The week after a marathon, according to most guides, is no time to leap right back into training; it's unlikely to do you any good and there's a good chance of doing actual harm. So last week, the only runs I did were slow recovery runs.
After a week of recovery runs, I finally did a hard-ish run on Sunday -- 8.6 miles at an 8:42 pace. Even that is an easy pace for me, but at least it felt like running rather than jogging.
After a rest day yesterday, today I was scheduled for yet another recovery run, a 6-miler. But today is also the day the DART group meets for one of its regular runs. I told myself I'd join the DARTers, but take it relatively easy. Chad, Jeremy, and Mark were there, all runners who can leave me in the dust on any given day. My best bet was to run with Mark, who's still recovering from a couple nagging injuries. After an 8:11 first mile, we let Chad and Jeremy take off while we tried to slow it down a bit. We didn't slow down much though -- Mile 2 and 3 were 8:19 and 8:13. We did slow it up on the uphill Miles 4 and 5: 8:26 and 8:29. We finished in 8:11 for an average 8:17 pace. That's not exactly a "recovery" run, except that I can honestly say I felt refreshed rather than tired at the end -- probably because this run came after a rest day.
The plan is still for this to be a relatively easy week, running a total of just 37 miles. Tomorrow will probably be the toughest day, a 9-miler including running the 6.3 mile DART loop at a brisk pace, if not a full-out tempo pace. But I get a rest day on Thursday, so I'm not concerned about burning myself out.
Details of today's workout are below:
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Are marathons worth it?
Over at 3quarksdaily, I've written a reflective column on whether marathoning is worth all the time, money, and agony. Here's a snippet:
I've been bad about updating Mungerruns for the past few days, and this post was part of the reason (the other part was that I haven't been running much as I recover from Big Sur). I did have a good run yesterday, what I consider my first serious run since the marathon. The GPS details are below.
It's 10:00 on a beautiful Sunday morning in California. To my left is some of the most spectacular coastline America has to offer. I'm walking along a road on Point Lobos that is ordinarily packed with cars on days like this, but today, thanks in part to my $135 entry fee, the road has been closed to traffic.
There's only one problem: I should be running, not walking. Over the past year, I've spent hundreds of dollars on running gear and race entry fees. I've logged more than 1,600 miles training for this event, including nearly 1,000 miles in the past four months alone. I've lost over 35 pounds and steadily improved my speed and stamina. Why can't I make my body do what I've trained it to do?
Dozens of runners pass me on either side, each of them experiencing varying degrees of misery similar to my own. Most of them, like me, have traveled hundreds or thousands of miles to get here, spending $500, $1,000 or more to participate in this event, the Big Sur International Marathon. Like Boston, New York, Paris, and Berlin, Big Sur is a "destination marathon," a once-in-a-lifetime experience that is so beloved, many runners return year after year.
The race was run on May 1 this year, but Big Sur's 4,500 spots for marathoners had already sold out last October. Other races sell out even faster. This year's Boston Marathon, despite strict qualification standards, sold out in 8 hours. The 2011 Marine Corps Marathon, which tours the monuments of Washington, DC, sold out its 30,000 spots in 28 hours.
I've been bad about updating Mungerruns for the past few days, and this post was part of the reason (the other part was that I haven't been running much as I recover from Big Sur). I did have a good run yesterday, what I consider my first serious run since the marathon. The GPS details are below.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Training for a race on a short turnaround
I know, I know, I've just finished my first-ever marathon, I should take plenty of time to rest and recuperate before jumping in again. But as I trained for Big Sur, I saw that I was getting fast enough that qualifying for the Boston Marathon could actually be an attainable goal -- just one I wasn't likely to achieve at Big Sur, with its relentless hills. I will be 45 next year, so my qualifying time is just 3:30, an 8-minute pace. Based on my times in shorter races and my 3:37 at Big Sur, that pace looks to be doable. Since there aren't a lot of marathons over the summer and registration for Boston is in mid-September, my best option was to race again soon.
So I registered for the Steamboat Marathon on June 5, just five weeks after Big Sur. How do you train for a race like that? I spent 18 weeks training for Big Sur, after another 6 months training to get ready for the training program! Of course, I'm now in much better shape than I was a year ago, so my baseline is higher, but still, between recovering from Big Sur and tapering for Steamboat, there's not much time for training.
Fortunately, the book I used as a training guide for Big Sur, Pfitzinger's Advanced Marathoning, has a section on fast marathon transitions, and it offers training schedules for turnarounds as short as four weeks. But it doesn't have a five-week program, so I created my own based on Pfitzinger's four- and six-week programs. Here it is:
I actually did my first run today -- a short recovery run at a 10-ish minute pace. Tomorrow I'll "cross-train" by mowing my lawn, and then do a couple more recovery runs before my first "long" run -- an 8-miler on Sunday. My longest run will be a 17-miler three weeks from Big Sur and two weeks before Steamboat. There's a little speed work in the schedule, but as before, I'll probably switch to tempo runs if the speed work starts to affect my IT bands. I'm also thinking about doing a 10K race on Saturday, May 21. If I do that, I'll probably shorten my long run even a bit more, to 15 or 16 miles. I don't think I will actually be able to improve my conditioning over this short a period, but if I wasn't doing some hard workouts, I think I'd definitely lose something, so this will probably serve more to maintain fitness than to improve.
Steamboat is another beautiful course, but it shouldn't be nearly as difficult as Big Sur. It starts at an elevation of 8,000 feet and descends gradually to about 6,700. While there are a few climbs, it is essentially all downhill! And yet the course still counts as a Boston qualifier. The biggest challenge will probably be the elevation of the course; I'll be heading out a few days early to try to get used to it.
Some have suggested that the pounding on my quads during all those downhills will also be challenging. I agree, but it's also true that this course has no more downhill than Big Sur, so I think it's a level of pounding that I can probably handle.
Details of today's workout are below:
So I registered for the Steamboat Marathon on June 5, just five weeks after Big Sur. How do you train for a race like that? I spent 18 weeks training for Big Sur, after another 6 months training to get ready for the training program! Of course, I'm now in much better shape than I was a year ago, so my baseline is higher, but still, between recovering from Big Sur and tapering for Steamboat, there's not much time for training.
Fortunately, the book I used as a training guide for Big Sur, Pfitzinger's Advanced Marathoning, has a section on fast marathon transitions, and it offers training schedules for turnarounds as short as four weeks. But it doesn't have a five-week program, so I created my own based on Pfitzinger's four- and six-week programs. Here it is:
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| Click for a larger version |
Steamboat is another beautiful course, but it shouldn't be nearly as difficult as Big Sur. It starts at an elevation of 8,000 feet and descends gradually to about 6,700. While there are a few climbs, it is essentially all downhill! And yet the course still counts as a Boston qualifier. The biggest challenge will probably be the elevation of the course; I'll be heading out a few days early to try to get used to it.
