! The Best Strategy to Meet Your Marathon Goals Is to Plan Your Race and Race Your Plan. BY TOM MILLER, PH.D.

For several years, I had the privilege and challenge of guiding blind runner Harry Cordellos. We ran a dozen Marine Corps Marathons and three Double Dipsea Trail Runs together. However, our most memorable race was the first World Blind Marathon Championship in the Nike-Vancouver International Marathon in British Columbia, Canada.

The performance planning and execution principles and strategies we developed to meet this challenge became the basis for my doctoral studies in exercise science and sports psychology. I’ve subsequently used these principles while working with endurance athletes ranging from beginners to Jo Garuccio, a six-time women’s masters world champion triathlete; Dirk Cowley, a two-time men’s masters world stage-race cycling champion; and John Cahill, who ran his first marathon at age 65 in 3:04, at age 73 in 3:05, and at age 78 in 3:30. As I’m typing this article, 81-year-old John and I are on a weeklong cycling tour of southern Utah, northern Arizona, and western Colorado where we will cover about 100 miles a day. Given the opportunity to work with elite athletes, I’ve picked their brains to find out not only about the physiology of their training but also about the psychology of their mental preparation and racing strategies. The following story will illustrate the principles common to the successes of each of these special athletes.

Early one January, Harry called and excitedly said, “Tom, I’ve got good news and bad news and need your help!” The First World Blind Marathon Championships were to be held May 1 in Vancouver, and the best blind runners in the world—including Harry—had been invited. The bad news was that to qualify for financial support from the United States Association of Blind Athletes (USABA), he would have to win the National Blind Championship in the Boston Marathon two weeks before the championships—even though he was the four-time defending champion. Our challenge was clear but complicated. How do we both prepare to race two marathons in two weeks?

THE BOSTON MARATHON STRATEGIES The previous spring, Harry and I had worked hard to improve his running technique. Because of his tendency to reach with his feet to detect obstacles, Harry ran too

upright, shortening his stride, always landing heel first and leading to chronically tight hamstrings and frequent injury. Harry learned to put his feet down more underneath himself and to focus on pushing off through his toes to lengthen his stride and improve his sense of balance. A shorter, more compact arm swing with his hand held higher and his elbows back aided a faster turnover rate. On minimal training, Harry and I had run 3:20 in the Marine Corps Marathon in November. What Harry was most excited about was that after running that marathon, for the first time he walked away from the finish line like a human rather than a gorilla. He had minimal soreness and recovered much faster than normal. Even he admitted that the technique refinements had paid off big time.

Principle 1: Elite runners are more biomechanically efficient than are nonelite runners. In the late 1970s, Olympic Marathon champion Frank Shorter and a host of other world-class runners were tested at the Cooper Clinic. Although

Shorter was ranked number one in the world, his test results ranked him near the bottom of the group. However, at every speed, he consumed less oxygen and exhaled less carbon dioxide “because of his efficient running style.” I recently

interviewed Frank and asked him how he learned to run so efficiently. His answer surprised me, “Fragile feet.” Because his feet were so prone to bruising and swelling, he had to learn to run “extra light” on his feet. I asked him: “Maybe the Kenyans are such efficient runners because they learned to run barefoot and

therefore developed their signature common running styles of floating over the ground (like Frank) rather than pounding down on it.” “Sounds good to me,” Frank answered. The point here is that running biomechanics are the most under

rated, overlooked, and important element of your running development. If you are frequently injured, have poor flexibility, and always feel stiff and sore after hard/long runs, your technique needs refining. You run the way you do now as a motor habit influenced by years of running, compensating for injuries, and

the effects of mileage and aging. By studying the elite, mostly non-American, runners—Americans have been taught to run upright, while the Africans tend to run always with their shoulders just forward of their hips—I developed the

biomechanical skills I shared with Harry. Stand upright and then shift your shoulders forward a bit. What does your body want to do? Go forward, that’s what! This posture extends your momentum with every step. Try it! While most

of us are not gifted biomechanically, we can all develop biomechanical skills that simulate the talents of the elite.

