On THE Road

WITH Kathrine Switzer

“YA GOTTA HAVE HEART”

ATHENS, GREECE, August—Eight days before the Track and Field World Championships, just in time for my husband to buy advance-purchase tickets, my former but brand new employers, Avon Products, Inc., agrees that I should go to Greece to start making the contacts we need to launch our new initiative: Avon Running— Global Women’s Circuit. I think ’’m going to like this job, I mutter to my colleagues.

As it is in serious contention for the 2004 Olympic Games, Greece is at its best, with the exception of Constitution Square, which is under construction for anew metro stop. Anew metro is part of the 2004 bid, and the citizens have been screaming for one for decades. I mention this because to me much of Athens centers around this square, and I have nostalgic memories of sitting there on warm November afternoons in 1972, after the Munich Olympic Games, trying to make a cup of syrupy Greek coffee last through the entire Herald Tribune and trying to get my head together on The Real Meaning of Sports, which was not easy for an athlete in the wake of the ’72 Games.

In 1972, [had aroom ina pensione off the square for about $4 a night, 25 cents extra if you wanted a shower.

Now I was staying at the Le Meridian, right on the square, with a 12thfloor room that came complete with a view of the Acropolis.

It’s August, and it is HOT! The sun is really glaring; all that white marble kills your eyes. But in the shade, like in the beautiful national park or beneath the overhang of the stadium tiers, it is very pleasant because the air is extremely dry, with a wonderful breeze, which the Greeks call Meltami. Traffic is light by Athens standards because everyone is on vacation, so pollution is ata minimum.

But that doesn’t help the athletes who have to compete in the bright sun of the stadium or along the marathon course. Although the schedule has been set so that events run from 8:00 A.M. to 11:00.4.M., and then again from 5:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.M., there is still

plenty of direct sun. I feel sorry for journalists trying to work the event on this schedule because there is just no time to sleep.

But the events are organized flawlessly. In a direct fly-in-your-face to Atlanta, the buses in particular are prompt to the second. The Greek Olympic bid is going to have great strength as well as sentiment after these Championships, despite IAAF head Primo Nebiolo’s complaints about things. His complaints are those of someone in fear; since Nebiolo is pushing for Rome to be awarded the next Olympics, he should be worried.

Asalways, the track and field competition is sublime. Even 2,000 years ago, the Greeks got it right in the first place: nothing else compares to the divine moments of sheer athletic competition, when one human pits it all fairly against another. Is 800-meter runner extraordinaire Wilson Kipketer really human, oris he ademigod who has stepped down from one of the marble friezes? Could there be a more unlikely and wonderful winner in the women’s discus than Beatrice Faumuina, from New Zealand of all places? (Beatrice made two big points with her victory: that a country known for distance running and not at all for discus-throwing women could produce one, and the second, being of Samoan heritage, that women of color from the South Pacific can deliver the goods, too.)

Niki Xanthou, looking like a modern-day version of a Greek goddess, almost wins the long jump. Every

time she, or any other Greek, steps onto the track, I think the stadium will collapse under the pounding from the crowd. My favorite, though, is Nezha Bidouane from Morocco, who wins the 400-meter hurdles. I am sitting near Nawal El Moutawakel when Nezha wins. Nawal was the first woman from an Islamic country to win an Olympic gold medal when she won the 400-meter hurdles in 1984. Now her protégé wins a World Championship and proclaims she did it for the women of Morocco. Nawal rushes down to track side and they embrace; in the background the Moroccan fans send up the high warbling cry that is used in battle and in victory. There is a full moon over the Acropolis that night. I hope the Greeks get the Olympics. Inamassive cop-out, my husband and I watch the men’s and women’s marathons from our air-conditioned hotel room, calling up a room service breakfast. I feel terribly guilty, as if I should have stayed outside in the heat and suffered, too. An hour before the runners are due, we put on our own gear and run to the ancient Olympic stadium to wait for them. And they do suffer, all of them looking as Pheidippides must have 2,500 years ago, when he arrived in Athens from Marathon. The possible exception is Hiromi Suzuki from Japan, who makes her move at 30K and cranks up the pace to run negative splits. Second-place finisher Manuela Machado falls to her knees at the end and keeps kissing a religious medal

ON THE ROAD WITH KATHRINE SWITZER M5

she has around her neck, obviously grateful to be still alive. For the first time in my life I wonder if I did the right thing fighting for women to be in this event. In the heat of a day like today, should anybody run a marathon?

The first American, Cheryl Collins, runs a tremendous 2:43:42, considering the conditions, showing real grit and future promise, while Ethiopian Olympic gold medalist Fatuma Roba, after leading the race, blinks off the screen at exactly halfway. A better offer must have awaited her in an autumn marathon.

On a cooler day, the men suffer equally. The Americans seem to be especially hard hit, with the exception of David Scudamore, who runs well with a 2:18:41 and leads the team. In the July/August issue of M&B, I wrote about Scudamore’s surprise victory in the UPMC Pittsburgh Marathon, where he won his berth to Athens. He is testimony to the power of offering an opportunity to an up-and-coming runner. It is a philosophy borne out by the Spanish here in the World Championships; they went one, two, and six in the marathon. Over a decade ago, Spain instituted a nationally-supported, methodical distance training program and are now churning out the likes of Martin Fiz, Fermin Cacho, and this great team that represented them at the 1997 Worlds.

Australian Steve Moneghetti hangs in for third, finally getting the World Championships medal that has

eluded him. “Moner” is one of the few marathoners who has mostly avoided the allure of big money races to concentrate only on major championships.

My last night in Athens, I bump into Jackie Joyner-Kersee in the hotel elevator and invite her to the press conference to launch Avon Running— Global Women’s Circuit in a few weeks. These championships are her swan song, and my secret hope is to get her to run a 10K road race.

LAUSANNE, SWITZERLAND, September 3—Athens is declared the host of the 2004 Olympic Games. At last their cycle is complete. The metro will be finished, Constitution Square will be restored, and the Acropolis will glow again in Olympic moonlight. Primo Nebiolo seethes in Rome. I suppose the Romans eventually will get the Olympics again since they were the first to take them away from the Greeks about 2,000 years ago.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK, September 4—At a press conference Avon Products, Inc. announces its return to running sponsorship after a 12-year hiatus. Jackie Joyner-Kersee is there, but doesn’t commit yet to running in one of the races, although Lorraine Moller, Yuko Arimori, Lynn Jennings, Joan Benoit Samuelson, Valentina Egarova, Grete Waitz, and Cheryl Collins do. Past Avon champions are also there, all stellar names from the past: Julie Brown, Nancy Conz, Joyce Smith, and Marty Cooksey.

In one of life’s more validating moments, lamasked back as program director, a position Ihad with the company from 1978 to 1985. The reality is that Avon and I have been working on the possibility of a return to this program for over a year but keeping it quiet until we could get our events in place, and to maximize the press impact, which today is tremendous. Avon’s sponsorship and system of opportunity and upward mobility played a big role in the development of women’s distance running and was a huge factor in the women’s marathon being included in the Olympic Games. Now the aim is to make running and walking accessible as fitness tools to as many women as possible while still creating that avenue of upward mobility for the talented runner. With a goal of launching in 16 countries in 1998, I see a lot of travel ahead of me.

BUDAPEST, HUNGARY, September—I’ve always wanted to do a women’s race in Hungary, for one big reason: Sarolta Monspart. Sarolta was one of the top-ranked marathoners in the world in the 1970s. But marathoning was her second sport—she actually was a world champion orienteerer. She finished second in the inaugural Avon Marathon in Atlanta in 1978, and we became good friends and have stayed in touch for years after that. Now Avon is doing business in Hungary and wants to do a race there. Twenty years after I met her, Sarolta is now

the Director of the National Women’s Sports Institute in Hungary. In 1979, Sarolta was bitten by a tick and was paralyzed for several months. Her competitive career was over, and even today she walks with a limp. But it hasn’t stopped her total immersion in creating opportunities for others. The consequence is that women’s running is not unique in Hungary, and our challenge will be to establish programs in more remote areas that still have corporate impact. Quick! Name three Hungarian cities besides Budapest. See? It’s time to move beyond just the big lights.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA, October—Talk about big lights. There are 11 million people here. The city looks and feels European, so it’s kind of like New York, only with charm.

Unfortunately, my colleagues in Argentina don’t think women run here and that nobody has ever heard of any woman runner. I feel like I’ve rolled back in time to the old notions of “Women Don’t Like To Run,” yet when I look out at Palermo Park or on the bike trails, I see loads of women runners and joggers. I must wrestle here with what some perceive as sport and some perceive as lifestyle.

In September, the Carrefour 8K race was held in downtown Buenos Aires and attracted 51,000 people, the fourth largest race in the world in 1997. The race director tells me that 20 percent of those runners were women. Check Argentina for a return trip and some re-focusing.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK, November—Thirty thousand registered runners, and after a perfect autumn week, the fog bank and thunder caps begin to roll in the day before the New York City Marathon. In eight hours of television rehearsals, we can’t geta single helicopter up, and that is only indicative of the situation: every single person working every aspect of the race will be challenged.

Frankly, the runners will have the easiest job. They only have torun their hearts out, and there are plenty of heart-tugging stories. Tegla Loroupe heads the favorites list of women, and her touching personal stories only fuel the fact that she also has four minutes onthe rest of the field due to her knockout 2:22:07 last April in Rotterdam. People keep talking about course record; Tegla keeps talking about starting conservatively.

German Silvaheads the men’s list, and he also never fails to impress with his personal commitment to helping others—this time to donate a portion of his winnings to homeless children in Mexico City. While everybody is handing Tegla the women’s race, German clearly has a tough job against the likes of Domingos Castro, Stephano Baldini, and a flock of Kenyans, not the least of whom is Shem Kororia, who just came within nine seconds of the world half-marathon record by running 59:56 at Kosice two weeks ago.

But there is nothing so certain as the uncertainty of the marathon race. German hangs in with the leaders, and

in Central Park with only two miles to go, looks to be a sure contender and is gaining on leader John Kagwe, who is close to a course record despite having to tie his shoes three times. As it often is, the marathon is just a mile too long, and suddenly Silva is not gaining on Kagwe but going backwards. Kagwe wins, in 2:08:12, 11 seconds off the course record, making Kagwe’s the most heartbreaking and expensive pair of Nikes anyone has ever worn. When Silva hits the finish line in fifth place, he passes out and is carted off to the hospital. While he seems OK by the awards ceremony that evening, you have to wonder about the number of times Silva can turn in that magnitude of performance.

