Learning to run

I realise now that I do not even know how to run properly. I am having to learn.

Running has always been a part of my life, from my earliest memories of running around in the sun till I had heat stroke, to hating cross country at school, to becoming a regular runner for health when a student, to starting to enter races on 2 September 2012 (my memory tag for that day).

I have progressively become faster since that first race, moving up to 10 km races and running the last in 48 minutes.

But now, as I read 'The Art of Running Faster' and watch Olympic runners closely, I realise I do not know how to run properly at all.

There are moments now on training runs when I start to feel, 'This is running'.

On 14 November 2013, I went for a long run as I had received some sad news. Perhaps it was because I was meditating on this rather than thinking of running, it suddenly came together.

Instead of stretching forward in an attempt to go faster, I was pushing back against the earth. My focus was on the balls of my feet launching me forward.

As I landed with a more bent knee, I felt lower to the ground, and lowering myself further settled me more into true running.

By the end, as I neared home, my breathing was almost leisurely, but my legs were moving rapidly and stretching long behind me.

It was lack of strength in my legs that became the limiting factor, not oxygen debt. I was entering a new level of efficiency of movement, and suddenly I felt like a child again, running to see what it felt like, what my body could do, opening a door to a whole new world of possibilities.

My legs ached afterwards and the next day as muscles had been used and stretched like never before.

The point of the stretching exercises in the book suddenly became apparent, to lengthen out that movement.

Only now that I realise how little I know can I really start to learn.

My weekly runs in the park are a guage of what difference changing my running can make. Today my time for the 5 km run was not only a personal best for the course, but my fastest ever 5 km, at 21.41.

This is an amazing 30 seconds faster than my previous best.

It was a little tough going. I used a 5-step rhythmic breathing cycle for the first km (3 inhaling, 2 exhaling), then switched to 3-step (2 inhaling, 1 exhaling).

Whenever I felt I was overdoing the effort, I tried to stretch my trailing leg a little more, settle down by bend in my leading leg a little more and easing up slightly on the step rate.

I needed a minute to recover at the end, but did not feel as a bad as when I set my last PB.

Running like an Olympian

My memory tag for 9 November 2013 is getting below 23 minutes for a 5 km Saturday run in the park. It is not the fastest course as it has a couple of inclines and I've been trying for a while to bring my time below this threshold. I managed 22:55.

The book The Art of Running Faster has helped me with its tips on running with faster, such as running with faster strides, even if they are shorter. (This is an unsolicited recommendation).

I am still reading the book, but now I am trying to follow its advice to run so that my centre of gravity is above or slightly in front of my leading foot when it lands.

Today I watched the 5,000 metres at the London Olympics, won by Mo Farah of Great Britain.



I can see how the runners' feet strike the ground below their bodies and their legs extend to launch them forwards for the next foot to strike, with the knee of that leg bent.

It also struck me how high the feet of the runners rise behind them, to the level of their backsides, as they bend the knee almost fully, to bring their leg forward again. Julian Goater talks of following a cycling motion.

This slow motion film of foot strikes from a 10,000 metre olympic qualifying race show more clearly how the trailing leg fully extends to launch the runner forward.

This is far from the energy-conserving shuffle I fall into, where my mind is more on the leg traveling forward than the leg stretching behind me.



I tried it out running tonight and it felt very strange. As when I taught myself to juggle, I found it useful to concentrate on one thing at a time, in the hope that, with time, my subconscious would keep good control of the other aspects.

Doing some hill repetitions (actually over a hump-backed footbridge), I used very short steps, running on the balls of my feet to build up the muscle memory.

Running on the flat, I tried to continue that approach, landing on the balls of my feet, placing my feet underneath me.

Doing it the old way, stretching forward to connect with the ground, striking with the heel, turns my foot into a pivot I have to rise over - I am effectively braking myself with every stride.

Julian Goater speaks of falling forward and placing your foot to stop the fall, rather than reaching forward.

With my mind on the Mo Farah run, I tried to concentrate on extending my trailing leg to launch myself forward onto my other foot. This was a little difficult to do at speed, so instead of thinking of every step, I linked it to my rhythmic breathing count: two steps inhaling - "push!" - land on the other foot - one step exhaling.

This was effective, and also worked with the slower rhythm: three seps inhaling - "push!" - land on the other foot - two steps exhaling.

