Author: Admin

CHAPTER XXIII

FOOD   OR   FADS

LET’S give theories, statistics and all that a miss, and have a casual look at diet from the ordinary active athlete’s point of view. What ought he to eat, when, and what effect does the food have on his abilities ?

You realise of course that every item of your physical make-up requires energy to keep it going ; even when you’re asleep heart, lungs, digestion and other odds and ends are all busy. According to the state of your health you have a large or small reserve of energy which can be drawn on at any time for any particular purpose. But first of all your physique (via the subconscious mind) will demand its quota whether you like it or not ; after that you may please yourself how you dispose of what’s left.

When you eat anything you have to supply energy to the organs which deal with the food, the amount depending chiefly on the sort of stuff you have given them. If it is of a very light and easily digestible character the expenditure may be almost negligible ; if it is heavy the requirements will be considerable. Your ” works,” via those of your ancestors from the time of Adam and Eve, know their job better than you do, and will either attend to it properly or refuse to tackle it at all—the margin between ” yes ” and ” no ” is pretty slight. Provided you’ve got the energy to spare and allow your works what they need, they will carry on in the very best style. But if you try to sidetrack what they reckon is theirs, they will get annoyed at once and start to kick ; continue with your robbery and they will call a lightning strike—you will vomit. It’s just a matter of plain commonsense ; if you don’t know what’s good for them, they do ; and they’re not going to waste time trying to make good your mismanagement.

But it’s not always like this. Sometimes you give them a dollop of fuel that doesn’t require much handling—sugar for instance. This seems to need so little in the way of assimilation that you can almost immediately let fly all your available energy in any direction, and your works won’t even hint at dissatisfaction. It’s useful to know this, as there are times when you badly need a bit of stoking to renew failing energies, and it is all important what effect the fuel will have.

Quite the best way to take sugar under these circumstances, and the quickest too, is to dissolve it in a short drink, either hot or cold, according to the atmospheric temperature. Diluted fruit juices, tea or coffee seem to be the most suitable for this purpose, for they give no hint of trouble, though it’s as well to remember that without sugar they are not really effective—it’s their sugar content that makes them worthwhile. By the way, don’t try and substitute glucose for sugar ; no matter what the text-books tell you it’s not in the same street so far as merit is concerned.

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On the other hand milk, meat-extracts, cocoa and similar concoctions require a great deal more attention from the digestive system and are therefore quite out of place while further abnormal activities are in sight. Any of these drinks are perfectly good and healthy when you’ve got time to relax considerably while our innards get busy with them ; but commonsense tells you that when there’s no spare energy to apportion to the organs it’s useless to give them stuff that will call for it. It is unfortunate that our athletic authorities frequently supply dope of this sort to marathon runners during a race, just when it is most necessary to avoid it.

Even the most luxurious steak-and-kidney pie won’t hinder you for a moment if you are content to allow your digestion its normal quota of energy while you carry on with what’s left. You can put away a first-class feed of any sort and immediately get up and run, provided you are in reasonable training of course. But as there’s not in this case a lavish supply of surplus vim the running has got to be of a very casual nature, no more than a comfortable trot of some seven miles to the hour. You already know that you can walk quite comfortably immediately after a big meal, and you can trot just as serenely when you’re in training. Meat extracts, cocoa or anything else may be taken as a drink with this meal, and still there will be no ill-effects whatever so long as you stick to an easy jog-trot. Every day I set off for my training run immediately after a breakfast of porridge, eggs and bacon, toast and marmalade and probably two cups of tea. Of course this sort of thing applies only to cross-country and long distance practice ; if you’re out on the track for anything between hundred yards and three or four miles you’ll need to be more circumspect with regard to the previous meal ; relatively fast work spells greater expenditure of energy in much less time, and proper allowance must be made for this. That’s why much more time must be allocated to digestion in the case of shorter distances than is necessary for long-distance work.

A long period of meticulous experimenting taught me that a simple unchanging diet is not nearly as productive of energy as a varied one, as you can prove for yourself if you like to try. Also that a vegetarian menu is not as good as a meat one unless you actually prefer it. You didn’t make your likes and dislikes with regard to various foods, Nature managed the business for you ; Nature generally knows what is needed, and what is needed is right. Saddle your digestion with anything you seem to fancy and you need have no qualms.

It comes to this, then ; so long as you are not about to race you can eat anything you like : the mere fact that you like a thing is proof that it is good for you so long as you don’t indulge to excess. To eat stuff that you don’t like or don’t care about is only loading your stomach with unwelcome goods, and it won’t get through its business with any enthusiasm, what’s more it won’t fail to object if you persist. You can take it as gospel, then, that particular dieting for athletes can be spatchcocked once and for all ; exercise, eat and drink like a healthy man and that’s what you will be.

CHAPTER XXII

TACTICS

AS I write this I sit ” choked off.” Very much so indeed ; every bit as much as can be implied politely. In fact I’m told several times over that I am arguing from a false position and that I am completely mistaken and entirely wrong because I don’t understand the subject. And the man who tells me this is a fairly well-known athlete. (KB.—” Methinks the gentleman protesteth too much.”)

Now I’ll admit it’s quite on the cards that he is right ; the mere fact that I think otherwise has nothing to do with it for the moment. But I rely always on the judgment of mature thought, so will leavo it to my readers to decide which of us has steered nearer to the truth.

The subject in question was ” tactics ” as applied in track and road races. My point was that, as practised and taught, they should be eliminated altogether. My choker-off was convinced they were, to use his own words : ” Essential to success.” The best thing I can do now is to put all my cards face up on the table and leave it to you to decide the issue. To start off let me say right out what my definitions of ” tactics ” and ” judgment ” are. I consider judgment refers solely to your own action and that when others enter into it you employ tactics to influence or counteract their action ; judgment for oneself only, tactics for oneself plus others.

