Why the US Men Should have a "B" Standard for the Olympic Trials (Part I of II)

I'm a bit fired up at the moment, so I figured I would use the energy to get on my soap box about the US Men's Olympic Trials.

First off I should admit that my goal is to qualify for the Women's Marathon Olympic Trials "B" Standard, so I know something about shooting for a goal.  I've already tried twice and fallen short.

The key argument for a "B" Standard may go without saying, but I have to say it anyway.  It inspires a generation of runners.  Those men (and women) who work hard just to qualify for the "B" Standard may never make an Olympic Team, and that may not even be their goal.  But why put them on the line?  People like me (that is, people with limited ability) need a reason to reach for greatness.  We need the inspiration that is allowed when someone like Brian Sell qualifies for the Olympic Team, because without an attainable goal to begin with, how many people of Sell's caliber would get out there every day and train?  I am not trying to knock Brian Sell here; clearly he is a talented runner.  But his biggest PRs came after years of diligent training without big payoffs.  Without a group like Hansens willing to invest in a runner like him, how on earth would he ever have made it as far as he did?

For people slightly less talented than Brian Sell, there may not be clubs waiting in line to sign them for a running contract.  They need to work full time to put food on the table.  They don't have time for naps or massages.  They may need even MORE years to grow and develop as runners than those who are already close to the "A" Standard.  But who is going to bust their butt for years without any foreseeable payoff?  The time goal is just an arbitrary number, so even if the USATF set the "B" Standard at just one minute slower than the "A" (2:19:00), it would give hope to an entirely new pack of runners who are now in shooting distance. 

This brings me to a result of that inspiration:  faster runners out front.  If more people qualify for and enter the Olympic Trials, it puts a bit more pressure on those men vying for the top three spots.  If just one of those "B"-rate guys performs on the right day, it forces every other racer ahead of him to speed up (and every racer behind him to chase).  Let's just say, having more people toe the line means it keeps everyone honest.  Then racers have to beat a hypothetical 200 men in order to earn an Olympic Berth, rather than 100 or so.

A third reason is that it actually increases the prestige of the race.  This may be counter-intuitive, since it would seem that having a more stringent guideline as to who qualifies for the Olympic Trials makes it a more elite field, but if you think about the marathon, it doesn't quite work that way.  If you've read my previous blog posts, or if you've ever run a marathon yourself (or even a shorter race), you know that some days may be "on" days, and others . . . well, they're just "off."

Even some of the best marathoners in the world have "off" days.  Look at Deena Kastor in 2010.  She had a rough day in London, but she still finished in a disappointing 2:36 (over 16 minutes slower than her PR).  In the past, our top American (yes, that's Kastor again), has been reduced to walking in marathons, or slowing dramatically.  If that "off" day happens a few times, it can effectively ruin the chances of a sub-elite runner to make it to the trials.  Also, as I can personally attest to, shooting for a fast time in the marathon can be disastrous in the later miles of the race when it all catches up to you.  Having no safety net could potentially make some very talented runners go out over their heads and die, whereas a more conservative approach might yield them a net time faster than they could achieve with such lofty and strict goals.  If a newcomer to the marathon has only a few chances to try for a qualifying time (because one can only run so many marathons in a year and run them well), then it's safe to say trying for an astronomical time is not the best strategy for them.  However, that same runner, given the chance to merely worry about "qualifying" for the trials, and then given the time to improve over the course of a year or two (because the qualifying window for the trials is two years long), may be that blue-collar guy who challenges the lead pack, or even the chase pack, to keep their pace honest on the day of the race. So to explain why a "B" Standard increases the prestige of the race, it means that the top three men get to say with more definitive clarity that they beat the best runners in the country on that day, and not have to qualify that with "well, the best of those who could afford to train full time," or "there may be others out there who will never know how fast they could've been if they had the opportunity" or "I only beat 100 guys."     

Reason number 4 (if you're counting) is why not?  I keep racking my brain for any benefits that the USATF, the Houston Marathon, or the 12-year-old boys sitting at home get from shutting out our second-tier runners from the sport, and I have yet to come up with a down side.  Let's say the race organizers have to plan for 200 people, they don't lose anything.  In fact, they come out ahead.  Of course the men who earn the "B" Standard don't get a paid trip to Houston, so the USATF loses nothing there.  The race organizers don't need to put out any more tables for elite water, because they can reserve that right for the men up front.  They may need a few extra voluteers to hand out water, and they may need to hire a few extra medical personnel (we all remember Ryan Shay).  But in comparison to the costs of putting on a race, the extra expenses would be minimal.

In fact, adding extra entrants into the field would increase revenue, because these runners are going to pay for everything associated with the race:  hotels, restaurants, memorabilia, photos, and not to mention the hotel and travel expenses for the spouses and loved ones who would travel with them.  So let's recap our economic evaluation:  the USATF gains revenue (entry fees? merchandising); the Houston Marathon gains revenue (entry, spaghetti dinner and other pre- and post-race offerings); the community gains revenue and tourism dollars (hotels, restaurants, and positive word of mouth where "I went to Houston and had a wonderful time!").  Plus, think about all of those 12-year-olds at home watching their local hero run in the Trials.  They are much more likely to personally know a great runner if there are 200 men who toe the line than if there are only 100. 

