The wall
Running spends the energy we have stored through eating, training, and recovery. Carbohydrate and fat are major sources, but the body can't draw on them at the same rate. Carbohydrate can supply energy more quickly. As intensity rises, reliance on it increases; easier aerobic running uses a mixture.
The body stores carbohydrate as glycogen in the liver and muscles. Estimates put the average reserve at around 3,000 to 3,500 calories, enough for roughly 30 to 35 km of hard running, since your body won't spend every last bit. When glycogen runs low, you meet every runner's nightmare: the wall. You simply can't hold your pace. Your body starts conserving the remaining carbohydrate and relying more on fat for fuel. But fat supplies energy much more slowly, so you have to ease off and run at a slower, more aerobic effort. Meanwhile, you're also losing water, salts, and minerals through sweat and breathing. Cramps can set in, and you may become disoriented.
Most of my regular training runs stop short of that point, and my long runs generally top out at thirty kilometers or less. Beyond that, I feel like an astronaut stepping out of the spacecraft. I've read about it; now I have to find out for myself. A marathon takes me into that unknown and shows me what it feels like.
For a fast marathon, I can't assume my starting reserves will comfortably cover everything. Elite runners take fuel and fluids on the course too. That's why major races provide aid stations, often every five to seven kilometers, with water and some combination of gels, bananas, sports drinks, or bars.
Old shoes
Musicians choose their instruments carefully, look after them, and gradually make them part of themselves. A carpenter, painter, or firefighter might feel the same about the tools that let them do their best work. Running shoes become part of your story too. A bad pair is a fling you'd rather forget. The right pair? That's true love.
Unfortunately, that love has an expiration date. When the shoes wear out, I put them in the box the new pair came in and remember where they took me, who I was when we met, and who I am now. It's a strangely tender goodbye. Eventually, feeling a little guilty, I let them go. This time, for good.
At our events agency, we once lined a walkway with runners' shoes for ASICS. It was one of the most moving projects we had done. Maybe that was just me, but there are shoes I still miss. I can't step into the same river twice or repeat the past. Paying my respects to old shoes is part of the running ritual.
Running fuel
Sports nutrition fills whole books, and different sports make different demands. That shouldn't be surprising.
When I lifted weights, I grew used to thinking about protein shakes and feeding muscle. With more running, my preferences shifted naturally. Oatmeal and pasta became more appealing than another plate of eggs. My body seemed to be lobbying for fuel. There’s even a word for a runner’s appetite: runger. Hunger with a training plan.
For a long time, I underestimated gels. I thought there was something noble about avoiding "all those chemicals" and running on water and fruit, like our ancestors. Then I changed my mind. Convenient fuel, with electrolytes when needed, could replace what I was using on a long run. Why not let science help, damn it? I started taking gels during some races.
A coach is probably better placed to plan how many gels to take, when to take them, and in what order. My approach is to spread them evenly along the course. Taking two? Divide the distance into thirds and have one at each third. Taking three? Divide it into quarters. And so on. I figure six is probably enough.
One marathon fueling plan I found began around 7 or 8 km and continued roughly every 5 km.
The idea is that gels are absorbed quickly, but not instantly. First you use the energy already available: carbohydrate in the blood, muscles, and liver. The first gel comes after thirty or forty minutes, then another every 5 to 7 km. Refuel as your reserves run down, use that fuel, then top up again. Remember that absorption takes time. A gel taken with only 2 to 4 km left may not have time to make a difference.
There are isotonic gels and gels with electrolytes. They help you take in fluid, replace salts and minerals, and add carbohydrate, with different products supplying different amounts. The details are on the packet.
Caffeinated gels are meant to give you a lift, help you focus, and provide a burst of energy. Before a short race, you might take one like an espresso. In a longer race, save it for the final stretch, about forty minutes to an hour before the finish. But I always think of caffeine as spurring a horse. This time, the horse is you. If it still has energy but is flagging, a nudge might get it moving. If it's about to collapse, spurring it on is hardly kind.
Things that didn't work
Not everything goes my way. I'm not Batman, and I can't arrange the world to suit me. At least that keeps things real.
I haven't managed to make my wife and children fall in love with running. They were the first people to receive a draft of this book. I was really hoping for encouragement, and I got it, so I'm pleased. They didn't read the book.
We have a Porcelaine hound called Delalande. A hound ought to be the ideal running partner, surely. When he was a puppy, we covered 3 or 4 km together. He put up with it, but clearly didn't enjoy my approach. I wanted a steady pace. He wanted to zigzag, stop abruptly, and sprint off again. We had different ideas about running. Perhaps a trainer could have helped me teach him to run steadily. I never pursued it. Another small failure.
Like many beginners who have completed a marathon, I loved offering advice to friends. Whether it was good advice is hard to say, because they didn't follow it. That's part of why I wanted this book to be an account rather than a manual. I read about something, try it, and tell you what happened. I don't feel qualified to set myself up as an authority.
I didn't break three hours in the marathon during that running year. I'm busy coming up with reasons why that's not so bad. I'll make my peace with it eventually.
The running missionary
Running can be lonely. Unless you're in a club, you're often out there on your own. Then another runner comes toward you. A raised hand, a smile. Funny how much you can say without saying anything.
At a race I meet hundreds or thousands of people who understand something about this. Focused and determined, looking great without fancy clothes, makeup, or an expensive car in sight. Young people full of energy, tough older runners still testing themselves. Good for them.
Out on the street, I keep seeing people who could do with taking better care of themselves. Extra pounds, extra chins, barely lifting their feet. They sit in offices and cafés, walk 3,000 to 5,000 steps a day, and think: everyone around me looks like this. It's normal.
I want to shake them and say: move. Move more! We've built a sedentary civilization full of sweets and calorie-heavy food. Look honestly at what it's doing to us. Don't let it flatten you. Get back to moving as humans were meant to move. Shed the excess. Move, move, for heaven's sake, move more!
I suspect many runners know that urgent, slightly helpless feeling. Perhaps it explains why enthusiasts insist on telling everyone about running. It isn't always vanity. Sometimes it's missionary zeal. Once something has changed your life, you want to share it, to persuade one more person to come along for a couple of kilometers. Perhaps this time the spark will catch.
That's probably why I wanted to write so much about running. Haruki Murakami has already drawn many people into it. Those of us who love it can at least try to pass it on.