Some have suggested that the pounding on my quads during all those downhills will also be challenging. I agree, but it's also true that this course has no more downhill than Big Sur, so I think it's a level of pounding that I can probably handle.
Details of today's workout are below:
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Race Report: The Big Sur International Marathon
As I drove towards Monterey, California, last Friday, the wind was blowing furiously in from the sea. Beside Highway 1 was a row of dunes over a hundred feet tall, and sand was being driven over the top of them, half-burying the paved recreational path at the foot of the dunes.
I checked into my hotel and arrayed my electronic gear for charging:
I donned my running gear and went for a recovery run before visiting the expo to pick up my race packet. The wind continued to gust, blowing sand from the beach into my face as I tried to relax and loosen up during an easy five-mile run. If it was this windy on the shores of the relatively-protected Monterey Bay, what would it be like in two days, when I would be running along the exposed cliffs of Big Sur?
The race expo on Friday afternoon was a relaxed affair, with runners just beginning to trickle in. I picked up my bib, D-tag, and shirt, then strolled into the exhibitor's area where I bought a couple pairs of $1 throwaway gloves. Prominently on display was a stack of Big Sur souvenir fleece blankets. In retrospect, I probably should have bought one!
The next morning I met up with fellow DARTer Todd Hartung, and we went for another easy run along Monterey Bay. This time, the wind was much lighter; it was actually quite pleasant, if a bit chilly. At race pace, the weather would have been perfect. Big Sur would be Todd's 26th marathon and my first; he's a lot faster than me, so this would be my only chance to run with him all weekend. Later that day we drove the Big Sur course (I wrote a recap of that drive here). Suffice it to say that, while the hills on the course were daunting, the scenery was breathtaking. We stopped at several points along the way and tried to imagine what it would be like on race day, when the runners would have the highway all to themselves. By this time, the wind had picked up again. What would tomorrow's weather bring?
At dinner we once again stuck to the carbo-loading regime. Our restaurant featured an annual "marathon pasta" in honor of the race, and Todd and I both ordered it: Whole-wheat noodles with potatoes, peas, and corn. It was a little bland, but that was okay -- I'd rather have bland food than something exotic that might upset my stomach. Joining us for dinner were Todd's wife, and my father and stepmother, who had flown down from Oregon in Dad's small plane to watch me race. The three of them mocked us with their protein- and fat-laden meals, and we pretended not to care. I like pasta as much as the next guy, but it doesn't hold a candle to a nice piece of steak or fish -- especially when the pasta isn't bathed in delicious, fattening sauce.
I went to bed around 9:30, grateful that my parents, who were sharing a room with me, were also turning in early. I set my alarm for 3:30 and hoped to get at least a couple hours of sleep while I fretted about the race. The weather forecast was sunny, light winds, and 43 degrees at race time, warming to 55 or 60 by my projected finish time. I couldn't decide whether to wear a singlet alone, or to wear a short-sleeved compression shirt underneath. The decision was made for me when I realized I hadn't packed a short-sleeved compression shirt! I put on an old pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt over my shorts and singlet, and headed to the hotel lobby to meet Todd.
We walked to the bus pickup area, just two blocks from our hotel. The pickup was meticulously organized by race officials wearing matching jackets, ties, and running shoes. We were on a bus and on our way in a matter of minutes. We arrived at the starting area in Carmel at about 4:30, walking through the largest array of porta-potties I've ever seen before finding a stone wall we could sit on while we awaited the 6:45 start. That was the good news. The bad news was that it was unbelievably cold. I was shivering within minutes, even while I maxed out my layers and wore my $1 gloves. Why hadn't I bought one of those blankets?!? The other bad news is that we were directly in front of the loudspeakers used to make pre-race announcements. Somehow Todd and I managed to protect our ears and shiver our way through the hour and a half wait, availing ourselves of the generous porta-potty array multiple times before getting herded towards the starting line. It was only then that we realized what hundreds of runners had already figured out: There was a huge, heated grocery store right next to the start line, open 24 hours!
As I walked to the starting area, I began to warm up, and by the time I arrived in our "corral" (actually just a loosely defined area with no physical separation from the other starting groups), I knew I wouldn't be too cold on this race. My plan was to stay with the 3:30 pace team for as long as I could. Most large marathons have designated pacers running at set speeds, helping the runners achieve their goals. For Big Sur, 3:30 was the fastest team, and it was also my goal. There were also teams running 3:40, 3:50, and so on.
I knew that a 3:30 pace would be very difficult for me on a course as hilly as Big Sur, but I had trained hard for this race and figured I might as well give it a shot. Todd, fresh off a 3:18 performance in Charlottesville, was going to be going even faster, so this was a way to stay with someone running a pace I should be comfortable with for many miles. Here's the scene at the starting line:
There were a couple hundred runners ahead of me, but thousands arrayed behind me. Here's a self portrait:
At this point, between the adrenaline of the imminent start and the proximity of hundreds of warm bodies, I was finally feeling warm enough to remove my sweatpants and sweatshirt. I tossed them to the side of the road, where we assured they would later be picked up and donated to charity. After the Star-Spangled Banner and the rockinest invocation I've ever heard (including something to the effect of "God grant me the strength to persevere in the face of adversity, the courage to stop in case of injury, and the wisdom to know the difference"), we were off.
The race starts with one of its hilliest sections. Within a few hundred meters, we were headed up a hill, which crested in a half-mile, then descended just as rapidly. This would be the notorious 25-mile hill on our return, but at this point it seemed only a minor obstacle. The hills kept coming, rolling higher and higher in a lovely residential neighborhood of million-dollar homes with tantalizing glimpses of the ocean every few hundred meters. This is the Carmel Highlands, considered by many to be the toughest section of the course -- when encountered at the end of the race! By Mile 4, we crested the highlands and started down a long hill. My splits for miles 1 to 4 were 7:56, 7:42, 7:50, 7:59. Here's a photo of me crossing one of the many beautiful bridges in Carmel Highlands.
Mile 5 was a solid downhill stretch. I figured I should run this hill in an equal effort to the uphill sections, so I strode down at what seemed like a comfortable pace, which turned out to be 7:23! Perhaps a little too fast. The 3:30 pace group was now well behind me. I was still feeling very strong, not winded at all, so I decided that was okay -- as long as I didn't start running up hills at that pace. At this point we emerged into much more open country, with sweeping views of the dramatic coastline. Here are a couple photos from this stretch:
I struck up conversations with a couple of folks in this section, including a guy who actually owned one of the multi-million-dollar homes we were all drooling over as we ran by. He had run Boston two weeks earlier and was hoping to just hang on for a 3:30 pace (kind of like me, with the exception of the whole "just ran Boston" part). He said the hardest part of the race for him was going to be resisting the temptation to turn up his driveway the two times he'd be passing it. Between the scenery and the conversation, the miles passed quickly. My splits for miles 6 to 9 were 7:57, 7:56, 7:53, 7:51.
