Body versus Brain

This article first appeared in the April edition of Northwest Runner magazine.

I have a few Real Running friends who have coaches and trainers. I understand the appeal of that. I’ve never really wanted a running coach, but I think it would be nice to have a running shrink.

I’d pay good money to have a sports psychologist pedaling alongside me as I struggled into the late miles of a long training run, or as I approached the halfway point of a marathon. Because that’s when running becomes more about Brain than Body. Body will keep going pretty much forever if you can get Brain to tell it to do the right things. But my Brain is weak. As soon as Body starts complaining, Brain gives in. 

“Ok, Body. If you want to stop, let’s stop.”

I need a professional to work with Brain and get him to exert his authority over Body.

But I don’t have one, and the running budget is already consumed by my shoe-buying habit. Luckily, my Brain is weak, so I can trick him. Over the years I’ve learned how to confuse Brain so that Body has to keep running.

Delusions of Grandeur

I find that if I can remind Brain that we are doing this for a payoff at the end, he tends to help me out. Brain loves the feeling of finishing a marathon. Body doesn’t care. I’ve been known to spend a few miles imagining crossing the finish line with the clock reading 3:15:00. A Boston Marathon qualifying time! Brain gives me a little jolt of adrenaline during this daydream. Of course, this works even better during an actual race when I am on a good pace and have a shot at a good finish time.

Perfect Pacing

On my last run my first two miles were identical. Perfect splits. “Well now,” I thought, “Here’s a chance to get Body and Brain to collaborate on a project!” In aiming to keep that perfect pace, both Body and Brain sort of forgot that they were running, and the miles clicked by at the same rate.

Do the Math

If I want to confuse Brain, math is a sure fire weapon. It turns out there is all sorts of math you can do while running. Pace, Time, and Distance are good. Predicting how far I’ll have run at a certain time, determining how fast I need to run to make a certain distance, or even just counting things I see can keep Brain so occupied a can steal a few miles from Body without complaint.

Name That Tune!

Much to my friend RPD’s dismay, I’m one of those guys with the white earbuds jammed into my ears when I run. Sorry. But the music being piped directly into my skull has the effect of distracting Brain for several minutes at a time. My trick? I reload the MP3 player with a random selection of tunes before each run. Then I play a little “name that tune” with myself. It can be a challenge when the obscure B-side tunes come up, but that’s the point. Also, it is against the rules to skip to the next track. Brain has to listen to whatever comes up, which can be painful if some of the Teenager’s music ends up on my MP3 player.

The Buddy System

I like to do long runs with my buddy Cap’n Ron. For the first half of the run we chat and catch up on work and other topics, and in the last half we just suffer together. It’s a very co-dependent relationship to be sure. Just having Cap’n Ron running nearby keeps Brain alert. The good Cap’n and I take turns setting the pace, so Brain gets to be in charge for a while (which Brain loves) and then gets to take a break for a few miles.

Reward Systems

Brain thinks he knows what Body needs. Water, fuel, and rest usually top the list during a run. I’ve found that if Brain knows there is some water at the next mile marker, he will do his best to convince Body to get there. In last year’s Seattle Marathon, Brain was excellent in this capacity. With fuel stations every two miles, Brain had Body convinced that he only had to go two miles at a time. That’s a clever way to get through the last 10 miles of a marathon. 

The Runner's Dictionary. Part Two.

We start this week's post with a few more entries into The Runner's Dictionary. Thanks to those readers who sent me the questions that, I hope, these definitions answer.

Jog (v). Slow running or fast walking. Despite years of research and argument, no one can quantify the lines that separate jogging from running or walking. Jogging, therefore, is in the eye of the jogger. I was going to go running, but decided to do an easy jog instead.

Kilometer (n). A unit of measure that is used for every distance race except marathons and half marathons, which for no apparent reason are still measured in miles. See also: American arrogance.