Perhaps the best way I can get to work will be to quote from my correspondence : I have had many letters on the subject, not all of them admonitory. And then I can trot out my reasons for considering where we ought to improve. Here’s a specimen : ” Perhaps it is your connection with the pro’s years ago that gives you the idea that tactics implied several men ‘ ganging up ‘ to interfere with some other competitors to let another win.” I had of course been referring to what is called amateur sport, for in England we hear very little indeed of any other and are intentionally ” sheltered ” by our authorities from anything else so far as track and road athletics are concerned. What I had hinted at was that the phrase ” boxed in” had become quite understood and that such a misadventure really happened at times. I can pass over the implied stigma on professionals because the writer had, according to his own statements, never had anything to do with

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professionals and therefore couldn’t know much about them. However I, a professional runner in my later days, had always found my ” pro ” competitors precisely as decent in every way as the best amateurs, which is saying something. (N.B.—Do you hear complaints about the sportmanship of ” pro ” cricketers or footballers ?) But I’ll admit I’ve met many a fellow, NOT because they were amateurs but because their numbers so vastly exceeded the pro’s, who did not come up to my idea of the usual sportsman— fellows who looked forward to winning their events by any sort of trickery so long as it could not be called fouling.

If you haven’t seen men boxed in you’ve certainly heard about it and, except for a second or so, this sort of thing should be next door to an impossibility among decent athletes. I’ve been in that unfortunate position myself for a moment on occasions, but a touch on the arm of the outside man was quite sufficient to tell him I wanted to get out and I never knew it to fail. Others, I have every reason to believe, have known it to fail, but that was only because they were unfortunate enough to be involved with some who didn’t know the real meaning of sport. The fact remains that the phrase ” boxed in ” wouldn’t be so universally known and used unless such a thing had happened fairly frequently.

The writer in this particular instance goes on to say : ” This is not what we know as tactics and I have never known such ‘ tactics ‘ resorted to in our sport.” How was it that he had never known what everyone else knew—what everybody else had coined the phrase ” boxed in ” to describe ?

Here’s another excerpt for you. ” Our idea of tactics is judgment, getting the best out of oneself in relation to the rest of the field.” I disagree right away with the inclusion of those last eight words, except that I readily admit that tactics, as practised, are alterations in one’s action to attune with alterations in the conduct of others. As I am of the opinion that under no circumstances, unless quite unavoidable, should you pay any attention to the rest of the field during a race, this sentence should have read only ” getting the best out of oneself.” That, and that only, is exactly what I approve of : surely that’s your sole purpose in racing ?

You don’t need to be told, you know very surely that to get the best out of any subject you must concentrate on that subject ; any division of your attention to outside affairs at the same time will weaken your concentration and bring about an impaired lesult. Right ; apply that to racing. I say you should concentrate on your best running—practice will have taught you just about what your optimum pace will be—and ignore completely, so far as you are able, all other competitors ; that to make any alteration ” in relation to the rest of the field ” is to waste your own time and effort at the very moment when these are most urgently needed for the purpose of doing your very utmost. There is only one ” best ” that you are capable of, and any unnecessary change from that set speed involves loss of time that can never be made good. That is one of my chief reasons for suggesting the entire

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elimination of tactics. There can be only one ” best ” as far as you are concerned—YOUR best ; therefore every time you divert your attention to others you are dividing your energies between yourself and them instead of concentrating all on yourself. That was why I disagreed with the writer’s definition of useful (?) tactics. His reason for his opinion, in the light of what I have said above, will show you what sort of teaching we have had to put up with until now. He says : ” Your lack of experience in middle-distance running is no doubt the reason why you do not appreciate the vast difference between a race such as an 880 yards and one of 50 miles. In the shorter event you must take note of what your opponents are doing.”

Having been told off like this I thought it might strengthen my position if I gave the writer chapter and verse of the sort of tactics I was up against, the sort he said never occurred. I had no difficulty about that ; I just quoted a few sentences from an article on road running by an international man written approximately at the same time as our letters. Here are the tactics advocated : ” Don’t rush at the bottom of a hill but always try to encourage an opponent to do so. If you wobble a bit and look round fearfully you are quite likely to entice a man behind into making a big effort.”

If that’s not attempting to make a man do less than his best I don’t know what is. And to implement it you’d have to do less than your own best, would have to waste energy on trickery when you needed every bit of it for running. Yet I was told the same evening by another athlete—with a long career behind him—that he considered these tactics perfectly fair and above-board and could see nothing but commonsense about them. I applied all the arguments I have given you above but with no effect at all; he was convinced that such tactics were usually taught and were ” all part of the game.” To hammer his point home he wanted to know what you wore a head for if it wasn’t to help you to win. I left it at that, for I reckoned that until he was able to think logically there wasn’t the slightest hope of convincing him that such tactics were NOT in the interests of clean sport.

Mind you, I’m not blaming these men for what I think are mistaken opinions ; I know well enough they are quite sincere and have nothing but the best intentions. All that I can hope is that sooner or later the opinions of those who are able to reason more purposefully will compel them to look into and reconsider much of the faulty teaching that we were all brought up on. I also pointed out to this second man that we are all agreed on the necessity for progress, but that you couldn’t get progress without change. If only for that reason any proposed change should be given careful consideration.

Here’s another point of view where a correspondent looked at things one way while I found I was definitely on the opposite side. This time the reference was to a recent race where, as he admitted, a, second-rate man won, decisively beating four others, all of whom 

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were acknowledged to be faster merchants. It was pointed out that this second-rater won on his merits because he used the tactics he had been advised to employ.

