Running bare

The training plan calls for an 11-mile run. The race I’m training for is in the US, so I train in miles, instead of kilometers. It’s easier to get used to the pace and distance markers this way.

I slide the iPhone in the belt-pouch and set iSmoothRun app to call out the distance through the headphones. Then I put on the wrist chronometer, gloves and hat and I’m off. The pace is supposed to be 7:40 – 8:00 per mile. As soon as I’m out the door my feet slip from under me and I stay upright only because I’m still holding onto the door knob. It was raining over night, then the temperature plunged below freezing. A thin film of ice covers every surface. Gingerly, I slip-slide across the driveway and out into the alley, then turn on the sidewalk. It feels like skating without skates. Only when I reach the busier roads does my stride start resembling actual running. For the first mile it takes 8:48, the next one 8:15. The voice from the running app complains that I’m badly off the pace. I argue with the recording, explaining it’s impossible to hold the pace in this conditions. It persists that I’m too slow. Finally I’m fed up. I skid to a stop and slide the knob to “mute.” The rest of my run plays out uneventfully in silence. Pouring over the stats after run, I notice that, strangely, my pace picked up when I switched off the audio cues. I wonder if I could complete the remainder of my training plan without the tracking device.

In the era when we can track everything from sleep to heartbeat, when the gadgets can analyze on the fly the biomechanics of our stride and chemical structures in our sweat, some top coaches and runners are deciding to go bare, or data-free. And if the people to whom every second of improvement counts think that too much data is counter-productive, why should I be so obsessed with it?

My little escapade on the ice made me take a metaphorical step back and consider how enslaved I’ve become with the running data. Obviously, neither the training plan nor the tracking device can factor in the weather (maybe one day!) which seriously slowed the speed and dulled the effort during my run. A seasoned runner will adjust training to present conditions. But, if the data is available at a glance, there will be that voice in your head, whether it’s your own conscience or a pre-recorded one, which will nag you about going too easy. How much it really matters in reality? Probably not much.

If you’re on a mission to radically improve your time, the data matters. It shows the improvement and builds the confidence you need. It’s especially important for speedwork. If you don’t have a coach, a gadget can push you through the workout, signalling intervals and recovery time. Just remember to keep assessing how you feel and be ready to ignore the insistent beeps when you’re too tired. As for me, other than for speedwork, I use it only to analyze the training after the fact. That way I learn to run by feel and adjust the effort next time without a voice snapping at me.

Just because we can track everything doesn’t mean that we should. The upside of running “bare” is that training is fun again. Instead of constantly adding numbers in my head, I am much more aware of my surrounding and take more pleasure in it. After all, whether I’ll go a few minutes faster or slower at the race will depend more on the factors on the day of the race than if I followed the prescribed plan to the letter.

Try it: unshackle yourself from the data and re-discover the real freedom. And, if you still want to know how you’ve done, keep the tracker running in the background and check it when you’re back home.