Right of Way (n). The basic rule of thumb for right of way situations seems to be as follows: we always think we have it, in all situations, and at all times. If you are in a crosswalk, you have the right of way. If you are dashing across a street without a crosswalk, you have the right of way. If you are running across a road-cut in the Burke Gilman Trail? That’s correct. You have the right of way. Running four abreast on a narrow trail and faced with an oncoming mountain biker? Right of way. Running in a bike lane because you like the paved surface better than that of the sidewalk right next to it? Right of way.  Never mind that in all of these situations you probably don’t have the right of way according to the actual law.

Running (n, v(ger.)) Walking really fast. Historically reserved for the purpose of fleeing danger or pursuing prey. Now running is a something we do for recreation and fitness, even though there are perfectly good bicycles to be found everywhere.

Pain (n). The inevitable result of running. Contrary to popular opinion, there is no distinction to be made between “good” pain and “bad” pain. Pain, by definition, is negative. Bad. The physiological purpose of pain is to signal you that something is wrong with your body. So…by all means, run “through” that pain. Sheesh.

Have a word you need translated into runner's parlance? Send it along and I will post it in a future edition of The Runner's Dictionary.

The Runner's Dictionary. Part One.

Oh jargon, where would be we be without you? How could we subtly alienate the people around us who aren't involved in our games, jobs, past times, relationships, addictions, clubs, and families without jargon?

How would we signal others that we belong to some tiny little part of their world if we didn't share some common language that belonged only to us?

Whether jargon primarily alienates or includes is an argument for another day. The fact is every sport or activity comes complete with its own vocabulary. And running is no different. This week, Real Running presents the first of a yet-to-be-determined number of selections from The Runner's Dictionary.

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Aid Station. (n) In a running race, an aid station is where the fuel is. Theoretically. For some reason there are always more of these, closer together, in the early stages of a race when you don't need them. Also for some reason, they always have the one favor of GU that you can't stand, followed by an energy drink you have never heard of but that tastes something like improperly mixed Crystal Light. Volunteers at aid stations secretly hate you for not being able to toss your paper cup into one of the dozen garbage cans along the route.

Body Glide. (n, proper). A magical substance, sold in the form of an underarm deodorant stick, that coats the skin to stave off chaffing. Seemingly expensive. Worth every penny. The author figured that if he plugged Body Glide often enough in his columns, maybe the company would notice and send him a free supply of their product.

Bonk. (v). (n). To inexplicably and undeniably run out of energy and the will to run even one more step at the current pace or effort. Bonking is usually associated with a lack of fuel and is most common on long training runs and in races such as a marathon or a half marathon. You know you have bonked when the mile before was perfect and the current mile feels ten times longer, the road ten times steeper, and your feet ten times heavier. In theory, one can "run through" a bonk and suffer to the end of the run. Dude, I was fine for 13 miles and they I epically bonked. See also: Hit the Wall.

Chafe. (v). (n). Skin abrasion caused by anything rubbing against the skin, including other skin. Usual locations: nipples, thighs, and crotch. Seldom noticed until the post-run shower. See also: Body Glide.

Cruise Control. (n). A runner on cruise control has labored through his or her warm up phase and has not yet reached exhaustion. When on cruise control, the runner feels as if the miles are shorter, the roads are flat, and the day a perfect one. On cruise control, one can seemingly run forever. This rarified condition is so rarely achieved that most runners believe it too be mythical, like Valhalla. Or Auburn. Cruise control running usually ends in a Bonk. I hit mile two and was totally in cruise control for a few miles. Then I bonked.

Fartlek. (n) A specific training technique with a weird name. Many new runners, having only heard this term and not seen it in print mistakenly think it is "fart lick," and assume it means to run really close to the ass of the person in front of of them, like drafting on a bicycle. You only have to try this technique once to be taught that indeed you are not supposed to run that close to someone you don't know. Fartlek literally means "speed play" in Swedish or something, which I find hilarious because "play" implies fun. And running is never fun. Anyway, fartlek running is unstructured speed work, in which a runner mixes intense speed effort with easy running at his or her whim. Yes, it is a real thing. Who knew? I don't want to do actual speed training, so instead I'll go out and do a fartlek.