Here are the chief details of the event. “A” is a strong runner but without the speed possessed by many of our best men ; the strong rugged type, coming through fast at the finish. If it was a fast-run race (he was taught), ” hang on to the leaders as long as possible and use your strength over the latter stages to hold on to the leaders as long as you can ; if a slow-run race (880 yards) go all the way from the bell (half-way).” When the next event came off the competitors included ” B,” ” C,” “,D ” and ” E ” and all these men had the beating of “A.” The race was run very slowly, first lap being 62 2/5ths. At the bell “A” dashed to the front and went ” hell-for-leather ” all the way. ” E ” followed him but could not close the gap of 1½ to 2 yards ” A ” had opened up. Then the others suddenly realised that they were getting a bit too far in front to make it comfortable and went after them. But try as they did they failed to catch “A” and ” E.” ” B ” did come through very fast to capture third place and was fast catching up on the leaders. At that point it was assumed I’d agree that “A” won on his merits. I did not, however. To my mind “A’s ” merits would have placed him in fifth position, since there were four others known to be his temporary masters at the game. These four, in my opinion, lost their places because they employed tactics ; they went very much slower in the first lap than they could have decently managed, each intending to outwit the other with a sudden and surprising burst later on towards the finish. Had each of them gone at his best racing pace from the start “A,” who was not so fast a man would have been left behind at once and could never have caught up. Had “A” tried to stay with them he would probably not even have finished, for he would have been run to a standstill in the first half.

When you take the circumstances into account I’ll agree that perhaps “A” deserved to win ; they were all trying to trick each other and, as trickery and not running was the first consideration, “A’s ” tactics came out on top. Actually what really happened only went to show what a disastrous mistake the other four had made in using tactics at all. “A,” to my mind, didn’t ” win on his merits ” but won because of the lack of merits on the part of his rivals. He could never have won up to that time against any of those four had sheer running ability without tactics been the order of the day, so the victory can’t have been an altogether satisfactory one either from his or his rivals’ points of view. From all of which I would argue that the use of tactics, relative to others, once more proved quite unworthy of consideration. What’s your verdict ?

CHAPTER XXI

WHEN ARE  YOU AT  YOUR BEST ?

IT was on the tip of my tongue to reply ” Never ” in reply to the above question, but I remembered just in time that it might not be strictly correct. All the same it would be fairly accurate to say that you never really know when you’re in top form ; you can only gather an impression from the results achieved. A youngster may feel good enough to tackle anything, and yet blossom out as a miserable failure because mental exuberance overcame his commonsense and made him squander his abilities instead of con­serving them for the right time—a proof that his mental department, anyhow, was by no means at its best.

In any case your ” best ” is no more than a temporary affair. Last week you may have put up a more exhilarating show than ever, but it’s always on the cards that you’ll eclipse even that effort if you get on with the work instead of—as so many do—wallowing in a binge of satisfaction.

Age of course has a lot to do with it. No one will deny that around 1927-28 Nurmi was about at his summit over the mile, or that he had lost a trifle of speed and was ahead of everyone else at the marathon distance ten years later. Yet, judging from my own experience, I’m almost certain Nurmi never produced his

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absolute best ; temporary and local conditions always provided a fly for the ointment when he had to compete. Had he been able to get officials together at half an hour’s notice and race at the time he himself would have chosen, I’m pretty sure he would have astonished us even more than he did.

If I say that, it’s because I learnt very definitely after years of training that an estimation of my own condition could never be relied on to the last limit, for there were occasions now and then, often quite unsuspected till they cropped up, when I could have done better than ever if only a race had chanced to coincide at that time.

As usual, I have to dig into my memory to supply pertinent examples. I remember that at Hamilton in Canada, where, by the way, the first Empire Games were held, Gavuzzi and I had been for some months without anything serious in the way of competition, for we were getting ready to tackle records ; forty miles in his case and twenty-four hours for me. I had already gathered in the ” 40 ” on several occasions and knew therefore pretty well what was wanted ; but as Gavuzzi had not as yet ever made an attempt, he came out for a daily spin of from twenty-five to thirty-five miles with me. About a month before the event, while out on the road and only ten miles from our quarters—we had already covered twenty miles at an average of 8½ to the hour—I suggested that while we still had plenty of time in hand he’d better get a sample of exactly what would be required when the occasion arose. He agreed it would be as well and told me to travel at racing speed for the next few miles just to see what it was like. Although on principle I object altogether to racing during training, I don’t think that a moderate fling like this does a fellow any harm at all, provided, of course, he doesn’t make a habit of it.

Now, though neither of us realised it at the moment, Gavuzzi was not quite in his usual fettle, whereas I found work somehow easier than ever, and was evidently in top-class trim. Anyway I set off at a good ten miles to the hour on the understanding that he was to keep within hail till we reached the outskirts of the town eight miles farther on. Running at this pace I had no time for talking, nor had he ; all I had to do was to maintain an even speed and trust to his doing so on his own account. We were both ” quiet ” runners, so I didn’t worry when after about a mile I could no longer hear him, for I knew he was easily fit enough to catch me if he really wanted to.

The miles slipped by astonishingly easily and when I arrived at the chosen spot I slowed down and looked round for him. Even now I remember how uneasy and distressed I felt to see him nearly half a mile distant. Gavuzzi was a permanently good-natured man, as are all who are in splendid physical trim, yet the first remark he made when he came up was : ” What’s stung you ? ” Of course I apologised handsomely and told him I was so concentrated on the business in hand that I hadn’t dreamt he was finding it rather too much of a good thing. Between ourselves, however,

it’s worth while noting that he had the sense to keep well within his limits, making no effort to keep to the pace I had set when he found he was not in the mood for it. Anyway, the lesson wasn’t wasted, for when the race came off he kept well up to the required standard for more than two hours and then, quite unexpectedly developed serious chafing, had to retire and leave it to McNamara to capture the record.