Reason number 5 is equality.  I may have an over-developed sense of social justice, but I find it insulting to men and women both, to see that women have a "B" Standard, but men don't get the same chance.  Does this suggest that men are capable of greater feats than women? Does it suggest that women deserve more opportunities than men?  Does it suggest that little girls need role models, but little boys don't?  I can't figure out what message the USATF is trying to send by limiting one half of the race and not the other.  I honestly believe it would be more fair if the women only had an "A" Standard as well.  (But believe me, I appreciate the opportunity that the "B" Standard offers, and I wouldn't take it away from women in a heartbeat).

If you look at the world records in the marathon for both men and women, the qualifying times are incongruous at best.  The men's world record is 2:03:59, and the "A" Trials qualification is 2:19.  That's fifteen minutes slower, or about 15% slower in absolute time.  The women's world record is 2:15, and the "A" Trials qualification is 2:39.  That's twenty-four minutes slower or about 20% slower in absolute time.  Essentially, men are held to a higher standard than women in this scenario, which means that they do not have the same opportunities that women do.  If we are going to promote Title IX, give women equal pay for equal sporting feats, and generally cry out in the name of gender inequality, then it's time to cry out for our inspiring, hard-working, 9-to-5 men who just want the chance to compete with an equal opportunity as women.  (On a side note, these same men deserve the right to compete at the college level, where Title IX has had the unintended effect of cutting their scholarships and Track programs all together.)

 It's clear I find the lack of a "B" Standard upsetting, and my intention is not to upset you readers (yes, all three of you).  Maybe it's just something I needed to get off my chest, or maybe I can hope I've convinced even a few of you to believe as I do.

Lessons I've Learned from the Marathon: Physiological and Psychological

As I'm writing about the marathon, I have to say that I'm using the term "learned" loosely, because when it comes to 26.2 miles I'm like one of my 16-year-old students.  As much as I can intellectualize what I should do, I have a harder time following through.  I am an emotional runner, and many times, my emotions get away with me.  So maybe the title of this blog should be "Lessons I am Trying to Learn from the Marathon."  Here goes:

Lesson 1:  Respect the distance.  Every coach I've ever had has sat down with me to have "the talk" about respecting the marathon, and it's because I need it.  No matter how many times I crash and burn (6 and counting), I always get fooled.  The first half of the marathon feels so easy, so fluid, so thrilling that I forget I'm going to have to pay for every second that I misjudge.  They say that for every second you run too fast in the beginning, you lose two in the end.  I think it's a floating scale, so if you start to run more like 5-10 seconds too fast per mile, you lose more like 25-45 seconds per mile in the end.  Embarrassingly, I admit that I was entertaining thoughts about running 2:42 in my last marathon when 6:08 pace felt so easy at the beginning.  Instead, I should have been thinking "Oh shit, I just lost a few seconds on my total time."

Lesson 2:  Respect the distance.  Really.  It will hurt.

Lesson 3: You can't take Gu and Gatorade within 5-10 minutes.  I can't take credit for this lesson, but it was great advice I got from my coach (Terrence Shea of the BAA) and I thought it was worth passing on.  Before I knew this, I kept getting cramps every time I took Gu and it was annoying.

Lesson 4:  People talk about "the wall" at mile 20.  Whether runners are professionals or amateurs, it seems that the marathon hits a new level of difficulty at this mile marker.  My college coach (Robert Hoppler of UNH) explains that it's not exactly the same spot for every runner.  Instead, he theorizes that it's the final hour of the marathon that taxes the body in new ways.  For men, that means roughly anything after an hour will start to hurt a bit, and for women it should be held off until more like 1:45-2:00 into the marathon.  Hop explains that it's a metabolic problem.  The body can only store so much glycogen in the liver, and it can only buffer so much lactic acid at a certain rate before it has trouble keeping up.  This is why even marathoners have to do some lactate threshold work as part of their training, to stave off the slow-down that occurs when lactic acid builds up.  Honestly, this might be my biggest weakness when it comes to the marathon, because looking at my PRs, my weakest distance is the 10k.  It used to be that I was so unprepared for the distance of the marathon that I needed to just focus on increasing my mileage and lengthening my workouts, but now I think I'm at a point where I need to catch my lactate threshold up with my aerobic fitness. 

Lesson 5:  There is an emotional outpouring at the finish line.  I wasn't prepared for this in my first marathon.  Admittedly, the race was the most miserable experience I've ever had on two legs because my I.T. bands tightened up and reduced me to a walk-jog for the final ten miles, but after I crossed the line in pain, I started sobbing.  I wasn't sure if I was crying in disappointment, rage, or pain, but all I knew was that it was uncontrollable.  It was like all of the excitement and anticipation that built up during the long build-up for a marathon (when you can't race often) was focused on that one moment at the finish.  Each time I've collected my thoughts from the marathon, this emotional reaction has led to a renewed focus and re-dedication.  I'm not sure if this makes me a sadist or an optimist.

