Marathon & Beyond Extra | Issue 5

Blast From the Past: On the Mark, Volume 5.5, September/October 2001

Q: I’ve done 18 marathons in the past 10 years and am currently 38 years old. About halfway through my marathon career, I discovered the usefulness of visualization in reaching my race-day goals. I ride a course the day before the race to see what it’s like, then factor in a realistic race pace with the demands of the course to plan my visualization for the next days race. Most of the time, this works very well. My question is, What do I do with five miles left in a race if my visualized race begins to unravel? Should I be visualizing several race scenarios before the race? To me, that would seem to undermine the positive, goal-rich visualization I like to do.

Gayle Barron

I am a huge fan of visualization. Let me start by telling you my story of my very first Boston Marathon. It was prior to my win in 1978, and I was obviously a bit nervous at the start. I was moving all over the place, waiting for the race to start instead of lying down and focusing on my race (mainly because I didn’t know any better).

At any rate, I was so nervous that I was in and out of the bathroom, where I kept seeing a woman lying down. I assumed she was sick.

I went out and told my 10 friends that there was a woman in the bathroom who I thought was sick. The long and short of it was that the woman was Leanne Winter, from West Germany, who ended up winning the race. I was fortunate to come in third. Later, I asked Leanne’s coach why she had been lying down.

He told me that visualization was a tool used by all of their coaches to help their runners. The idea was to have them focus on their race only and then to run relaxed and smooth. I tried this later in my career, and it obviously worked.

I ran 25 marathons, all under three hours, and visualization of the end of my races always served me well. Just focus, stay relaxed, change your stride a bit, get into rhythmic breathing, and you will finish those last five miles with no trouble. I hope this helps.

—Gayle Barron won the 1978 Boston Marathon.

John J. Kelly

Dear Lady. To the best of this old boy’s recollection, he developed not “visualizations” of his races but “dodges” against facing the possibilities head-on. The approach reflected a kind of cowardice but, he hoped, a cowardice that would be offset by adequate training and the right intuitive moves as the race unfolded.

Truthfully, I don’t know if the best word is cowardice. It’s probably more like the askance view you might carry into battle—beforehand, that is. Once the battle has started, you would certainly have to look things full in the face with the best acuity you can muster.

In other words, too much laying out of options excited too much nervousness in me. I preferred to think along these lines: I’m training for such-and-such a marathon on such-and-such a date. The best training plan I can follow is my desired “visualization.” If I succeeded in that, and I respond with inspired intuition to situations that present themselves during my race, the race will go all right. I hope this helps you in some way. Good luck.

—John J. Kelley was the only American to win Boston in the 1950s.

Michael Sachs

Wonderful question. Looks like you use imagery (our preferred term for visualization) effectively, and I strongly encourage you to continue to do so. However, you have also found, through practical experience, that things don’t always go as planned (that is, as imaged/visualized). So I would agree with the idea of other possible scenarios—but seen with a different “twist.”

Start with Plan A. This is your positive, goal-rich imagery, as you put it so well. This is what you expect will happen when you run. But also have a Plan B (and C and D, if needed) if something happens—a change in weather, injury, “just not your day,” whatever. This way you’re still being true to yourself in your plans, but you have a backup for that last stretch (five miles or however many are left) in case you need it.

This is really not being untrue to yourself but being realistic. As the saying goes, “Stuff happens!” Being prepared for situations where stuff does happen is the best strategy. Have a great run, and carpe diem.

—Mike Sachs, PhD, is a sports psychologist at Temple University and a member of this magazine’s Science Advisory Board; he is also coauthor of the classic work Running as Therapy.

Dick Beardsley

The visualization that you do is great! I did the same thing when I was running marathons competitively. I also realized that in almost every marathon I ran I would hit a bad stretch between 16 and 19 miles. I knew this was going to happen, so when it did I didn’t panic, because I knew that if I could hang in there I would soon start to feel better again.