To improve our speed over the marathon distance, we decided on racing 5Ks and 10Ks between January and April. It was also easier for Harry to get partners for races than for speed work. Any chance Harry got for long runs, he would go, regardless of the pace or distance. He also did standing bike intervals at the YMCA once a week. That winter I had done my dissertation field research on

using standing, high resistance/cadence stationary bike intervals and mental training with experienced runners. While maintaining their normal weekly mileage and substituting the bike intervals for speed work during the six-week training program, the members of the group improved their 10K times by an average of nearly four minutes, and 17 of the 19 ran all-time bests in their final time trial.

I followed a similar program. By gradually upping our mileage toward 50 miles a week and focusing on the quality of our runs, we felt we could safely improve our speed and endurance while giving ourselves enough rest and recovery. We would cut our training in half the week before Boston, take three days off after Boston, and focus on recovering during the days before Vancouver. Because there was no training precedent to model racing two marathons so closely together, our physical goal was to start each race as healthy and rested as possible and see how it turned out. We both had run Boston before, knew how to use the first 10 miles of gradual downhill to conserve energy, and shared common focus cues to control our attention and manage our emotions before and during the race.

Principle 2: Elite runners utilize more effective focusing strategies than equally physically gifted, but less successful, runners. Research has shown that there are two commonly accepted focusing strategies employed by endurance athletes: dissociation and association. In the first, dissociation, runners let their

minds wander or purposely think about things other than running. In the second (preferred by elite athletes), association, runners focus on their breathing, stride length and frequency, splits, arm swing, posture—everything associated with how

they are running. They are constantly reading their bodies’ feedback and making tiny adjustments that optimize their biomechanical efficiency throughout the race. My fieldwork with elite runners and other endurance athletes suggests that it’s

not quite this simple. How you focus your attention—what you say to yourself, what images your self-talk invokes, reading body feedback, and responding to hydration/nutrition needs—is very individualized and requires careful training, practice, and refinement. What works for Harry and me will be illustrated as the

story continues. You can get a good idea of what is more effective for you by analyzing your self-talk from both your most successful and your most disappointing races, similar to listening to the recordings from your internal black

box. Finally, discussions with elite endurance athletes and my own experience revealed that while we can remember in vivid details our mental states during disappointing competitions, successful races are characterized by little memory

of large chunks of the race—when everything is on autopilot. Often, while the start and finish are well remembered, the middle is more accurately reflected in the term “nonassociation,” where your unconscious mind is in charge of executing your finely tuned strategy. Only if something unexpected comes up—like

a cramp, negative self-talk, or getting bumped or jostled—are you jolted back to consciousness. Then you refocus on your strategies and focus cues, and the

rhythm of your run allows the dynamic meditation to reestablish itself. As the finish line nears, your conscious mind tends to jump in and focus you on effort—running harder—which so often disrupts the part of your brain charged with executing fine-tuned motor movements. This is when even the physically talented have to know what to focus on to keep them from straightening up, grimacing, and flailing with their arms in the later stages of races. Track races are a great place to watch this brain switch take place.

Dismayed by the USABA’s insistence that Harry had to win Boston for financial support for the world championship, I asked Nike for help. The company agreed to financially sponsor both of us. The race director also asked us to be the featured speakers for the prerace marathon clinic. Getting sponsored just a few weeks before Boston meant that we could use it as a hard training run and even drop out if we hit The Wall. Icing on the cake, so to speak, came when the San Francisco chapter of the Marine Corps League agreed to pay my way to run with Harry in Boston. (I was on active duty, assigned to the Navy ROTC Unit at the University of Utah at the time.)

BOSTON At Boston, we pretty much kept to ourselves, relaxed, and rested. Each of the two days before the race, we ran a couple of miles just to stay loose. We got off to a good start and cruised through the early downhill miles. I could hear Harry, as he exhaled, saying, “Hang glide, hang glide,” as we both leaned forward slightly and focused on a quick, compact arm swing and light foot contact. As we hit the Newton Hills, the sun came out and the race heated up, both figuratively and literally. Now we both focused on, “Chop ’em, chop ’em, chop ’em,” as we shortened our stride to maintain an even effort on the uphills. At 20 miles, we learned that we were leading the other blind runners. We focused on staying loose. “Swing ’em and breathe, forward, forward” became our mantra and, running smoothly, we hit the finish line in 3:11 but suffering a little from the heat. Because we had focused so effectively on running efficiently, we experienced little stiffness or soreness and even jogged a couple of easy miles the next morning before catching our flights home.