The Big Sur course had to be revised this year due to a landslide just past the Rocky Creek Bridge, which had only been partly repaired a week before the race. Normally it's a point to point race, starting in Big Sur and ending in Carmel, where we started this year. This year it was an out-and-back course, with a turnaround just past Mile 12, right before the bridge, and a small extra loop at Point Lobos State Park. This means we wouldn't be running one of the most dramatic sections of the course, Hurricane Point, nearly a 600-foot climb to a spectacular bluff overlooking the ocean below. Although the consensus was that this year's course was harder, I couldn't help feeling like we hadn't done the "real" Big Sur Marathon. Besides, we missed out on an amazing view. Here's a picture I took from Hurricane point on Saturday when Todd and I drove the course:
As I approached the turnaround, the hills got nasty once again, but I still felt quite strong. I dropped the Big Sur Homeowner and maintained a pace solidly under 8-minute-miles. Here's a self-portrait:
As I climbed the last, tallest hill on the course, I wondered when I'd see Todd. I knew he was ahead of me, and I figured by this point he would be several minutes ahead. I had the idea of taking a picture of him as he ran by, so I got my camera out. Here's a shot from the crest of that final hill:
After a few minutes running along carrying the camera, I began to feel self-conscious. How long was I going to have to keep this up? Was the turnaround farther ahead than I thought? What if the camera fell out of my hand? WHERE ARE YOU, TODD?!? Finally I put the camera away. A couple minutes later, Todd ran by, chatting away with another runner. "Looking great, Dave!" he shouted. I shouted something encouraging back, but had no time to take out the camera and take a picture. I had also wanted to take a photo of the turnaround point, but it was also a water station, so I decided the better of it and took the opportunity to hydrate.
Then I headed back up the hill, still feeling quite good when I reached the 13-mile marker. My splits for Miles 10-13 were 7:56, 8:06, 8:07, 7:58.
I don't have an exact half-marathon split, but I do remember looking down at my watch just after I passed the 13-mile marker and seeing a 1:43. That's the same as my half-marathon PR, on a much flatter course. I hoped I wasn't being too aggressive. But this is also the section where the 3:30 pace team started to catch up to me. My watch still showed something like a 7:50 average pace, so it seemed odd to me that the 3:30 team would be here -- they were supposed to be running 8:01s; they should be two minutes behind me. Each time the pace team caught up to me, I'd pick up the pace just a bit. I just felt more comfortable in front of them than behind them. I decided to snap some pictures to pass the time:
I noticed the guy ahead of me was taking pictures too, so I asked him if he'd mind if we swapped cameras and took pictures of each other. His camera was an iPhone, and even though I have an iPhone myself, somehow I screwed up and pressed the wrong button on-screen, and couldn't take the shot of him. He didn't mind, and still managed to get a picture of me:
By now my legs were starting to feel a little tired. I began to labor a bit on the uphills. It was getting warm. But I was staying ahead of the 3:30 pace team, and the scenery was as spectacular as ever. My pace for miles 14-17 was 7:58, 7:49, 8:06, 7:50.
Around Mile 18, the 3:30 pace team finally passed me, along with Big Sur Homeowner and the tiny guy from the starting line. I kept up with them for the next couple of miles, running miles 18-20 in 7:50, 7:42, and 7:53. But just after I passed the Mile 20 marker, I entered Carmel Highlands. Remember that 7:23 downhill mile? Now I'd have to run up that same hill.
This was also the final relay change point, and there was a big crowd of runners waiting for their teammates for the exchange. I saw a big table loaded with water about 10 feet off the road, but no one was handing out water to the racers. With a big hill ahead of me, I wanted some of that water. I weaved through the crowd of relay runners to the water table and reached for a cup as I ran by. Instead of grabbing it, I knocked it over. I briefly thought about stopping and grabbing another cup, but I decided against it. There had been plenty of water stations along the course, sometimes coming even more than once a mile, so I figured there'd be another station soon. I'm not sure if this was a critical error, but it certainly contributed to my losing steam. I took that hill slowly... very slowly. Mile 21's split was 9 minutes flat.
Finally there was a water station, and I was able to keep going. But I never got back to my 8-minute pace. Miles 22 and 23 were 8:51 and 9:00. I was spent. I hadn't taken any photos since around Mile 15. At this point I was on the Point Lobos spur, a march through a narrow, tree-lined road with no breeze to cool me. I was hoping for a stunning view when we reached the ocean, but when I arrived, I didn't have the capacity to appreciate it. Finally, I decided to walk. I hadn't walked yet, except for a few steps at water stops to make sure I drank every drop.
The 3:30 pace team was now a distant memory, and I shifted my goal: I didn't want the 3:40 pace team to pass me. I ran for a hundred meters or so, then walked again at the Point Lobos aid station. I told myself that I needed to run until I hit the Mile 24 marker, under a half-mile away. I didn't make it. I told myself I had to start running again after 30 seconds. Finally I passed Mile 24, a 10:14 mile. I was now four minutes behind my 3:30 pace. I told myself to run five minutes before walking again. I made it four, then walked for 60 seconds.
I was back on Highway 1, and ahead loomed the final hill of the race. What had seemed so easy at the start of the race now seemed like a huge barrier. I decided to snap a picture to show the world what a horrific ordeal I now faced:
I told myself to run at least to the bottom of the hill. I made it all the way to the aid station at Mile 25.1, halfway up the hill. Mile 25 split: 9:32. Maybe I'd be able to crank out a fast finish. But first, I walked for 60 seconds as I finished my cup of water. Then I started running. I wasn't going to let myself walk again. I told myself I could run slow, but I couldn't walk. I crested the hill and started down the other side. This should be easy, it's a downhill finish. Somehow, it wasn't easy. I shuffled down the hill. Practically there, right? Not quite. There was a seemingly interminable flat stretch until I finally arrived at the bridge where we had started. Looking at my GPS record, I now see that it was in fact about a third of a mile. My Mile 26 split was 10:16. The finish line, I knew, was a little farther up the highway than the start. Surely I'd be able to pick up the pace for that last, final sprint to the finish. I did speed up, but not much. My Garmin records the last 0.32 miles at an 8:25 pace—slower than my average pace for the entire race.
