Month: March 2023

Four Ways Running Has Changed

  1. Technology

These days, most runners take for granted that they will have a permanent record of every kilometre they run. Some obsess over it. But the availability of all this information and more is a relatively recent phenomenon. For much of my time in the sport, that is to say, the last half-century, there was almost no information available on pace or distance, let alone heart rate, recovery time or anything else.

I used to check the time on the kitchen clock before I left my house for a run, so I could have some idea of how long I had been running when I got back. Pace? Forget about it. That started to change when GPS watches came into the market. Of course, they are now ubiquitous.

I still think of my Timex Ironman watch as something special. This reminds me, there is something liberating about setting off for a run with no watch of any kind. Try it sometime.

2. Gear

As I plodded through fresh, wet snow on a 16k run yesterday, I thought about how fortunate we are to have tights, high-tech base layers, and Gore-Tex jackets to get us through the worst of our Canadian winter weather. We finished with slightly wet feet, but otherwise we were warm and comfortable. And in the summer, breathable fabrics magically shed water to keep us dry.

Am I the only one that remembers Adidas tracksuits from the 1970s? You know, the gymnast-style pants with the loops that went under your foot? They were made of some strange synthetic fibre whose only attribute was to guarantee to chafe. Or how about cotton T-shirts and sweatpants, which held water like a sponge? Then there were the cringeworthy Dolfin running shorts from the early 1980s. Richard Simmons had nothing on me. Some things are best forgotten – forever.

3. Races

This is probably the category where I’ve seen the biggest changes. Some are good and some are not. I’m thrilled to see so many more races on the calendar than we ever had in the early days. Not only that, races are almost always well-organized now, with proper timing and accurate course measurement. Gone are the days of haphazard planning and poor execution by well-meaning but inexperienced race directors.

But I have to say, there are downsides. I object to shelling out $75 for a race that is, frankly, a pretty minor event. I don’t need a technical T-shirt and a finisher’s medal from each race I run. Sometimes, I’m just there for a quicker pace run, or to get a bit of competition. I’d much rather have the choice of whether to buy the shirt, and I really could do without the medal. Maybe that sentiment underlies the growing Parkrun trend, where runners can show up and run/race, without all the trappings.

4. Participation

For years, the only participants in road races were gaunt, sinewy veterans of the circuit. Even the big races were sparsely attended, and the runners who did show up were all of a certain demographic. Many races went through an existential crisis in the late 1970s, when it became clear that small fields of young adult males didn’t bode particularly well for the future of the sport.

It was the salvation of the sport that running became mainstream starting in the 1980s and 1990s. Frank Shorter is often given credit for enticing a whole generation of new runners to put on a pair of newfangled Nike Waffle Trainers and give it a try. (I think there was more to it, but that’s fine.) Whatever the reason, we should all be thankful, because we are now enjoying the benefits. The starting grid for just about any road race is a healthy cross-section of society, including people of all ages. We’re all better off for it.

It’s Collateral

By any reasonable measure, I shouldn’t be writing this. I shouldn’t be able to do much of anything. And yet, here I sit, thinking and typing. My typing is certainly no worse than it was five years ago. That was before my first running life abruptly ended.

Over the last month, I’ve had an opportunity to push against the limits of my compromised vertebral artery system. Vertebral arteries – “verts” – are the second major set of arteries that supply blood to the brain; the back of the brain to be precise. The verts account for about 20 percent of the total blood supply to the brain. When they are blocked, like mine were, the result is an ischemic stroke.

In 2017, I had a number of transient ischemic attacks, or TIAs, which are often called mini-strokes. The strokes were due to a blockage in my left vertebral artery. The result was a long stay in the Foothills stroke ward in Calgary.

I’ll repeat what I’ve said many times since then: the doctors that deal with stroke patients every day are heroes. I know this firsthand because the Foothills heroes stabilized me and saved my life.

The blockage in my left vertebral artery remains untreated. This is only possible because my body has made a rather ingenious adaptation to the blockage, by building secondary arterial connections to keep blood flowing to my brain. We were able to watch this in real time, on a video taken from an angiogram procedure. It makes for fascinating viewing.

As I pushed through a 16k run in the snow yesterday, or a 20k run in fine weather the Sunday before, I realized that I am a real-life experiment. While I am apparently able to cover these distances without too much trouble, it has not been a straight-line recovery. Just after my hospital stay, I had trouble walking around the block. Slowly but surely, I put my life back together. As you’ll gather from the title of this blog, I call it my second running life.

I barely managed a 500m walk/jog a month after my last TIA. A year later I finished a 5k race side-by-side with my wife. Last year we ran the First Half Half Marathon in Vancouver.  

Now I’m at what I think is my upper limit. I can get through 20k, but not without discomfort. I know I’m at my threshold because my neck/shoulder are generally screaming for me to stop by the end.

Curiously, this is the same symptom I experienced before my strokes, when I was training at a much higher level. The pain was most severe during marathon buildups, and I’m certain that it was the first warning sign of the arterial problems I would have a few years later.

It occurred to me that I could perhaps use these pre- and post-stroke data points to estimate the change (if not the absolute amount) in blood flow to my brain. My assumption is that by comparing the usual measure of maximum oxygen uptake – the “VDOT” – I could arrive at an estimate of the amount of damage done to my vascular system by the strokes.

Before my hospitalization, I was training at a VDOT of between 50-52, based on my being able to run 1:25 to 1:30 for the half marathon. Last year, my wife and I completed a half marathon in 2:06, which suggests a VDOT of about 35. In both circumstances, I would consider myself to have been at my oxygen uptake limit.

Based on these empirical results, it would seem that I’ve experienced a reduction of between 30-35 percent in my ability to process oxygen in competitive running situations.

I’m not sure these estimates would have any value in a clinical setting, or whether it would be useful information in determining the next (if any) course of medical action. But it does make some sense, when you consider that I cannot come close to the kinds of performances I could manage five years ago. Even so, the fact that I can get through a strenuous run or race at all validates what I’ve come to see as the silver lining from this whole episode: I’ve been given a second chance, thanks to the remarkable machine that is my body. I know I mustn’t waste it.