Principle 3: Runners of all levels can develop physical and mental skills that emulate the natural talents of more-gifted runners. Boston is a great illustration of how we had applied our mental skills to optimize our biomechanical efficiency throughout the race. The fact that we were running a familiar

course with little pressure to win allowed us to run relaxed and focused on

how we were running. However, neither of us was as sure that he could repeat the success in “the most important race” in Harry’s life in 13 days. Little did we know the devastating effects that this kind of a situational assessment was about to have on both of us.

STRATEGIES AT THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP In contrast to the relaxed, confident attitude we took to Boston, we were both nervous and anxious about this race. The week or so between races went well, and we were both healthy and reasonably well rested. The race committee had us picked up at the airport and taken to the elite runner’s dinner. Harry learned during a TV interview that he was the favorite of the 30 or so fully blind athletes from a dozen different countries. At 45, Harry was both the oldest and most experienced of the blind runners but didn’t have the fastest recent marathon time.

We had a couple of days to meet the other competitors and to run several sections of the race. Harry had inspired many of the others to take up running. For years, Harry had often been referred to as “probably the best blind marathoner in the world” or other such accolades. In conversations with other runners, they would often say something like, “Because of you, I’m a runner. You changed my life. I can’t wait to try and beat you.”

Harry was becoming a nervous wreck, and I wasn’t much better. In Harry’s mind, this had become the chance to prove that all those accolades were true. If he failed, he thought others would see him as a failure. My state of mind wasn’t much better. What ▲

Harry (left), with the author, wins his fifth national title at Boston.

happens if I hit The Wall or cramp or have some unforeseen problem? I didn’t want to let him down. Anxious about the race, I had an ugly confrontation with USABA officials when Harry and I chose to meet a Nike obligation rather than attend a USABA meeting. I can’t remember exactly what went on, but my words, “Stupid, unenlightened, and dark ages of sports,” seemed to be the theme of my critique of requiring athletes to run two marathons in 13 days.

At least I got to vent some of my frustrations, much to Harry’s initial embarrassment but later delight. I got to say everything that he was restrained from saying because of his need for future athletic support for other events from the organization. Noting the relief from this episode, we recognized that we needed to find a way to take the pressure off. We had to get away from all the hoopla and get our shit together.

We sequestered ourselves in our room. First we admitted our mutual worries and anxieties. Then we spent several hours developing a detailed game plan that started at that moment and took us through the end of the race. We began with what we would do until the clinic presentation that evening, exactly what we would talk about at the clinic, and what we would do until we went to sleep. We agreed on when we would get up and exactly what our prerace activities would be and why. Finally, we agreed on focus objectives for each section of the race and how we would handle things like bathroom stops, cramps, water stops, and low blood sugar. We concluded that if we could run near three hours, we could live with the results regardless of where we placed. Harry hadn’t run that fast in several years, and on a good day I was only marginally faster than three hours with a recent best of 2:54. However, that was not with someone hanging on my arm. This wouldn’t be easy, but it was possible. Our goal was simply to skillfully and efficiently race each mile and see how the race turned out.

Principle 4: Racing is a process, not a result. Focus on the process, and the results will come. Remember how calm and focused we were for Boston? Why was this race so different? The answer lies in different situational assess

ments. At Boston, we were totally focused on our preparation and execution strategies—the process of racing. However, the words “most important race of Harry’s life” had shifted our attention from the process of preparing and

executing our race strategies to the results and the negative consequences of what would happen if one or both of us failed. When we were results focused, anxiety about what might or might not happen flooded our minds and created

pressure. By letting go of the results and focusing on the process of racing and only on those things over which we had a measure of control (our own running), we felt calm but energized. Prerace anxiety is almost always related to your

ego setting goals that your body has not been prepared to meet. We knew that we were both capable of running three hours but that it would take every bit of

our combined energies, skills, and knowledge to pull it off. We had to focus on ourselves and let go of everything and everyone else.

