs on a few days in Beijing, but I found I was ready to return to my hotel before very long. I didn’t see any other runners on the streets—I guess they were smarter than I was. I found myself wondering what will happen when the elite athletes of the world gather in Beijing for the 2008 Summer Olympics. The Chinese government has pledged to reduce pollution by 2008, but that will be very hard to do. If the conditions in 2008 are as bad as in 2004, some serious, perhaps even tragic, consequences may result. This could result in a wake-up call to the world, but at considerable cost. Other

developing countries around the world have similar problems. Some ecologists believe China may literally choke itself to death if it does not institute major antipollution efforts, and the same could happen to other countries, as well. Runners, because they spend a lot of time outdoors, are probably more environmentally conscious than most. The events in Hong Kong make me feel that we are like the canaries that were once used in the coal mines to detect dangerous toxins in the air. Unfortunately, canaries warn of danger by dying. Because of their aerobic conditioning and greater lung capacity, runners may have some protection from pollution, but because they expose themselves to pollution more often and more extensively, they may also be more at risk than sedentary sorts. Hong Kong, having been hit by the SARS epidemic and now threatened by bird flu, takes health issues very seriously. The tragic events at the marathon were widely covered by the local news media, and those associated with the marathon responded to the outpouring of concern in the community. Organizers of the marathon have held meetings to consider safety standards. They considered requiring runners to submit a medical report to qualify for registration. This was rejected because it was felt that the time lapse between the medical examination and the race would make it ineffective and also because they concluded that this would be unnecessarily burdensome and expensive. As an alternative, they considered asking runners to provide

information about their sports history, such as past marathon experience and records of regular training.

Medical officials who were responsible for emergency care at the marathon believe that the medical care was adequate and that the number of medical cases was not unreasonable for the large number of participants. A representative from the Department of Home Affairs, Eddie Poon Tai-ping, was quoted in the South China Morning Post (February 16, 2006) as saying, “Runners should be responsible for their own health. We cannot learn the medical history of every participant. They are the ones who know their bodies well. They should slow down when they do not feel well.” An editorial in the same paper took a similar position, commenting that many participants were not well prepared and some had not trained at all.

My impression was that the marathon was well organized and that the medical support provided by the Hong Kong government was at least as good as in other major marathons. Asking runners to “slow down when they do not feel well” probably won’t be helpful—almost no one stops who can keep moving—and requiring a sports history from participants is unlikely to prevent medical crises in the future. Tang Kam-yin, the runner who died, would not have been rejected on the basis of his sports history, since he was

an experienced runner. Correcting the root cause of the problem, excessive air pollution, is not something that can be accomplished by race organizers or health authorities. In Hong Kong, as in other major cities of the world, that will require a major government commitment—not just to protect runners but to protect the health of all citizens.

It seems to me that as runners we should not lose any opportunity to complain loudly and persistently about conditions that threaten the air people depend on for their lives, whether in our country or elsewhere. The United States is responsible for much of the world’s carbon dioxide production, which results in greenhouse gases and contributes to global warming. The refusal of the United States government to participate in the Kyoto Treaty and other treaties to reduce pollution makes us a major contributor to the world’s pollution problems. Reform has to start at home—and we runners, as an endangered species, should be out front in demanding change.

Raymond D. Fowler, Ph.D., is the former president and CEO of the American Psychological Association and founder of the Running Psychologists. He is currently president-elect of the International Association of Applied Psychologists.

ON the ROAD WITH JOE HENDERSON

On the Road Again

Once upon a time I ran marathons regularly, twice most years, some- , times more often. Then suddenly I stopped trying them at all.

While I never used the r word (retired), this looked more likely with each passing year. Those had stretched to six when 2006 began.

It’s no coincidence that I found other roles to fill a void left by not going this distance myself. In those marathonless years, I did more talking to, coaching of, and writing for marathoners than ever before. I attended Jeff Galloway’s and Dick Beardsley’s camps with marathoners, formed a Marathon Team to train runners, and signed on as a columnist for Marathon & Beyond magazine.

My first column in M&B rationalized what a lapsed marathoner might offer to active ones. I wrote in 2004 that we who stand by in supporting roles also serve and that we who once ran marathons never really retire.