Lesson 6:  Two facets of the marathon that I tend to under-emphasize are flexibility and fuel use.  While I practice running for three hours without fuel to teach my body how to utilize fatty acids after glycogen runs out, I rarely practice taking on hundreds of calories on a run.  I think I'm going to experiment with this a bit in the next several months to see if I can handle about 200 calories during the first few miles and convert this energy into a usable form by the all-important last hour. 

Lesson 7:  Flexibility deserves its own lesson.  My eyes were opened to the reality that race walking is largely about flexibility when I went to the USATF National Indoor Championships in 2003.  But it makes sense to me:  when the muscles tighten, the stride shortens.  If I start out with a more flexible, longer stride, this shortening might not make as much of a difference.  I know that static stretching is being phased out across the country as research is showing that it does nothing for injury prevention unless utilized after a run.  However, I think one key for me is going to be a routine regimen of dynamic flexibility drills that I can do before and after runs.

Lesson 8:  No matter how well the marathon goes, the final 10k requires an incredible amount of focus.  Frank Shorter famously turned to his competitors at mile 20 and once said "Why couldn't Philippides have died right here?"  Even Kara Goucher admit after her marathon debut in New York (2009) that she wanted to stop just a few miles shy of the finish line.  We mere mortals attempting marathons have to remember that it will take all of the dedication that we can muster in those final miles to work through a host of potential disasters (cramps, muscle spasms, misfiring and uncoordinated muscles).

Lesson 9:  The reason to do it is because it is hard.  If marathoning were easy, they wouldn't give obnoxiously large commemorative medals at the finish line.  Simply finishing 26.2 miles can be a Herculean task for some, while approaching the marathon as a race is a mental and physical overload for others.  It is a challenge that requires practice, dedication, and above all patience.  My next marathon probably won't be for another five months . . . is it May yet?

Tune in soon for Part 1 of "Why the US Men should have a B Standard for the Olympic Trials" 

Lessons I've Learned from the Marathon: Social, Political, and Cultural

I decided to devote this posting to a bit more lighthearted lessons I've learned about the marathon.  I've completed six now (marathons, that is, not lessons), so I feel like I've picked up a few experiential nuggets of wisdom.

Lesson 1:  When people cheer "Looking good!" it means that you look like you are running.  Your feet are leaping off the pavement and moving forward with each stride.  When people cheer "Great abs!" it means that you no longer look like a runner, but a sunbather who likes to work out in the gym a few times a week.  In my most recent marathon, I got a lot of compliments on my abs during the latter parts of the race . . . ugh.  But more seriously,

Lesson 2: It is impolite to tell your friends and family that you had a bad race.  In the marathon, people find it oxymoronic to hear "I was disappointed with my finish in the marathon," as if merely finishing were the goal, all they hear is SUCCESS!  I find that it's best to nod and smile when people congratulate me on a disappointing performance, because in many ways, it is still an accomplishment to finish, especially on a day when the wrath of 26.2 is unkind to me. 

Lesson 3: You will be under-dressed.  Granted, all six of the marathons I've done have been big city marathons, but each time I feel almost amateurish showing up in my matching, professional club gear compared to everyone else.  You have never seen so much dry-fit inventory in your life until you show up at the start of a marathon.  You'll see grandmothers wearing layered, matching Nike warm-ups; you'll see custom made running hats; and if it's inclement weather, you'll see arm bands, jackets, compression socks, and thermal underwear.  Of course, you'll also see people wearing trash bags to the starting line, but underneath those trash bags you can bet you'll find lined running shorts.

Lesson 4:  Volunteers appreciate it when you do not spray them with water as you run by and try to grasp a cup.  This becomes problematic when, invariably at about mile 10, my left hand loses coordination.  If the water is lined up only on the left side of the road, I either have to turn my body to grab with my right, or I try with my left and smash the cup to the ground like I was giving it a high five. 

Lesson 5:  It is okay to draft, but people like their personal space.  My favorite spot is to run behind two tall men who can break the wind for me.  In exchange, all they usually ask is a few bits of information.  As long as I'm not too winded to tell them that I'm from the Boston area, they let me tag along.  But if I get too close, it's a safe bet that their next mile will be faster than mine. 

Lesson 6:  Fast friends are made on marathon courses.  Stick with another runner for a few miles, and he or she will remember your name for years.  I still remember the guy who helped me through a few tough miles of my first marathon (Nashville in 2007).  His name was Rick.  This may be common knowledge, but it's one of the greatest parts of the running community.  Everyone generally cheers for one another.  In such a competitive sport, we all recognize that in the end it's about pushing your body further than you thought you could.  I can't think of anybody that I think "Gee, I hope that person runs slowly today."  (However, I may think, "I hope I run faster than that person today.")

Next up, I'll delve into the physiological and psychological lessons I've learned from the marathon.  Tune in soon for Part II.