It worked! The last five miles of a marathon can be tough, no matter what you do. What has worked well for me many times is that I put out of my mind that I still have five miles left to run and break it down into one mile at a time. I know that no matter how bad I feel, I can always go one more mile. This little system has worked wonders for me, and I bet it will work for you, too. Good luck in your next marathon.

—Dick Beardsley has the fourth-fastest time in the marathon for an American and holds the course record for Grandma’s.

JoAnn Dahlkoetter

Have you ever done one of your worst performances at a time when it was critical for you to do your best? Major losses in racing and in life have a way of playing with our self-esteem. We tend to be most susceptible to feeling down when we expect to do well at a competition an end up with a poor outcome instead. The consequences can lead to anxiety, self-doubt, self-defeating thoughts, and even long-term depression. These disappointments can be devastating, but there is no reason they need to be. There are mental-training tools that you can employ before and during the race.

First, ask yourself how you hand a difficult race situation. How do you hold up in the heat of battle when things are not going as planned? Let’s say you have set lofty goals for your next race, and you are primed to run your best marathon in a long time. You get to the race, put on your shoes, and being to warm up. But instead of being springy and light, your legs feel like lead. As you run a few miles, they begin to loosen up, but you know the energy is not there; this may not be your day. You try to keep your chin up and stay motivated to run well. But in the back of your mind, you’re questioning whether you should compete today.

Your Plan A in this scenario may have been to run a PR and win your age group. That goal is no longer realistic at this point. Now it’s time to move to Plan B. The question is, do you have a Plan B at this critical moment? Knowing how to shift your thinking when things are not going your way can make all the difference in your performance and consequently how you feel about the experience afterward.

I often work with athletes who set very high goals but have no backup strategy to switch to when things don’t turn out as planned. To become a successful athlete, you need to take into consideration all the possible scenarios and see yourself as owning the tools to handle any situation. You can visualize yourself as having a great day, having a so-so day, or having a lousy day and decide what you will do to perform your best in each situation. That way, regardless of what happens, you’ll have a way to make the experience positive.

There are several possible elements, internal and external, that can influence your race. Let’s go through some hypothetical situations and see how you might handle each of them.

Scenario A: You’re in terrific shape. You can focus on reeling in people who are in front of you, pushing the pace on the last half of the race, and going for the sprint at the finish line. You meet or exceed your racing goals in terms of time or place. When you are having the perfect day, you can relax and enjoy it. Let your body do what you’ve trained it to do.

Scenario B: You’re not feeling quite up to par on race day. Your initial goal was to run a personal record and place in your age group, but your pace is slowing after two miles and you’re unable to stay with the top group. You switch to Plan B. You say to yourself, “When the next runner passes m, I’ll tuck in behind and use that energy to maintain my pace and break the wind in front. I’ll maintain that pace as long as I can. If the runner pulls away, I’ll tuck in behind the next person who passes and let him or her pull me along. You can use these affirmations to keep yourself motivated: “This race is making me stronger for the next one.” “I love to run this distance.” “I am in my element.”

Scenario C: You’re feeling lousy, and you can’t even come close to your planned race pace. You go to Plan C. You keep your watch going and continue to take your splits. However, it may be best not to look at them if you feel the times are too discouraging. You can review them later. You can then say to yourself: “Okay, I’ll just focus on maintaining good running form, staying competitive, and trying to do the best time I can given my fitness today. It will still be a good training run and will help prepare me for my next race. I can make this a positive experience no matter what happens.” Your positive affirmations may include: “My body and mind are growing stronger every moment.” I feel grateful that I am healthy and able to run this pace.” “I am using the energy of the other runners to carry me along.” “I will just try to stay with the runners who are keeping my pace.”

Scenario D: There’s howling wind and pouring rain on race morning. You switch to Plan D. Have the wisdom to separate the things you can’t control from the things you can. Use the wind to help you lean forward and improve your running form. Look for other tall runners to draft behind. Say to yourself, “I can’t change the weather or the other runners.” “What I can control is my own running form and my attitude.” “Everyone out here has to contend with these same conditions.” “I know I can handle this situation.”

