People who analyze these things say that for any given sport, athletes typically achieve their top performance around a certain age and then gradually decline until they retire. Female gymnasts peak in their late teens. Swimmers of both genders peak in their early twenties. Tennis players peak in their early to mid twenties. Soccer, football, baseball, and basketball players peak in their mid to late twenties. Naturally, some athletes don’t fit the normal bell curve, such as swimmer Dara Torres, who won three Olympic silver medals in 2008 at age 41. But most athletes fall pretty close. This article discusses the typical ages of peak performance in various sports and some more detail on how and why athletes improve, peak, and decline.

However, this model assumes that the athlete has trained hard for years prior to the “optimum” age range in order to peak then. On an individual level, the timeline might be different for someone who picks up the sport later in life.

This is good news for me.

Distance runners tend to peak in their late twenties and early thirties. Indeed, in my last 10k a few weeks ago, the overall winner was a 31-year-old man who beat me by 10 minutes. Since I’m in my mid-thirties now, I should be starting my downhill slide into slowness. But I still have hope. I didn’t get serious about running until a couple of years ago. I missed years of training prior to what should have been my best years. So if I work hard, I should be able to keep improving for a while, maybe a few years or even more, until I become the fastest I can be. Fortunately, running is a sport one can do well for decades, and there are 50- and 60-year-olds still run times that I’ll never touch. So it’s not like I’ll suddenly turn into a turtle four years from now.

A day will come when I set my final personal record (PR). I won’t know until afterward, though, when I keep trying to beat it and never succeed, and I finally accept that I’ve crested the hill. That will be a bittersweet realization. After that, I’ll run every race expecting to finish behind the young phantom Andy who’s waiting for me at the finish line, swigging Gatorade and checking his mile splits on the iPhone.

But I haven’t peaked yet. I can still do better. I can still get stronger and go faster. I can still improve my technique and run more efficiently. I can still add fuel to the fire.

And I will.

This October, I plan to turn 34 years old. What better way to celebrate than by running through the gorgeous woods of East Texas? I’ve signed up for Whispering Pines Trail Run, a 25k (15.5 mile) run through beautiful Tyler State Park on October 13. This race is awesome because:

• It’s a long trail run in East Texas in October!
• It’s cup-free, meaning each runner needs to bring a water bottle or pouch so we don’t trash the park with thousands of ugly water cups.
• It’s cheap for a race like this.
• The organizers are really enthusiastic and eco-friendly.
• The official shirt is bamboo and organic cotton.

Jenny and I will spend the weekend in the Tyler area and might visit some wineries or try something cultural after the race. Whatever we do, it will not involve much walking.

The only true trail races I’ve done were 5k, and this one will be even farther than my half marathon. It will definitely test my limits. But I think I can make it if I slow down and walk more, especially with six months to train. This race will be more about the experience than about going fast.

Ninety percent of this game is half-mental. – Yogi Berra

I never had much interest in NASCAR. Someone said NASCAR can be boiled down to four words: “Go fast. Turn left.” From what I could tell from intermittent glimpses at the TV, that was an accurate assessment. But then a NASCAR fan tried to explain what’s going on behind the scenes – the timing of pit stops, which maintenance to perform during each stop and the tradeoffs involved, the strategy of pacing oneself and managing the race well, how to make a move at the right time. Finally, I could understand the appeal. There’s a lot more to racing than keeping the gas pedal down for hundreds of laps.

Running races is very similar. To a non-runner, it might seem that racing is simply putting one foot in front of the other as fast as possible. However, as with NASCAR, there’s a lot more going on behind the scenes, largely in the runner’s head. Prior to the race, the runner develops a race plan that includes prep before the race, getting there, the race itself, and recovery. Pacing is one of the most important elements of the plan. It’s also one of the hardest to master.

Cruise Control

As far as I understand, a race car can run at full speed until it runs out of gas or its engine overheats. The human body doesn’t work that way. We can only truly run at full speed for a short distance, perhaps 100-200 meters. That’s why the 100 meter dash is the shortest and most prestigious running event and the male winner is known as the World’s Fastest Man. Currently that man is Usain Bolt, who averaged 23.4 mph during his record-setting sprint. That’s insane. I can’t maintain that speed on my bike without a tailwind or a downhill slope.

However, past about 200 meters, the human body can’t maintain that speed. The longer the distance, the slower a runner’s best possible speed must be over that distance. So a runner has two choices:

1. Run as fast as possible for as long as possible (max effort available at that moment, which declines over time)
2. Run the fastest speed that is sustainable over the full distance

Option 2 is actually faster than Option 1. If a runner starts at full speed, he’ll run out of juice and slow down considerably in the latter part of the race, producing a slower overall time compared to a consistent, fast pace. The elite runners generally run a very consistent pace from lap to lap and mile to mile, like they’re on cruise control. Ideally, they may even get faster as the race progresses, an achievement known as negative splits, the sign of a disciplined runner.

However, if a runner starts too slowly, he can cost himself some time because he won’t be able to go fast enough toward the end to catch up to his ideal overall pace. For instance, suppose his target pace is 8:00 min/mile for a 6.2 mile race (just under 50 minutes total). He plays it safe and runs the first four miles at 9:00 min/mile. He’ll have to run the final 2.2 miles at 6:21 min/mile, a pace that he probably can’t sustain.

Racers need to leave something in the tank for the end of the race, but not so much that anything is left at the end if they want to achieve their best possible time. They need to burn their last bit of useful energy as they cross the finish line. It’s a delicate balancing act.