There is no getting away from it, there are times when you line up feeling completely ready and thoroughly prepared to achieve your best ever, yet while you are at it you discover that something, too nebulous perhaps to be clearly recognised, is steadily applying the brake and you just can’t do as well, or anything like as well, as you know you ought to.

The question arises can you do anything worthwhile to counteract this ? My own opinion is that you can’t. The most you CAN do is to take every precaution and you will then have the satisfaction of knowing that, whatever the result may be, you were the victim of circumstances outside your personal control. Besides, as I said before, it is no more than a temporary setback ; sooner or later you’re bound to find that at last the combination of race and realisation of top form have coincided.

I never believed, as many apparently do, in running only to win an outstanding event ; it always seemed to me to be only proper, in fact only sensible, to do your actual best, no matter whether you happen to be miles ahead or miles behind, for after all you can never be certain you’ll get another chance. If you find you can put up a new course or international record, why not do so ? As you know there are such things as sickness and accidents, and if your luck let you in for anything like that you might have to drop out of athletics temporarily, a misfortune that happens to all of us at times.

I ran, and even raced, for years after my peak of achievement had been passed, and knew it. Even if I couldn’t do as well as formerly I still had as much as ever to learn, and felt that what I could gather in this way would be useful to others who came after me. It came in very handy too, for I was able to assure Ballington, and keep on assuring him without any ” maybe ” about it, that his chances for the ” hundred ” on the Bath Road were so good as to be a practical certainty, and with a lot to spare. Very naturally, being a particularly modest man, he felt it wasn’t as easy as it sounded ; yet the fact that he had a lot of confidence in my statements must have helped rather than hindered his training. And presently he gathered it in — with “a, lot to spare,” viz. forty-five minutes.

Early in 1932 I had coached a French-Canadian along similar lines and he lapped it all up, pondered over it, and finally went mtp intensive training for the purpose, with the result that he ultimately put up the Canadian road record for 100 miles, and he is a man well on in middle age.

You may take it then that what these men did in their own line

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you can do in yours, for they were just ordinary fellows like the rest of us and in no way ⁽ⁱ born to succeed ” athletically.

Your best, then, lies ahead, and always ahead, until age steps in and prohibits it ; after which you can transfer from activity to assistance and use your experiences to help others along the road you journeyed in your prime.

CHAPTER XX

TRAINING   BY   THERMOMETER

MY personal opinion on this subject—the thermometer should be an athlete’s servant, not his boss—may be very different from yours, but when you’ve thought out what I’ve got to say you might perhaps alter your outlook.

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If the thermometer has been your boss hitherto, you’re one of the guilty ones, as the great majority of men are. Work or giving -it-a-miss, according to the reading of the instrument, has become so much of a custom that it doesn’t occur to most of us that there is another side to the question. Admitted that atmospheric temperature plays a big part in athletic training—as it does in so much else—yet to my way of thinking it doesn’t amount to any­thing like so much as many seem to consider. It may be that civilisation is softening us so much that we are apt to look for unnecessary physical comfort even when such a thing is quite out of place.

Take the average track athlete, though as a matter of fact the principle applies to all forms of exercise, as you know, it’s all too common a practice to avoid a workout temporarily when the thermometer shows a tendency towards the abnormal, apparently with the idea that exercise is unsuitable under such conditions. Perhaps it would be nearer the truth if you said ” uncomfortable.” Yet when you get down to brass tacks, all weather wet. cold, fine or hot and sunshiny, is perfectly natural, and as exercise is natural too it can be sandwiched into any sort of weather that happens to turn up. Seasons, anyway the athletic ones to which we have become such absolute slaves, actually have nothing whatever to do with it : we’ve merely invented them to suit ourselves and the convenience of the public who fan the sport. Finland, Sweden and North America have already begun to learn the lesson and it’s quite time we learnt too.

Just as you alter your dress for the season or weather, so you can alter your programme of exercise to suit prevailing conditions. If you indulge in out-of-door training, as of course you always should when possible, you’ll put on extra clothing in winter so as to keep reasonably warm, though even then the exercise ought to be relied on to provide most of the additional heat required. I’ve seen fellows sweating profusely on a cold day only because they had overloaded themselves with clothing for the work they were doing. This is the sort of thing that breeds trouble. You can be pretty sure they had been uncorking more speed than was wise or they wouldn’t have been in such an unsavoury state.

When anything like long-distance work on road or track is concerned it is distinctly better to be a trifle on the cold side than otherwise—I’m referring to training, not competition, at the moment—because too much heat will not only slow you down but will actually weaken you with over-heavy perspiration as well; whereas if you felt a bit chilly you’d be apt to put a trifle more ginger into it and a natural warm-up would follow. If it happened to be exceptionally cold you might even think of putting in more than the usual quota of training because temporary conditions would allow you to do so without taking it out of you as warmer weather would.

So you see you should still ” train by thermometer ” though not, as most fellows do, get busy only when they consider its reading

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meets with their approval. If you want to be a class athlete— and who doesn’t ?—you must train all the year round no matter what the instrument says ; and you might well note, too, that there is no one to stop you except yourself.

As you know, there are times in winter when a prolonged trip on road or track sounds like real hardship, but that’s only because you’re not used to it. I find that when there IS snow on the ground I go farther—put in more time at training—than ever I do in summer. I just tell you that to show you it was the training, not the comfort, that had ” first call.”

Raining ? All right ! as you can’t stop it you may as well grin and bear it. It’s al] nonsense to avoid it on the ground that i’t will give you a cold ; though if you are absolutely convinced that it will, it is probable that your mind working on your physique will allow you to succumb to such a thing more easily than other­wise. Do dogs and horses and wild animals catch cold through being out in the rain ? So long as it’s not too cold and windy, the usual track costume is good enough ; for anything else a woollen sweater with the cotton vest outside is the thing. Wool doesn’t feel so abominably cold in the wind as wet cotton, and after all there’s no need to be overmuch of a martyr.