For the women, the story is similar. Starting conservatively, Tegla hangs behind a pack of women and makes her traditional move at 19 miles, taking only Colleen De Reuck and Franziska Rochat-Moser with her. Tegla begins surging, and it looks like the other two are just hanging on for places, when poof! Tegla loses herlegs at 22 miles, just when Franziska finds hers. It is a neat 2:28:43 victory for the Swiss champion and puts her on the map.

Unfortunately, the race doesn’t have a perfect ending for her. After a complaint by Kim Jones at the postrace press conference, journalists make a tempest-in-a-teacup controversy over women taking water passed to them by men in the race. Along with other runners, Rochat-Moser is wrongly implicated; I was sitting beside her on a motorcycle during the entire race and never saw her take anything from anybody. The next day, race director Allan Steinfeld declared the case closed and no protests filed. The press mostly moved on as if nothing happened, but I felt sad that a tremendous victory from this intelligent and talented woman was tarnished for her. How different would some of our beloved heroes like Grete Waitz or Bill Rodgers be today if something unfair like this happened on their first major victory?

The race also had an unhappy and scary ending for Tegla Loroupe. Finishing seventh, she said she didn’t know what had happened, and she shrugged it off to menstrual cramps. But several days later, after being examined by a sports medicine specialist in New York, Loroupe was found to have two serious stress fractures in her spine. It is a serious condition, where the bone is broken but not separated. Separation could cause injury to the spinal cord and even paralysis, so her mobility mustbe restricted. Tegla will have to wear a back brace 23 hours a day and cannot run for four months. She cannot run the marathon distance for at least eight months.

I suppose all these stories that pull at the heartstrings are minimized, however, by a man named Donald Arthur, who ran the race with a transplanted heart. Mostly unsung, totally unnoticed, perhaps

Donald Arthur puts the race into perspective best.

Editor’s Note: Due to Kathrine’s increasingly busy schedule in launching the Avon Running series, this will be her last “On The Road With … Kathrine Switzer” column. Kathrine will continue to contribute to Marathon & Beyond as time permits. We wish her the greatest success in guiding Avon’s return to running. Look for our new “On the Road…” host in the March/April issue of M&B.

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Shoeing

When Winter Rolls In, Snowshoeing Offers an Alternative Workout.

By SALLY EDWARDS

SHERRI MEYER

During the winter months, snowshoeing is an attractive alternative to plodding through knee-high snowdrifts or running on treacherous roads.

\ N ] HEN ARCTIC winds roar in from the north, long-distance runners in northern climes turn to snowshoeing as an attractive alternative to plodding through knee-high snowdrifts or running on treacherous roads. Snowshoes areno longer the bigger-than-a-tennis-racket type used by Sergeant Preston of the Yukon. Today’s snowshoes are smaller, lighter, and more practical. Running on snowshoes will require a slight technique modification compared to the form you’d use while out running on the roads or trails. The extra weight from the frames of the snowshoes adds to the workload, so you’ve got

Sally Edwards SHOEING AWAY WINTER 11

to lift the legs more. The energy required for lifting and landing shortens your stride length. The outswing gait required to run on symmetrical running snowshoes and the more straddled footplant puts additional stress on the hip flexors, but the softer running surface helps alleviate some of the impact of these biomechanical adjustments. Nicking the inside of the ankles and “drawing blood” is common, so while snowshoeing you’ ve got to take a wider stride or wear a pair of hockey-style ankle guards for protection.

If you’re intent on becoming a snowshoer, you’ II need to learn to run smoothly and develop a rhythm in the stride at a constant intensity level. You also need to concentrate on your footing because the amount of traction available can vary quickly and sometimes dramatically. Lightly packed snow is the best surface for snowshoe running. Once you get off the snowmobile track or groomed trails, the going gets tough, though. Breaking trail increases your workload and energy costs by as much as 50 percent.

“Share the roads” isacommon cry from runners when it comes to bicyclists and motorists. Snowshoers utter the same thing to skiers and snowmobilers. We all need to share the trails and treat each other with respect. The nordic skiers are protective of their trails, and you’ Il need trail passes to snowshoe at a nordic resort. The trail pass gives you the privilege to use the facilities whether you are on or off the trails. It’s best to check in advance if snowshoeing is allowed at a specific nordic area.

Today’s snowshoes are small, light, and practical.

GETTING STARTED

Start your snowshoeing adventure by running slowly on a flat trail to learn the balance and coordination required. On a well-packed snow surface, most sub40-minute 10K runners can snowshoe that distance two minutes per mile slower than their 10K running pace. If you run slower than 40 minutes for the 10K, add three minutes per mile to your time. This translates to a 35 to 45 percent increase in energy used in snowshoeing compared to running.

Economy of movement is as key to successful snowshoeing running as it is for any other type of running. Efficiency lowers the workload and enhances your performance. To become efficient, use the least amount of leg lift practical to raise the shoe out of the snow, and keep your feet as close together as is practical. If you’ve ever run in sand, you’ll remember that the imprints of your feet forma straight line. That’s because when you run, your footplant is directly under your body’s center. Try to accomplish the same pattern when snowshoeing, using as little outswing and as little waddling as possible while running in symmetrically constructed shoes. This bow-legged running style can be awkward at first and requires concentration to pull it off.

You’ll be surprised—and encouraged—at how similar running and snowshoeing are. You don’t need to practice in advance. Many novice snowshoe racers, for example, simply rent or buy a pair of snowshoes and enter their first race without ever having snowshoed before.

You’ll notice that there are different stress points involved. When running uphill, the calf muscle is shortened because the heel doesn’t land and the same muscle drives the leg into the hill for stability and footplant. Most runners develop tremendous hamstring strength because this muscle group drives the leg forward in the running gait. In contrast, in snowshoeing, the quads and hamstrings are used about equally. The quads work to lift the added weight of the snowshoe out of the snow.

Runners-turned-“shoers” love the convenience and safety of sport snowshoeing. If you live in snow country, it’s incredibly easy to slip into your bindings and go for a workout right from your back door. You can run and hike your favorite running trails in the winter and experience entirely different scenery. You can even snowshoe after dark by using a head-mounted lamp. There is nothing quite like snowshoeing under a full moon. Take your training partner along. Put some drinks and a snack in a daypack and take off.

SNOWSHOE RACING IS DIFFERENT

For those runners who love to race, snowshoe racing is a little different than you’re used to. Distances often aren’t accurate, and like many wilderness tales, the lore and legend is exaggerated. Take, for instance, the Iditashoe. Race management acknowledges that the event is “an Alaskan 100-miler,” which means that they don’t know the distance of the course, they haven’t measured it, and they don’t really care to since it ends at a trapper’s cabin and they aren’t about to move the cabin to accommodate a little thing like an accurate measurement. Some racers in the Iditabike used their cycle computers to measure the course, and they felt it was 85 to 90 miles.

Some snowshoe racers feel the sport should remain just as it is, sans standardization. These independent individuals believe there are enough rules and regulations in the world of sport without introducing more. There are others, of course, who feel standardization should be applied to equipment, distances, and rules. The Canadians are among the latter group and have set up an organization—the Canadian Snowshoe Union—to see that the sport gets standardized, whether it wants to or not.

Winter duathlons and triathlons are becoming more popular. Snowshoeing is usually one of the two events in the duathlon. One of these other winter sports—nordic skiing, ice skating, or mountain biking—is typically the other event. For races with more than one event, quick-release snowshoes are a must.

In the United States, several snowshoe Snowshoe races vary from 100 manufacturers sponsor individual racesor eters to 100 miles. racing series throughout the country. Distances range from 100 meters to 100 miles, and the size of the field varies from half a dozen to several hundred. Snowshoe racing is entirely different from recreational and backcountry snowshoeing and attracts a different type of shoer. In Colorado, the most popular snowshoe races are ascents and descents of mountains, usually with peaks in the 14,000-foot range, and are usually run in or near popular alpine ski resorts. In those races, the snowshoe runner can reach anaerobic threshold within minutes of the starting gun firing. The sport is challenging and exceptionally rewarding.

SHERRI MEYER

BASIC TRAINING

What follows is a basic training regimen for runners who have a hankering for snowshoeing. Sport snowshoeing is a great cross-training sport for runners because it incorporates four elements that lead to a successful running program: upper and lower body strength, cardiovascular endurance, flexibility, and coordination.

A successful snowshoe-training program will focus on four areas:

¢ Cardiovascular endurance: Snowshoeing requires tremendous aerobic stamina that easily elevates the heart rate to 70 to 80 percent of maximum (MaxHR).

¢ Muscle strength: Sport snowshoeing, when incorporating the use of poles, requires upper and lower body strength. Three primary muscle groups are used for the leg movement: hip flexors (quadriceps), which lift the snowshoe out of the snow; hamstrings (back of the legs), which move the leg forward out of the snow; and calf muscles, for pushing off with your feet or lifting onto your toes.

¢ Balance: Snowshoeing is demanding kinesthetically. Since snow compacts easily, you travel on an uneven and unstable landing platform, which requires that you learn how to balance on rock-hard ice and stay upright when breaking through firm crust. Each step brings you to an unknown surface, the anticipation of which immediately improves your balance. Snowshoeing requires coordination and balance so you can climb uphill, glide downhill, negotiate a path over rocks, around trees, and across ice.

¢ Flexibility: Your ability to reach, bend, and relax are all beneficial in negotiating the tasks required to snowshoe effectively. The muscle group that must be truly flexible is the gastrocnemius, or calf, muscle. As you push off the toes on the uphills or balance on the downhills, your calf is stretched.

Specificity and Progression

Your training program must follow the principles of specificity and progression. These two principles state that one must specifically train specific muscles and support systems in the specific manner in which those muscles and support systems are needed, and then progressively add to the workload. This training approach is what exercise scientists refer to as the progression effect: carefully introduced periods of stress improve the level of fitness. Simply stated, to be a good snowshoer, you must slowly increase training volume and quality of snowshoeing.

To reach the minimum fitness threshold and to maintain that level, you must exercise four days a week in a variety of workouts for a minimum of 20 to 30 minutes per session. This translates to roughly two hours of training per week divided over four exercise sessions.

This fits neatly with our four elements of fitness. In the initial conditioning phase, you should work on one of the four elements for an entire workout, whether it’s strength, cardiovascular, balance, or flexibility.

THREE PHASES OF TRAINING

The sport snowshoe training program that follows is presented in three different phases, each with a different training goal. Each of the three phases is progressively more challenging than the one before, and the workout sessions become longer and the type of workout more specific. Before we move into a discussion of Phase 1 Training, let me make several recommendations for how you can be successful in any of the three phases of snowshoe training:

* Youcan shift around the individual workouts to fit into your daily schedule. For example, the workouts can be back-to-back or can have a day of rest between them. The key is that you set aside a part of your day to train. You can change the workouts to fit your preferences. If you would rather take a “spin cycle” class at your fitness club rather than a step class, that’s fine. Just make certain that you work out for the period recommended and for the number of days per week in each of the four regimens.