At other times, I tried to think of landing with the knee of my front leg bent, ready for the extension to propel me forwards.

It did not come together very well at all and my legs ached like bruised apples afterwards.

But I can reflect on the elements and try to bring them together in future runs.

Today is the first day I tried to run like Mo Farah.

Running better

My memory tag for 3 November is running a 10 km race, specifically sprinting for the finish line.

It was my third 10 km race and I knocked two minutes of my previous personal best time.

Having entered my first ever race - 5 km - on Sunday 2 September 2012 (my memory tag for that day), I have been reading about running and introducing some of the ideas into my training and racing.

Two factors led not only a faster time, but to my legs actually feeling better after the race than when I began.

The first is rhythmic breathing, which I came across in the book "Running on Air" by Budd Coates.

I link to it here on the site of the publisher, Runners World, totally independently (see my advertising policy):
http://www.runnersworld.com/running-tips/running-air-breathing-technique

The concept is simply explained: synchronise breathing to steps. The basic rhythm is 3 steps inhaling followed by 2 steps exhaling. To go up a gear, switch to 2 steps inhaling to 1 step exhaling.

I've been experimenting with this for the past few weeks and the rhythm has started to become natural, such that no counting is involved.

The second tip I have come across in various places: more efficient running involves a fast cadence, or step rate, of about 180 steps per minute.

A fast cadence for me involves running with a shorter stride length. Maintaining a fast cadence with longer stride length means you cover a lot more ground and win races - but need to be a lot stronger than I am.

All the same, combining rhythmic breathing with fast cadence made all the difference in the race.

I was whizzing past other runners, having started near the back, but felt totally comfortable.

It struck me that as my breathing cycle was tied to my fast cadence, I was sucking in enough air not to build up an oxygen deficit.

My plan had been to run 5 km easy and then up the pace for the second 5 km, but as my time was good, I kept to the same rhythm until I reached 8 km.

Then I moved up a gear to the 3-step breathing cycle. This gave me even more oxygen and a fresh burst of speed.

When I hit the 250 metre marker, I began to sprint for the finish, switching to a 2-step cycle, one in, one out. Budd Coates says to use a 2:1:1:1 cycle, but I didn't have the concentration for that as I passed a dozen other runners in reaching the finish line.

I was breathless when I finished, but quickly recovered, without having to collapse on the ground as in some other races.

The amazing thing was the state of my legs. Usually after a race, I am incapacitated with aching joints through the following week and need a few days before I can even think of running.

I was already a little nervous about twinges in my legs after putting in a good time in a 5 km run in the park the Saturday of the preceding week and was wary of developing shin splints in my training runs before this race.

But after knocking two minutes off my 10 km time, I felt as if I had cleared my legs of the threatening ailments. I've had a rest day today, but don't feel wary of running tomorrow.

I was still 10 minutes slower than the winner in the M40 category so have a long way to improve.

But I feel I am still on the journey and have not yet arrived at my destination.

I also have a map to follow.

The happiest days of my life

Usually I select the image to pin to my mental calendar as a memory tag for the day as I lay down to sleep, adding it to the calendar at the end of a run through the images for the past month.

But there are some days when I pause and take a snapshot to capture a particular moment, thinking this is one of the happiest days of my life and this is the image that I will keep with me forever.

Invariably these are times with family and friends, perhaps sharing a meal or lying in the grass in the sun.

I regularly come across these very special images applying the refresh technique I use to reinforce the images. From them I relive not only the moment captured, the day and the people, but the feeling.

It is sustaining to be reminded of happy days and happines.

Remembering changes me

The word "remember" can mean different things.

To quote dictionary.com, it can mean: to recall to the mind by an act or effort of memory.

It can also mean: to retain in the memory.

The difference between these two concepts has struck me in what could be a sign that it is time for another transition in this process of remembering every day that passes.

My aim when I began this process was to be able to retain every day of my life in my memory so I could remember where I was, who I was with and what I was doing on any day of my life, at least from then on.

I have achieved this goal for every day since 17 December 2011 - and some of the days back to January 2011 as I have been trying to fill in the blanks on my mental calendar.

The review method I use involves regularly recalling to mind the images I have pinned to my mental calendar for each day as memory tags. I refresh these images at least once per month under the technique I am currently using.

