Saturday, 11 June 2016

Pacing in ultras: an analysis of timing data

I run, therefore I'm injured.

It was Puffing Billy that did it. My win against the train came at a cost - a nagging groin injury which I'm only just starting to see the back end of six weeks later. That means I have about six hours a week to try to fill a running-shaped hole in my schedule. I could use those six hours to spend more time with family, or donate my time to a charity. But I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’m going to spend it looking at data. Running data. Ultra running data.

Why? Because I’m a data guy. That’s my job – to look at data and turn it into information. So, what information can I find in the world of running data? Specifically, I’m interested in data from ultra marathons and what it can tell us about those who do well and those who do less well. (Yes, yes, everyone who completes an ultra has done well, but the cold hard fact is, some do better than others. They are races, after all.)

At the outset, I’m going to confess that I offer no guarantee of the statistical validity of my findings. Maybe if I had enough data, I could offer this. But I don’t. Or at least, I can’t be bothered finding enough. Instead, I’ve looked at two of Australia’s biggest 100km races (which couldn’t really be more different in terms of terrain) – UTA 100 (nee: The North Face 100) and the Surf Coast Century. I picked these two events because of (1) the size of the start list and (2) the checkpoint data that’s available for these races.

I wanted to focus on pacing and specifically, which groups did it well and which did it not so well. Did the front runners go out hard and barely hold on? Did the backmarkers take it easy at the start, knowing they had a long day ahead of them? Or was it the opposite? Were women better than men? Old better than young? Did certain parts of the course slow down the back-of-the-packers more, relative to the guys and girls at the front? Or, did it not matter – did fast runners slow down at the same rate as slow runners?

Why the focus on pacing? It just so happens that it’s an area that I’ve worked very hard on in recent years. My main goal in a race is now to perform better in the second half of the race relative to the average runner and runners around my final position – if I don’t do that, I’m disappointed.
Onto the results.

Firstly, UTA 100.

I used the checkpoint data currently available for the 2015 edition of the race to split the race into eight segments, as well as a rough first “half” (0-46km) and second “half” (46-100km). I was first interested in how much longer the second “half” of the race took, compared to the first (remember, the second “half” is actually 17% longer than the first). On average, across all competitors with the relevant data, the average “slow down” was 60% - that is, the 46-100km segment took 60% longer than the 0-46km segment.

It turns out that, on average, there was no difference in the proportional slow down between men (607 runners) and women (171 runners) – both had an average slow down of 60%.

More differences emerged when you looked at the finishing position of the runner. And it’s important here to remember that I’m not comparing overall times – just the rate at which different runners slow down over the race. There’s no rule that says a slow person will slow down faster than a fast person – it’s all about how you judge your own level of effort and endurance. Think about a 10km race – a 34 minute runner and a 60 minute runner can have an identical ‘slow down’ rate if they’re both good at pacing to their ability.

The below chart shows the relationship between finishing position and the rate of slow down. You can see there’s a small correlation between the two.




I think the uptick towards the end of the series (i.e. the final 10% of finishers) is probably down to something more than just bad pacing. These may be people who have injured themselves, or are completely new to ultras and are just doing whatever it takes to finish. Still, it does appear that those at the front of the field are better judges of what is a sustainable pace than those in the middle to the back of the pack.

What’s striking though, is that there are many runners, at whatever position in the rankings, who mix it with the best in terms of percentage slow down. This suggests to me that pacing can be learned and applied to ultras – just because you finish 600th, doesn’t mean the second half of the race is going to be a nightmare compared to the first.

What about age? It turned out that the older you were, the more you slowed down. On first glance this might not sound surprising – but remember, we’re not talking about overall speed here, we are talking about how much runners slowed down relative to their own early splits. And even in the “super masters” category (50-60 years old), there was a healthy proportion of runners who outperformed the average slow down – even those who finished in the bottom quarter of the field. Let’s take another look at that scatterplot, with the different age categories visible.



Remember, the average slow down is 60%. Each age category has plenty below the average and plenty above it. So whilst on average, the older runners slowed down a bit more, at an individual level, it didn’t mean much.

So, where were the different groups slowing down? Was there a particular part of the course where, say, the backmarkers started to slow down more than the leaders, or did the difference just gradually emerge? A little of both. The below chart looks at a few groups of runners sorted into finishing position. It takes their time into checkpoint 1 (10.5km) as a base time and then shows how their race progressed as a multiple of that first split.