Finkel. (n). A Finkel is a run of approximately five miles, or "five-ish." Fyvush Finkel is a well-known Jewish actor who, as far as we know, doesn't run. This term dates as far back as 2008, and has so far been limited to usage in my household. I'm heading out to do a quick Finkel. Be back in an hour.


Flats. (n) Racing shoes. Light, completely unsupportive, and typically gaudy in design, flats are meant for short distances and soft surfaces. But some of us are convinced that their light weight gives us enough of a performance boost to offset the inevitable stress fractures and shin splints that are a direct result of wearing them in long races.

Half Marathon. (n) A 13.1 mile race. An attainable goal for most every new runner, and a distance that is both challenging and physically reasonable. Research suggests that anything longer than this is ridiculous.

Hills. (n. pl) Flat running surfaces that are tilted up. No one knows why they exist or what their ultimate purpose is. Nor can anyone explain why the same hill is steeper on certain days than on others. Even more perplexing is how otherwise flat runs become uphill over time. See also: to school, both ways, in the snow.

Hit the Wall. (v). Similar to a bonk but with some nuanced and important differences. When one hits the wall, the run is over. There is no getting over or around the wall. When a runner hits the wall, he simply stops, sits down, and cries as first his calves, then his hamstrings, and finally his lower back cramp up and cripple him. In very rare cases runners hit an actual wall. Late in the Seattle Marathon last year, I watched as two stumbling runners, clearly working through an epic bonk weaved off course, tripped over one another and a curb of some sort, and careened into a concrete wall. Luckily there was an aid station nearby and a volunteer brought them a 4 ounce Dixie Cup of water and some Chocolate GU. I knew I was in trouble when my heart rate shot up, and then I just hit the wall.

-ish (suffix). Added to any mileage estimate, an "ish" allows the runner to leave room for an early bail-out or a lengthened run all while maintaining plausible deniability, the gold standard for the defense of any action. For example, a run of 8-ish miles can be anywhere from 6.5 to 10. Today's run plan is to do 6-ish miles and see how I feel.




Stay tuned for Part Two of The Runner's Dictionary next week! And as always, don't forget to check out my column in Northwest Runner Magazine. Do you have an entry for The Runner's Dictionary? Send it to me at gregsrealrunning@gmail.com

The Unmentionables

I stopped in at a local running shop this week to browse and chat up the owner a bit. The new spring running clothes were in. The shoe wall called to me and almost convinced me to try on some new kicks. The owner and I talked about training, about marathons, about running groups, and about the weather. Of course.

When an actual paying customer came in, the owner excused himself and I spent a few minutes flipping through the running magazines near the counter. In addition to a fresh copy of Northwest Runner, the usual national suspects were present. So I grabbed one and did a little reading. A lot of beautiful people in perfect running clothes! A lot of sound advice for diet plans and injury prevention.

And a lot of advertisements for gizmos, gadgets and various goops.

Still nothing about the things we really want to know. I guess I don’t blame the slicks for not writing about the unmentionables, but aside from unfortunate personal experience, how is a runner to learn?

Have no fear. I don’t fear the unmentionable. Here we go…

What Are Those Red Spots on His Shirt Right Where His Nipples Should Be?

Well son, that would be blood. From the chaffing. Of his nipples. Which, if he is lucky, are still there. Stand at the finish of any distance race and you will see several poor souls triumphantly cross the finish line with the infamous bleeding nipples. I’ve never suffered the complete bleed-through like the chap in the photo above, but even without the blood loss, the chaffing is enough to only let it happen to you once. Stepping into the shower with chaffed nipples is not the most pleasant experience.