As you can’t alter the thermometer reading you must adjust your work to suit it. For instance, there’s the time of day you set aside for your workout, and remember, it should be almost a daily affair, not a bi-weekly or weekly event. In the winter it-may be better to turn out in the afternoon or evenings as it is apt to be somewhat less cold then. When the mercury climbs sky-high you can work things the other way round. In this case there should be no speeding or actual strenuous work of any kind or you will be unduly weakened by excessive perspiration. So for this sort of atmosphere the early morning is more suitable, and you can go through the exercise you decide to be necessary very much more casually than you would on a cooler day, taking care that the perspiration, at any rate as far as you can manage it, is kept within reasonable limits. You’re bound to sweat a bit, but in order to avoid an overdose you’ll be obliged to cut out any really fast work or heavy exertion. Yet not for a moment need you fear it will entail a loss of speed or energy when such are required ; it will have just the opposite effect, for by training in this manner under these conditions you are building up stamina, and this will enable you to maintain your former speed or effort for a greater distance or length of time than before. The actual speed, or ability to let fly a sudden burst of energy, is always there, whereas the stamina has to be developed. Without adequate stamina speed of itself is worse than useless, for it will almost certainly lead to physical breakdown.

You have probably discovered before this, even though you haven’t acted on it, that you can do an increased amount of work in cold weather without getting any more tired than a shorter quota would make you in summer. I’m only telling you what I

found the conditions to be in my own case ; you can easily put it to the test yourself if you want to, and verify it. I came to the conclusion that, from a purely mechanical point of view, since a similar amount of energy was always used to move yourself over a similar distance, the wastage noticeable in hot weather must be the result of the only obvious difference in your condition under the different circumstances. In other words the wastage was caused by perspiration. There can be no doubt that a large part of vour available energy is used to create and sustain perspiration, your system taking this course subconsciously whether you like it or not with the object of keeping your body temperature as near normal as possible. Now none of us ever wants to chuck useful energy away to no purpose, but that’s what you’ll be doing if you carry on to excess. That’s why I advise you to ” go slow ” when the heat is more than usually noticeable.

Again, you know no doubt that you should never get badly tired when training : it would be making the same mistake— though perhaps in a different way—as having a ” time trial”, a serious fault which is still advised in many of our most modern text-books. Your business is to build up, not break down. Just carry on each day until you feel you have had a decent dose—if you’re after championships it might even be a fairly hefty one— and then stop and have your bath. Before long you will know just how much you can manage under any given circumstances of weather and temperature without in any way overstepping the reasonable mark. Once you have arrived at that stage it is easy enough to judge your immediate requirements for the event you have in mind. Personally I always used to size up the position when I had done about half the distance I had intended ; then, if I didn’t feel as full of beans as I could wish, I’d turn tail and get back. But there were other times when I felt energetic enough to add quite a considerable amount to my daily ” ration ” and I’d put the extra energy into extra training. Consequently the length of my outing varied from day to day. It seems to me this is a more sensible plan than trying to force yourself to keep to a daily schedule.

Yet one thing remained fairly steady, and that was the average of time or distance I devoted to training. I soon learnt that in my own case a daily schedule was a complete mistake, because on no two days was either I or the weather the same. But a weekly schedule made a convenient allowance for vagaries of this sort and consequently that was what I adopted. Even then it wasn’t the usual sort of schedule, for I quite admitted my inability to master all the factors concerned. What I set myself was a minimum in mileage, and unless travel or physical breakdowns prevented it I’d put up with no excuse for failing to reach it. To make sure about this and feel it was safe, I generally managed to put up the whole of the distance in the first four days ; then, if I wanted to, I felt I could take things easier the last two—I seldom ran on Sundays unless lack of training during the week made it necessary.

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Under these circumstances my schedule was, as often as not, greatly exceeded. I was always anxious to get the week’s work beyond the minimum mark and piled it on a bit until I had done so ; then, finding I could do a bit more, I took the opportunity to go while the going was good. Failure to complete my weekly schedule was a rare thing indeed and was in every case due to strains or serious discomforts of one sort or another.

My hobby was, as you know, long-distance work on the road, but you will understand that what I have told you above holds good in principle for all running no matter whether it’s a mile or a marathon ; holds good indeed for all athletic exercise. All you have to do is to apply the thing in principle to your own pet form of activity and work out the results.

To sum it all up I would say that, quite regardless of seasons, your aim throughout the year should be to sustain a reasonable standard with regard to output of energy while training. This standard will become enhanced as you progress and, if you carry on long enough, using what intellect tells you are the best methods and sticking consistently to them, you will find that it will bring within your reach almost any goal you set yourself, even though at the moment such an achievement may seem to be beyond vour highest expectations. Other men have done as much, and you’re no less of a man than they were, and you know it. So get busy.

CHAPTER XIX

GENUINE  BREATHING  EXERCISES

I’VE seen a lot of senseless controversy at one time or another

caused by men telling writers they’re wrong, while at the same time they’re quite unable to give an adequate reason for such a statement. If a thing IS wrong it should be easy to point out the mistake, and when that is done readers will be quick enough to settle for themselves which side of the argument is correct.