For example, if you got to the first checkpoint in one hour and finished in 10 hours, the line would end at 10 on the y-axis. The numbers on the x-axis correspond to the distance at each timing point. If everyone slowed down at the same rate, the lines would all be identical. And the flatter the line, the less you slowed down.



The chart is a little busy, but it’s clear to me that for those at the back of the pack, they really started to slow down after 66km – the last third of the race. The section with the largest spread between the front and back of the pack was between 78-99km. This also happens to include a very long descent followed by a very long climb. And the bottom 50 (that is, the bottom 50 with timing data for all timing points – this was a bit hit and miss) slowed down a LOT in the last kilometre, which I’ve heard (I’ve never done UTA) is a bastard.

Finally, what about the overall distribution of slow down rates? There's a long tail out to the right of the average - if you're in that tail, there could be some improvement to make.



So, what about the comparatively flat and fast Surf Coast Century?

It turns out that most of the conclusions from UTA applied to its flatter Victorian counterpart. Although, in terms of sample size, SCC is much lower (~175 runners with data on all timing points, instead of ~650 for UTA), so the results are even less robust.

The average second half (and this time, it’s pretty much even in terms of halves – 49km/51km) slow down was 24%, with males (122 runners) slowing down by 25% and females (53 runners) 23%. Not much difference there. The second half of SCC is also hillier than the first, so it’s not just fatigue that led to the slow down.

Again, there was a small correlation between finishing position and pacing. But like UTA, lots of variation irrespective of finishing position. Some people in the middle to the back of the pack even went close to a negative split.



There was also the same general trend of the older runners slowing down more, but not by much. The 20-39 year olds slowed down by 23%, 40-49 by 24% and 50-59 by 28%. What’s interesting is that three out of the four runners in the 60+ category averaged 17% or less – putting them in the top quartile of the field in terms of slow down.



Similar to UTA, you see a good mix of younger and older runners finishing the second half strongly relative to the average field slow down (24%). By the way, I hope my Dandenongs Trail Runner comrade Mathieu Doré doesn’t mind me pointing out that he’s the outlier at the front of the field – 13th place, but the biggest slow down in the field! (If I know Mathieu, he’ll have a good laugh about that and then (1) go out and destroy some Strava segments and (2) win a whole bunch of races.)

What about where the gaps started to open up? Here’s the same index chart as UTA. I’ve taken out the top 20 category and changed the bottom 50 to the bottom 20, because of the smaller field.



You can see the front and back of the field really start to diverge after the half way point. As I noted earlier, this is also the hillier section of the course. And in the last 15km (which is pretty much flat along the coast), the back end of the field was struggling. Maybe this was affected by injuries, or maybe the final 15km of a 100km ultra was biting people who went out a bit too fast.

And to round things out, here's the slow down distribution. Again, a longer tail to the right, but for whatever reason, it's a bimodal distribution (two peaks). This is probably just a symptom of the relatively small sample size.



Two different races, very different terrain, but similar conclusions.

So I think what I learned from this exercise is this – for individuals in the race, sex, age and speed don’t matter a great deal when it comes to pacing well in an ultra. On average, sure, it’s better to be in your 20s and fast. But you can be over 50, placed near the back of the pack and finish as strong (relative to your own ability) as the young and fleet of foot.

One final thought – I’m tipping a few of you have read this far and you’re now thinking “So, his conclusion is that older people slow down more and the elite runners know how to pace themselves. But everyone’s different. Whoa! This guy deserves a Pulitzer!” But hey – that’s the thing about data. Sometimes it surprises you and sometimes it doesn’t. But at least the next time you talk to someone about pacing in ultras, you might have some facts to back you up. And plus, I got to play with some data. Win-win.


Monday, 9 May 2016

Puffing Billy's Great Train Race 2016

Thirteen-point-five kilometres.

Two hundred and fifty metres of elevation gain.

These are not words that usually strike fear in the heart of ultra runners. I've been on "recovery" runs longer than 13.5K, with twice the amount of elevation. So why did I have pre-race jitters in my legs and stomach?