The clinic went extremely well. Harry explained his race strategy, and I reviewed the elements of efficient running technique while Harry demonstrated the movements. We left feeling really good about the presentation and committed to executing our race plan to the best of our abilities. Before going to bed, we again reviewed how we would run the race together.

THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS We awoke to a chilly, drizzly day—and smiles on our faces. This was our favorite racing weather. Following our game plan, we both had a cup of coffee and a piece of bread and peanut butter, soaked in a hot bathtub until we were just about to start sweating, then stretched lightly for several minutes and went to the bathroom—several times. After a light warm-up, we arrived at the starting line ready to race with the other thousands of runners. We took our places with the other blind runners at the front of the pack.

Bang! Until the crowd started to thin a bit, I tightly controlled Harry’s movement by hooking his left forearm entwined with my right. We were off and running, immediately focusing on developing a light, quick rhythm as best we could. For the first eight miles or so, the only runner we were really aware of was New Zealander Tui Ruppi, who had a reported best time of 2:40. However, it was unclear whether he had run that time before or after he had recently become blind. Part way up Pipeline Hill, Tui and his tethered partner—he and his guide were tied together at opposing wrists with a short length of rope—blew by us and were soon lost in the crowd. Harry and I continued to run with just our elbows touching unless we got into heavier traffic. Then I would lightly grab his hand to guide him until we were clear again. If someone cut in front of us or a corner caused congestion, I would again grab his wrist and then clamp his arm tightly against my side with my elbow to control his movement. We hit our three-hour pace splits at both 10 and 15 miles.

On the out-and-back section from 16 to 19 miles, we learned that we were running in sixth place. We didn’t catch the first of the six until 21 miles. The young Canadian who had told Harry, “I can’t wait to beat you,” was bent over, losing his breakfast. Shortly afterward, we started getting on each others’ nerves and knew to take double shots of sports drink at the next aid station to get our blood sugar back up.

By 25 miles, we had caught everyone except Tui. We got a split of 2:51-plus that meant our chances of breaking three hours, with the long uphill to the finish, were not good. Hearing the split, Harry eased up and I heard him say to himself,

“Shit! Looks like silver and no breaking three hours.” “This ain’t over yet. . . . Swing ’em and breathe . . . Swing ’em and breathe!” I yelled in response. Harry immediately refocused, and we got back into rhythm. As we started up the final hill, I spotted Tui walking. I reported this to Harry, who started jabbering, “Where? How far? Can we catch ▲ Winning the World’s in 1982 in Vancouver. him?” I immediately felt his pace drop as he lost his focus. “Shut up and run. Don’t think—run!” I yelled.

Harry counted his exhales out loud, “One, two, three, one, two, three . . . ” and we roared up the last section of the hill. We could hear the crowd cheering as we charged toward the top of the hill. We caught Tui at the 26-mile mark where the hill leveled out. I could see the finish line just 385 yards away. We shifted into high gear and charged toward the tape with Harry and me both yelling, “Run, run, run” as we exhaled. Harry won in 3:00:59! He had run the race of his life—and so had I. This was the most dramatic and satisfying experience in my running career. I had been part of winning a world championship. Thanks, Harry.

FINAL THOUGHTS The corollary to principle 4 about racing as a process, not a result, is the 6 Ps:

Proper prior programming promotes phocused performances The key to proper prior programming is in the validity of your situational assessments of both the physical/mental/emotional demands of competition and your ability to meet those demands. Not only are these principles true for athletic competition, but they also apply to every aspect of your life.

Running and racing are things that you do, not who you are. If your self-worth is dependent upon how you do in a race, then a disappointing finish means that there is something wrong with you and to improve you have to better yourself. That’s an extremely heavy and invalid psychological load to carry. On the other hand, since racing is something you do, a disappointing performance signifies only that you need to improve or refine your preparation and execution strategies. This leads to my favorite saying (partially attributed to Frank Shorter): “Running is fun, and running faster is more fun than running slower.” So focus on the process of running, and go out to have as much fun as you can.