If you have not been participating in a running program for an extended period of time, you may wish to stay in Phase I for more than four weeks, or until you begin to feel comfortable at that level. There is no magic in the length of the work periods—the schedule merely follows the principle of progression, which is integral to any exercise/fitness program.

PHASE 1 TRAINING

Phase 1 Training is designed to build a basic fitness foundation and is not specific to the sport of snowshoeing. If you follow this format, you can develop a base at your fitness threshold that you can use for any exercise pursuit, whether it is shoeing or some other cardiovascular-oriented sports activity.

Phase 1, preseason conditioning, is designed to elevate your fitness level to a point where you can exercise four days a week for 20 to 30 minutes each session in the four different fitness areas over a week for at least four weeks. When this level of training is comfortable (or if it is already your minimum training level), you can move to Phase 2 Training.

PHASE 1. Preseason Conditioning for Sport Snowshoein

Number of workouts: ‘one workout per day, 4 days per week _

to 15 mine Sunday: rest

PHASE 2 TRAINING

The purpose of Phase 2 Training is to teach the body adaptation so it can train to higher exercise thresholds. This next and progressively more challenging phase is referred to as the adaptation effect. We train in phases to increase the workload in increments. Note that the workouts in Phase 2 are longer in duration than those in Phase 1, and they include more of an aerobic component because in snowshoeing, cardiovascular conditioning is the major requirement.

Phase 2 Notes

A few comments and explanations may clarify some aspects of Phase 2. “Walk/ run” means running and walking, alternating between each during the same

Sally Edwards SHOEING AWAY WINTER Ml 17

workout. For example, walk for three minutes and run for one minute during your 20-minute workout. This serves as a sort of interval training. With time, you can lengthen the running periods and shorten the walking periods as you become fitter. If you’re an experienced marathoner, this may seem extremely basic, but bear in mind that embarking on a snowshoeing program can also be used as a way to ease back into training in the wake of an injury that has caused alengthy layoff, where returning to training should be done slowly and conservatively, lest you become reinjured.

By “machines” in the workouts, I mean any type of machine at a gym, including but not restricted to steppers, rowers, treadmills, weight machines, or free weights. Machines are challenging and fun, and as you train on the different machines, you specifically strengthen specific muscle groups. Runners who live in regions where snow is readily available for snowshoeing are already likely to be familiar with the inside of a gym, where they can do winter workouts on foul weather days.

References to “step class” are to step aerobics classes. Since snowshoeing makes great demands of the quads, strength training and step aerobics condition the quads wonderfully while also requiring coordination and balance. In a single workout, the runner receives benefits in four areas: strength, endurance, coordination/balance, and flexibility.

The “fitness class of your choice” is a broad term for any type of aerobic workout other than running, and can include swimming, in-line skating, or sustained mountain bike riding.

PHASE 2. Base Training for Sport Snowsho’

PHASE 3 TRAINING

Phase 3 Training is the most important training period. Although this phase still incorporates some of the cross-training workouts of phases 1 and 2, other workouts will be specific snowshoe workouts. During this phase, we need to specifically work the upper body muscles that are used for poling and the lower body’s most stressed areas: quads, hip flexors, and calf muscles. Specificity also means doing the specific activity for which you are training: snowshoeing. For those who do not live in an area where snow is available right outside the door, this means traveling to an area where you can “shoe.”

Phase 3 Notes

Notice that the schedule alternates your workouts so that you don’t experience back-to-back workouts that train the same sort of fitness or muscle system. When you train, you need to include variety and challenge in your training program, which means scheduling a diversified program. At Phase 3 Training you are guided through a heavy load or sport specificity: snowshoe training.

“Endurance snowshoeing” on Monday of Week 3 and 4 is your cardiovascular day, when you reach and maintain a steady state heart rate over a long period of time with few rest periods.

“Aerobic snowshoeing” means snowshoeing within your aerobic training zone, which is 70 to 80 percent of your maximum heart rate. This means that your workout is of a slightly higher intensity but for a shorter period of time at

acertain percentage of your max heart rate. A heart rate watch is recommended for all three phases of training.

“{nterval snowshoeing” training scheduled for your weekend workout means long intervals of 2 to 10 minutes at a higher intensity than your aerobic level for a briefer exercise bout. An example of an interval snowshoe workout would be to run/walk or run at 80 to 95 percent of maximum heart rate for three minutes and then walk for three minutes. This is called a 1:1 work-to-rest ratio.

“Hill climbs” are tough workouts, but they build the strength component of fitness. Run/hike up hills that take you 90 seconds to 5 minutes to climb, progressing from week to week by adding more repeats that are longer. For example, do five repeats (one repeat consists of one up and down or one up with arest in place) at two minutes up the hill and then walk back down or active rest until your heart rate returns to 40 to 60 beats above your resting heart rate before you begin the next interval. Gradually, build to 10 repeats of 3 to 5 minutes each on the uphill side of the equation.

Phase 3 Training is really designed for those who want to train hard, usually building toward racing. For the fitness-loving sport snowshoer, Phase 3 is not necessary because your training program is designed for preseason and basic conditioning levels.

DARRIN EISMAN

WEIGHTY MATTERS

When you are doing weight or machine training, spend extra time on the stations that work the calf muscle, the quadriceps, the pectorals and deltoids, and the hip flexors. For single-station weight lifting, spend a disproportionate number of repeats on these stations, doing several sets each. For free weight users, refer to charts that specify which lift affects these specific muscle groups. For those who are using symmetrical snowshoes, remember that snowshoeing stresses the hip joint because of the waddling stride that the shoes force

upon you. The quads and the tendon that attaches them to the ball joint in the hip feel the stress the greater and wider your feet are apart. The wider the snowshoe, the greater the strain on the muscles and tendons. Compounding this is the additional lift required to flex the leg high enough to pull the shoe completely out of the snow and over the top of the snow surface as it extends and swings forward. Further compounding this stress are the conditions of the environment: cold weather and unstable footing, which ultimately leads to additional fatigue. Following a specific training program will help prepare you for these conditions.

TRAINING FOR A SNOWSHOE ULTRARACE

did not have this type of training information from anyone who had competed in the event. So I designed a training program with one goal: to finish and if possible to get to the finish line in under 35 hours. Leadville, Colorado’s, Melissa Lee held the women’s record at that time. She also held the distinction of being one of the only women ever to finish the race. Her time was 57 hours. When I asked Melissa (an experienced ultrarunner) about her experience in the Iditashoe, she summed it up with a simple and simultaneously final statement that she would never do the race again—it was that difficult.

Her statement instilled enough fear in me that I began to train harder and smarter. My training plan called for 8 to 10 miles of running on the roads each day (I don’t live in the snow) with two weight workouts, cross-training with swimming and cycling, and progressively longer snowshoe workouts each week beginning with a two-hour continuous snowshoe workout, which gradually progressed to an eight-hour workout. I planned it all out, wrote it down, and followed it. I also kept a log to help me along the way.

I was surprised after finishing the race in a then-course-record of 24 hours and one minute how effective that training plan turned out to be. It just goes to show that writing out a training program, keeping a training log, and using a heart rate watch to keep from training at too high or too low an intensity can pay off in the long run and in the long snowshoe.

Conditioning, whether you are a traditional or a sport snowshoer, has an even higher meaning to each of us: safety. Physical fatigue can result in poor decisions, which can result in potential disasters when you are shoeing on an unmarked trail with a blanket of fresh snow underfoot.

Fatigue can also lead you to making decisions that can result in losing your way or making a grievous error. By getting in shape, you are better tuned in to your limits. Stay within those limits when you are out in the winter season.

Author Sally Edwards covered the 100-mile Alaskan Iditashoe

24 hours and 1 minute.

But the most important limit you should push is the fun limit, since having fun while you’re snowshoeing is one of the surest ways to succeed at it and to keep at it the rest of your life.

Go shoe!

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Sally Edwards

Doing the Old “Soft Shoe”

Going Long on Snowshoes Is an Experience Not to Be Missed.

By ADAM CHASE

\ N ] HENEVER I had a complaint as a child, my father would say that

whatever I was complaining about was good for me and that confronting the situation would put hair on my chest. (He used to say the same thing to my sisters.)

So it was my father, and not Friedrich Nietzsche, who introduced me to this philosophy: “That which does not kill me makes me stronger.” While this bit of machismo contains some validity, and applies quite aptly to my early experiences with distance snowshoe racing, I must confess that I have yet to sprout Hair One on my manly chest.

There are two kinds of people in the world—those who learn by doing something correctly over and over and over, and the rest of us, who learn most effectively by our mistakes. Let me share some of my mistakes as a snowshoe competitor to save you the frustrations, humiliations, and unnecessary suffering that await the unwary. I say “unnecessary suffering” because there is always an element of discomfort/suffering inherent in the pursuit of endurance sports, whether you’re running in shoes or on snowshoes. Nevertheless, the following account of my first Turquoise Lake 20-Mile Snowshoe Race—which occurred during the first weekend in 1996 outside famed ultradistance capital Leadville, Colorado—will help you plan successful snowshoe adventures by providing a glimpse of what not to do.

TAPPED TO GIVE IT A GO

Coming off a relatively successful late-summer and fall running season, I decided to give snowshoe racing a go while the sport was still in its relative toddler stage. My road racing season had included the Telluride Get High, a

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30-mile Colorado event that offers more than 10,000 feet of altitude gain as well as breathtaking views from the three 13,000+ foot peaks that mark the course. I had also run the soggy Seattle Marathon in late November.

My first snowshoe race came three weeks after the Seattle Marathon. It was a 10K event, and to be brutally honest, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I wore snowshoes that had been express mailed to me the day before the race from a snowshoe manufacturer that asked me to test its product under race conditions. The race marked only my second time wearing modern snowshoes. My first time had been the day I proposed to my wife near the summit of a blustery Mt. Elbert, the second highest peak in the Continental United States. She said yes, which most people we know attribute to a lack of oxygen.

Mercifully, my introduction to snowshoe racing was relatively uneventful, since this 10K event took place on a groomed course at a Nordic ski center, and the weather was good. Running on prepacked snow felt natural and left me with the impression that the snowshoes were mere window dressing that hindered one’s forward progress—not unlike running shoes of 25 or 30 years ago. After getting through my first snowshoe race unscathed, a naive sense of ease moved me to register for the Turquoise Lake 20-Mile race. Why not take advantage of my running base, I thought, and jump into this event, one that was highly regarded by local trail and ultrarunners?