But I was credibly running across the finish line—I hadn't walked for over a mile. I even remembered to raise my arms in victory as I finished.
My final time: 3:37:50 according to my watch, but officially 3:37:55. That's a bit slower than my goal, but still a very credible first-marathon time. I had two backup goals: Faster than 3:45, and sub-four-hour, and I beat those handily on a very difficult course. While the corrected elevation recorded by a Garmin isn't necessarily accurate, my record shows a cumulative elevation gain of 1,859 feet. The hilliest training run I've done is the Fellowship of the Idiots, with a cumulative gain of 1,210 feet. Even if you extended that terrain over 26.2 miles, it would still only be 1,653 feet. While the hills at Big Sur were never especially steep, they were relentless: this is a very challenging marathon.
I finished in 354th place out of 3,218 runners, 280th out of 1,670 men. In my age division, I was 42nd out of 246. My average pace for the race ended up being 8:19 per mile. Many of the commenters on Facebook who have run Big Sur in the past said that this out-and-back course was actually tougher than the usual point-to-point course. Fellow DARTer Todd Hartung said he felt as good as he ever did for this race, but his 3:32:29 time was more than 14 minutes slower than his PR, so that gives you a sense of how hard the course was. So, despite not attaining my top goal, I'm very happy with my performance in this race, my first-ever marathon.
After I crossed the finish line, I handed my camera to my dad, who was waiting in the spectator area, and he snapped this photo of me.
Then I wobbled over to accept my one-of-a-kind, hand-made ceramic finisher's medal. This is definitely a keeper!
Next we were funneled through a station where we were given nice trays of fresh fruit and energy bars, and finally to a surprisingly small self-service water station. While I can understand that bottled water is wasteful, it's quite difficult to get yourself a cup of water when you're feeling woozy and holding a tray of food in one hand. Fortunately by this time my dad had arrived and was willing to get me as much as I wanted. I collapsed in the grass a few yards from the water station while Dad continually refilled my cups of water. I must have drank at least 12 of them.
I do have to say the the experience of completing a marathon, especially such a dramatic one, is unlike anything I've ever experienced. While I've struggled at the finish of races before, I've never felt so simultaneously drained and elated at the end of a race. It was a fantastic journey, and I'm already planning my next one.
Below is the GPS record of my run.
I checked into my hotel and arrayed my electronic gear for charging:
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| You can never be too thin or have too many electronic devices! |
I donned my running gear and went for a recovery run before visiting the expo to pick up my race packet. The wind continued to gust, blowing sand from the beach into my face as I tried to relax and loosen up during an easy five-mile run. If it was this windy on the shores of the relatively-protected Monterey Bay, what would it be like in two days, when I would be running along the exposed cliffs of Big Sur?
The race expo on Friday afternoon was a relaxed affair, with runners just beginning to trickle in. I picked up my bib, D-tag, and shirt, then strolled into the exhibitor's area where I bought a couple pairs of $1 throwaway gloves. Prominently on display was a stack of Big Sur souvenir fleece blankets. In retrospect, I probably should have bought one!
The next morning I met up with fellow DARTer Todd Hartung, and we went for another easy run along Monterey Bay. This time, the wind was much lighter; it was actually quite pleasant, if a bit chilly. At race pace, the weather would have been perfect. Big Sur would be Todd's 26th marathon and my first; he's a lot faster than me, so this would be my only chance to run with him all weekend. Later that day we drove the Big Sur course (I wrote a recap of that drive here). Suffice it to say that, while the hills on the course were daunting, the scenery was breathtaking. We stopped at several points along the way and tried to imagine what it would be like on race day, when the runners would have the highway all to themselves. By this time, the wind had picked up again. What would tomorrow's weather bring?
At dinner we once again stuck to the carbo-loading regime. Our restaurant featured an annual "marathon pasta" in honor of the race, and Todd and I both ordered it: Whole-wheat noodles with potatoes, peas, and corn. It was a little bland, but that was okay -- I'd rather have bland food than something exotic that might upset my stomach. Joining us for dinner were Todd's wife, and my father and stepmother, who had flown down from Oregon in Dad's small plane to watch me race. The three of them mocked us with their protein- and fat-laden meals, and we pretended not to care. I like pasta as much as the next guy, but it doesn't hold a candle to a nice piece of steak or fish -- especially when the pasta isn't bathed in delicious, fattening sauce.
I went to bed around 9:30, grateful that my parents, who were sharing a room with me, were also turning in early. I set my alarm for 3:30 and hoped to get at least a couple hours of sleep while I fretted about the race. The weather forecast was sunny, light winds, and 43 degrees at race time, warming to 55 or 60 by my projected finish time. I couldn't decide whether to wear a singlet alone, or to wear a short-sleeved compression shirt underneath. The decision was made for me when I realized I hadn't packed a short-sleeved compression shirt! I put on an old pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt over my shorts and singlet, and headed to the hotel lobby to meet Todd.
We walked to the bus pickup area, just two blocks from our hotel. The pickup was meticulously organized by race officials wearing matching jackets, ties, and running shoes. We were on a bus and on our way in a matter of minutes. We arrived at the starting area in Carmel at about 4:30, walking through the largest array of porta-potties I've ever seen before finding a stone wall we could sit on while we awaited the 6:45 start. That was the good news. The bad news was that it was unbelievably cold. I was shivering within minutes, even while I maxed out my layers and wore my $1 gloves. Why hadn't I bought one of those blankets?!? The other bad news is that we were directly in front of the loudspeakers used to make pre-race announcements. Somehow Todd and I managed to protect our ears and shiver our way through the hour and a half wait, availing ourselves of the generous porta-potty array multiple times before getting herded towards the starting line. It was only then that we realized what hundreds of runners had already figured out: There was a huge, heated grocery store right next to the start line, open 24 hours!
As I walked to the starting area, I began to warm up, and by the time I arrived in our "corral" (actually just a loosely defined area with no physical separation from the other starting groups), I knew I wouldn't be too cold on this race. My plan was to stay with the 3:30 pace team for as long as I could. Most large marathons have designated pacers running at set speeds, helping the runners achieve their goals. For Big Sur, 3:30 was the fastest team, and it was also my goal. There were also teams running 3:40, 3:50, and so on.
