You need to run 600 yards to run a mile

1,800 feet of hell

As far back as elementary school, I've struggled with running fast paces over long distances. I really did try. In fifth grade, I ran the 50 yard dash for the track team and even placed first in my town for the standing broad jump (still the apex of my athletic career). These events were part of the Presidential Physical Fitness test that every kid had to take to pass gym class. Running 150 feet and jumping six feet was relatively easy. It was the 600-yard timed run around the field that haunted me all the way through high school.

I wasn't alone. We all dreaded the “Six Hundred”, a seemingly endless distance. Now that I have some perspective, I realize that 600 yards is a mere third of a mile. One and a half quarter repeats! I actually remember my high school time (2:12, the temperature of boiling water : ) that put me right in the middle of the pack. What was regarded then as a mediocre time actually calculates to a 6:27 pace. If only I had more perspective back in those days. At the time, all I could think about was the painful burning in my throat and the relief that it was finally over.

A recent suggestion by my running and blogging buddy She Is Out Running brought back memories of the Six Hundred. SIOR proposed that she, TPP and I do a timed mile run. I thought that was a great idea. I've come to terms with my race times slipping over the past few years, but I’m still achieving credible times when I do repeats. A mile distance is a great way to see how far I can push my anaerobic capabilities.

Intervals (for most of us) are a combination of short but intense bursts of speed, followed by a similarly short jog or rest. The biggest challenge of running a flat-out mile will be to sustain that intensity for a much longer period. I can go full speed for 200 meters and maintain a 180 SPM cadence through a full quarter. After that I begin to fade. Maybe that was why running the 600 as a sprint was always so difficult.

The fastest mile I can remember running was a 7:51 at Long Beach that led to my 10K PR. I'd started at the front with all the hollow-eyed ectomorphs who took off at the gun like whippets. I was passed by a lot of people and thought I was having an off day. When I saw the Mile 1 timing clock, I realized those speedsters were running six and seven minute miles. So that's why people use pacers!

Maybe speedsters SIOR or TPP can do a pace lap for me when I do my timed mile. I'd return the favor, but I fear my 6:27 days are far behind me.

I did my run, so why do I feel guilty?

Today's run (street): 1.2 miles

I know that I give up some performance when I get up and run at 4:00 AM. I know this because I typically do better on mornings when I put an hour or more between waking and running. There's probably a physiological explanation for that. Let's assume there is. Still, it bothers me when I go out and run at a moderate pace and see that I've averaged on the high side of 9:00.

Since I'm tapering for the Dirty Sock run on Sunday I decided to go out fast this morning. The bargain I made with myself was that I'd only run a mile or so. That got me out the door on a day when I really wanted to remain in bed and finish the sleep that was interrupted by my alarm. I took off faster than normal but not in a sprint, as I would have were I doing intervals. I stepped up my cadence after 30 seconds and tried to generate some speed.

I hit the mile mark at around 8:37/mile which is a 5K race pace for me. I really pushed as I completed the loop back to my house and finished my short run averaging 8:28 overall. Good, not great. In the end my satisfaction with my performance was somewhat deflated by the guilt of running less than half my normal distance. I guess that's why we call it a taper.