START YOUR DAY WITH AN AVALANCHE

Raceday began in the dark. Two feet of snow had fallen in the high country, and not long into our drive to the race our packed car (my wife, two friends, three dogs, and yours truly) was stopped ata high pass that separated us from Leadville. All traffic had been halted as a helicopter flew near the summit of an overhanging peak to fire an explosive into the slope to instigate an avalanche. Seeing an avalanche up close is not an experience many live to talk about, but those who do marvel at the magnitude of the power released in the chain reaction of rushing snow. The snowy explosion was tremendously exhilarating but cast an ominous spell over the day.

Our delay left little time to get to the start on time. I changed clothes in the car en route, and had to guess at the conditions. As we neared Leadville, at

10,000 feet, the highest town in the United States, we could see that the heavens had been more than generous the night before, having deposited 28 inches of fresh snow. The temperature was creeping up to five degrees Fahrenheit— without taking into account the wind chill factor. To warm our thoughts and raise our spirits, we blasted a Phish tape and sang along.

When we reached the race start, I jumped out of the car and quickly registered for the race. Ihad no time to look at, much less study, the course map, but I figured I could always backtrack or follow the leader if I got lost. With moments left before the start, I grabbed a handful of PowerBars and stuffed them into a fanny pack that held a single water bottle on the side. I strapped on my prototype snowshoes and waddled up for the prerace briefing.

SHUFFLE OFF TO BUFFALO

Locals Tom and Melissa Lee Sobal organize the Turquoise Lake race. It is no exaggeration to say that they have helped shape the face of modern snowshoe racing. Tom has failed to win only a handful of the more than 100 snowshoe events in which he has competed. Needless to say, he has won the Turquoise Lake race every year since its inaugural year in 1989. The Sobals’s races are designed to be low-key, with an emphasis on physical exertion and not on glitz. As testimony to that approach, the Turquoise Lake event is free to those racers who bring a healthy, homemade dish to share at the postrace feed.

The prerace announcements included a description of the course conditions and the mandatory fluid and calorie aspects of the race: all participants were required to begin with a minimum of 20 ounces of fluids and 200 calories of food. Two aid stations were planned, assuming the new-fallen snow didn’t prevent the volunteers from reaching the 7- and 13-mile points. Because of the danger of having racers out on the course after dark (sunset came at about 5:00 p.M.), there were cutoff points along the course at which tardy racers would be pulled. The math was pretty simple: we had seven hours to cover 20 miles: we would have to average just under 20 minutes per mile.

The race start was understated. Tom Sobal simply said, “Ready, set, go!” He immediately assumed the lead, a position he would never relinquish. The bright and flashy colors of the competitors’ apparel contrasted nicely with the downy new snow. I was intimidated, though, by the number of team uniforms and racers sporting mounted shoes: racing flats that were riveted to snowshoe frames to eliminate the binding weight and the loosening that often haunts snowshoe straps. These were some very serious, sponsored athletes who really knew what they were doing. I, well, I had to swallow hard and wonder if I was in over my head.

JILL EISMAN,

The start of some snowshoe races can be chaotic—especially in fresh powder.

As we took off, the racers kicked snow into the cold morning sunrise, resulting in a playful cascade of sparkles. As the group advanced, the continuous spray of snow made me wish I had worn some eye protection.

Because of the heavy dump of fresh snow, we were forced to tramp away from the starting line in single file. I fell into place near the front third of the pack of 60 racers. Like a bicycle peleton, we took turns at the lead where breaking trail was so grueling that after only a few minutes the leader needed to be relieved. I heard happy chatter amongst the racers as the mass cooperated and repressed a sense of competitiveness, fighting the shortness of breath that comes with racing at altitude.

After climbing through woods and clearing a wood rail fence with typical snowshoers’ gracelessness, the pack made its way across the frozen surface of Turquoise Lake, which came approximately two miles into the race. The wind

Adam Chase DOING THE OLD “SOFT SHOE” ® 27

from the lake was bitingly cold. I was wearing a pair of pants I had volunteered to test for snowshoe worthiness and, much to my chagrin, I discovered a latent defect: the pockets, which opened at the hip for easy access, filled with snow kicked from behind as I pushed forward. My pockets soon began to swell, and the weight caused my pants to pull down. To avoid embarrassment and melting, I had to empty my pockets constantly.

NO STRIDE-FOR-STRIDE

As the group progressed across the lake, our turns in the lead grew shorter, and the wind filled our track with snow in a matter of moments. To complicate matters further, parts of the mostly frozen lake were slushy, which caused the watery snow to stick to the cold aluminum shoes and freeze from the cold winds. The result was a heavy load of caked-on, clinging snow. The fact that I was not wearing gaiters didn’t help matters either, and soon my wool socks were dangling with icy balls.

The race really began when the lead group of 15 racers finally reached the far side of the lake. The pack broke apart as soon as we climbed up the steep bank into the woods and turned onto a wind-packed trail.

At about five miles, I was still feeling fine as we started a long and steady climb to Uncle Bud’s Cabin, the first checkpoint. I was maintaining a consistent pace but became frustrated when two racers wearing ultralight snowshoes passed me. They seemed just to float on the snow, which made me ponder the weight of my test shoes. I knew that they were heavier than some of the other makes, but I thought that the new design might compensate with added performance and durability. It’s a good thing that I didn’t know then that I would finish the race with two broken snowshoes caused by design defects and welding failures.

At about mile six we started a steep climb on an out-and-back section of the course. I was running in the top fifth of the field but was far enough back that the tracks were well cut in the fresh snow and protected from the wind by the woods. At times I felt as though I were ascending a very long, white flight of

stairs. I once heard perpetual motion described as a Slinky on an escalator, and Thad to wonder if that vision applied to us in these cold and snowy conditions.

As I neared the turnaround point, Tom Sobal passed me coming back the other way, followed by a pack of four in hot pursuit. It was quite cold at the top of the climb, but the gorgeous views at over 12,000 feet and the thought of descending comforted me. What was not comforting was that there was no aid station at the top of the climb. I reached the cabin and shuffled around until it became obvious that there would be no warm milk and cookies. I must say I was very disappointed.

TAPPING OUT, AKA “SHUFFLE-BALL BONK”

Instead of consuming treats from an aid station, I had to make do with a rockhard PowerBar. Other, more natural energy bars don’t tend to freeze or harden in the cold, but PowerBars get brittle when chilled. Chewing was only half the battle. Before I could chew, I first had to complete the Houdini-like task of unwrapping the thing, which is damned near impossible when your hands are in mittens and frozen numb.

The second blow to my sustenance plans was that my water bottle had frozen because I had placed it right side up in the holster on the side of my fanny pack. As a snowshoe rookie, I didn’t know that the squirt nozzle freezes unless you place it upside down to prevent the top from freezing. Like an infant trying to get milk from a spent bottle, I only semi-succeeded in warming the nozzle enough to allow for some passage of liquid.

After a quick mile drop from the turnaround point, the course turned on to acold straightaway stretch fraught with headwinds and no direct sunlight. The winds made for slow going as they blew fresh powder into the tracks of the racers ahead. By this point my face was numb, and my hands had lost almost all feeling. I had consumed fewer than 250 calories and had drunk almost nothing. In spite of these problems, I was having a good time in such a beautiful setting and in such fine company.

Atroughly mile 13, just when my spirits began to take a turn for the worse, Trounded a corner and saw an aid station. I gladly accepted a cup of hot Tang from a kind gentleman who had driven his snowmobile up a trail and built a snow shelter to shield him and his gas stove from the wind. The hot fluid got my blood flowing again, and I braved the adventure of opening another PowerBar as I strode away from the station. I had to take off my mitten to remove the wrapper, and to make sure I stored the wrapper in my pocket. I get peeved at people who leave energy bar and gel wrappers on trails, and I refused to break my own rules, even if it meant frostbitten fingers. Tote it in, tote it out. It took me another quarter of a mile to get my mitten back on. I wondered whether the

temperature had dropped or whether I was losing dexterity because of exertion and lack of nourishment.

The Tang and PowerBar combination likely fueled my progress for another three or four miles, at which point I experienced my first-ever “bonk.” I began to get numb and disoriented and even went off-course when I thought I saw some tracks go into the woods and down a snowbank back to the lake.

When I discovered that [had made a wrong turn, I literally had to crawl back up the bank to get back on track. My legs were barely responding to my mind’s commands, and I can recall not really caring about much of anything. It was a rather existential experience and not one I wish to repeat. I would prefer to read about such episodes in works such as Jack London’s To Build A Fire, while sitting in front of a roaring fireplace.

By this time, after more than five hours in the cold, I was running on autopilot. The temperature was hovering around zero—sub-teens with the wind chill factor. The natural beauty of the setting inspired me to finish the race. All Ihad to do was to traverse a short portion of the lake and then descend the final mile to the finish line.

The final miles came rather easily because I was too bushed to feel much of anything; my numb legs had stopped registering pain or exhaustion. I could even say that I was enjoying myself—in a demented sort of way, that is.

CLATTERING-TEETH FINISH

When I reached the finish line, I found my lovely wife and friends waiting patiently. They were cold, and our dogs were frozen, but when they saw how cold Iwas, they probably felt balmy by comparison. They led me into the warming hut where I consumed every warm drink placed in front of me in an effort to reduce my uncontrollable shivers. It took about 15 minutes and an intimate affair with a space heater before I was able to feel good enough to think about replacing my wet clothes with a dry outfit. Atthis point Irealized that both snowshoes were broken, which explained the

Ultrarunner Adam Chase snowshoeing in the off-season. DARRIN EIMAN

funny sound I had been hearing for the last five miles of the race. I also became aware that my gray wool socks were now pink from a couple of spots where my feet had been worn raw. One advantage of numbness: you don’t have to deal with pain.

The potluck was delicious, and the hut began to get warmer as finishers congregated and recounted the day’s adventures. As it turned out, a number of racers had turned back early because of the cutoff times. I just sat fighting off shivers, feeling very content to be finished, warm, well fed, and in such good company.

DANCING TO A DIFFERENT TUNE

Although I often question the saying, “Father knows best,” my dad was right about benefiting from life’s adversities. I went back to the Turquoise Lake 20Miler in 1997 and bettered my time by almost two hours. Although that improvement had something to do with faster snow conditions, it was primarily due to the lessons learned in the 1996 race.

Starting in the late fall, I altered my resistance training regime to concentrate on my hip flexors, adductors, and abductors, the muscles that are taxed more from snowshoeing than from running. [also made sure to maintain a good endurance base through running, especially running on high mountain trails.

As [had learned, the effort and time involved in running 20 miles on snowshoes can, depending on the snow conditions, be equivalent to running 30 to 40 miles on roads. I also made sure to avoid avalanches and arrive with plenty of time to spare before the start and was pleased to know the course well enough that I didn’t need to carry a race map.

