Winter running
Winter running means learning to deal with snow, ice, and snowdrifts.
I have a pair of Reeboks that let me plow through snow without worrying about wet feet. I've also bought Salomons and Nike ACGs - All Conditions Gear. Those keep the water out too.
I like running in the morning. If it has snowed overnight, that means heading into the dark before the sidewalks have been cleared. You get used to it. It isn't as alarming as it sounds.
When the streets are covered in snow and ice, speed takes a back seat. That suits me. I slow down and save the fast running for better conditions.
Out in a frozen city, I feel stubbornly alive. I'm not a plant waiting for spring or a bear sleeping through winter. I get to choose what I do with the day. I don't need the sun to come out before I can enjoy it: I'm generating my own warmth, carrying a little patch of it through the snow. It's enough. I love that about us, our stubborn knack for finding pleasure in unlikely places. The cold puts it to the test. I'm glad to be out there.
Winter does make clothing important. I check the temperature and think about what will keep me comfortable. Thermal base layers under a tracksuit, a hat, and waterproof shoes are part of my gear. I wear Buff neck gaiters. In bitter cold, I pull one over my nose to soften the bite of the air. By the end of a run it has frozen into a wonderfully stiff shape. In humid weather my eyebrows and eyelashes turn white with frost. Great for photos.
Running brands approach winter clothing differently. Some sell outfits for specific temperatures; others sell layers that can be combined or worn separately. Nike takes the layering approach, which I like. There are base layers, fleece midlayers, and vests ranging from lightweight shells to insulated ones. Depending on the temperature, I wear two, three, or four layers and feel quite comfortable.
My face tends to cope better than I expect. It's usually exposed when I'm outdoors anyway. My extremities, with less warm blood reaching them, get cold first. Two pairs of gloves aren't such a silly idea.
Winter running carries a real risk of slipping, falling, or twisting an ankle. I pay more attention to keeping my feet safe than to pace or performance. Even good shoes can slide. My main winter running goal is to come home uninjured.
Even great runners don't always train on perfect surfaces. Mud and rough ground make every step harder, testing coordination and building leg strength. I decided to look at snow the same way: a chance to practice on difficult terrain. When the ground cleared and I wanted to run fast, perhaps it would feel easier.
Winter, then, is the perfect season for running.
When to run
I read somewhere that it makes sense to train at the time of day when you'll race. That sounded logical. Most of my races start in the morning, and I prefer running before breakfast anyway.
I love empty streets and watching a city wake up. There are fewer cars and pedestrians, and I'm in nobody's way. I also start the day knowing I've already accomplished something. One less obligation hanging over me.
Summer heat makes running difficult. You lose more fluid, and heat illness becomes a concern. I haven't taken things that far, but in summer I try to run as early as possible, before the sun starts working against me.
By evening I'm usually tired, so I keep evening sessions to a minimum. Otherwise I spend the day feeling that time is slipping away and I still owe myself a run. Running daily has become such a habit that the day feels unfinished until I've done it. Carrying that feeling around for hours is tiring in itself.
Many friends prefer an evening run to wind down after a busy day, followed by a shower, a favorite show, and bed. I understand the appeal. For some reason I usually run faster in the evening, too. Evening training has its advantages.
What matters most to me is that the run happens; morning, afternoon, or evening is a matter of taste. Then there are night races, which can be beautiful.
The treadmill
On the whole, I'd rather run on actual ground, pavement, or a track. Some runners call it the dreadmill. All that effort, and the view still won’t change.
But there are exceptions. In winter, a gym treadmill saves you all those layers, the icy footing, and wondering whether the sidewalks have been cleared. It isn't a bad arrangement. Set a speed, put on some music, and get your run in.
The big advantage is having less to watch out for. No traffic lights, potholes, curbs, dogs, or scooters. You run at a more or less steady speed, with a display showing your distance and time. You know whether it says 2 km or 4 km, and you can stop whenever you want. No phone required.
If you planned to run 10 km but manage only five - it happens - you don't need a taxi home. You stop the machine and walk to the locker room.
A treadmill can't replace every aspect of outdoor running, but it does the job when the weather won't cooperate.
I particularly like being able to change the incline. Hills can be a serious challenge if you're used to running on the flat. Enter a hilly race without preparing for it, and you may slow down and tire sooner than expected. Adjusting the treadmill's incline lets me practice those climbs.
Music
Spend hours running and boredom occasionally creeps in. That's when I put on headphones and step into another world.
I listen to music and audiobooks. My Apple Music subscription gives me plenty of playlists, including the Nike Training series. I make my own too: Fast Run, Slow Run, Marathon List, and a few others.
Fast Run is for days when I want to feel unstoppable. The songs don't all have a fast beat. But when a favorite comes on, I feel I owe it a little extra effort. For three glorious minutes I'm Rocky Balboa. The traffic lights aren't cooperating with the montage, but my feet keep time and the kilometers roll by.