I mention this because I’ve been “hauled over the coals” in this manner many times in connection with the present subject, and nearly always, or so it seems to me, by men who had not adequately thought the matter out. I may still be wrong, but you can’t expect me to alter my opinions until I’m given a sound reason for so doing. The mere idea of breathing exercises being fallacious is so new that men are apt to balk at it, and pour out a stream of other people’s opinions without putting it to the test of their own thinking machine. Admitted that my viewpoint on this subject is entirely unorthodox, but any clear advance from the present ” normal ” always is unorthox until it is accepted as ” correct procedure.” So I would ask you to follow out the reasoning I’m giving you here, and thereafter you can form your own opinion.

Taking deep breaths to develop lung expansion seems to be quite popular with many people though, at any rate as far as the average man is concerned, such action is based on a fallacy, viz. that thereby they will attain the vitality which nothing but active exercise can bestow.

Do you take specific heart exercises ? Of course not ! Or exclusive circulation exercises ? Again no. Well, your breathing started at the same time as your un-assisted circulation and is one of its components. If you want to stimulate your circulation you

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take physical exercise : Nature has no other method. If you want to enhance your breathing apparatus you should do exactly the same; heart and lungs share all work with the muscles and benefit equally.

Do you feel any better after you have held your breath for half a minute ? It is just as useless to force your lungs to work point -lessly twice as fast or double the expansion in the same interval. Interfering with Nature, when there is no call for interference, is always a mistake and always will be. The only way to teach your lungs to stand up to heavier work is to give them ” penny installments ” of that work at short intervals and frequently : they will then gradually build up as required. But don’t forget that as soon as you cease to educate them thus they’ll cease to retain the capability you’ve built up. In other words it’s just a waste of time to try to develop lungs for work which you’ve no intention of pursuing for any length of time.

Deep breathing, without the exertion which necessitates it, is like heavy feeding without the exercise which calls for added nourishment ; the lungs are needlessly overloaded with what is not required and use not an atom more oxygen than they want ; just as in the other case the stomach is overworked and can make no use at all of the surplus nourishment supplied.

You didn’t teach yourself to breathe, and if you interfere un­necessarily with the functioning of the lungs, you are more likely to cause trouble than anything else. If you are not breathing in a natural way it is only because you are not taking natural exercise, and the remedj^ for that is simple—see that you DO take it, even if it is only for ten or fifteen minutes a day. Even the modern office clerk, perhaps the man who suffers most from restricted action, can take a quick walk every morning and evening if he makes up his mind to it. With that, and a more generous dose at the week-end, a man can expect to keep his lungs in reasonably good condition, good enough for his way of life anyhow.

Good lungs, like everything else worthwhile, have to be worked for. Stick at the work and you’ll find they stay efficient ; get tired of it and they, too, will suffer a relapse. But you can’t fool them with a counterfeit, however ingeniously it may be camouflaged.

Plain logic, therefore, tells us that the only beneficial breathing exercises are those brought about by activity and physical exertion ; and the obvious moral is that to attempt to obtain the same benefits without doing the necessary work is only fooling yourself that you know better than nature.

CHAPTER XVIII

LONG WALKS – NO!

I’VE been reading one of our most modern books on training for running. Most of the advice was, or so I thought, just what was needed ; it gave an impression of careful study and considerable thought ; and as the outlook was decently broadminded it came as a shock when I suddenly collided with a point I couldn’t stomach at any price. It was as though the author had over-run red traffic lights without having been aware of their existence—he not only advocated, but even emphasised as so many others have done in previous books, the wisdom of taking long walks if fellows wanted to learn to run well.

I’m quite aware that I’m not inevitably right ; there’s always a chance, and quite a big one, that I’m wrong, but in this particular instance it looks to me as though the boot were on the other foot and no two doubts about it. My own experience, after having covered more than an eighth of a million miles afoot, tells me that walking, like any other’ natural exercise is excellent in itself, but does nothing whatever to help a runner to run : you might just as well expect talking to help a singer to sing;, for both are voca! exercises.

It seems queer that we didn’t discover this long ago. Pick a casual score of men as you go along the street, all between the ages of twenty and forty, and you can take it for granted that they are all quite capable of walking anything up to about ten miles on end.

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some, no doubt, very much more. How many of them could run half that distance without a stop ? Probably not more than ten per cent, and then only those who had specially trained for it. In rough figures that’s somewhere about what it would work out to. That proves right away that walking doesn’t make runners at all, or they’d all be able to run at any rate half as well as they could walk.

No author has yet attempted to tell us in what way runners benefit by taking long walks except to point out that such exercise develops stamina. Prolonged any-other-exercise does exactly the same thing, but you wouldn’t, for instance, tell a runner that he must do a lot of boat-rowing (which gives exercise for the legs and feet) as part of his specialised training for running, so the extra stamina theory hasn’t brought a solution of the problem any nearer. Evidently it is a question that only reason can decide, since mere practice hasn’t so far given us a definite ruling.

Both running and walking are primarily leg exercises, and it would seem therefore that they ought to assist each other. That’s what you’d expect and what, if you didn’t give the matter any thought, you’d state. Yet actual practice doesn’t show any such thing. Fellows may take long walks and run splendidly, yet there seems to be little doubt that if they cut out the walks, even cut them out entirely, they’d still be able to run just as well. I’ve tried both, and for the last half-dozen years of my training only indulged in long walks when running practice was highly inconvenient. When training hardest I walked least.

For many decades it has been drummed into us that walking is an essential item in a runner’s programme, and it has sunk in so deeply that it will take a lot of shifting. But it’s high time we stopped taking for granted everything that has come down to us from our grandfathers ; instead we ought to investigate each detail for ourselves. There’d be no need to take this trouble if our knowledge were complete, but we all know that nothing ever stays quite still ; everything in life—and this includes training of course—either progresses or the reverse, and unless we keep constantly on the move we shall be steering for the scrap heap.