Because, thirteen-point-five kilometres with two hundred and fifty meters of elevation gain is a bastard of a distance when you're racing it, that's why. And I was about to re-discover this all over again, having not fronted up to Puffing Billy's Great Train Race since squaring the ledger at 1-1 with the train back in 2012.

In beating the train in 2012, I managed 56 minutes dead, back when the course was 13km. It had since been extended by around 500m, apparently for safety purposes (although the particular part of the course they have cut out seems fine to me). Given there was an extra 0.5km, I was hoping to finish around the same time, i.e. 56 minutes. For that to happen, I'd need to run just under 4:10/km on average, although with the nature of the course, there would have to be a few sub-4 minute kms thrown in there on the downhills.

A good contingent of Dandenongs Trail Runners had made their way to the start line in Belgrave. In the four person 'DTR Rockets' team I was a part of, we had Jonathan Coles, Davern White and Lauren Starr (Coles White Starr - sounds like some private label supermarket brand). Jonathan was with me in the first seeded group, with Davern and Lauren joining the other DTRs in the second group.*

The DTR crew
(L-R: Cassandra, Christian, Cameron, Jonathan, me, Lauren)  

As Jonathan and I lined up nervously near the start line, we observed that the train driver seemed to have his game face on. And he was disconcertingly young - not an old jovial fellow with a big belly and bigger beard (so in other words, he wasn't Santa Claus). If push came to shove, we thought, this driver would have no hesitation doing both. We'd find out just how prophetic that observation would be in a little more than 56 minutes' time.

After the customary rendition of Advance Australia Fair by Mike Brady (no, not that one), we were off, with the first 1.2km a downhill dash to the foot of the first hill. This first climb goes for about 1.7km at 4% and I felt pretty good, averaging 4:10/km on the climb and getting through the first rail crossing ahead of the train. About a kilometre into the following descent, I passed 4km in 15:30 - 35 seconds ahead of my planned split. Hmmm, had I gone out too hard?

There's more descending between the 4km and 5km marker, before the biggest hill on the course, which starts soon after 5km. The hill, the second part of Selby-Aura Road and Menzies Road, is 2.25km at 5% average gradient, but there are sections that are probably 10% or more. I was pushing pretty hard on this hill and passed a number of people, but I was about 5 seconds per kilometre slower than I'd planned, so I was hoping this wasn't the beginning of the end. Just before the Menzies Road section, I went through the second rail crossing and asked a volunteer if we were still ahead of the train. Yes, by about three minutes, came the reply.

The climb dispensed with, there was then a sharp descent (400m @ 12%) to the third rail crossing. Through that, and then a small rise and descent, bringing you to the start of the final climb (it feels weird calling these 'climbs' after what we tackle on the trails, but bear with me, here). Somewhere in that section, I passed my 8km split about 45 seconds ahead of plan. But I was starting to pay for it with my legs feeling heavier and heavier.

The last climb is the most gentle - 1.7km at 3%, but again, there are some steeper sections in it. Near the end of it, at 10km, is the final rail crossing. About 300m before the crossing, a sound entered my consciousness and it took me a while to realise it was a steam engine. That didn't sound like three minutes any more! I focused on the crossing and looked for signs that the volunteers were going to stop the runners. They weren't.... yet. My pace, which had been a steady 4:30/km on this climb, shot up to 3:55/km and I got through the crossing and soon after that, the end of the climb.

That little 300m interval before the crossing felt like it maxed out my legs. As I started the 3km descent to the finish line, there were people passing me and I couldn't respond. I wasn't even looking at my watch any more - splits be damned - I was just focused on running as fast as I could to beat that infernal machine into Emerald Lakeside Park. I could hear its whistle and its engine and you could sense the mild panic starting to spread amongst the runners nearby. I got some sort of rhythm back, though, and as I passed the 12km marker, all I was thinking was "1500m to go - you can do this!".

You enter Lakeside Park at 12.5km with a steep descent. I flew past a few people on the downhill (thankyou, trail running) and cursed the extra distance added to the race. Pushing very hard, it wasn't until I had about 500m to go that I allowed myself to admit that I'd be beating the train. There's a final, very short, sharp rise to the finish line and I passed at least three people struggling up it, but by that stage, I don't think individual places were important - we only cared about beating one specific competitor.