The Sweet Spot

To get there, when training for a race of a given distance, the runner must estimate how fast he can realistically go and what his target pace is for that particular race. That’s one reason runners log so many miles and try so many different speeds. Finding the sweet spot takes some trial and error. If he starts out too fast, even just a bit too fast rather than full speed, he’ll wear out before the race is over and slow down to well over his target pace, resulting in a disappointing finish. This is a common mistake that I still commit myself.

In addition to knowing his body, it helps to know about other factors that will affect his pace on race day:

• Course – Is it hilly or flat? Paved or trail? A flat, paved course is significantly faster than a hilly, dirt trail where footing is unpredictable.
• Weather – What will be the temperature when the race starts and ends? Cool weather is best for running. Above 65 degrees, the body becomes less efficient at cooling itself off. I slow down noticeably above 70-75 degrees compared to 40-50. Will it be windy? A headwind can slow the runner down more than a tailwind speeds him up. Will it rain? Wet courses require a slower pace due to the poor footing. No one wants to leave the race with a broken ankle.
• Other Racers – A popular, crowded race means more runners to dodge and a slower pace, especially at first before the runners spread out. Small races are best for setting personal best times.
• Aid Stations – Does he plan to stop for water, electrolyte drinks, and/or snacks? Or can he carry what he needs? Obviously, any stops increase the time. I try to carry my water and any gels with me so I don’t need to stop.

On top of all these factors, the excitement and adrenaline of race day works against runners in terms of pacing. When the starting horn sounds, and they finally get to begin the race for which they’ve been training over several weeks or even months, they feel like someone just opened the gates at Disney World. They don’t feel like being slow and methodical and disciplined. They want to MOVE. Even if they try to hold back, many of the other runners do not, especially in a large race. It’s like being caught in a flash flood, a massive surge of bodies pulling runners along whether they like it or not.

Pacing is tricky. I’m still working on it. In my race Saturday morning (Run for Cover 10K in McKinney), I started out a bit too fast, got tired, and slowed down in the final mile. I missed my goal by about 35 seconds. So I signed up for another 10K in two weeks, hoping to redeem myself. This time I’ll tweak my plan based on what I learned yesterday morning and in all my other races. I hope to force myself to slow down at first so that I can kick it up a notch in the second half. I’ll also push myself to give just a little bit more at the end so there’s nothing left in the tank.

The true way to be humble is not to stoop until you are smaller than yourself, but to stand at your real height against some higher nature that will show you what the real smallness of your greatness is. – Philip Brooks

Now that I’ve pretty much maxed out in terms of running distance – I doubt I’ll ever attempt a marathon, and I’m (mostly) OK with that – there’s only one main way to challenge myself in future races: running the same distance faster. So I started looking into how to go fast, picked up some suggested workouts, and drove to the high school track.

I suppose I’m now a passable distance runner. However, since I never ran track as a kid, I had never gotten timed in some of the basic distances that you see in the Olympics or a local track meet. Being a data nerd, I was curious to see how fast slow I really am. With all the miles I’ve done and all my hard work, perhaps I had built up my legs enough that I could be…maybe not fast, but at least respectable at shorter distances, right? So I warmed up and fired off three full-out sprints.

After my 40-yard “dash”, I started laughing and realized that this experiment would not go well. First, I tweaked my left hamstring, which wasn’t used to full sprints. Second, there are two kinds of muscle tissue:

• Fast-twitch for going really fast over a short distance
• Slow-twitch for going slower over a long distance

Turns out I’m a little short on fast-twitch muscle fiber.

I had no illusions of becoming Usain Bolt or Michael Johnson, but wow. Here’s a chart of the times for a world-class athlete and for me:

Why am I telling you this? Not self-pity. Not to fish for compliments from my family about how wonderful and fast I am. Not to criticize myself for coming up short. After my first humbling sprint, the 40-yard, I realized how fast the world-class sprinters really are, and it filled me with admiration. Although I felt like I was working extremely hard and felt the wind rushing past me and saw the astroturf blur beside me, compared to a real sprinter, I was a turtle. By the time I finished my 100m dash, Bolt would already be doing his Bolt pose and a victory lap with the Jamaican flag. By the end of my 400m, Michael Johnson would already be sipping champagne in an ice bath after two obligatory interviews and a full stretching routine.

Unless you’re world-class in something and trying to win a championship or gold medal (and let’s be honest – if you are truly that awesome, you’re probably too busy becoming awesome to read my little blog, right?), you probably need a more realistic goal just like me. My goal is simple:

To be myself well

I don’t have to compete against you or anyone else in the things I want to do. Unless my competition is Brenden and Jonathan, I will never win a race outright. I’m not trying to climb the ladder at work or get elected to office. I’m just trying to do my thing, and do it well.

One of the most important things my mom ever told me was to simply do my best with what I have and be happy with the result. If my best was an A or a first-place finish or a green belt, then I should go for that. If my best was a C or an honorable mention, that was always good enough.

I’ve been really successful in some areas and really unsuccessful in others. But in all my pursuits, there’s always someone better – faster, more articulate, better looking, funnier, smarter, stronger, whatever-er. Even if you are the absolute best in the world at something, it’s still only for a time. Your abilities will decline someday and someone else will take over your title. While I greatly admire their achievements, I’m content to just be little old me – faster than some, slower than others, and happy where I am.