The Baggage We Carry to a Race
The turkey trot test plus training questions answered
Welcome back after two weeks. This newsletter took a break last Wednesday because I was wrapped up in road-tripping to Los Angeles for family time, and then I came home with a wicked stomach bug that turned me inside-out. On vacation, my brain’s productivity clicked off, and I relished doing very little besides visiting family, going for runs and walks, caring for the dogs, eating out, and reading a novel.
When is the last time you chose to simply hang out with others or rest rather than be productive? My hope for you is that you, too, can turn off your productivity to take a real vacation and ignore your inbox for a while.
This week, I have a few answers to some of the questions many of you posed after I solicited “ask me anything.” All have to do with practical advice for training. Before I get to them, I have a story from last Thursday.
The dreaded turkey trot test
Last Thursday, I felt the thrill and pressure of road racing again when I lined up for a turkey trot 10K in my in-laws’ neighborhood of Pacific Palisades, on the west side of LA.
I used to be a road racer. For years in my 30s and 40s, I ran a Turkey Trot 5K in our neighborhood of Piedmont, California, almost every Thanksgiving in addition to training for road marathons. I won the local Turkey Trot the first year it was held in 2003, when it measured 3 miles instead of 3.1, by blazing through the hilly course in an average pace of 6:23 to finish in 19:10, a time that seems unfathomable to me now.
In the Thanksgivings that followed, after the route modified to be a precise 3.1 miles for a 5K and it took me just over 20 minutes to complete, I tortured myself with the question, “Can I still break 21? Can I still finish in the top 3 of women?”
As the event grew larger and more competitive each year, my finishing time edged over 21 minutes and my goal shifted to winning my age group. I raced through the neighborhood as if being chased or running for my life. While racing, I’d weirdly use the mental trick of imagining I was running for safety, as in, “think of the twin towers falling” or, “think of the Boston bombing,” trying to produce the adrenaline surge of running from a catastrophe.
But in reality, I was running through a beautiful neighborhood during a holiday. And no one cared how I performed; it only mattered to me. Most of my peers were farther back, running at a more conversational pace with other family members, and I was pushing myself to keep up with the collegiate cross-country hot shots half my age who had returned home on break. I’d spot moms from my kids’ school clapping on the sidelines and feel as though I had something to prove to them and to myself—something to do with being a legit runner, more than a wife and mother—and my success at this 5K took on an outsized importance for my identity.
When I look back on all those annual turkey trots, I recall some positive aspects, such as the special bond I felt with a couple of fast friends who ran close to me in a way that felt more encouraging than competitive. But mostly, I recall feeling stressed, as if I were barely keeping up and struggling to pass a test. I carried so much psychological baggage that needed unpacking, so much need for recognition and approval.
When I moved to Colorado, I gave up turkey trots and all other faster, shorter road races and the self-imposed pressure that came with them. As an ultrarunner navigating rugged trail terrain over many hours, I didn’t need to push my effort level anywhere near close to max effort. The test of an ultra has much more to do with endurance and mental tenacity than raw speed.
But this Thanksgiving, I chose to take a turkey trot test again. I had run it last year, but with my daughter, so I went her more relaxed pace in mom-mode. This year, I showed up to the start line solo, unable to recruit any family members to join. This meant I had the opportunity to go my own pace and test my speed.
I chose the 10K rather than 5K because I wanted to go longer and face the challenge of running down and back up a big hill in mile 5 of the route. (That hill also had the benefit of making a slower finishing time seem more reasonable.) At my fastest in my 30s, I was able to break 40 minutes in the 10K. Now that I’m 20 years older and adapted to a Colorado mountain pace that makes anything under 9 minutes per mile feel fast, I wondered if I could even break 55 minutes. Breaking 50—an average pace of 8:04—seemed out of the realm of possibility, given that in Colorado I struggle to run any miles sub-9.
I walked to the start line with a tingle of excitement more than stress. Knowing no one and doing my own thing felt liberating. I had nothing to prove, except to myself, and no prior finishing times at this race for comparison. My goal was to run what felt like a “sustainably hard” effort for the full 6 miles, making it an extended tempo run, and do my best to stay strong and push hard on the final big hill.
I gathered with a few hundred others tightly packed behind a starting line. My heart thumped in anticipation. When the starting horn blared, I surged forward with the crowd while rubbing elbows and trying not to get tangled with others’ feet.
I settled into a pace that felt fast but flowing, and my legs respond with quicker turnover. The first two miles ticked off in 8:09, then 7:46. Yes, running at sea level on pavement certainly is faster than on high-altitude trails! I felt giddy. I kept running by feel, caught up in a wave of runners who helped me keep the pace.
