The very latest
The Elusive Tempo Run
Over the years I ran track at Dickinson and of all the so-called tempo runs we did, I would guess that less than 10 were at the appropriate effort level. Unfailingly, we ran them too hard. For us, as for many runners, tempo runs were not a chance to raise our lactate threshold and improve our ability to run fast without accumulating lactic acid, but a way to predict race times. We would say, "Well, if I can run such time over such distance in a tempo run then I should be able to run such time in a race." As a result, I've run most of my tempo runs at almost race effort. This, like drinking too much beer and making out with someone ugly, is a common mistake and equally stupid.
I remember the first workout of my junior cross country season. We ran a 5 mile "tempo" in 27:58. This was a ridiculous time for two reasons: 1.) it was hard and uncomfortable and competitive and I could taste hard-boiled eggs the last couple of miles, and 2.) my first race of the year a week later was a 5 miler in 27:13 or so. This should have demonstrated to me and my teammates, especially those who ran more slowly in the race than I did but who ran the same time on the "tempo", that the "tempo" wasn't anything of the sort. However, who, of a group of 18-21 year old males, all engaged in a competitive activity, is going to say, "Hey, guys, you know that really encouraging tempo run we did last week? The one that convinced us we were all 26:30 runners? Let's not run that fast next time." For one thing, despite the fact that all of us felt like shit on that run, none of us was willing to admit it, because to admit that a tempo run felt too hard was like saying it felt like a race, which was like saying everyone who didn't feel like it was a race was in better shape than you. For another thing, none of us had any idea what the purpose of a tempo run is or what it should feel like. I mean, we had been told that it should feel comfortably hard (interpreted as: if you can just barely keep running a certain pace and breathe, that's tempo pace) and that each mile should be 30-45 seconds slower than race pace. To us this meant that if you could run a certain time in a tempo run, all you had to do was subtract a conservative 30 seconds per mile from that time and, voila! There's your race pace. It did not seem to matter that we were all gasping at the end and couldn't have run much more than 30 seconds faster for the entire distance. We had faith that our bodies would obey the indisputable evidence of the tempo run. Wiser runners would have run the first tempo run of the season much more conservatively and a wiser coach would have pulled our asses off the track.
A tempo run at the correct pace or even run too easy early in the season would prevent some ways of thinking and training which could lead to a runner suffering from a season of times which grow slower rather than faster, like so many a season I've gutted out and which that one became. Even though it makes sense in the short term not to run a tempo too fast, just because it can take several days or even longer to recover from and because it could interfere with other workouts, the psychological effects can last even longer. This may sound exaggerated, but it isn't. It's like seeing your parents having sex. It screws with your mind for a long time.
Not that that ever happened to me.
This is what happened to me. After running 27:58 on the track for five miles I immediately set myself up for disappointment by assuming that my race pace should be at least half a minute faster - about 5:10 pace, or 25:50 for 5 miles. Ok, so maybe I wasn't that dumb, but I figured 26:30-45 was easily in the cards given that it would be on grass and up hills and other things that tend to slow a person down. When I didn't even run under 27 minutes I wondered what had gone wrong. Why had I died in the race and run the last mile at the same pace I had run my tempo at? A smarter runner (and he existed like a schizophrenic voice in my head which I tried to ignore even then) would have backed up and reached the conclusion that the tempo run was too fast for my current fitness level and would have run much, much slower the next time. Not me though. 2 prior years of 2nd tier college education carrying a $50,000 price tag didn't seem to be doing much good. Apparently I was going to be a stupid person until they gave me the diploma and I became a graduate (While that turned out to be the case, I really don't think the diploma deserves all that much credit).
I don't remember the exact time on the next tempo run but it was close to the first one and even harder. The next race was slower than the first. In fact, I never ran as fast in a race or a tempo as I did for the remainder of that season. That should be the first sign that something is seriously screwed up with one's training: one doesn't get any better, instead, one gets worse. If you find this happening you should reevaluate whether or not you should actually be a runner. It's much easier to run slower and slower by drinking beer and not running. Why waste all that energy? Tonight, though, I was smart. I decided to start out at about 6:55 pace and see how I felt. Part of me was objecting to the passing thought of running that slowly. After all, that used to be recovery pace at one time. The first mile was 6:52, a little quicker than I had wanted, but more importantly I felt relaxed. Just by being realistic, I avoided the most common pitfall of tempo-runners: trying to make a tempo predict a race time rather than running the tempo at a pace that will train my body correctly and help me run faster. The second mile was 6:46, again, a little faster than I had planned, but I still felt very good, and because my goal time had been conservative, I hadn't dug myself a hole early. The third mile was 6:40 and I still felt fine. I decided to push it a little in the last mile and surprised myself with a pretty easy 6:18 mile. Now, I wonder what that means I can run for 5k...