Slow Run is more relaxed. It doesn't urge me to go faster. It keeps me cheerful and unhurried, running with a smile. Perfect for a long outing at a low heart rate.
Then I discovered the charts for different countries and major cities. What a find! Many cities seemed to listen mostly to international hits, usually American or European, with little local music. Fortunately, not all of them. I loved the charts from Bogotá, São Paulo, and Lima, along with Nairobi, Lagos, and Cape Town. Different rhythms, unexpected sounds: wonderful running fuel. If city charts aren't your thing, there are country charts too.
It's a little trip through sound. Pick a place you'd like to visit, or somewhere you've already been, and listen to what people there are playing. I rarely chose Germany, France, or Poland; the less familiar music drew me in. Anything was possible. I'd come home and tell my wife I'd been running to the music of Colombia, Paraguay, Kenya, or Japan. It changes the rhythm of an ordinary day. There's something wonderful about leaving familiar lyrics behind and hearing Swahili or Marathi instead.
I have a soft spot for the Kenyan charts. Some of the world's finest runners come from Kenya, so I like to imagine their music contributes something to their performances. Nairobi's songs have plenty of energy and terrific rhythms.
Botswana's chart stood out. I had read about this southern African country's relative stability, its avoidance of civil war after independence, and its economic progress. I was curious about what people there listened to.
Most country charts give you a jumble of tastes: melodic songs, high-energy tracks, rock, pop, techno. Botswana's chart struck me differently. It sounded as though one DJ with very particular tastes had assembled the whole thing. Tracks flowed into one another almost unnoticed. Obviously a whole country doesn't share one musical taste, but that playlist gave me the delightful impression that it did. I could have run to it for hours.
That's how I listen my way around the world. Whenever a song catches me, I add it to my own playlist.
Audiobooks
Dense business books don't work particularly well for me on a run. Part of my attention has to stay with the road, the cars, and the potholes. Complicated arguments are hard to follow; I miss too much. I mostly listened to stories about successful companies such as Netflix and Goldman Sachs. Nassim Nicholas Taleb's The Black Swan made it into the mix too.
Accessible popular science works beautifully. I listened to Darwin Comes to Town, about species adapting to urban life, evolving, and finding new niches. Ideal material for a city run.
I enjoyed Guns, Germs, and Steel, which explores why some societies, predominantly in Eurasia, came to colonize Africa, the Americas, and Australia rather than the other way around. I also listened to literary podcasts, history, and science fiction. Personal discoveries included Dan Simmons's Hyperion series and Jack London's Martin Eden. I worked through a whole shelf of surreal satire and was astonished by Liu Cixin's extraordinary science fiction. Even without any other achievement, those discoveries would have made running worthwhile.
Audiobooks don't usually make me run fast, but they suit a long, easy run. That's a good thing: I get an easy run and a whole new world to explore.
Before seeing Dune, I decided to listen to the audiobook. I was running a lot that week and finished just in time for my trip to the movies. Good call: without the book, much of the film would have baffled me. Running even improves my moviegoing.
Video
Yes, you can watch movies and TV while running. Not in the street, obviously.
At the gym, the treadmill tracks my speed and distance, so I don't need my phone to record the run.
I prop the phone on the little shelf in front of me, connect my headphones, and put something on Netflix. An 8 to 10 km run usually lasts about one episode. I can get my run in without falling behind on whatever everyone is watching.
The comb workout
I once read Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. It isn't a training manual but an autobiographical book full of stories connected to running. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, the book has done a great deal to popularize recreational running. Murakami describes his pride in being someone who doesn't stop: he runs the whole distance, whatever it is. I associated that resolve with the Japanese runners I admired. Japan has produced remarkable athletes and records. Perhaps that determination to keep going is part of the story.
I'm not built that way. In a race I may run without stopping, but during training, why insist? When my body asks for a pause, I prefer to listen.
Garmin records pace throughout a run. You can look at averages per kilometer or mile, or at what happened minute by minute. Comparing workouts with friends, I noticed they often tried to maintain an even pace. Fine for them. Not always for me.
Often - not always, but often - I run in bursts. I go at a comfortable pace for as long as feels right. When my movements get sloppy or I run out of breath, I walk or stop. Once I've caught my breath, I run again. I keep doing that until I reach my distance target.
Garmin makes those starts and stops easy to see. My friends' graphs tend to show long stretches of running followed by a slowdown. Mine looks like a comb: a row of speed peaks separated by dips almost to zero.
That rhythm helps when I'm out of shape: I can finish the distance instead of giving up. If I've planned the breaks, taking them doesn't make me weak. I'm doing exactly what I came out to do.
I still get the benefit of exercise. The pauses let me cover more ground at a lower average heart rate while saving energy for the faster sections. My heart rate comes down, my breathing settles, and eventually I feel ready to go again. So I run again.
I love these combs. They're not formal intervals, where I force myself to cover a prescribed distance at a prescribed fast pace. They're short runs separated by short rests, helping me ease into running. I just happen to fit a lot of them into one workout.