After mile 3, the route split from the 5K runners, and the 10K pack thinned out as we descended about 300 feet on Temescal Canyon Boulevard down to the beach. As my pace quickened to the low 7s on the downhill, I realized that I hadn’t once thought about my troublesome knee. It was doing just fine! The day’s theme of gratitude hit as I considered how fortunate all of us here are to be able to participate in a race like this and run for fun on a beautiful day in a peaceful part of the world.
Transitioning to the uphill hurt, as expected. Everyone on the hill wore faces of struggle, and several walked. My watch showed my pace slowing to 10:30 per mile. In any longer trail race, I’d hike this hill to preserve endurance for the long haul. Not today, not for this short road race. I’d run the whole thing as best as I could.
I elevated my effort in the final mile and approached the finish-line arch at an all-out sprint, buzzed with effort and emotion. The endorphin-fueled runner’s high that I haven’t felt in so long—which takes this kind of high effort to produce—was back in my veins and brain because I earned it.
I finished just under 50 minutes, in 49:45, elated. I didn’t think I could run that fast given my current norm for running. I wasn’t chasing earlier times, I wasn’t trying to beat anyone, I wasn’t seeking recognition or validation or pressuring myself to meet a time goal. Maybe this is an upside of aging, to care less about what others think of me or how I compare to them. I’m just stoked to take part and run strong.
All this happened because I dared to enter a shorter, faster road race again and push my effort level with an open mind and low expectations. It felt thrilling. I think I have more 5K and 10K races in my future after all.
Your training questions
When I solicited “ask me anything,” I received several questions about training. I’ll answer a couple here and save more for a future newsletter.
Q: I just signed up for my first 50K! I’m really excited; it’s the Squamish 50K. I’ve done shorter trail races, up to 35K [21 miles], and have also run road half’s and marathons. The race is in August of 2024. I know it will be a challenging course. My general question is: is there a training plan in particular I should follow, or anything you would recommend? In terms of time, I have no goal, I just would love to finish and feel strong during the race. I’m a 30-year-old just starting out in the sport and have loved learning with your experiences.
Congrats on stretching yourself to the 50K! You have plenty of time to train between now and August. I do not advise following any particular training plan, because generic one-size-fits-none plans will not take into account your level of fitness, your schedule and life circumstances, or the particular challenges of the course. It’s better to hire a good coach coach or design your own plan. You can look at typical 50K plans for reference, but I would not adhere to them as if they’re gospel truth; you need to customize any training plan for what’s right for you and how you’re feeling on any given day, and for the specific challenges of the race. My book has whole chapters on how to graduate to longer distances and design a training plan, so I hope you will read it. Here are some general tips:
Given that you’ve run road marathons before and 35K on trail, you likely have the experience and fitness to get ready for a 50K in about 16 weeks. Early in that training block, focus on higher-intensity training to boost your cardiovascular fitness, as if you were training for a road half or full marathon, with weekly speed work and gradually longer runs. In the first half of the training block, I recommend alternating steady-paced long runs on runnable smooth terrain with slower long runs (with hiking mixed in) on rugged, hilly trails; that way, you maintain your speed and ability to run steadily at close to a marathon pace, while also developing your trail-specific skills (including navigating technical terrain and powerhiking up steep slopes).
In June and July, shift your training and all your long runs to be more specific to the terrain, hill profile, and climate challenges you’ll face in your 50K (I’m not sure if Squamish will be hot, but if so, you’ll need to heat train in full-day sun). Focus on time-on-feet endurance, cultivating patience and the ability to spend several hours on trail.
Graduating to a trail 50K is more complex than simply tacking on 5 miles to a road marathon. You likely will be on your feet for several hours more. If you’re a 4-hour road marathoner, for example, then a tough 50K could take around 7 hours. A quick look at the Squamish 50K results shows that many midpackers take 8 - 9 hours. So you should mentally and physically prep to move steadily, on a route with a lot of vert, some 8ish hours even if it ends up taking you less time. This does not mean, however, you need to do training runs that are that long. I recommend two peak long runs that get to at least 75 percent of the duration that you estimate your race will take you. If you could find a trail marathon to run about 6 weeks prior to your race and use it as a supported training run, that would be ideal.
Many training plans will have you do your hardest, longest, most depleting long training run right before the taper, 3 weeks prior to the race. I do not recommend this; it’s better to adapt to the peak training load earlier. I would peak in volume 5 to 7 weeks prior to the race, then have a lower-volume recovery week, then have a couple more solid training weeks with long but not overly depleting runs, then taper. That way you’re more likely to arrive at the start line feeling fresh and uninjured.