Try mentally rehearsing each of these scenarios, and then create your own versions. If you anticipate what might come up for you and develop Plan A, B, C, and D, you’ll always have a response to any problem that may arise. You’ll be prepared to make the best of all your race situations.

—JoAnn Dahlkoetter, PhD, is author of Your Performance Edge.

M&B Between the Lines

In our January/February 2009 issue, Duncan Larkin shared his running and journalistic adventure competing in the Himalayan 100-Mile Stage Race/Mount Everest Challenge. Below, Duncan tells us about the challenge he faced after this event.

After the run: my race against infection

Having been flown to India as a guest—as a sponsored member of the press, a guest of the Indian government—I was obligated to spend a few extra days after the race under the care of the Indian Board of Tourism. Specifically, this entailed being driven to various tourist destinations. I was then supposed to return home and write about the grandeur of the Taj Mahal at sunrise or convince the wavering Western tourist to get up the guts to fly to New Delhi and admire the Red Fort’s ornamental walls.

Let me be clear: These two sites (among many others in that fantastically wild country) are wonderful. The country is alive; it’s an experience well worth the adventure.

But after my 100-mile Himalayan victory, I was the wrong person for this job. I was beat down; I was tired and grumpy. When I tripped on day four of the race, I had scraped up my knees and hands. My toenails turned black and then decided to depart from my body. And I was woefully prepared to deal with my injuries.

The wonderful doctor who had accompanied C.S. Pandey’s group in the Himalayas had long since departed. With fresh tilakas on their foreheads, fully convinced that this year’s race was a raging success, Mr. Pandey and the rest of his crew had also exited stage left. Our dubious gaggle of journalists had been pretty much left to fend for ourselves.

We had been given a phone number to call. It belonged to Incredible India bureau in New Delhi. We were told a driver and guide would meet us and take us around the city and its environs for the next two days.

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For those final two days, we wandered around with little guidance—a dangerous prospect in that wild city full of beggars, lepers, ascetics, and other naked holy men.

“You will be here at 8 a.m.,” we were told.

“Here” was the lobby of the Hotel Ashok—that 70s-era Vegas hotel, full of pompadoured men sporting gold watches. We showed up at 8 a.m., but they came at 9 a.m. They told us to enter a white bus with clip-on fans attached to each row of seats.

“Where are we going?” we asked.

“We meet with a professor,” we were told.

“To the Taj Mahal?”

“To the professor and then the Taj Mahal.”

I was sick. My feet were bloodied. My legs swelled. I had a fever and lay across the seat. I was supposed to take it all in, but I couldn’t. I wanted to go home. Normally, the chaos that is India would have been an adventure. But it wasn’t.

Our bus drove us down a highway with dubious lanes. Cars drove wherever they wanted to. When we came to a stop, beggars thronged us, tapping our bus’ windows with metal cans. One woman held a naked child and pleaded for money.

“Don’t even look at them,” our bus driver warned. “You can do nothing for them.”

I lay back down in the seat and looked at my beat up body. I suddenly didn’t feel as bad. My pain was temporary compared to the people outside the bus with their starving children and their empty metal cans—people who’d really drawn life’s short straw.

The bus winded through the city of Agra; the city where the Taj Mahal stands. We stopped somewhere—a crumbling façade of a building with disinterested men staring out its windows. A man got in; he was the professor. We then drove to a dilapidated hotel and were fed naan, pakoras, and keema matar and were handed lukewarm Fanta soda . As we ate, the professor told us about the history of the Taj Mahal. Other journalists scribbled down these facts in their notebooks, but I didn’t because I was starting to get a fever and didn’t feel like doing anything other than lying back down in the bus with the clip-on fans.

We were then driven to the Taj Mahal itself. We arrived there about midday. There must have been tens of thousands of people standing in line outside the gates to get in. Our professor told us to cut the line. He said we were Westerners and that the line behind us was for Indians—something that reminded me of the old South and didn’t sit with me at all.

I looked at the line, at all the angry people behind me, and shook my head. “I can’t do that,” I said. “I’ll wait outside while you show the rest of the people around.”