I crossed the line in 55:04, in 142nd place (of 2,742 runners). A PB by one minute, on a course that measured 540m longer than the last time I raced it. To put it in perspective, I later used my GPS data to estimate that I would have run approximately 53:10 on the old course. I always thought a 53:xx time was beyond me. Today, I got lucky, with some good conditions and an injury and illness-free preparation.

About a minute later, I saw the train driver run past the finish line and then I noticed Jonathan, who was out of breath. He explained that the driver pipped him by about 20 metres, after unleashing a devastating sprint on fresh legs in the closing stages. It was still a two minute PB for Jonathan, but his disappointment was palpable after coming so close.** We then saw Davern come in and all three of us were ushered away from the finish area which was getting pretty congested. It started to rain and we headed off to find our bags and warm clothing. A few minutes later, Lauren completed the DTR Rockets' race and we later found out we finished in the top 10 teams (10th of 49). What a performance!

I had entertained the notion of running back to Belgrave after the race, but even before the rain got heavier and the temperature dropped a few degrees, I decided there was no way I was in shape to do that. I had nothing left to give and was just looking forward to putting my feet up and getting a coffee (or three) into me. Lauren and I joined fellow DTR Cassandra and a friend of hers on the first train back, as the inclement weather set in. To say I'd made the right call not to run back is a massive understatement.

So, after the 2016 edition of the Great Train Race, the score reads: Cimdins 2 - 1 Puffing Billy. One part of me would like to retire in front and this year's result gives me a chance to do that. On the other hand, I've got many years of running ahead of me and pulling the pin in my 30s seems a little silly, all for the sake of preserving a lead over a train that could beat me hands down if the driver really wanted to.

The other thing that can't be underestimated when it comes to this event is its point of difference with almost all other races. I will never win a race, unless the field is incredibly thin. In the Great Train Race, however, I'm not really racing the other runners - I'm racing the train. And that's a contest I can win, given the right circumstances. It's hard to explain, but that makes a big difference to me. I feel something that I don't feel when I'm just racing against other runners. And on the two occasions I've crossed the line before the train driver, the sense of satisfaction is enormous. In fact, I'd go so far as to say my 2016 Great Train Race is the high water mark of my short running career.

Wouldn't I want to feel that buzz again? Let's see what the future brings.

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Postscript: it is now a bit more than a week  since I took on the train and this race has left me battered and bruised like no other race of its distance. I have pulled up better from 50km ultras. I arguably pulled up better from the 100km Surf Coast Century. Being in a close race with the train is relentless - when you get to the top of the hills, you just run harder down them to extend your lead or to make up lost time. I guess that's why it's so damned satisfying.

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* Davern did well just to make the start line. A tree across the Metro train tracks just outside Ringwood had Davern and many other runners scrambling for taxis early on Sunday morning. 

** According to the official times of each runner, Jonathan finished with a faster time than the train driver. Maybe he was delirious when he approached the finish line... 

Tuesday, 19 January 2016

...sometimes, the bear eats you

We found the humour eventually. It was inevitable, really, once discussion turned to U.S. politics. In particular, the race for the 2016 Republican nomination (I mean, really...). I won't go into the details, but there we were, reprising Monty Python's The Four Yorkeshiremen routine, somewhere close to the 50km Boneo Road aid station.

Things were not going well. We'd resigned ourselves to missing the 8 hour finish line cut-off, which if anything, had improved our outlook on the rest of the day. If I had to guess how hot it was, I'd say it was about 80 degrees (Celsius). At least, that's what it felt like at the time.

Back when we started the 56km Two Bays Trail Run, seven hours ago, we had planned to be finished by now.* And the first 27km had led us to believe that everything was on track. As the 2km downhill stretch of bitumen leading to the halfway point wore on, however, that plan went out the window. At some point close to half way, the ultra demons started to prey on the body and mind of my running partner and fellow Dandenongs Trail Runner, Chris.

Dandenongs and Lysterfield Trail Runners unite before the start

When we reached the turnaround point, Chris was like a changed man. Maybe I should have noticed some earlier warning signs, backed off the pace and pulled the pin on the 7 hour goal. Or maybe it just hit all at once. This latter scenario was, and probably still is, Chris's official version of events. But Chris is so polite he'd never tell me if I pushed him too hard, to soon. It's a pointless debate anyway - the fact was, I knew then that we were in for a long second 28km.