A key part of an ultra training week, often overlooked, is incorporating a challenging medium-length run midweek. In other words, don’t be a weekend warrior who does shorter runs all week and then hits the trail for over four hours on the weekend. Adding a two-plus hour run midweek, ideally on trail, is highly beneficial, if you can make it work with your work schedule.
None of this is possible without proper hydration and fueling. Learning how to fuel and hydrate (with electrolytes) is essential, and you need to use your training runs to practice this. The topic of eating/hydrating during long trail runs is a topic for another post (or a whole book!) but suffice to say, you need to adapt to eating about 150 - 250 cals/hour after the first hour of your run (depending on your size and fitness) and learn the just-right balance of hydration and electrolytes. For ultra training, I recommend running during the middle of the day, through lunch, so you get used to running in the afternoon (something many morning runners rarely do) and digesting on the go.
Finally, do your homework! Learn everything you can about your race by reading race reports and studying the route. Get your travel arrangements in place early so you can get to the start line stress-free.
Q: You seem to train for several big challenging races each year—what are your logistical tips for scheduling these races? It’s tricky to plan when some of them require very early registrations/lotteries. I love to race—it’s hard to avoid the temptation to sign up for more than my body (and family!) can handle. As my distances are increasing, I want to be careful to avoid mental/physical burnout.
This is a great question, and I answer it in part in this post from last year:
I’ll also share my race plan next week after I find out the results of this Saturday’s Hardrock lottery. In a nutshell, decide what you want to be your #1 goal, and then fill in around it. If it’s a race with a lottery and you really want to do it, then put your name in the pool and make decisions based on the lottery results.
Don’t over-schedule, and make sure the race truly excites you. My first of only two DNFs ever resulted from over-scheduling. In 2015, I signed up for the Tarawera 100K in New Zealand in March and the Gorge Waterfalls 100K in April. I put my heart into Tarawera and PR’ed there, and then felt a lot of travel fatigue afterward. When I lined up four weeks later to race Gorge, I felt highly ambivalent and borderline burned out, so I dropped at the 50K mark.
Think about when and how often you can devote a weekend to your racing (or longer, if it’s a destination race with travel) and how that cuts into family time. Personally, I take into account the time away from my husband and animals, and if I start feeling guilty about being gone too frequently, then I listen to my conscience and get more selective about traveling without him to races. One solution is to race locally or regionally more, so you can be done in a day, and choose destination races for only one or two special occasions in the year.
As for your point about “what your body can handle,” keep in mind that not all races deplete the body in the same way. You can feel more sore after racing a road marathon with full effort compared to a 50-miler that you hike a great deal. Races with travel (like going abroad to Europe) also will drain your body (and budget!) more. That’s why it’s important to determine what’s your “A” race (main goal), which likely will deplete you and require more recovery if you give it your full effort, compared to other races you do more for fun or as a supported training run in prep for that A race.
I hope this and the previous post linked above help you decide!
Q: I would love to know how you stay motivated to train during a Colorado winter. Any tips and tricks for staying motivated to run? I feel like I need to schedule all of my races for late summer/fall, as training in the Northeast during winter is so tough.
Training during winter isn’t easy! Generally speaking, I lower the bar on my weekly training volume and try to maintain a base of 30 - 35 miles/week instead of summertime’s 40 - 60+.
To stay motivated in winter, I do what I always do throughout the year—I set aside time on the weekend to design a training plan for the coming week (I use the TrainingPeaks app for this), penciling in where and how much I’ll run; but during winter, I spend more time skiing and strength training. I look at the weather forecast, and if there’s a big storm coming, I adjust the training schedule accordingly. I also shift my routine to run around midday, when it’s warmest and sunniest, rather than being a morning runner.
I got an incline treadmill last winter, which was a game changer; I enjoy using the iFit videos or listening to an audiobook on it. But I still find treadmills boring after an hour. For longer runs, I’ll sometimes run outside on a plowed snowy road for the first half of the run, then go inside and finish the run on the treadmill.
Finally, make sure you have the right gear for running in cold and snowy winter conditions—breathable clothing layers and traction for ice and snow. I generally alternate between Kahtoola’s Microspikes and Exospikes, depending on how much traction I need. I just got a pair of Hoka’s new Speedgoats with built-in spikes, which I’m excited to try this week!
This past post has more winter-running tips:
If you have a question for me, please ask it in the comments below or on this chat thread.
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I’m so grateful to have found you guys
You are amazing. My running Yoda. Thanks so much for the tips, and congratulations on the 10K.