The professor nudged me forward. “We stick together,” he said. He ushered us to the ticket taker and offered him a bribe.

We were in.

Because of my illness and injuries, I was in the wrong state of mind to appreciate the Taj Mahal. That next day, I skipped the trip to the Red Fort and the bustling marketplace, Chandni Chowk. My fever was spiking and my infection was running up my leg. That night, I decided to take a bath, because I had once read that baths were good for fevers and for festering wounds. This wasn’t a good idea. Apparently, the tap water in Delhi isn’t very clean. Apparently, it comes straight from the sacred Yamuna River and is teeming with giardia.

Before I left for India, when I was packing for my trip, I had decided not to bring any first aid supplies; that wasn’t a good idea either. I limped down to a convenience store/gas station on a quest to find some pain relief medicine. The walk was only a half a mile, but it seemed longer than the entire 100-mile race. I took more rest breaks than I took in all five days of the race. When I got there, the shopkeeper shook his head. There was no aspirin in the store; there were no bandages; there was no roll of medical tape or tube of Neosporin. They had Fanta soda, stale cookies, and plastic soccer balls.

I limped back to my room. My foot felt as if it has been tossed in a burning pyre. I elevated it and watched the news. I counted down the hours until I was to take a cab to the airport. I set three different alarms; I rang the front desk for a wakeup call.

I wanted to go home—immediately.

It wasn’t until I got to Heathrow Airport that I was able to take care of myself. There for a two-hour layover, I purchased $50 in medical supplies and found a small corner of the gate where I administered emergency first aid to myself. I felt like Javier Bardem’s character in No Country for Old Men.

Finally back in the States, I immediately went in to see my doctor. She diagnosed severe staph infections on my knees, arms, and legs. “You are in bad shape,” she said. “What were you doing in India, swimming in a cesspool?”

“Falling down mountains,” I said.

“What did you treat yourself with after you fell?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I didn’t have any medical supplies.”

“Next time you fall down a mountain, bring a first aid kit,” she said, shaking her head.

“Next time, I won’t forget one,” I promised her.

This lesson applies to you too; be prepared when you fly somewhere for a race. Just because you can run 100 miles doesn’t mean you’re immortal.

The 101st mile may get you.

Subscriber of the Month: Tracy Thomas

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Do you have a favorite event that you do?

I do. It is the Race Across the Year multi-day race. It is held at Nardini Manor, owned by ultrarunner Rodger Wrublik, in Litchfield Park, AZ (a short drive west of Phoenix) and is directed by Paul Bonnett. The entire race committee and volunteers and medical staff are second to none. It is an unbelievably fun race, and there are so many nice people there. Even though I’ve only had one good race there out of four, I will continue to go back.

My best race there was in 2006 when I ran the 72-hour race. Although my ITB flared up 50 miles into the race, I was still able to break the female course record and finish first overall with 250.7 miles, although on a good day with no injuries, that number could easily be surpassed. I invite anyone to come out to this race, especially if you think that a short, loop course would be horribly boring. I bet you’ll change your mind! I sure did.

You also coach other runners. Can you tell us about that and why it is your passion?

I kind of “happened” onto this career without trying. I loved running so much for several reasons that I wanted everyone to realize what a great activity it was. Nothing makes you feel as good as running does. I’ve always said that running is the best and most inexpensive form of therapy. Having a bad day? Go for a run! I guarantee you’ll feel better when you’re finished.

At any rate, I started helping people train for marathons way back in California when the Long Beach City College talked me into running cross-country at 35 years of age. I was, by far, the oldest person on the team, but the young runners respected my experience and success and soon I was training several of them for a marathon. This grew and grew until today. I own my own business (BodyMechanic Fitness) and train runners and non-runners alike.

I have seen first-hand how people, and especially women, have been transformed by running. Running is very empowering. You feel so much stronger and accomplished when you are fit. Strength training is also a very important component of fitness, which is why I am also a personal trainer. It’s important to have muscular balance and maintain strength as we age. It will help you avoid injury and also reduces your risk of diseases such as osteoporosis. (Tracy is pictured here with her mother.)