I brought along two water bottles and mixed in some sports drink before putting the bottles in my belt upside down. For nourishment, I carried Boulder Bars, which did not freeze solid and were easy to tear open without having to remove my mitten.

used lighter snowshoes, ones that I had tested thoroughly before the race. Talso made sure that my socks fit well in comfortable, well-worn racing shoes that had a rear lip on the sole to prevent the snowshoe straps from slipping off.

This year I also made sure that my pants didn’t have open side pockets, and I protected my ankles from clumping snow with low-cut gaiters. I also added some warmth and protection by wearing a windproof vest with a high collar to hide behind if the wind picked up.

In addition, I sported a pair of protective shades to save my eyes from flying snow and cold, dry winds. Finally, in the intervening year, I even managed to sprout a chest hair to remind me of my father—and Nietzsche. es

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My Life asa (Marathon) Dog

If You Can’t Stand the Cold, Stay Out of the Arctic.

By DIAMOND, aka JOE OAKES

MR, VERTICLE

“Hey, Skinny Man. Try to keep up with my team for 10 days of our usual routine—if you can.”—Diamond, runner, stud dog par excellence, alpha male.

H® YOU! Yeah, you, with the sweaty T-shirt. Yeah, you, meatless. They tell me you know something about distance running. Skinny Man, let me tell you something: You don’t know diddly-squat about running. You don’t even qualify as a rank amateur in our league. Me and my team are here to lay down achallenge to you or to any and all comers—and that includes the Kenyans, the Tarahumaras, the Ethiopians, the Ruskies, and the best all-time aggregation of American runners you can come up with. You can throw in Frank Shorter, Billy Rodgers, Alberto Salazar, and Johnny Kelley at their primes. Hell, throw in both Johnny Kelleys.

Here’s the challenge: Just keep up with my team for 10 days of our usual routine—if you can. Make that 5 days, just to make it easier on your wimpy selves.

My team will run together like a Bay-to-Breakers centipede, and there will never be more than a few yards between us front to back. We’ ll take only one 15-minute snack break all day, and we’ ll haul everything we need for the fiveday trip. There’ Il be no aid stations. Like Abebe Bikila, we’ll go barefoot, and we’ll run most of the day, putting in at least 50 miles before calling it quits, all at a pace of about five-minutes per mile. Oh, yeah, did I mention that half our team is female?

The course will be run on our home turf, and the terrain will be varied and rugged, with a lot of hills, some wind-blown, flat areas, a lot of places where you can sink in up to your whoozis, and maybe some very interesting wildlife you can make friends with. (You might get a very special luncheon invitation.) You won’t have to worry about overheating. In fact, wear your warmies, Furless, because temperatures will probably not get even as high as zero most of the time; and when the wind whistles in the open areas, you’re going to wish you were doing Peachtree on a record-hot day.

Let’s make this even more interesting by making a little wager. How ’bout half-a-ton of meat? The fattier the better, and please, uncooked. We eat a lot, maybe four or five thousand calories a day.

By the way, your chances of beating us are between zero and nothing, you scrawny, two-legged weenie. No human being has ever come close. The fact is that for centuries you humans have been relying on us to do the really tough running. Like your postmen of yore, before the union took over, we are there, ready to run, whatever the weather, and we work on the cheap.

INTRODUCTIONS ARE IN ORDER

But I’ve been rude. Please permit me to introduce myself. I am Diamond— runner, stud dog par excellence, and, of course, an alpha male. The bitch to my left is June. (We have a, ahem, special relationship, if you know what I mean.) June and I lead the team, which can be any number of fine beasts, usually from 6 to 10 of us. When we’re running, there is no question whatever about my authority: The team follows me.

That’s right, me, not the two-legged freak back there hooting and hollering. Oh, he might make some suggestions from time to time, but keep in mind that I’mthe lead dog here. June runs right beside me, and right behind us are Whitey and Flash. They’re what we call swing dogs. June and I make the moves to set the course, and they implement it by following us. Theirs is an important job, and maybe someday they, too, may get to be lead dogs… but not while I’m still on the job.

We always put a female beside a male because, well, some of us sometimes forget our manners. We’ re very close to our wolf brothers, you know, and we’ re

June and | lead a team of fine beasts.

inclined to mix it up a bit sometimes. Fighting doesn’t help us in our long runs. We also put a male behind a female, and vice-versa. This arrangement keeps the peace, if you know what I —_ mean. saw

We line up in pairs all the way back, depending on how many of us are working that day. Way in the back there is Rebar, our Wheel Dog. He’s a real grunt. Note foremost that he’s BIG. Rebar has his butt right up against the sled. What happens to the sled happens to Rebar’s butt, so he exercises control on old Two Legs and the load.

Not just anyone can be a sled dog. The common conception is that we’re Huskies or maybe Malamutes. Those are legitimate breeds, and there’s a good deal of both of them in us, but the fact is we are, in the good old American tradition, mutts.

Our Malamute and Husky ancestors have been used for hauling heavy loads in the north countries for years. That is not what we do: we’re runners. Our bloodline also includes some hound, and that gives us the speed and endurance to run fast and long.

Years ago when asked how to become a great runner, your Billy Rodgers replied that you have to select the right parents. Uh-huh! A real test for us is something like the Iditarod Race, 1,049 miles, more or less, from Anchorage to Nome, which commemorates the time, years ago, when our supreme running ability saved an entire Alaskan community from an outbreak of diphtheria. Only WE were able to deliver the needed vaccine.

HOW MANY MILES A WEEK DO YOU RUN?

You run 100-mile weeks, huh? If you will pardon the expression, that’s piddling! I won’t go into details, but a 100-mile week is not very much ofa training

effort. That won’t get you very far in real endurance runs. Maybe try running 200 or 300 miles a week, for openers, but you’ Il have to do it under the kind of conditions that you’re likely to find on the trail in a big race like the Iditarod. You must include hills. Uphills give the workload your body will need. Downhills are even more important for a very good reason: When we’ re careening down a mile-long slope at sub-five-minute miles, that sled, a slave to the laws of gravity, wants to go even faster, and old Bipedal back there had better be heavy on the brake or Rebar is going to get anew crease down his back. If a400pound, loaded sled came bearing down on me at 20+ miles per hour, there might be a need to break in a new alpha real fast, so I take the hill training of our Mr. Vertical very seriously. Like it or not, he is a part of our team, even if he is the weakest link. The things a dog has to put up with!

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN THE WEATHER GETS SCUZZY?

What do you humans do when the weather starts to get scuzzy? Like as not, you take your annual sabbatical from running. Oh, yeah, there are the winter runs in places like Florida and Hawaii, and there are those guilt-encrusted “Recover from the Holidays Fat-Ass Fifty” runs all over the place, but really, most runners just flake for the winter.

Up here, when the running gets tough, the tough get running. Semper Fi and all that stuff. Ten feet of snow? No problem. The lead dog (Me!) just plows ahead, and the rest get to do the easy part. Temperatures as low as 50 or 60 below? Give me a real problem. Below zero is when the fun really starts, and it’s just part of doing business up here.

And then there’s the wind, coming straight out of the north with a ferocity to rival a hungry spring grizzly with a bad attitude. Some days, maybe in a pretty place where there are a lot of trees to provide a wind break, it isn’t too bad. But when you’re out on the open ice in a place like Norton Sound, and you have to run 20 miles into the wind with no shelter at all, it can get to be a bit dreary.

Did I say Norton Sound? That’s the kind of place where I can really show my stuff. Sure, the ice on this arm of the Bering Sea is five or more feet thick, but keep in mind that this is an ocean, and the tides, constantly going up and down, cause that ice to fold and break into bergs and leads and cracks. It takes areally savvy lead dog to get the team through that minefield. I might be going across the ice hell-bent for leather in blizzard conditions when that sixth sense kicks in . . . an opening in front of me, big enough to swallow the whole team. Gotta find a way around it fast. This is no place to dilly-dally.

Yes, Dogs Are That Smart

| F YOU owna dog, you know how smart they really are. They communicate in many ways. When serenading them, it became unquestionably obvious to me, by Diamond’s querulous expression, that he really disapproved of my behavior. | shut up, but it took a while before he forgave me for the transgression.

My Iditarod team had encyclopedic knowledge of the trail, over 1,000 miles in length. One day when we attempted to go down a rather obvious route on a glacier, Diamond put up a big fuss, refusing to go on. After a discussion with the other mushers, we came to the conclusion that he was right, and we had been wrong. We turned back a half-mile and got onto the right track again. Even more impressive is how the dogs know just where to go to avoid being swallowed up by open leads when crossing ocean ice, or how they can sense and communicate the nearness of some dangerous animal, like a polar bear, a grizzly, or a pack of wolves.

At the same time, there is never any question of these animals being pets. They’re only a half-step from their cousins, the wolves. That becomes very clear when you put two males within fighting distance. They’re ferocious, determined fighters, and will not stop until one animal clearly asserts dominance, or one dies in the process.

Joe Oakes

Even more closely akin to the wolf is their nightly chorus. They will be lying in the snow, perfectly silent, the teams of several mushers chained in a big circle. Sometime in the middle of the night, every night, there will be ayip from one dog, then another, then the first throaty howl; then all of them, maybe 30 ata time, join in, each with a distinctive voice, chiming in, trailing off, for no more than a few minutes; then one by one they stop, and it’s over. Inmy sleeping bag | could sense the power and the cohesiveness of the pack, and the potential for real violence. It’s a sound that will stay with me forever.

The team | used was loaned to me by Iditarod legend Jerry Austin, who lives in the Yupik Eskimo village of Saint Michael’s near the mouth of the Yukon River, facing the Bering Sea. Jerry, nowretired from mushing, enjoys taking a tenderfoot out onto the trail. Just don’t go there looking for a Hilton, a Starbucks, or a McDonald’s. He may, however, ask you to bring along a few hundredweight of fatty lamb as entrance to the world of mushing. —/oe Oakes

Editor’s note: In March of 1997, Joe Oakes journeyed 400 miles on a dogsled, going in the reverse direction of the Iditarod Trail from Nome to the Yukon River.

HOW ABOUT YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS?

What kind of an accommodation would you like, sir? Maybe a suite at the Hilton or a Sheraton with a swimming pool and a sauna? Here’s what I get: a six-foot chain to keep me from romancing the female on the next six-foot chain 12 feel away, or from killing the next male on a six-foot chain another 12 feet away beyond her. I can dig myself into the snow and curl up in a tight, snug circle, cozy enough for the worst weather. If we’re especially lucky there might be some straw or grass to nestle into. We’re not lap dogs. We’re professionals, and asa tule, we never enter a house of any kind for any reason. Ours is a very simple, Spartan, life. When we’re not running, we’re chained down. When we’re chained down, we eat, sleep, and get ready to run again. Nocomputers, no cars, no heaters, no oatmeal.