The less distance I ran, the more support I was free to give. Yet I never stopped wanting to be an active marathoner, at least one more time.

I didn’t want my latest marathon, where little went as it could and should, to remain forever my last. I needed to run at least one more, no matter

how long it took me to get to it and through it.

My next starting line was a long time coming. Finishing took . . . well, we’ll get to that toward the end of this diary of a six-year marathon.

MARCH 2000

You can’t fake a marathon. Maybe you can run a 10K without training for it, but not a marathon.

I had published a book about training honestly for marathons. My problem was remembering to follow that advice myself. Memory failed me in midrun at the 2000 Napa Valley Marathon.

I came here without thinking of running that far. I wasn’t ready, having run no longer than an hour since a half-marathon race almost two months earlier.

My plan was torun the first 10 miles or so with Jan Seeley, the publisher of Marathon & Beyond. Rich Benyo, M&B’s editor, is codirector of Napa Valley. He insisted I wear arace number even if not planning to finish.

The sport’s great thinker, George Sheehan, once said, “When you pin on a number, you pledge to do your best.” I didn’t consciously take this oath but now wore the evidence of having done so.

At 10 miles, I told Jan, “Ill run a few more.” At 13, “I’ll keep going as long as you do.”

Jan was running 16 miles that day to prepare for a later marathon, and she stuck to that plan. As she stopped, I told her, “I’ll go a little farther and then catch a ride.”

More miles down the road, no ride could be found. I was told, ““You can wait for the sag wagon, but it could be another hour before the last runner gets here.”

Rain had started to fall. Running mixed with walking seemed a better choice than standing and waiting. This later became walks mixed with brief runs, all the way to an eventual finish.

SUMMER 2000

Another truism of marathoning: the less you train before, the more you suffer during and after (and usually vice versa—more training equals less suffering). My hurting was mild on Napa Valley race day compared with the aftereffects that struck later.

At first I thought that the accidental marathon had let me off easily. The postrace pains were no worse or longer lasting than if I had trained right, maybe because I had run so slowly and walked so much.

Normal running resumed soon, probably too soon. Long after the soreness was gone, the tiredness persisted.

My defenses stayed down, so low that they couldn’t repel a mysterious illness. Its symptoms were flulike—lowgrade fever, persistent cough, little appetite, heavy fatigue—and they hung on for two full months.

I ran almost nothing for those months and began to worry that I would never feel better. Just getting from one end of the day to the other was a marathon.

My doctor never identified that illness. The best he could do was rule out the worst possibilities.

The long-lasting fever finally cooled. More months passed as I inched back toward normal runs. You appreciate more the unlong, unfast everydayness of running after you’ve lost them for a while or what you thought might be forever.

FALL 2005

Long after recovering fully from what I now call the marathon fever of 2000, I still avoided making the efforts that racing required. Regular runs continued, of course, but in all those years, none ever topped an hour in length.

Istill went to races, but now mostly to watch other runners. “Why aren’t you running?” they would ask.

Two answers. The first, “I forgot > usually drew a laugh. The second, “I like to run too much to race,” brought a look of bewilderment, as if I were speaking poorly translated Swahili.

Here’s a clearer translation: daily runs mean much more to me now than races, if only because the normal days outnumber the race days by more than

to train,”

a hundred to one. If racing jeopardizes my normal running, as it did after Napa Valley 2000, then the race is not worth the risk.

Besides, I’ve raced enough for anyone’s lifetime, more than 750 times. What’s left to prove?

Well, there is one thing. Is it to show that the training program prescribed to my Marathon Teams and in my Marathon Training book is good enough to use myself? No, I already know that from many earlier go-rounds.

The answer that comes closer to the truth than any other is that before too much more time passes, I would like to correct my Napa Valley 2000 mistakes—in training, planning, pacing, recovery. Maybe this one won’t be pretty, either. (When have the late miles of my marathons ever been less than a struggle?) But I want to walk away proud of having done this one as right as I know how.

If the next marathon happens to be my last, [can shrug and say I’ve had my turn. Now I can focus fully on giving that chance to others.

And if this final marathon results in a personal-worst time, no problem. It would complete the perfect bookends of my marathon life: PR in the first to PW in the last, a mere 39 years and two or more hours apart.