I knew that a 3:30 pace would be very difficult for me on a course as hilly as Big Sur, but I had trained hard for this race and figured I might as well give it a shot. Todd, fresh off a 3:18 performance in Charlottesville, was going to be going even faster, so this was a way to stay with someone running a pace I should be comfortable with for many miles. Here's the scene at the starting line:
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| Many runners, many cameras |
There were a couple hundred runners ahead of me, but thousands arrayed behind me. Here's a self portrait:
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| Me and a few of my closest friends. The tiny guy to the left finished about 10 minutes ahead of me |
At this point, between the adrenaline of the imminent start and the proximity of hundreds of warm bodies, I was finally feeling warm enough to remove my sweatpants and sweatshirt. I tossed them to the side of the road, where we assured they would later be picked up and donated to charity. After the Star-Spangled Banner and the rockinest invocation I've ever heard (including something to the effect of "God grant me the strength to persevere in the face of adversity, the courage to stop in case of injury, and the wisdom to know the difference"), we were off.
The race starts with one of its hilliest sections. Within a few hundred meters, we were headed up a hill, which crested in a half-mile, then descended just as rapidly. This would be the notorious 25-mile hill on our return, but at this point it seemed only a minor obstacle. The hills kept coming, rolling higher and higher in a lovely residential neighborhood of million-dollar homes with tantalizing glimpses of the ocean every few hundred meters. This is the Carmel Highlands, considered by many to be the toughest section of the course -- when encountered at the end of the race! By Mile 4, we crested the highlands and started down a long hill. My splits for miles 1 to 4 were 7:56, 7:42, 7:50, 7:59. Here's a photo of me crossing one of the many beautiful bridges in Carmel Highlands.
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| Yep, that's one fine bridge |
Mile 5 was a solid downhill stretch. I figured I should run this hill in an equal effort to the uphill sections, so I strode down at what seemed like a comfortable pace, which turned out to be 7:23! Perhaps a little too fast. The 3:30 pace group was now well behind me. I was still feeling very strong, not winded at all, so I decided that was okay -- as long as I didn't start running up hills at that pace. At this point we emerged into much more open country, with sweeping views of the dramatic coastline. Here are a couple photos from this stretch:
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| Looking good, Dave! |
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| Feeling good, Dave! |
 |
| The gorgeous scenery just goes on and on |
I struck up conversations with a couple of folks in this section, including a guy who actually owned one of the multi-million-dollar homes we were all drooling over as we ran by. He had run Boston two weeks earlier and was hoping to just hang on for a 3:30 pace (kind of like me, with the exception of the whole "just ran Boston" part). He said the hardest part of the race for him was going to be resisting the temptation to turn up his driveway the two times he'd be passing it. Between the scenery and the conversation, the miles passed quickly. My splits for miles 6 to 9 were 7:57, 7:56, 7:53, 7:51.
The Big Sur course had to be revised this year due to a landslide just past the Rocky Creek Bridge, which had only been partly repaired a week before the race. Normally it's a point to point race, starting in Big Sur and ending in Carmel, where we started this year. This year it was an out-and-back course, with a turnaround just past Mile 12, right before the bridge, and a small extra loop at Point Lobos State Park. This means we wouldn't be running one of the most dramatic sections of the course, Hurricane Point, nearly a 600-foot climb to a spectacular bluff overlooking the ocean below. Although the consensus was that this year's course was harder, I couldn't help feeling like we hadn't done the "real" Big Sur Marathon. Besides, we missed out on an amazing view. Here's a picture I took from Hurricane point on Saturday when Todd and I drove the course:
As I approached the turnaround, the hills got nasty once again, but I still felt quite strong. I dropped the Big Sur Homeowner and maintained a pace solidly under 8-minute-miles. Here's a self-portrait:
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| Still looking good and feeling good, Dave! |
As I climbed the last, tallest hill on the course, I wondered when I'd see Todd. I knew he was ahead of me, and I figured by this point he would be several minutes ahead. I had the idea of taking a picture of him as he ran by, so I got my camera out. Here's a shot from the crest of that final hill:
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| No Todd here |
After a few minutes running along carrying the camera, I began to feel self-conscious. How long was I going to have to keep this up? Was the turnaround farther ahead than I thought? What if the camera fell out of my hand? WHERE ARE YOU, TODD?!? Finally I put the camera away. A couple minutes later, Todd ran by, chatting away with another runner. "Looking great, Dave!" he shouted. I shouted something encouraging back, but had no time to take out the camera and take a picture. I had also wanted to take a photo of the turnaround point, but it was also a water station, so I decided the better of it and took the opportunity to hydrate.
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| Fortunately, I had taken a picture from the turnaround point the day before |
Then I headed back up the hill, still feeling quite good when I reached the 13-mile marker. My splits for Miles 10-13 were 7:56, 8:06, 8:07, 7:58.
I don't have an exact half-marathon split, but I do remember looking down at my watch just after I passed the 13-mile marker and seeing a 1:43. That's the same as my half-marathon PR, on a much flatter course. I hoped I wasn't being too aggressive. But this is also the section where the 3:30 pace team started to catch up to me. My watch still showed something like a 7:50 average pace, so it seemed odd to me that the 3:30 team would be here -- they were supposed to be running 8:01s; they should be two minutes behind me. Each time the pace team caught up to me, I'd pick up the pace just a bit. I just felt more comfortable in front of them than behind them. I decided to snap some pictures to pass the time:
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| I'm not the only one taking pictures |
I noticed the guy ahead of me was taking pictures too, so I asked him if he'd mind if we swapped cameras and took pictures of each other. His camera was an iPhone, and even though I have an iPhone myself, somehow I screwed up and pressed the wrong button on-screen, and couldn't take the shot of him. He didn't mind, and still managed to get a picture of me:
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| Still looking good, Dave! But, um, next time would you mind not taking a picture when there's a car parked between you and the view? |
By now my legs were starting to feel a little tired. I began to labor a bit on the uphills. It was getting warm. But I was staying ahead of the 3:30 pace team, and the scenery was as spectacular as ever. My pace for miles 14-17 was 7:58, 7:49, 8:06, 7:50.
Around Mile 18, the 3:30 pace team finally passed me, along with Big Sur Homeowner and the tiny guy from the starting line. I kept up with them for the next couple of miles, running miles 18-20 in 7:50, 7:42, and 7:53. But just after I passed the Mile 20 marker, I entered Carmel Highlands. Remember that 7:23 downhill mile? Now I'd have to run up that same hill.
This was also the final relay change point, and there was a big crowd of runners waiting for their teammates for the exchange. I saw a big table loaded with water about 10 feet off the road, but no one was handing out water to the racers. With a big hill ahead of me, I wanted some of that water. I weaved through the crowd of relay runners to the water table and reached for a cup as I ran by. Instead of grabbing it, I knocked it over. I briefly thought about stopping and grabbing another cup, but I decided against it. There had been plenty of water stations along the course, sometimes coming even more than once a mile, so I figured there'd be another station soon. I'm not sure if this was a critical error, but it certainly contributed to my losing steam. I took that hill slowly... very slowly. Mile 21's split was 9 minutes flat.