After a long day, we dig into the snow and curl up ina tight, snug circle. If we’re lucky there might be some straw or grass to nestle into. Furless prefers the hot tub, even in minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit.

COURTESY OF FURLESS

LET’S GET TO THE REAL FOOD

Oatmeal. I’d like to talk to you about that one. Absolutely disgusting stuff. How can anyone, man or beast, expect to endure on such pap? Meat, that’s what I

need: good, red, fatty meat, and lots of it. My Two Legs is trained to take care of that little detail. In the morning he prepares a huge breakfast for us. If things goright, he’ II be ina place where he can heat it up. He’s developed a pretty good concoction of fatty lamb leftovers from the butcher, blended with some salmon parts. I’ve been getting the feeling lately, though, that he’s sneaking in some cheap-o veggie stuff, but I haven’t gotten the goods on him yet.

At dinnertime, after the day’s work is done, we get another big helping of the same stuff, usually about an hour after we finish up for the day. It’s noteworthy that we get to eat before he does—always. That’s a hard and fast rule. That’s as it should be. During a long day’s run we get to take one 15-minute break, and Hairless gets out some frozen salmon (everything is frozen up here), hacks it up into slabs of about a pound each, and tosses them to us. Good, strong teeth, good strong stomachs, and this little tidbit of a fish-sickle is gone in two minutes. On with the show.

What about water? Suppose you lived in a place where water just does not exist under normal conditions? What would you do? Besides the bit of water that Mr. Mummified (I call him that because of the way he wraps himself up in layer after layer of clothing) uses to prepare our meals, there just is no liquid water to be found.

Remember, I said no aid stations. As we are running along, each of us reaches down and snags a bit of a chunk of loose ice. Sometimes, when _ courrsy or wos we’re running inarut between snow Here’s Mister Mummified. We’ve banks, it’s alittle easier. Wejustreach trained him to take good care of us. our snouts out, on the run, and bite off. —§_ << apiece of the frozen bank. That’s what we do for water, all day long, every day. Once ina while we get a banged up snout or a bloody tooth, but that’s the price we pay for keeping the hammer down, relentlessly, all day long. Try grabbing acup of water with your teeth at an aid station during your next marathon. Not so easy, is it?

Port-a-potties? That’s a real yuk-yuk. Yes, we sled dogs do the same things that you do, but as with our drinking, we do it on the run. Did you read that item in the first issue of M&B about Doug Latimer, the Western States veteran, who made a big deal of learning to pee zigzag patterns while on the run? Try this, Dougie: While harnessed to a dozen others who have no intention of slowing

down for you, try cocking your leg or squatting. Try it at 12 mph. You’d better be fast, because you’re going to get neither help nor sympathy as you get dragged dribbling as you go.

Maybe you’ re getting the idea that I’m being disrespectful of my “master.” Master my hairy, curly tail! Perhaps I’m a little tough on him, but he does need to be kept in his place. Still, we do love the hairless bugger. After all, Man is Dog’s best friend. When he’s a bit persnickety on occasion, we all try to keep in mind that we’ ve long existed on this planet, running in free packs before we captured our first men, even as our crude brothers the wolves do to this day. Our Man, however, is somewhat trainable, and he does seem to have our best interests at heart. He can be a bother, though.

A SEASON FOR ALL THINGS

But back to running. What we do is seasonal, and our season is when there is a lot of snow on the ground. The best snow is packed some, so the really best time for us is later in the winter and early in the spring. It doesn’t really thaw here until maybe May or June. In fact, the Yukon River, which must be crossed in the Iditarod, usually breaks up in late June. The Two Legs have a big betting pool every year on the exact day, hour, and minute the ice will break, accompanied by the imbibing of that infernal hooch they drink. You won’t find us taking in that garbage.

Anyway, summer is a bad time for us. Keep in mind that we’ re very hairy animals, which is wonderful in the winter, but horrid in the warm summer months. Training really goes downhill then, both because of the heat, and because it’s really tough to pull a sled when there’s no snow. So we use our offseason for such things as resting, eating, and creating a new generation of superior sled dogs. When we’re blessed with pups, we know that it’s going to take at least two years before they’re ready for the real world of endurance mushing.

COMMUNICATING WITH THE MAN

You may be wondering how we communicate with The Man. That part’s easy. Over the years we’ ve indoctrinated him into understanding such simple commands as a growl, a howl, and a scowl. A simple stare can often produce the required results. More interesting is how we’ ve trained him to communicate his primitive thoughts to us.

In trying to satisfy his needs for the very basic laws of motion, we’ ve trained him to tell us when he wants us to GO, to STOP, to go LEFT, or to go RIGHT. In his puny, almost inaudible voice, he shouts HI, WHOA, GEE, or HAW. It’s

court

Joe Oakes outside Old Woman Cabin during his Nome to Yukon River journey.

most amusing to listen to

at a time when Hairless, lacking sufficient confidence in our leadership abilities, thinks he is about to die.

I want to repeat my challenge. Run with us if you can. I doubt you have either the ability or the guts even to come up and give it a try. We are, after all, a far superior race of running machines. Still, the challenge has been made.

You know where ‘ to find us.

g on a Dogsled All Day?

Bownhill is quite another a ve got to bej jamming down real y hard on the brakes to keep the dogs pulling. The constant pressure of the dogs pulling keeps the sled straight, which keeps it from running over the dogs— a definite no-no. When the going is relatively smooth, you can amuse yourcontinued

— __ |.

Changing . of the Guard

A Marathon Journey Between Hong Kong and Shenzhen, China, Provides a Glimpse of the Countdown to Change.

\ N ] ELL-WORN wisdom tells us that every journey begins with a step.

Thus, a marathon is a journey of many steps. But it is the rare marathon that requires the well-worn traveler to carry his passport, too. But when you choose as your first marathon arace that runs between Hong Kong and Shenzhen, China, a mere 135 days before Hong Kong reverts to Chinese rule, the journey becomes more than a mere 26.2 miles.

My marathon journey began more than a year ago as I was embarking on another journey—marriage. A few days before our wedding day, we were at my fiancée Sharon’s home in Ohio. It was May, and all things were right with the world. Spring gave off signs of arriving in a big way, which created perfect running weather.

Considering the beautiful weather and how it can change without amoment’s notice, the subject of taking a jog around the neighborhood came up. Would I like to join my soon-to-be father-in-law for a little run? I knew that Ed was an avid runner and had at one time been a devoted marathoner. I felt I was in decent enough shape, so I figured we’d go out and “bond” a bit before the wedding.

It was a very pleasant run. We chatted about this and that. About the upcoming wedding. About Malaysia, where Sharon and I had recently moved. And, of course, about marathoning.

Ed was the expert here, so I let him talk while I actively listened. He covered it all: training strategies, raceday mechanics, past experiences. It was very inspiring stuff, if not downright daunting.

Yet in his own gentle way, Ed wasn’t attempting to impress or overwhelm me. His overall message as I heard it was this: It can be done; it is achievable.

After all, look at Ed. He hadn’t started running marathons until he was in his 40s. And here I was, still in my 20s.

Steve Knode CHANGING OF THE GUARD ® 43

Ihauled out my standard I’ d-Love-To-Run-A-Marathon-But-Speech, for I had long since decided that at least in this area, I was destined to aspire and never conquer. Indeed, I was ready to call it quits after four miles that day. But Ed looped us around the neighborhood one more time. . . .

NEVER SAY NEVER

Fast forward a few months: Sharon and I were back in Malaysia after spending a wonderful honeymoon in Australia where, in true honeymoon fashion, we drank a great deal of excellent wine and gorged on fine foods. We took “Why not? It’s our honeymoon” to the max.

The unfortunate consequence was more than a few excess pounds around the middle. Recalling the inspiring run with Ed, I decided to sign up for and train toward a 10K race as a way to get my sorry self back into shape.

What happened next I can’t explain. No sooner had I signed up for a 10K than I found myself signing up for a half-marathon. I can’t explain the process, but goals were being set, feet were moving, and goals were being reset.

Perhaps it came from the new-found discipline of being a “responsible married guy.” Perhaps it was a way to relieve some of the stresses related to our new life away from the United States. Or perhaps it was that I was now part of a family that had a history of running.

Thad been transferred from New York to Kuala Lumpur on a work assignment. It was, I concluded, a fantastic opportunity—especially at my young age—to observe firsthand the burgeoning growth of Southeast Asia. Sharon and I regarded the move as a terrific way to explore an exotic country and a fascinating corner of the world.

Located roughly three degrees north of the equator, Malaysia is no place to run a marathon. Or so the reasoning went, especially after I completed the halfmarathon, which began at 6 a.m. in a vain attempt to beat the heat.

So for my first marathon, I settled on Hong Kong, which was a three-hour plane flight north. Sharon had never been to Hong Kong, so we were keen to go for a visit. Additionally, the timing was right. I had exactly four months to prepare, and the weather would be cold at that time of the year, but not freezing.

The most attractive factor about the race, though, was the fact that the marathon was unique: The Hong Kong-Shenzhen (China) Marathon began in Hong Kong’s New Territories, crossed the border into China, and ended in downtown Shenzhen, a bustling new city born of China’s experiment in economic liberalization. What added to the uniqueness was that with Hong Kong reverting to China that summer, this would be the last such cross-border event ever.

Steve Knode ran the Hong KongShenzhen Marathon with 135 days remaining before Hong Kong reverted to China.

Not only would I be making my own history by running my first marathon, but I would also be participating in actual history by passing through a soon-to-beeliminated border. COURTESY OF STEVE KNODE

THE CHALLENGE OF BORDER CROSSINGS

As interesting and enticing as it was, this border-crossing aspect of the race posed some unusual challenges not often associated with a marathon. For starters, as a prerequisite to applying for the race, all participants were required to obtain a visa for entry into China. (And we think getting a USATF card is a chore!) In my case, this involved a trip down to the Chinese Embassy in downtown Kuala Lumpur and relinquishing my passport for a few days in order to obtain the appropriate stamp. For my troubles, I was relieved of $30.

Once the visa stamp was in place, I could apply for entry into the race. My follow-up phone calls to ensure that the organizers had received all my materials were met by Chinese race officials who spoke only Cantonese. The few English words I heard assured me (sort of) that I was signed up for the race.

Tough Training

Training for the race was also a challenge. Although Hong Kong has a full share of all four seasons, Malaysia has one: hot and humid. I attempted to adapt. I did nearly all my training in the dark, either in the wee hours of the morning or more often—due to my aversion to early morning—at night. Long runs were especially difficult. My pace was usually 10-minutes-per-mile, which meant that to get in a 20-miler, I had either to get out of the house before 5:00 a.m. or finish

Sharon and Steve, postrace, on the streets of Shenzhen, China.

after 11:00 p.m. It was just too hot to run anytime between 8:00 a.m. and 8:00P.m. In spite of the adjustments I was forced to make, we left for Hong Kong feeling that I was as prepared as could be expected.