But reviewing past memories is, to an extent, to relive the moments: every day I am reconnected to points along my inexorably growing timeline.

There are benefits from actively remembering that I have explored on this blog: from being reminded someone's birthday is approaching to being reminded of my own mortality and the finite number of days I have to come. And all levels of profundity in between.

But there is something else going on.

We all carry our pasts with us, but I actually gather mine in my arms every day through this review process.

I'm wondering what impact this is having - and whether I should continue.

In the past, whenever I've felt the desire to stop reviewing past days it has been because it is taking too long, but on each occasion I've cut the number of days in the review to make the process more manageable and been happy to continue.

My current process is manageable. As I've written here, reviews are just part of my routine and do not distract me from living in the moment.

But now I'm realising this daily reconnection to my past has an impact I don't yet understand.

Tithing

Tithing is setting aside 10% of income for the church. I don't do that, but the concept of ring-fencing some money for altruistic purposes is something I have found to be beneficial.

The image pinned to my mental calendar as a memory tag for 26 May 2013 is visiting a church my wife likes in the capital. They announced the guest preacher would actually appear in a recording of a sermon given recently at another church and would help us with our finances.


It was about giving 10% of income to the church, which seemed to be more about helping the church with its finances. The key message was to make the payment as soon as any income was received.

While churches undeniably do a lot of good work, such as in helping the homeless, reaching out to the lonely, and so on, there are other things I would not like my money to be used for, such as the attack on homosexuality. Bible teaching is often cited as justification for homophobia, while other texts are ignored, such as that banning women speaking in church, prohibiting divorce and extolling trial by ordeal to detect adultery. I am told some texts have to be seen in the context of their time, whereas others are the unchallengeable instruction of God to be followed today. Which is which seems to be the choice of the speaker.

All the same, I decided to put away 10% of income, whether from my salary, freelance work or - should it ever amount to anything - advertising income from this blog.

A substantial sum of money builds up quite quickly in this way. While this hasn't helped my finances, as making ends meet with what remains is a bigger challenge, it is satisfyingly liberating: this tithe money is for God's work, as I understand it to be.

That sometimes has involved giving the money to good causes, such as donating to aid work for Syrian refugees (a far more generous amount than I would otherwise have considered), a project I support in Africa, exceptional expenses where I have been the unfortunate victim of fate (the car breaking down) or whatever.

It is not just a saving fund as there are some things that do not feel right to pay from it, such as my forthcoming air ticket to my wife's country. That, I feel, should come from "my" money. But when she had to return suddenly due to a family illness recently and we had to buy a special ticket, my special fund could be used.

Resisting time's collapse

I realise now that I was used to time collapsing.

If I think to my childhood and our sitting around the table for Sunday lunch, I can recall very vivid images and particular incidents. But I do not remember specific days. These memories are conglomerates, one Sunday in my memory represents however many hundreds of times we sat down together.

If I think to just a few years ago, when we were in my wife's country and she was working in a particular office, I can remember making trips to collect her. But it is difficult to remember if she worked there for three months or ten. The days have merged and the time has blurred.

Since beginning this process I can remember every day of the past 22 months.

And I find there is something strange, even a little unsettling, in the fact that time has not collapsed.

As I recall having my hair cut on 21 March 2012 while waiting for my car to have a new section of exhaust fitted, I have a desire to let this memory concertina into all the other memories of having my hair cut while living in the same town. Yet, I remember as separate events every trip I have made to the barbers during this period.

As time passes my recollection does alter. There is a different flavour to the visits to past days when I refresh the images pinned to my internal calendar as memory tags. The recent past is fresher, but I am the same, my habits and concerns are unchanged. Looking further back, I can remember when those days too were as fresh, but now they have lost their freshness and the person I was then was focussed on different things.

Before I began this process, those days would have faded. Events would have merged, or been forgotten. After a while, I would be scratching my head to remember where we were living during that time, perhaps even whether we were in my country or my wife's. How long we stayed would be a mystery without looking to a calendar.

Except now I know instantly that we moved into the flat we rented on Thursday 29 December 2011 and spent a very happy time there before moving out on Thursday 27 September 2012.

That time hasn't collapsed, but every time I refresh the images for those days they are a little more distant and, while I may have changed, it seems strange that days now long gone have not faded.