Finally there was a water station, and I was able to keep going. But I never got back to my 8-minute pace. Miles 22 and 23 were 8:51 and 9:00. I was spent. I hadn't taken any photos since around Mile 15. At this point I was on the Point Lobos spur, a march through a narrow, tree-lined road with no breeze to cool me. I was hoping for a stunning view when we reached the ocean, but when I arrived, I didn't have the capacity to appreciate it. Finally, I decided to walk. I hadn't walked yet, except for a few steps at water stops to make sure I drank every drop.
The 3:30 pace team was now a distant memory, and I shifted my goal: I didn't want the 3:40 pace team to pass me. I ran for a hundred meters or so, then walked again at the Point Lobos aid station. I told myself that I needed to run until I hit the Mile 24 marker, under a half-mile away. I didn't make it. I told myself I had to start running again after 30 seconds. Finally I passed Mile 24, a 10:14 mile. I was now four minutes behind my 3:30 pace. I told myself to run five minutes before walking again. I made it four, then walked for 60 seconds.
I was back on Highway 1, and ahead loomed the final hill of the race. What had seemed so easy at the start of the race now seemed like a huge barrier. I decided to snap a picture to show the world what a horrific ordeal I now faced:
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| Uh, Dave? That's really not a very big hill |
I told myself to run at least to the bottom of the hill. I made it all the way to the aid station at Mile 25.1, halfway up the hill. Mile 25 split: 9:32. Maybe I'd be able to crank out a fast finish. But first, I walked for 60 seconds as I finished my cup of water. Then I started running. I wasn't going to let myself walk again. I told myself I could run slow, but I couldn't walk. I crested the hill and started down the other side. This should be easy, it's a downhill finish. Somehow, it wasn't easy. I shuffled down the hill. Practically there, right? Not quite. There was a seemingly interminable flat stretch until I finally arrived at the bridge where we had started. Looking at my GPS record, I now see that it was in fact about a third of a mile. My Mile 26 split was 10:16. The finish line, I knew, was a little farther up the highway than the start. Surely I'd be able to pick up the pace for that last, final sprint to the finish. I did speed up, but not much. My Garmin records the last 0.32 miles at an 8:25 pace—slower than my average pace for the entire race.
But I was credibly running across the finish line—I hadn't walked for over a mile. I even remembered to raise my arms in victory as I finished.
My final time: 3:37:50 according to my watch, but officially 3:37:55. That's a bit slower than my goal, but still a very credible first-marathon time. I had two backup goals: Faster than 3:45, and sub-four-hour, and I beat those handily on a very difficult course. While the corrected elevation recorded by a Garmin isn't necessarily accurate, my record shows a cumulative elevation gain of 1,859 feet. The hilliest training run I've done is the Fellowship of the Idiots, with a cumulative gain of 1,210 feet. Even if you extended that terrain over 26.2 miles, it would still only be 1,653 feet. While the hills at Big Sur were never especially steep, they were relentless: this is a very challenging marathon.
I finished in 354th place out of 3,218 runners, 280th out of 1,670 men. In my age division, I was 42nd out of 246. My average pace for the race ended up being 8:19 per mile. Many of the commenters on Facebook who have run Big Sur in the past said that this out-and-back course was actually tougher than the usual point-to-point course. Fellow DARTer Todd Hartung said he felt as good as he ever did for this race, but his 3:32:29 time was more than 14 minutes slower than his PR, so that gives you a sense of how hard the course was. So, despite not attaining my top goal, I'm very happy with my performance in this race, my first-ever marathon.
After I crossed the finish line, I handed my camera to my dad, who was waiting in the spectator area, and he snapped this photo of me.
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| I'm amazed I managed to raise my arms this high. Heck, I'm amazed I was able to stand up at this point. |
Then I wobbled over to accept my one-of-a-kind, hand-made ceramic finisher's medal. This is definitely a keeper!
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| Simulated wood-grain desktop not included |
Next we were funneled through a station where we were given nice trays of fresh fruit and energy bars, and finally to a surprisingly small self-service water station. While I can understand that bottled water is wasteful, it's quite difficult to get yourself a cup of water when you're feeling woozy and holding a tray of food in one hand. Fortunately by this time my dad had arrived and was willing to get me as much as I wanted. I collapsed in the grass a few yards from the water station while Dad continually refilled my cups of water. I must have drank at least 12 of them.
I do have to say the the experience of completing a marathon, especially such a dramatic one, is unlike anything I've ever experienced. While I've struggled at the finish of races before, I've never felt so simultaneously drained and elated at the end of a race. It was a fantastic journey, and I'm already planning my next one.
Below is the GPS record of my run.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Big Sur
I've been in Monterey for over a day now getting ready for the race, and I think I've done everything I can. I ran 5 miles yesterday, and 3.5 this morning, at a very easy pace. I've eaten plenty of carbs (though I occasionally splurged on a bit of chocolate or whipped cream).
This afternoon, Todd and I drove the course, and it looks absolutely fantastic. Yes, it's hilly, but none of the hills are especially steep or long. I've seen hills this big before -- just not this many in a row. The predominant feeling is simply shock: "I get to run in a place like this?" I snapped a few pictures along our drive, and I think they do give a sense of how special this place is:
Even though the course is "only" an out-and-back, it almost immediately enters a realm of spectacular scenery, which just gets more spectacular as you run farther. At one of our many stops, we could see sea otters swimming lazily among the kelp, some of them with babies resting on their bellies.
While we don't get to run up Hurricane Point, we do get to see a truly awesome portion of one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world. And we get to do it with no cars spoiling the idyllic beauty. We decided to drive up Hurricane Point to see what we'd be missing, and we agreed that though it was obviously a dramatic vista and would have been a satisfying challenge, we're happy with the revised course. Todd, who's run 25 marathons, said this was by far the most scenic.
Now all that's left is for me to get my gear ready, get some sleep, and run the race. I can't wait.
This afternoon, Todd and I drove the course, and it looks absolutely fantastic. Yes, it's hilly, but none of the hills are especially steep or long. I've seen hills this big before -- just not this many in a row. The predominant feeling is simply shock: "I get to run in a place like this?" I snapped a few pictures along our drive, and I think they do give a sense of how special this place is:
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| An early glimpse of the ocean |
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| A small slice of an epic view |
|
| The surf pounds the shore at the turnaround point |
While we don't get to run up Hurricane Point, we do get to see a truly awesome portion of one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world. And we get to do it with no cars spoiling the idyllic beauty. We decided to drive up Hurricane Point to see what we'd be missing, and we agreed that though it was obviously a dramatic vista and would have been a satisfying challenge, we're happy with the revised course. Todd, who's run 25 marathons, said this was by far the most scenic.