Arriving in Hong Kong

The vibes I picked up from being in Hong Kong— Asia’s answer to New York City—were intoxicating. People hustling and bustling. Neon, neon, and more neon. Posters and signs scattered about wishing everyone Kong Xi Fat Choi (Happy New Year) as the lunar calendar had just begun. A holiday spirit saturated the air, and I felt that it was an auspicious time to be in this famous harbor city. It was drizzly, dreary, and cold, as predicted, but nobody seemed to notice. Things were moving very, very fast. Did I mention the constant buzz from all the neon?

More formalities awaited me on race day. Since we would be crossing the border from Hong Kong to China during the race, we had to go through immigration before we could receive our race number. (We can only imagine how disruptive it would have been actually to stop and clear immigration at the border itself, which was roughly 10K into the race!)

We were required to present our passports for inspection. Once each passport was approved, it was given to a race official for transportation over the border. We received not only our race number but also two “chits,” one that we were to relinquish on the Hong Kong side of the border, the other to be given up on the China side. The chit was proof to the border guards that we had already cleared immigration. I wondered if it was a political statement that the Hong Kong-side chit was green as an American dollar bill while the China-side chit was red….

‘COURTESY OF STEVE KNODE

COURTESY OF STEVE KNODE Because the race included a border crossing, runners had to pass through immigration before receiving their race numbers.

PUMPED AT THE START

Roughly a thousand runners congregated at the start. The temperature was 13°C—4definitely chilly but not especially bad as far as I was concerned. We were treated to all sorts of raucous activities before the gun went off, including an enthusiastic display of the famed Chinese lion dance with a dozen or so men maneuvering the head and body of the papier-mAché lion to the beat of loud and incessant drums. We were definitely not in Kansas anymore. All of the excitement pleased the nervous crowd.

Suddenly, the gun! We did one loop around the track and then poured out into the streets. As I left the stadium, Sharon waved and shouted, “I’ll see you in China!”

As a first-time marathoner equipped with Ed’s cautions, I began conservatively and paced myself slowly enough that I felt assured I’d have enough gas left to reach the finish.

The first few kilometers were golden. It was early Sunday morning, and we ran along the main highway, one side of which was blocked off for the race. To the left were rolling hills, a delightful natural landscape. To the right, in sharp contrast, were enormously tall (and obviously cramped) high-rise apartment buildings. I spotted one early-riser who, still in pajamas, stood staring curiously out his window from one of the top floors. I waved. He shook his head in the universal language that said, “You’re crazy.”

COURTESY OF STEVE KNODE

The start of the Hong Kong-Shenzhen Marathon.

Soon the skyline of Shenzhen materialized before us in the distance. (“Distance” is the correct word here: it looked mighty far away to me.) Unlike New York or Chicago, which have rather spectacular skylines, Shenzhen’s skyscrapers were, well, not quite finished. Most of the buildings were still only half-completed, each with a crane or two on top of what had been finished to date. The exception was the Diwang building, an impressive modern structure and one of Asia’s tallest. No doubt that Shenzhen is a city-in-the-making, with development clearly more important at this point than aesthetics. The view piqued my curiosity as to what New York or Chicago looked like at the turn of the century.

As we approached the border crossing, I saw something that will remain with me for the rest of my life. Right in front of me, still on the Hong Kong side, was a British flag, the Union Jack, waving proudly, while in the background, onthe China side, stood the bright red Chinese flag, flying equally strong. It was just the type of “historical moment” I had hoped would make running the race worthwhile. In just a few months, though, all such distinctions would vanish.

Enthusiasm from the Guards

As I crossed the border into China, half a dozen border guards, clad in their brown uniforms, and obviously thrilled to have the morning off, cheered me on. Although I still had a long way to go, Icould at least brag I’d made it all the way to China.

Once inside Shenzhen proper, we ran along a series of highways (which, of course, were still being built) and broad thoroughfares. Onlookers lined the streets, but by no means in droves. Their expressions reflected largely bemusement and curiosity, effectively making them onlookers and not spectators. There were the occasional claps and cheers, especially from the children, but mostly the onlookers were silent. Clearly, the road racing craze has yet to infect China.

Etiquette and encouragement from the race officials were also in short supply. Because I had begun slowly, and because there were few runners participating in the marathon (most had opted for the half), at various points in the race I found myself in the back of the pack.

With the sag wagon nipping at my heels and the rescue van buzzing around me like a vulture hoping forroad kill, I began to feel intimidated. A Chinese race official, furiously pointing at his watch, yelled at me in Chinese. Obviously, he wanted me to make a sprint for the end.

It is true that the marathon had an official time limit of four hours and 30 minutes, but surely I wasn’t that far behind pace. The scolding I received did nothing to elevate my spirits. [thought to courrssy orstevexwooe myself how the same sce- Sharon’s encouragement makes up for the sag nario would never occurina wagon nipping at Steve’s heels during the race. U.S. marathon. At least it wouldn’t be administered with such chilliness. But I didn’t find it entirely out of character, either. The Chinese are very practical people. It was not that the officials were intentionally trying to be rude, I concluded. Rather, without real appreciation of what I was attempting to accomplish, they simply wanted to clear the road and get back to business-as-usual.

Stubbornly ignoring the calls to give it up, I managed to enjoy many memorable encounters on the way to the finish line. I ran a short portion of the race with Peter, a second-time marathoner from Hong Kong, whose son was also

running in the race. He was impressed that I had traveled all the way from Malaysia to participate. We shared a bit of my PowerBar. Later, while running with a fellow from Australia, I acknowledged that this marathon probably wouldn’t win a prize for the most scenic. He nodded in agreement. And, in the late stages, when I had become weary, worn, and hungry, I was able to coax a young boy of about eight to share his mandarin orange. The exchange left a huge smile on the child’s face and gave me the extra boost of energy I needed.

THE END IS IN SIGHT

By the 35K mark, I was confident that I would finish the race, and thus was able to pay more attention to my surroundings in downtown Shenzhen which, though not beautiful, were nonetheless new and intriguing.

The entire area was deemed a “special economic zone” by Deng Xiaoping in the early 1980s, and the result has been a semichaotic boomtown of roughly three million people. Mopeds, motorbikes, and bicycles buzzed about like annoying insects. Evident, too, were the latest Toyotas.

Commercial activity was obvious and pervasive, even though it was Sunday. In fact, I even ran past a Sam’s Warehouse outlet! And there was so much rubble strewn about as part of the dozens upon dozens of construction projects that it looked almost as if the town had been hit by an earthquake.

The newspapers report the growth in China, but here it was laid out graphically right before my eyes. Strict communism is surely dead in Red China, I thought.

I suppose my musings on ideology diverted my mind from the pain in my legs and lower back, because .. De ee a before I knew ee it I was nearly finished. Coming down the final stretch, I

Steve becomes part of history with his finish in the Hong KongShenzhen \ Marathon. otmrreT oestrone

spotted my wife and a couple of friends screaming wildly and congratulating me. I crossed the finish line, fists pumped above my head, exhausted but elated.

I’ddone it! I’drun from Hong Kong to Shenzhen, China, in just under 4:25. My legs had served as my own personal Oriental Express. Well, in retrospect, maybe it was more like the Oriental Local.

Later that day we settled in for an absolutely delicious Szechuan meal of stuffed dumplings, succulent Peking duck, and steamed fish. One of my friends, who happened to be working in Shenzhen, asked me what on earth compelled me to runa marathon. I looked over at Sharon and said, “You see, there was this run I did last year with my father-in-law ….” Sharon gave me a worried look. Had she, as they say women do, married her father? es

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Marathon cia Traming

The Proven 100-Day Program for Success by Joe Henderson

Editor’s note: Joe Henderson’s newest book, Marathon Training, is subtitled “The Proven 100-Day Program for Success” and includes marathon training programs for runners at three levels: cruisers, pacers, and racers. Besides providing adaily training log, each day’s pages provide a “thought for the day” anda training tip. We’ve included here a selection of our favorite days and tips. Joe is West Coast editor of Runner’s World and editor of Running Commentary, a monthly running newsletter. The following excerpts are used with the permission of the publisher, Human Kinetics.

DAY 12 THOUGHT: Rest Assured

Rest isn’t just for the weak of will and body anymore. It isn’t just for the older runners whose recovery has slowed. Rest is as big a part of the training puzzle as long runs and speedwork. For everyone.

I say this as a born-again rester. But don’t just take my word for it. Read the

issue of Runner’s World. Dave Kuehls asked 17 runners about their resolutions for the new year. Six of them vowed to get more rest. Two of these runners are Olympic gold medalists, and another has held world records. Their comments:

Joan Samuelson: “I’m finally going to take a tip from something my older brother told me several years ago: ‘Rest is the basis of all activity.’”

Frank Shorter: “As soon as any pain inhibits my biomechancis, Pll go immediately to cross-training for two weeks. I won’t run at all.”

Arturo Barrios: “I won’t overrace. . . . I’ll give myself time to recover after hard races, taking at least five weeks off from racing after a marathon.”

A young Alberto Salazar was one of the hardest training, biggest winning, and most injured runners in U.S. history. Hindsight now tells him that his biggest mistake was not recovering enough after races. He now applies this lesson to his own running and passes it on to the athletes he coaches: Rest is not a four-letter word.

© 1997 by Joe Henderson

DAY 15 THOUGHT: In Defense of Distance

The two writers are well-meaning supporters of the sport. So I won’t mention them by name to spare them any embarrassment. I’ll just say that they both ride the wave of conservatism now sweeping the sport. It tugs runners down toward safe minimums in length and frequency of runs.

The first writer referred to the foremost authority on stress: “Hans Selye tells us that one has only so much reserve, and when one goes to the well too often, the reserve is gone—permanently.” This writer then disparaged the efforts of hard-training marathoners.

The second writer referred to the foremost authority on running physiology by saying, “David Costill has research to prove that beyond 50 miles a week you lose anaerobic strength. In effect, you decrease your maximum speed.” This writer boasted of his own 30-mile-a-week training.

They tell us to run less distance, run less often, and don’t run many—if any—marathons. They may be right in what they say, but wrong in what this implies: runners should never push their limits, never take chances, never risk making mistakes.

At certain times, I’ve gone to all the extremes—including the distance of long runs and total weekly mileage. I’ve paid for these excesses but never regretted them. They were all part of the adventure. The highs made the running worth doing and the lows tolerable.

Thaven’t forgotten where I came from. That’s why I’m slow to criticize any runner who tries to go great distances.