Walking has become a fine exercise, though it might be as well to remember that in prehistoric days it wasn’t an exercise at all; it was merely a convenient means for covering very short distances. All animals, and man is one, had to learn to walk before they could learn to run—a proof that running is more suited to active existence than walking since it must have been acquired at a later date in animal history. Once they had mastered the double lesson they dispensed with walking almost entirely and trotted everywhere. Take a look at wild life in the bush or on the veldt when it doesn’t know it’s being observed and you will notice that practically everything proceeds at a trot unless circumstances render such action dangerous. Almost the only time wild life walks is when it is feeding or stalking.

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We humans walk more than we run because we have been able to drop so much of the violent exercise of former times and have replaced it with more moderate types. Yet to the really well-trained man trotting is distinctly easier than walking ; even today I would far sooner trot fifteen miles than walk a dozen—and I’m in the old-age-pension class. Proof that it actually IS easier is shown by the fact that the trotting records are always ahead of the walking ones ; also that the only men who came in anywhere in the 3,500-miles American Transcontinental Footraces were those who trotted nearly all the time.

Walking, like swimming or any other natural exercise, will make and keep a man fit without any running at all;   and you might note that the reverse is equally true—running, for those who wish to specialise temporarily, will also make and keep you fit whether you walk or not.    Neither walking nor swimming nor any other exercise will add in any way to your running abilities ;   each of them has its own sphere to cover and beyond adding to the general health and stamina extends very little outside.    In other words, from the runner’s point of view long walks are only a waste of time : any other action than running merely sidetracks time and energy which could profitably be devoted to further specialised development. Mind, I wouldn’t have you think for a moment that I despise walking :   far from it.    As a matter of fact I would always fight shy of super-specialisation at running because it is apt to lead to a sort of lopsided result—a man’s legs become splendidly developed while his arms fail to keep pace, and this sort of thing applies similarly to any single form of sport.    Quite a fair proportion of your spare time therefore might well be devoted to walking, swim­ming or games of any description and, although they won’t enhance your running abilities, they’ll do a lot of good in other respects.

Now for another side to it, and one that I’ve left very much alone till now. I can’t help thinking that ordinary walking and healthy youth don’t go overwell together. Ask any active schoolboy which he’d rather do, go for a long walk or have a good game of football, and 99 per cent, would plump for the game. Young men should, in the nature of things, be very lively and active and would almost certainly wish to indulge in exercise which had a spice of excitement about it, and you can’t accuse walking of that. I suppose it’s our upbringing that makes us still do so much of it, probably due to our having been, indirectly anyhow, taught that what was good enough for our forefathers must be good for us too, and this regardless of the fact that the lapse of time ought to have effected improvements or called for adjustment in many ways. Fifty years ago the bulk of the nation might have been less practised in athletics because of lack of opportunity and equipment; and whereas walking might then have suited a large number of men, our more active modern life needs a more energetic form of exercise to keep us up to the mark.

It seems to me, then, that the average young man would be better off if he left long walks until later on in life when strenuous exercise won’t have so great an appeal; surely it’s better to make use of opportunities for vigorous action while he is fully capable of enjoying it.

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From the above you can gather what my advice to runners would be, and not only to runners but to all athletes, for in principle the thing holds good throughout all sports. I’d tell them to study and practise running first of all, and to spend more time at it than any other form of recreation if they want to make a mark of sorts. But I would at the same time advocate reasonable indulgence in any other athletic activity that gave pleasure, provided of course that it did not definitely interfere with the specialised subject. Weight lifting and long-distance running, for instance, would not mix well, any more than would distance cycling and distance running, though a trifle of either would not make any appreciable difference to the other. If walking happens to be your fancy, get busy with it, but, and I would underline this, never take any other exercise whatever as an integral part of your specialised training.

CHAPTER XVII

WHAT IS   THE  BEST  ATHLETIC  AGE ?

YOU can be pretty safe when you say that this is one of those problems that defy a hard and fast solution. But in spite of that you can get as near to it as no matter if you take a careful survey of the principal factors.

On the surface it would appear that when a man is in the first flush of full physical development he must necessarily be at his best, so far as muscles, suppleness and energy go. In one sense that’s right enough, and it will explain why sprinters are undoubtedly at their prime in the earlier twenties. But having got so far you come to a point where there’s more in it than mere muscles and suppleness : mental equipment has to be taken into account as well, and with its aid some years can be added to the apparent summit period.

You see it’s like this : we must have been just physical animals for thousands of centuries before we developed brains to such an extent that they could be trusted to take entire command and oven over-rule instinct. Now that we’ve reached that stage we’ve lost most of our instinctive action, and intellect has to rule the roost instead. It does this to such purpose that we have already learnt how our minds can direct and enhance physical action ; can develop abilities to an even greater extent than any ” born athlete ” who fails to use his head to advantage. That will explain why, in athletics, the white man has always beaten the coloured man whose brains are not so advanced, except when he has taken his coloured rival in hand and trained him as he trains other whites. That gives you a. sound reason as to why the blacks should, at any

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rate temporarily, beat the whites at sprinting, for they’re much less removed from atavism and savagery, and consequently have less (ground to make up. But they don’t make it up until the white has taught them just how to do it.

During an actual sprint intellect doesn’t get much of an innings because there isn’t time ; a fellow just lets out for all he is worth and his energies are momentarily devoted to that and nothing else ; all the headwork is done beforehand in cultivating correct action and quick response. But from sprinting distance onwards more time is available for mental supervision during the actual event, with the result that its advantages become more and more significant. Have you ever heard of a coloured man who had any chance against a well-trained white at long distances ? All the same, when we start seriously to train blacks for this kind of event we shall probably get the same results as we’ve already done in sprinting and boxing.