Now all that's left is for me to get my gear ready, get some sleep, and run the race. I can't wait.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Carbo Loading
For someone who has spent the last year losing 35 pounds and being fairly careful with his diet, carbo loading is a scary thing to do. Carbohydrates are the enemy of most dieters. But to maximize performance in a marathon, you need to consume lots of carbohydrates, not just the day before the race, but for three days before the race. It's not possible to elevate your glycogen levels enough to make a difference in just one day. But eating a diet that is 75 to 90 percent carbohydrates can cause you to (hopefully) temporarily gain weight.
Most guides I've read suggest that carbo-loading will lead to temporary gains of two or three pounds. I've found my weight fluctuates more than that from day to day, so I wouldn't be surprised if I end up gaining five pounds or more. Gaining five pounds in three days after spending a year losing weight is the stuff nightmares are made of!
From what I've read, many runners fail to adequately carbo-load because they don't realize just how much carbohydrate consumption is necessary to elevate glycogen levels. During a distance run, your muscles can get energy from two sources: Glycogen stored in your body, and fat. Glycogen is the preferred option because it's much easier for your body to metabolize, but you have a limited supply. Even a very thin runner is probably carrying over 5 pounds of fat, which would be plenty to get you through a marathon, you just wouldn't do it very quickly.
A typical runner has about 1,500 calories worth of glycogen available for quick metabolizing. Unfortunately, a marathon takes about 4,000 calories to complete, with most of them coming from glycogen. You can eat some food during the course of a race, but your digestive system won't process it fast enough to come up with the extra calories needed, so by the end of the race, if you don't carbo-load you'll be relying on fat stores to get you to the finish. This is one way runners hit "the wall."
The solution has actually been known for decades: Build up excess glycogen supplies in the body before the race. This used to be an arduous process involving a long run just a week before the race, three days of glycogen depletion, and three days of carbo-loading. Fortunately, more recent research has found that the long run and depletion are not necessary, and may be counterproductive as they could wear you out just when you need to be restoring yourself. All you need to do is reduce your mileage (taper) and eat more carbs in the three days leading up to the race.
But how many carbs do you need? This article suggests that you need quite a lot: 3.6 to 5 grams of carbs per day per pound of body weight. I weigh 192 pounds, so that's a minimum of 690 grams of carbs in a day. Since every gram of carbs has about 3.5 calories, for me that would mean eating 2400 calories a day in carbs alone, and since it's hard to find foods that are 100% carbs, it probably means eating a lot more than that!
And there are other potential problems with a major diet change right before a big race. Your digestive system can be thrown off. If you eat a lot of high-fiber foods (which also tend to be high-carb foods) like whole wheat bread and fruit, you can get gas, constipation, or diarrhea. Not a pleasant thought halfway through your first marathon. Fortunately my diet is already fairly high in carbs, and I can increase the ratio of carbs in the diet with fairly minor changes. I can also add some foods that are just straight carbs so I don't overload with fiber. Sugar is the ultimate carbohydrate, so pancakes with lots of syrup, toast with lots of jam, and even sugary cola work fine as part of a carbo-loading diet. Yesterday I ate a huge plate of pancakes for lunch, and this morning I actually bought a 20-ounce bottle of non-diet Coke for the first time in decades.
To make sure I'm getting plenty of carbs, I decided to record everything I eat over these three days. It's actually sort of shocking when you see it all in print. Here's yesterday's menu:
Breakfast
1.5 cups Life Cereal
3/4 cup milk
1 glass V8
Snacks
1 large banana
1 apple
3 slices toast with strawberry jam
1 Nutri-grain cereal bar
Lunch
7 pancakes
1/2 cup maple syrup
Snacks
1 large banana
1/2 cup raisins
Dinner
The biggest plate of spaghetti I've eaten in years; about 1/3 of a pound, cooked.
1 cup marinara sauce
1 cup roasted eggplant
2 ounces mozzarella cheese
2 glasses red wine
That adds up to over 4,000 calories, and about 760 grams of carbs. Some protein and fat snuck in in a few places: The milk, the toast, the pancakes, and the pasta. The calories from carbs alone are only about 3,000. When I weighed myself this morning I was already up to 194 pounds. Yikes!
Now I'm on a plane on my way to California. I figured it would be hard to find carbs unaccompanied by fat and protein along the way, so I brought a bag of cereal bars and fruit to eat as I fly across the country. I will definitely be heading out for a run sometime this afternoon in California. It will be refreshing to get a couple easy miles in, and I'll feel better if I burn off at least some of those calories.
So far I'm finding that I'm actually fairly calm about the race that is now less than two days away. I didn't have any trouble sleeping last night; here's hoping I can maintain that calm as the race approaches.
Most guides I've read suggest that carbo-loading will lead to temporary gains of two or three pounds. I've found my weight fluctuates more than that from day to day, so I wouldn't be surprised if I end up gaining five pounds or more. Gaining five pounds in three days after spending a year losing weight is the stuff nightmares are made of!
From what I've read, many runners fail to adequately carbo-load because they don't realize just how much carbohydrate consumption is necessary to elevate glycogen levels. During a distance run, your muscles can get energy from two sources: Glycogen stored in your body, and fat. Glycogen is the preferred option because it's much easier for your body to metabolize, but you have a limited supply. Even a very thin runner is probably carrying over 5 pounds of fat, which would be plenty to get you through a marathon, you just wouldn't do it very quickly.
A typical runner has about 1,500 calories worth of glycogen available for quick metabolizing. Unfortunately, a marathon takes about 4,000 calories to complete, with most of them coming from glycogen. You can eat some food during the course of a race, but your digestive system won't process it fast enough to come up with the extra calories needed, so by the end of the race, if you don't carbo-load you'll be relying on fat stores to get you to the finish. This is one way runners hit "the wall."
The solution has actually been known for decades: Build up excess glycogen supplies in the body before the race. This used to be an arduous process involving a long run just a week before the race, three days of glycogen depletion, and three days of carbo-loading. Fortunately, more recent research has found that the long run and depletion are not necessary, and may be counterproductive as they could wear you out just when you need to be restoring yourself. All you need to do is reduce your mileage (taper) and eat more carbs in the three days leading up to the race.
But how many carbs do you need? This article suggests that you need quite a lot: 3.6 to 5 grams of carbs per day per pound of body weight. I weigh 192 pounds, so that's a minimum of 690 grams of carbs in a day. Since every gram of carbs has about 3.5 calories, for me that would mean eating 2400 calories a day in carbs alone, and since it's hard to find foods that are 100% carbs, it probably means eating a lot more than that!