I feel like training and coaching others does more to benefit me than it does them. It is so very rewarding to see people improve and improve their confidence levels. I feel a lot more sense of accomplishment, and it is a greater reward to run a marathon with a client than it is to run a race for "me" and get a personal record. To help others succeed and accomplish is where the real reward is for me.

Do you ever run for charity?

Yes, I do! Just as helping other runners brings me more joy than any personal accomplishment, having a bigger, ulterior motive or goal for my races makes them that much more rewarding.

A year and a half ago, I ran the Badwater Ultramarathon—a 135-mile race across Death Valley—to raise money for the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation. I am passionate about raising money for breast cancer research. I’ve known so many people who have been the victims of this disease, and I don’t want to lose any more friends or family to this insidious disease.

I believe Dr. Love is on the verge of a cure and prevention of this horrific disease, but funding is necessary to continue the research to get there. I had a horrible performance at Badwater, but I was able to raise over $12,000 for a cause that is so much bigger than I am.

At the end of 2009, I intend to do a joint venture with a client who I am training. She will be attempting her first 24-hour race and together we will be raising money for Dr. Love’s Research Foundation. This time, I’m setting the bar at $20,000 or even $25,000. Come out to the Race Across The Years to join us and donate to our cause!

Bookstore Corner: My Life on the Run

by Bart Yasso

Bart, how did you get started with Runner’s World (RW)?

It was a stroke of luck ending up at RW. Rodale, Inc., based in Emmaus, PA, purchased RW back in 1985 and I was living in Bethlehem, which is about 10 miles away. At the time I was directing a race and was the vice president of the local running club called the Lehigh Valley Road Runners. RW wanted someone connected to the running community and they gave me a shot. The rest is history.

Your book has a nice mix of reflective content as well as humorous stories, all balanced with humility. Has this always been a combination of your personality, or have these parts of your character changed over the years (or through running)?

My personality never changed. RW sent me to some races that match my personality and crazy side. The outcome? Fun adventures that made for some great stories.

Anything else you’d like to tell us about your book?

My book is a memoir, but I look at it more as memoir of running. It’s not just about what I accomplished; it’s about what running allowed me to accomplish.

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You’ve received wonderful feedback, and we thought it would be fun to share a few excerpts from readers’ letters to you:

“...you managed to reinforce, solely through the recounting of your own experiences, the power of running in all of its glory: running as the embodiment of opportunity; running as the vehicle through which we can expose ourselves to the greatest things/people/places in life; running as an escape from the mundane; running as the chance to push ourselves to our outermost limits, right on through the pain, exhaustion, blistering sun, charging rhinos...”

—name withheld

“...I couldn’t believe you wrote about me in your book...It was a huge honor, man...it means a ton to me. What I appreciate most about it is that it wasn’t based on my foot speed but on my heart. Those are the compliments that mean the most to me.”

—Ryan Hall

Summary from Amazon:

Dubbed the “Mayor of Running,” Bart Yasso is one of the best-known figures in the sport, but few people know why he started running competitively, how it changed his life, or how his brush with a crippling illness nearly ended his career a decade ago. With insight and humor, My Life on the Run chronicles the heatstroke and frostbite, heartache and triumphs he’s experienced while competing in more than 1,000 competitive races during his nearly 30 years with Runner’s World magazine.

Yasso gives valuable and practical advice on how to become a runner for life and continually draw joy from the sport. He also offers practical guidance for beginners, intermediate, and advanced runners, such as 5-K, half-marathon, and marathon training schedules including his innovative technique known as the Yasso 800s. Recounting his adventures in exotic locales like Antarctica, Africa, and Chitwan National Park in Nepal (where he was chased by an angry rhino), Yasso recommends the best exotic marathons for runners who want to grab their passports to test themselves on foreign terrain. With the wit and wisdom of a seasoned insider, he tells runners what they need to know to navigate the logistics of running in an unfamiliar country.

Yasso’s message is this: Never limit where running can take you because each race has the potential for adventure.

List price $24.95; Order from M&B for $22.46 (plus $5 S/H)

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