FEBRUARY 2006

This time I’ve planned and prepared for a marathon. Napa Valley would have been the logical choice: the same race on the sixth anniversary of my trying to fake one there.

But Napa wasn’t available to me this year. The Marathon Team that I coach was running there, and the members expected me to cheer them along on their big day.

My marathon could wait another month, until another anniversary. I chose the Yakima River Canyon in Washington State for several reasons —its rural and point-to-point course (my favorite type), its friendly directors (Bob and Lenore Dolphin), its friendly field numbering in the hundreds, and its April Fools’ date this year.

Only after my training had taken its next-to-last step up in distance did my entry go in. This run lasted three hours, and the program would top out two weeks later at 3 1/2 hours—or about 21 miles.

Would it be enough? Runners on the Napa Valley Marathon Team were thinking the same.

Going to the starting line, you’re never sure how you’ll finish. Facing the unknowable can be scary, no matter how many times you’ve done it (and this would be my 45th).

A note sent to the Napa runners the week before their race was meant to reassure them, but I needed this reminder, too. It read:

Your training peaked at 21 miles. You might be asking yourself—if you haven’t already asked me or haven’t found out for yourself in an earlier marathon—how can I now take the big leap from 21 to 26 miles?

I understand your concerns. I’ve had them myself when facing my first

marathon off a longest training run a mile shorter than yours.

That marathon would be faster than any that followed, when training often was longer. Based on experience since then—as a runner, writer, speaker, and coach of marathoners—I offer these ways that you will find those extra miles.

° You trusted me to help you get this far. Trust me not to have left you unprepared for your finish.

° You will get an extra week’s recovery (three in all) between the last long run and the race. Use it wisely, and don’t try to do any cramming for this final exam. Your assignment now is to taper down the training.

° You will go new places. Enjoy escaping the home course, which has become too familiar these past few months, and exploring the racecourse that will be new to all of you.

° You will get a major boost from the magic of race day—the crowd running with you and watching you run. Expect the increased adrenaline to give you another hour of strong running.

* You won’t succumb to adrenaline poisoning, will you? Keep your head in the early miles while most of those around you are losing theirs.

e You will start slower, or at least no faster (please), than on your longest training run. Look forward to passing people in the late miles,

which is much more fun than being passed.

° You will have more help. Don’t worry about getting a drink or finding a bathroom. They will be available every couple of miles.

° You will see new faces. Appreciate how you are part of something much bigger, 100 times bigger in this race, than your Sunday training runs. You will never run alone.

¢ You will have trained as long as or longer than most of the runners near you. Look around and think, / feel better than that person looks.

¢ You won’t face another long run, two miles longer, in two weeks. Don’t hold anything back, as you can take as much time as you want to recover from this big effort. You will never forget all that went into it.

EARLY MARCH

Rains fell and head winds blew during the Napa Valley Marathon. Some 500 runners didn’t show up, didn’t finish, or didn’t make the 5:30 cutoff time. Our team of Oregonians lined up all 16 of its entrants, and all finished with at least a half hour to spare before official timing ceased.

The previous two Marathon Teams had trained the same way as this latest group. Of the 49 starters, all but one finished.

That one stepped off the course with two blocks to go so a time that disappointed him wouldn’t be recorded.

He had still gone five miles past his training peak.

APRIL FOOLS’ DAY

We runners think in numbers, talk in numbers, define ourselves and each other by numbers. The numbers I put up at the Yakima River Canyon Marathon weren’t notable, yet they didn’t go unnoticed.

There is nowhere to hide as a marathoner anymore. You could look up my time, anyone’s time, on the Web, so I’ll save you the trouble. It was 5:01 at Yakima.

A friend asked at the finish line, “Does it embarrass you not to break five hours?” It wasn’t a harsh question.

He knew [had once run more than two hours faster, he knew that I’m a little more visible than most five-hour marathoners, and he was concerned about my feelings at that moment.

No, I told him, this time carries no shame. If slowing down bothered me, I would have stopped running marathons after the first few. Or I would have chosen one now where no one knew me, then run in disguise under an assumed name.

A time goal wasn’t what brought me to this marathon. The final time was the least of what I took away from it, though I confess relief at avoiding a PW—personal-worst time—by a single minute.