And there are other potential problems with a major diet change right before a big race. Your digestive system can be thrown off. If you eat a lot of high-fiber foods (which also tend to be high-carb foods) like whole wheat bread and fruit, you can get gas, constipation, or diarrhea. Not a pleasant thought halfway through your first marathon. Fortunately my diet is already fairly high in carbs, and I can increase the ratio of carbs in the diet with fairly minor changes. I can also add some foods that are just straight carbs so I don't overload with fiber. Sugar is the ultimate carbohydrate, so pancakes with lots of syrup, toast with lots of jam, and even sugary cola work fine as part of a carbo-loading diet. Yesterday I ate a huge plate of pancakes for lunch, and this morning I actually bought a 20-ounce bottle of non-diet Coke for the first time in decades.
To make sure I'm getting plenty of carbs, I decided to record everything I eat over these three days. It's actually sort of shocking when you see it all in print. Here's yesterday's menu:
Breakfast
1.5 cups Life Cereal
3/4 cup milk
1 glass V8
Snacks
1 large banana
1 apple
3 slices toast with strawberry jam
1 Nutri-grain cereal bar
Lunch
7 pancakes
1/2 cup maple syrup
Snacks
1 large banana
1/2 cup raisins
Dinner
The biggest plate of spaghetti I've eaten in years; about 1/3 of a pound, cooked.
1 cup marinara sauce
1 cup roasted eggplant
2 ounces mozzarella cheese
2 glasses red wine
That adds up to over 4,000 calories, and about 760 grams of carbs. Some protein and fat snuck in in a few places: The milk, the toast, the pancakes, and the pasta. The calories from carbs alone are only about 3,000. When I weighed myself this morning I was already up to 194 pounds. Yikes!
Now I'm on a plane on my way to California. I figured it would be hard to find carbs unaccompanied by fat and protein along the way, so I brought a bag of cereal bars and fruit to eat as I fly across the country. I will definitely be heading out for a run sometime this afternoon in California. It will be refreshing to get a couple easy miles in, and I'll feel better if I burn off at least some of those calories.
So far I'm finding that I'm actually fairly calm about the race that is now less than two days away. I didn't have any trouble sleeping last night; here's hoping I can maintain that calm as the race approaches.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Does "corrected" GPS elevation ignore bridges?
Elevation data on the typical GPS trainers runners use is notoriously bad. You can take a look at the raw GPS data from a run through Kansas and it will look like the Himalayas. To get around the problem, many running websites allow you to correct the elevations by cross-referencing against known databases maintained by NASA and the USGS. The Garmin Connect website I use to track my runs can do that. Take a look at the elevation profile from today's run, for example:
On top is the uncorrected elevation chart, and below is the corrected version. Not only does the uncorrected version appear more "jagged," it also reports a hillier overall course -- a cumulative elevation gain of 472 feet, versus 245 feet in the corrected version. The corrected version definitely feels more like what I actually experience on a run. But is it possible that even "corrected" elevation charts can be wrong?
My standard hill workout ends with a tough quarter-mile climb. But when I use the corrected elevation chart, it simply doesn't show up. I know it's there: My lungs tell me that, but Garmin doesn't see it. I guess there's just a discrepancy in whatever database Garmin uses to make its corrections. But a recent comment on the Big Sur Marathon facebook page made me wonder if there was a consistent bias to elevation corrections.
The commenter said he had noticed that corrected elevations seem to always get bridges wrong. It makes some sense: The US Geological Survey isn't going to measure the elevation of the man-made bridge; it's going to measure the elevation of the earth (or water) below the bridge. I searched around the web to see if I could find any independent confirmation of this, and didn't find much, except for this forum post: "I shut off my elevation correction because it tells me that I only traveled + or -4 feet on each run and it's more like several hundred feet because I cross over a lot of very high bridges that are high enough to allow cruise ships pass underneath."
While it's just a couple of anecdotal reports, it makes sense, and it sure sounds like the corrected data is ignoring bridges! What would that mean for Big Sur? The original course had eight high bridges; I haven't been able to get a good number for the new course, but I think it's around five. Since the course is now an out-and-back, that's around ten bridge crossings. If a corrected GPS reading measures the distance to the ground below the bridge, when a bridge spans a canyon the way the bridges at Big Sur do, the corrected elevation change will be overestimated: The corrected version assumes you ran to the bottom of the canyon and up the other side, when in fact you crossed over a level bridge. Supposing these bridges are an average of 50 feet high, that means the corrected elevation gain for the course would be overestimated by 10 X 50 or 500 feet -- not a trivial amount! That would bring the cumulative elevation gain from the official course map down from 2,406 feet to 1,906 feet!
Details of today's workout are below.
On top is the uncorrected elevation chart, and below is the corrected version. Not only does the uncorrected version appear more "jagged," it also reports a hillier overall course -- a cumulative elevation gain of 472 feet, versus 245 feet in the corrected version. The corrected version definitely feels more like what I actually experience on a run. But is it possible that even "corrected" elevation charts can be wrong?
My standard hill workout ends with a tough quarter-mile climb. But when I use the corrected elevation chart, it simply doesn't show up. I know it's there: My lungs tell me that, but Garmin doesn't see it. I guess there's just a discrepancy in whatever database Garmin uses to make its corrections. But a recent comment on the Big Sur Marathon facebook page made me wonder if there was a consistent bias to elevation corrections.
The commenter said he had noticed that corrected elevations seem to always get bridges wrong. It makes some sense: The US Geological Survey isn't going to measure the elevation of the man-made bridge; it's going to measure the elevation of the earth (or water) below the bridge. I searched around the web to see if I could find any independent confirmation of this, and didn't find much, except for this forum post: "I shut off my elevation correction because it tells me that I only traveled + or -4 feet on each run and it's more like several hundred feet because I cross over a lot of very high bridges that are high enough to allow cruise ships pass underneath."
While it's just a couple of anecdotal reports, it makes sense, and it sure sounds like the corrected data is ignoring bridges! What would that mean for Big Sur? The original course had eight high bridges; I haven't been able to get a good number for the new course, but I think it's around five. Since the course is now an out-and-back, that's around ten bridge crossings. If a corrected GPS reading measures the distance to the ground below the bridge, when a bridge spans a canyon the way the bridges at Big Sur do, the corrected elevation change will be overestimated: The corrected version assumes you ran to the bottom of the canyon and up the other side, when in fact you crossed over a level bridge. Supposing these bridges are an average of 50 feet high, that means the corrected elevation gain for the course would be overestimated by 10 X 50 or 500 feet -- not a trivial amount! That would bring the cumulative elevation gain from the official course map down from 2,406 feet to 1,906 feet!
Details of today's workout are below.
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