The Real 'Workout' in Tempo Runs
Before I begin, here's a wonderful tribute to Ursula Rains in today's Union-Tribune.
And for a glimpse of what Tuesday nights at Balboa Stadium are like, here’s a recent write-up in the local newspaper.
This week was our last group tempo run for the marathon season; next week we do fartleks (“speed play”) and then switch to 800s until the marathon in June. For those not-in-the-know, tempo runs are also called threshold runs. They’re done at 75-85% of your maximum heart rate. Basically you run faster than normal, but not so fast that you can’t maintain the speed for the duration of the run, either in preset minutes or miles. You can talk, if you must, but not in full paragraphs. At least not without a lot of effort.
I do tempo runs with the training group on Tuesday evenings and then again with a training partner on Thursday mornings. The workouts are quite a contrast, but both have their merits.
On Tuesdays, I barely speak once the workout’s underway. I stay focused on finding the proper pace and not being flustered when a pack passes me. By the end of the evening, I’ll have passed people too. Within a couple of laps, I begin to meditate, mostly on work because of its proximity to the hour. But such thoughts tend to weigh heavy on me, so I’ll try to remember one of the scores of races I’ve done in the past 15 years. I’ll attempt to recall every detail, like the scent of freshly mowed grass at Norfolk’s Elizabeth River Run 10k in early April. Or the slap of a harsh wind gust off Vineyard Sound during a wintertime Friday Night Five in Falmouth, Mass. The stomach butterflies at the start of my first San Diego race, the Mission Bay 25k. The funky biker shorts better suited for an aerobics class when I won my first trophy at the Suffolk (Va.) Peanut Fest 5k. Sometimes it’s not a race, but a memorable run, like the violent thunderstorm that snuck up on me in Hartford, Conn., one summer. Or the early morning jog past my grandmother’s tiny house in Paradise, Calif., one vacation, where I glimpsed her sitting in her housecoat watching “The Today Show” and felt a pang of pride that at 91, she still lives a very full, independent life.
Thursdays, by contrast, are more above releasing memories, most very recent and unpleasant. Soon as we take off at the Miramar Lake restroom in the early morning, one of us starts talking. By then, we’ve got a week’s worth of frustrations to purge on the mostly deserted path. In a pinch, we’ll discuss our recent running -- but the idea is to focus on anything but the activity at hand. Our language can get quite ‘colorful,’ so it’s a good thing there aren’t many others within earshot. Anger or astonishment frequently fuels our footsteps, and whoever is unloading tends to unconsciously pick up the pace, while the other holds on until it’s her turn to push the exertion level. It isn’t always bad times we contemplate, either. I easily get riled up over current events or tales from my trips. Even positive moments, like a kids’ birthday party or friend’s wedding, help us move along at a pretty quick clip. By the turnaround in our 10k, we’re always breathing heavy, gulping down water, stripping off layers and impressed with our watch clocks.
About the only thing these two runs have in common, besides the pace, is how I look when I get home: sweaty and smiling. Tuesdays have helped me shave minutes off my race times, while Thursdays have helped me maintain my sanity. Both, I’m slowly realizing, are important in my week.
And for a glimpse of what Tuesday nights at Balboa Stadium are like, here’s a recent write-up in the local newspaper.
This week was our last group tempo run for the marathon season; next week we do fartleks (“speed play”) and then switch to 800s until the marathon in June. For those not-in-the-know, tempo runs are also called threshold runs. They’re done at 75-85% of your maximum heart rate. Basically you run faster than normal, but not so fast that you can’t maintain the speed for the duration of the run, either in preset minutes or miles. You can talk, if you must, but not in full paragraphs. At least not without a lot of effort.
I do tempo runs with the training group on Tuesday evenings and then again with a training partner on Thursday mornings. The workouts are quite a contrast, but both have their merits.
On Tuesdays, I barely speak once the workout’s underway. I stay focused on finding the proper pace and not being flustered when a pack passes me. By the end of the evening, I’ll have passed people too. Within a couple of laps, I begin to meditate, mostly on work because of its proximity to the hour. But such thoughts tend to weigh heavy on me, so I’ll try to remember one of the scores of races I’ve done in the past 15 years. I’ll attempt to recall every detail, like the scent of freshly mowed grass at Norfolk’s Elizabeth River Run 10k in early April. Or the slap of a harsh wind gust off Vineyard Sound during a wintertime Friday Night Five in Falmouth, Mass. The stomach butterflies at the start of my first San Diego race, the Mission Bay 25k. The funky biker shorts better suited for an aerobics class when I won my first trophy at the Suffolk (Va.) Peanut Fest 5k. Sometimes it’s not a race, but a memorable run, like the violent thunderstorm that snuck up on me in Hartford, Conn., one summer. Or the early morning jog past my grandmother’s tiny house in Paradise, Calif., one vacation, where I glimpsed her sitting in her housecoat watching “The Today Show” and felt a pang of pride that at 91, she still lives a very full, independent life.
Thursdays, by contrast, are more above releasing memories, most very recent and unpleasant. Soon as we take off at the Miramar Lake restroom in the early morning, one of us starts talking. By then, we’ve got a week’s worth of frustrations to purge on the mostly deserted path. In a pinch, we’ll discuss our recent running -- but the idea is to focus on anything but the activity at hand. Our language can get quite ‘colorful,’ so it’s a good thing there aren’t many others within earshot. Anger or astonishment frequently fuels our footsteps, and whoever is unloading tends to unconsciously pick up the pace, while the other holds on until it’s her turn to push the exertion level. It isn’t always bad times we contemplate, either. I easily get riled up over current events or tales from my trips. Even positive moments, like a kids’ birthday party or friend’s wedding, help us move along at a pretty quick clip. By the turnaround in our 10k, we’re always breathing heavy, gulping down water, stripping off layers and impressed with our watch clocks.
About the only thing these two runs have in common, besides the pace, is how I look when I get home: sweaty and smiling. Tuesdays have helped me shave minutes off my race times, while Thursdays have helped me maintain my sanity. Both, I’m slowly realizing, are important in my week.