DAY 16 THOUGHT: Trash Burners

A disparaging term sometimes applied to long runs is “garbage miles.” Sure they are—in the best possible sense. They burn off unwanted weight and fat.

One of my earliest articles dealt with Peter Snell, Olympic triple gold medalist in the 1960s who ran then-unheard-of mileage for a miler. He trained more than most marathoners of his era. “One reason this worked so well for him might have been that he was heavy,” I wrote. “He gained weight easily if he wasn’t training a lot. His 100-mile weeks gave him his raw-boned look.”

Mike Tymn, a National Masters News columnist and top runner himself, called one of his workouts a “calorie burner.” It was extra long and extra slow. Tymn wrote, “For those of us who like our ice cream and chocolate chip cookies, and find it increasingly difficult to shed excess weight, the CB serves as a purpose beyond training for a race.”

Long runs are fat burners in ways you can see in a mirror and on the scales. They also teach you to burn fat in ways you can feel.

Fatisn’tall bad. The stored fat in the body is a fuel. (But lest you think more is better, realize that a pound or so would fuel a marathon.)

Inshorter runs and early in the long ones, you burn mostly carbohydrate-based fuels. But the body gradually switches to burning fat as the distance increases. One of the greatest benefits of long runs is training your fat-burning mechanism to kick in efficiently. This only happens with hours of running.

DAY 20 THOUGHT: Long May They Run

Reviews are mixed for long runs. Some runners love them, some hate them, but they all take them.

Derek Clayton, who set two world marathon records in the 1960s, says bluntly, “I hated the Saturday 24-miler because it was so tough, especially on top of a hard week. But it was invaluable preparation for a fast marathon, and in my opinion still is.”

Kathrine Switzer, an early New York City Marathon winner, names the long Sunday run as her favorite. “It always was, and still is,” she says. “The race is first about being able to cover the distance, no matter what. The long run always gave me physical and mental strength. Later in life, this translated to always being able to last it out in other circumstances.”

We can loosely define the “long run” as one at least twice the length of any other. It’s a weekend ritual for most runners.and the centerpiece of marathon training.

lasked about this practice when questioning dozens of athletes for the book Road Racers & Their Training. Since this run is the longest and most critical for marathoners, I focus now on how far the 10 of them ran.

The women ran between 2:29:27 and 2:38:19 (which was a world record when Jacqueline Hansen ran it in 1975). The men ran 2:12:26 down to 2:08:34 (Derek Clayton’s long-standing world record). The one common element in their otherwise widely varying training—a regular long run averaging at least as much time as their marathon would require.

DAY 21 THOUGHT: Long-Run Solutions

Ten top runners told me exactly how far their longest run took them in peak training, three to six weeks before their best race. They averaged 23 miles, and all ran at least 20 miles.

Kenny Moore reached 30 miles shortly before his fourth-place finish at the Munich Olympics, and Ron Hill went 28 miles before becoming the second runner ever to break 2:10. But from this group, only these two men exceeded marathon distance in training.

Only a handful of these runners noted their pace, and they all trained well below race tempo. Derek Clayton, a renowned pace pusher, trained long at about 5:50 per mile but raced a minute faster. Moore’s 30-miler passed at 6:05 pace, while he ran 5:00-flat miles in marathons. This spread is common among the marathoners I surveyed.

Most of them either ran their miles without recording the time, or ran for a time period without listing the distance. Time runners Nancy Ditz and Jacqueline Gareau went 2/4 hours on their longest runs, which was exactly how long their best marathons lasted.

Getting used to lasting the full time of the race might be the most important factor in going long. Pete Pfitzinger trained for marathon-like time periods on 22-mile runs. “The long run over hills, starting moderately [6:10 pace in his case] and finishing hard [5:30 miles] builds mental and physical toughness for the marathon,” says Pfitzinger. “These runs enabled me to run the second half of the marathon within one minute of the first half and to finish strong.” Pfitzinger twice finished strongly enough to lead the American marathoners at the Olympics.

DAY 18 THOUGHT: Long Enough

When my maximum long runs of a half-marathon revealed themselves as inadequate marathon training, the next question became: What’s long enough?

I certainly wouldn’t go to Jeff Galloway lengths. I think the world of Jeff and applaud him for attracting legions of followers to his marathon program. But I’m not prepared to go to the great lengths that they are.

“You will hit the wall at exactly the length of your longest run,” he says. “So you need to work up to 26 miles in training.” Jeff adds important qualifiers that often go unheard or unheeded: Hold down the pace, and take regular walking breaks. Using these tricks in training eases the effort and speeds the recovery.

The easiest solution would be to follow Jeff Galloway and train up to full marathon distance. But I balk at that for reasons both personal and philosophical. The first reason is pure laziness. Only the hoopla of the race can move me to run anywhere near 26 miles. The second reason rationalizes the first. Training all of it would rob the marathon of its mystery. I like to leave the late miles as questions to answer only on the big day.

So how much training is enough? If half-marathon runs are too short, and full marathons seem too long, simply split the difference. Run at least three-fourths of a marathon in practice. Then trust the raceday magic to take care of the last quarter.

DAY 25 THOUGHT: Running Out of Time

Make no mistake about how I view Tom Derderian. Before questioning a few paragraphs he wrote, let me praise all he has done.

His Boston Marathon history book is one of the biggest (at 664 pages) and best ever written on running. His columns in New England Runner magazine combine bite with humor. It’s hard to debate someone who has done so much, so well. But I can’t let a column of his pass without a rebuttal.

“Call me an elitist if you like,” Tom wrote, “but I settle in with the old school of marathon officials. Four hours after the race started, the old officials clicked off their watches and went home.”

Tom would be more lenient, but only slightly: “I’d let the chronometers and computers go until twice the winning time has passed, then stop. Now we are up to 4:14 to 4:20 in elite marathons, and five hours in local marathons.”

He claimed, “If a competitor can’t finish in less than that time, officials rule the attempt as a nonfinish of the race. He or she is not a competitor and did not race the marathon. What you might call it is a 26.2-mile hike.”

True, officials used to quit timing after four hours or so. This was because few runners finished slower. True, a runner who takes more than twice as long as the leader to finish isn’t racing. “Surviving” is a better word.

But Tom’s proposal is too radical. It would penalize the same people who are making the marathon grow into what it is today.

DAY 27 THOUGHT: Today’s Marathoners

Their purple T-shirts with spotted owl artwork identified who they were and what they’d just done. Ten of them had run the Avenue of the Giants Marathon that day, and were now refueling and celebrating at a restaurant in Myers Flat, California.

They didn’t know a diner at another table, but his purple shirt told them they spoke the same language. A woman of about 60 went over and introduced herself as Millie. ““We’ re all from Portland,” said Millie. “We like to travel to scenic marathons together—Crater Lake, Victoria, and now Avenue.” She asked about future possibilities.

Here they’d just finished one marathon and were already planning the next. The time-honored Frank Shorter rule—which states that “you can’t think of running another until you forget how bad the last one felt”—didn’t cover them. They felt fine because they hadn’t hurried. Their marathon wasn’t a race but a long, slow run-hike. They’d be ready to take another like it in a few weeks.

If you haven’t run this distance for a while, or haven’t drifted back through the ranks, you may not have noticed how much marathoning has changed. It isn’t the sport it used to be.

It’s really two sports now. One side races for fast times and high places, while the other runs—and walks—to finish. The first sport is shrinking. The second has never been bigger or healthier.

DAY 32 THOUGHT: Fairly Fast Marathons

Many of my faithful readers have read my spiels about setting inflated PRs on courses with slope and wind assistance. The next logical question is, “What are the fastest unaided marathon courses?”

Most of the memorable American times have been run downhill, with help from the wind, or both. Courses that USATF record keepers call aided account for the eight fastest men’s marathon and five of the top eight women’s times. Most of those were run at Boston.

Others receiving too much help from gravity: California International at Sacramento, Grandma’s, St. George, and Las Vegas. Still others are flat enough but can catch favorable breezes because of their point-to-point design. New York City falls into this gray zone of maybe aided, maybe not.

Fifty U.S. men have run 2:12 or better, and an equal number of women have gone 2:35 or faster. Of these 100 runners, 38 ran their times on just three aided courses—Boston, Cal International, and Grandma’s.

So what are the best times by Americans on fully legal U.S. courses? The women’s answer is easy. The fastest and most legit are the same—Joan Samuelson’s 2:21:21 at Chicago in 1985. For men, Jerry Lawson’s 2:09:35 at Chicago 1997 ranks ninth on the all-time, all-conditions list.

The list of elite 100 American marathoners also favors Twin Cities. The Minnesota race contributes 11 marks to lead all events that get no excessive aid from slope or wind.

DAY 34 THOUGHT: The American Way

Areader of my magazine column asked what I thought of Colman McCarthy’s piece in the Washington Post, titled “American Marathoners Running on Empty.”

Not much. Oh, McCarthy is a fine writer. His prose flows so smoothly that his arguments sound convincing—if you don’t look too closely at the facts. McCarthy points out, rightly, that no American would come within miles of the 1995 New York City Marathon winner. None did. The first U.S. man trailed by 11 minutes, the top native woman by more than 20.

The Post writer then asks, “How have U.S. runners become so run-of-the-mill?” Then he answers his own question. “Start with the obvious. The American diet of sugary, salty, and gunk-and-junk foods might as well be a weighted saddle bag. Fast foods don’t fuel fast times. … World-class Kenyan marathoners train on world-class foods.”

McCarthy’s “second reason U.S. marathoners can’t keep pace with Latin Americans and Africans is the American belief that we are all but constitutionally guaranteed pain-free living. Marathons hurt. No pill yet has been marketed to get people through, around, over, or under The Wall.” He concludes that the “era of Bill Rodgers, who won four New Yorks and three Bostons from 1976 to 1980, is gone.”

Maybe no one from the United States will ever win as much as Rodgers did in the 1970s. But recall that Alberto Salazar and Joan Samuelson were almost as dominant in the 1980s, and that as recently as 1994 Bob Kempainen ran faster than any American—ever.

DAY 59 TIP:

View bad-weather training days as opportunities rather than penalties. They give you the chance to test your clothing, shoes, pacing, and toughness under the most trying conditions.

DAY 35 THOUGHT: Americans at Their Best

McCarthy placed much of the blame for our lack of world-class marathoners on slovenly eating and training habits. American marathoners of all abilities should take offense with this blanket indictment of us as work-avoiding junk swillers. I’ve sat down to eat with hundreds of U.S. runners. As a group, they watch their diets closely—certainly eating much better than Bill Rodgers and most other marathoners did 20 years ago.

McCarthy says Americans seek ease. Then explain why, by a more important standard than international victories and record times, this country is