Like some cosmic riddle, the climb up the bitumen hill at the start of the return leg from Dromana to Cape Schanck didn't seem anywhere near as long as the descent did. But once we entered the National Park and hit the steeper part of the climb up Arthurs Seat, it was Game Over. Chris was struggling to put one foot in front of the other, the steps built into the trail not helping things.

The heat was starting to bite and talk turned to just getting to the next aid station to guzzle some water. When we finally reached it (the small but very cheerful aid station in the Rosebud street section), the volunteers were, as always, eager to help and ask how things were going. We walked into the aid station and walked out of it - running was now something we rarely contemplated.

The type of unconventional assistance offered at Two Bays aid stations
(Photo credit: Adrian Foster)

It was only another 2.5km to the next major aid station, at Browns Road. We continued to yo-yo with some other runners (we're still runners, even if we were walking), as each individual had their bad and good (or at least, not-so-bad) moments. Cresting another hill, we arrived at the aid station.

It could have gone either way. Chris was sitting down on the ground, sharing a few quiet words with yet another wonderful volunteer. At this moment, Chris seemed to me like Schrödinger's cat - both "alive" (still in the race) and "dead" (withdrawn). We just had to wait until someone opened the box.

Berating himself with a quick "Come on, Chris", he got off the ground, thanked the vollies and headed towards the trail. He was alive! A little further on, he told me he'd re-assess at the next aid station. Well that, I told him, was Boneo Road - about 11km from here and 5km from the finish. And there was no way he was pulling out with 5km to go.

So we walked, rested and even ran a little. We discussed nerdy topics like escalator throughput and cricket prediction algorithms. We were slowly ticking off the kilometres, but I don't remember obsessing over it - we both knew we wouldn't be recording an official time today. It was just about finishing.

Evidence that we did run a little
(Photo credit: Phil Larkins. [How good is it!?])

And then, we arrived at the Boneo Road aid station. Or, "paradise", as I like to think of it. A young lad poured some ice down the back of my singlet. One girl poured some iced water over my head, whilst another was jumping up and down, dancing, singing and chanting encouragement. "How do they keep this up?", I thought, gratefully. In fact, these kids seemed to defy the law of conservation of energy - they lost none, yet transferred enormous amounts of it to the runners.** From out of nowhere, a Zooper Dooper was thrust into my hands by some benevolent apparition.

Chris was receiving the same treatment as me and I paused to reflect on the exceptional commitment every volunteer made today to make this run as easy as possible. I mentioned later to Chris how in awe I was of them and he agreed that they once again delivered in spectacular fashion. They deserve all the thanks they get, and more.

The finish line was 5.3km away and we set off to find it. With somewhere between 1-2km to go, 8 hours ticked by. I didn't even notice. We were going to finish and that's all that mattered.

About 500m (?) before the finish line, we were greeted by our personal supporter base - Les, Cheryl, Shawn and Jonathan, who represented the Dandenongs Trail Runners with pride that day. As they accompanied us to the finish line, I joked to myself that it would suck to be DQ'd for employing pacers, but something told me we'd be ok. Just before the eyes of the Two Bays world at the finish line could settle on us, Chris and I broke into a devastating sprint finish to the line and crossed it together arm-in-arm.

Together again. One team.
(From L:R, Jonathan, me, Shawn, Les, Cheryl, Chris)

I'm not sure how many people ended with a DNF against their name that day, but I'm tipping it was much higher than usual. That Chris wasn't one of them is a testament to his determination and strength. Aside from that, he's also a bloody good person.

There's really not that much more to say, so I think I'll leave it there. Chris has already summed up his day here, with far more economy, wit and style than me.

On a final note, an alternative title for this post was "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." That just about sums up my 2016 Two Bays Trail Run.

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* We had started with another friend, also named Chris (the guy in the photo with me at the start line, in the LTR top). At around 13km he was looking good and forged ahead with a mate of his. In a perfect ending, Chris ended up crossing the line in 6:59:38, a mere 21 seconds up his sleeve in his quest for a sub-7 hour finish.

** Ok, that's two physics-related examples I've used, which is very dangerous considering I am not a physicist. There's little doubt I've misused these examples, but please don't feel the need to point out any errors in the comments.

Movescount file: http://www.movescount.com/moves/move89921979