Why does it happen? Nipple chaffing happens most frequently on long runs and usually in races. It’s totally possible to go through an entire marathon training circuit and never have this happen to you. Then, at mile 18 in the race, you become “that guy.” First of all, check your shirt choice. Technical fabrics, especially those with an open weave (read: rough surface) are the worst offenders. But even if you run in those shirts all the time, it may only happen to you in a race. Why? The pinned on race number. Yep. The added weight of the number and the pins makes your shirt move around more than normal, and that movement turns into chafe.

I find it also happens more if I have a jacket or vest on over a technical shirt. And even more than that in the rain.

The solution? Don’t run. Duh. But if you must run, be generous with the Body Glide. Slather that stuff on. Don’t be shy. Some people find that compression tops solve the problem as well.

Does a Runner Poop in the Woods?

One of my running friends, who will remain anonymous for the moment, has a very minor case of incontinence. She can’t even laugh without peeing her pants a little, which we all find endearing and sweet. And when she runs, well…in races she just sort of lets it fly. Can’t blame her.  I’ve seen this tactic employed at just about every race I’ve entered.

But things get a little more serious when a runner needs to poop. If you have to, you have to, and there is a point of no return that most adults can’t remember because they don’t put themselves in the situation like runners do. But the combination of the impact of running, a runner’s diet, and the alarming lack of public restrooms in our world make it pretty likely that anyone who takes up running will find themselves doing the “duck walk” around a local park hoping against hope that the bathrooms aren’t locked for “maintenance.”

The good news is that with a relatively consistent diet and running plan, your body will train itself to shut down a bit while you are running distances. Beware though. Altering that plan too much can lead to disaster. The night before last year’s Tacoma Narrows Half Marathon I indulged in a little Thai food a lot too late into the evening. The race was an adventure in port-o-johns.

The bad news is that when it happens, it happens. And there is a point where you are reduced to begging someone to let you use their bathroom or to finding a discrete space in the great outdoors. I called around this morning on your behalf to learn the following, just in case:

Defecating in public is considered littering and is a misdemeanor. “Unless,” the friendly woman at the Lynnwood Police Department said, clearly reading from the state laws on the subject, “the amount is more than one cubic yard. Then it’s a gross misdemeanor.”

To say the least.

There was something else in there about indecent exposure, but I figured you all knew to be discrete.

The solution? Don’t run. Duh. But you do. So the best solutions are a combination of consistent diet (cutting back on the fiber the day before a long run is a good idea) and pre-planning. Get up early enough before a race or a long run to let your body’s systems do their job. And just like when you were a kid getting in the station wagon for a long road trip, go to the bathroom ONE MORE TIME before you leave the house. Just in case.

And as a side note, there is not a single public restroom anywhere in the city of San Francisco on a Sunday morning. Don’t ask me how I know this…

What’s That Smell?

I love technical fabrics. They wick moisture away from the body, they look good, they last a long time, and they are nice and light. But here’s something only your partner really knows: they stink. Not at first, but eventually they develop a funk that no amount of detergent can combat.

There is nothing that the owner of the stank can do to determine when the end is upon his or her favorite shirt. You need an honest friend or partner to tell you the lifespan has reached its end. If you’ve ever accidentally left a load of washed laundry in the washer for a couple of days, you know the smell.

And I’m sorry to the manufacturer and promoters of any product that claims to get the funk out of technical fabrics, but there is a point where it just isn’t possible anymore.

The solution? Run MORE. Ha. You thought I was going to say “don’t run.” The answer to this problem is so clear: run more events so you have more “free” shirts.

Or better yet, check out this site: http://promotionevents.com/Shirts/Home.htm where they are selling shirts from past local events for next to nothing. Go ahead, stock up.

Also, throw out the old. No one needs a nasty old shirt from the 2003 Seattle Marathon. Sorry. (Just don’t look in my “running shirt drawer”. Do as I say, not as I do.)

Your turn: Unbury those horrifying moments and share them with the Real Running Nation. You suffered so that others may learn. Click on "Comment" below and share your misery.