A kilometre to go. Come on, you can do it. A kilometre is nothing. But why does it feel so hard? Why can’t I keep on pushing? I normally run marathons, how hard can it be to run 3 kilometres fast?
The answer: hard. At least, that’s how it felt this morning. Seemingly running fast and running slow are two totally different things.
Cycling versus running
I’m a fan of the cycling podcast In het Wiel. Sorry, it’s a Dutch name, and it’s pretty impossible to translate the title. I mean, In the Wheel just sounds stupid. That’s the problem with sayings, you can’t translate them. But if you like to know, it means something as drafting; following the wheel of the rider before you closely to save energy.
In the podcast anchorman Hidde van Warmerdam and journalist/cyclist/analist Thijs Zonneveld often look ahead to big races to come, and discuss who’s the favourite. What I found interesting is that Zonneveld often talks about 3 minute max power output, and 5 minute max power outputs and how a cyclist can be only good at one of those two.
For example; Mathieu van der Poel was the big favourite for the Tour of Flanders, because of his 3 minute max power output, while Tadej Pogacar was the big favourite for Liege – Bastogne – Liege, because of his 5 minute max power output. Both lived up to their role as favourites.
Understanding our bodies
Okay, you might wonder what these maximal outputs and cyclists have to do with running. Don’t worry, I’ll get to that. I just want to dive in it a little deeper, because I do think it’s interesting for us runners to understand our bodies better.
See, the Tour de Flanders has hills, but they are not that high. If you’re a heavy guy, but you do have a lot of strength, you can get up and over them by pushing hard. Three minutes will do it. However, in Liege – Bastogne – Liege, the hills are a lot higher, which means the climbs are longer. Three minutes won’t do it. It takes you at least 5 minutes to get up and over. So now, when you’re a heavy guy and you give it all for three minutes, you still are not on top. The guy who can ride hard for at least 5 minutes, will drop you on the last metres of the climb.
That’s why Liege – Bastogne – Liege is a race for climbers; light, strong guys, whereas the Tour de Flanders is a race for punchers. Strong, muscular guys, who can ride hard, but only for a limited amount of time. A different race, a different favourite, based on their capacity, based on how they are built. And that is partly based on how they train. I mean, you can lose a couple of kilos, but in doing so, you won’t only lose fat, but also muscle mass. Being lighter makes it easier to get up the mountain, but it does mean you become slower on flats.
Excuses
Or maybe all of this is just an excuse. See, this morning I went out to do a lactate threshold run. The slow warming-up of 1 kilometre wasn’t a problem. The fast (read: above lactate threshold) second kilometre was okay, but kilometre three I started having problems to keep pushing and kilometre four I was just grinding it out. Longing for the end.
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And then … as soon as I slowed down for the last cooldown kilometre, I felt all fine again. Happy to run slow. No need to go home. As if my body is telling me; slow is the new normal. Low heart rate is the new high.
That’s okay. As you know, my main race of this year is the UTMB CCC, Courmayeur – Champex-lac – Chamonix, the 100 kilometres race around the Mont-Blanc. Last week I was training in Courmayeur. Going slow. And I’ll be going slow during the race. Slow is what my body wants these days. Slow is what it gets. It’s fine.
PS: Looking on the bright side; according to my Strava I did run my fastest mile this morning. So I wasn’t that slow. For me, that is.