Again, sprinting probably requires less actual thinking than any other form of exercise except casual walking. Oh no ! I’m not suggesting that those who go in for it are in any way less brainy, for that is not the case ; they merely take naturally to a form of sport for which they are physically and mentally suited, knowing instinctively that they can obtain results more quickly in that way, and very wisely they make the most of such temperamental urge. We already know that a sprinter’s finest period is the shortest of all in duration—just a few years around the early twenties and no more.

Once beyond sprinting, however, most forms of athletics depend for their success on brain work during their performance ; more time is involved not only in training but in the competition itself, for experience and judgment come increasingly into the picture. Correct judgment of your own abilities becomes the supreme test, and that can be obtained only by persistent experiment. This is the snag that holds up the majority of athletes because, and only because, they have not been long enough at the game to assess their ability correctly and adjust their action accordingly.

Why do fellows fall out of a race or fail to finish anywhere near where they know they ought to ? Why do boxers take an unmerciful hammering and still try to carry on ? Simply because they haven’t adequately judged what they were up against and have not therefore devoted a, good deal more time and trouble to prepare for their contest. It is nearly always the same, and the lesser lights retire temporarily defeated yet knowing that they could most certainly do far and away better if they punished themselves with more intensive preparation.

No matter what the event, whether cycling, boxing, rowing, running or anything else where more than a few seconds are required for its achievement, success can always be realised by weighing up the conditions and thereafter undergoing adequate training to meet them. Anyone can put in a furious burst to start with, but unless he is pretty certain of immediate success—

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and be almost certainly isn’t—he is making a free gift of the event to his rival or competitors. Admitted you can’t always do the ri”ht/thins, but reasonable caution has won more contests than it IrTs lost while taking a chance more often brings about the reverse. “you can look at it this way. Physical growth is already well on its wav even before the time”of birth ; whereas reason on account .fits being a later stage in development, doesn’t make a start until a child begins to speak, and its development period long outlasts that of mere physical expansion. So far as the mind only is concerned an athlete would probably be at his best for prolonged exertion when he was between thirty-five and fifty, but by that time his muscles and whatnots have become set and have lost so much elasticity that mental direction, however efficient, may not he sufficient to outbalance the physical superiority of men considerably younger.

It is evident, then, that a man’s best time for protracted competition must be assessed from a combination of physical and mental maxima, and this leaves us with a range of from about twenty-five to forty-five years. Of course you are bound to strike an exception here and there. Ballington, the South African, beat world’s track record by a very wide margin in his 100-miles race at the age of twenty, and another man of more than twice that age did the same thing though not so well at an earlier date. Yet that actually doesn’t mean so much, for Ballington could very certainly have done even better had he been able to continue training, just as the older man would almost surely have made a hotter show had he taken to the game when younger.

That may all sound straightforward enough but there’s still another point which is no less so ; and that is at the age of, say, twenty-five, a man’s physical capabilities are certainly at their peak. The mere fact that a sprinter begins to lose a trifle of his speed after that age shows that all his muscles must be similarly affected. Not only that, but if he is at his physical peak he must also be at his recovery peak at the same time. And as stamina is assuredly a physical attribute he can be at his stamina peak then too. Actually “of course we don’t all go in for training to bring us to our ” peak ” at that age ; and consequently where stamina and speed are wanting, they can be very considerably improved at a later date by conscientious work. But it seems to me to be unlikely that a man well over twenty-five could ever get quite to the standard of speed, strength and recovery which might have been his at that aero—which would have been his had he been perfectly trained from childhood. But then none of us is anything like perfectly trained throughout all the years of bodily growth, though probably the ” born athlete ” gets nearer to it than the rest of us. Hackenschmidt, for instance, who was admittedly the finest physical specimen of the modern world, spent almost every moment he could spare during his childhood and youth at speed- and body-building exercises and, having been born a ” strong man “—like Bach was a ” born musician ” or Sir Oliver Lodge a ” born thinker “—was

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able to outpoint any and every man he ever came up against. To my mind it is only in a case of this sort that the man-in-the-street meets his master ; so many ” born athletes ” fail to attain their real status for want of continuous and intensive training, that the man who really does tackle the job thoroughly stands more than a good chance of beating the best of them. That he does stand such a chance is proved over and over again. The ” born ” runner recognises his ability without having to look for it and. like born musicians or born mathematicians, shows up at an early age. Yet neither Ballington nor I were ever particularly attracted in this way ; both of us took up running with the idea of learning something we were unused to, something which would improve health and keep us reasonably fit. It was only after (in my ease nearly twenty years after) we had got to that stage, that top class performances began to appear on the horizon as possi­bilities, and then we had to get stuck into work more strenuously than we had formerly considered possible.

Don’t lose heart, then, if you’ve not reached the standard you’ve had in mind. Think it over carefully ; decide what is necessary in the way of training ; then set to again, and finally do even a bit more preliminary work than you decided. It CAN be done !

CHAPTER XVI

MERE  EMPTY  THEORY  OR   .   .   ?

PROVIDED it is of the right sort, the greater amount of training for any subject you can get through the more efficient you’re bound to become at it. That’s only commonsense, isn’t it ? While we all admit it we fail, and go on failing to apply it to athletics.

I’ll take sprinting as an example because in this particular form of running a greater contrast is provided than with other styles, though all are involved. Just one axiom first to work on : If a theory is absolutely sound for one distance it must be equally to in principle for all.

Well, what does the modern textbook define as preparation for the 100 yards sprint nowadays ? Something of this sort—a month or six weeks to reach top form, and in the meantime half-a-dozen practice starts with a 50 yard and 70 yard burst for Mondays, plus perhaps a quarter of a mile jog round the track ; practice starts and two 100 yards sprints on Tuesdays; Wednesdays “off”; Thursdays, 50 and 75 yards sprints again with practice starts and a quarter-mile jog; Fridays “off” and an event or time trial on Saturdays. All the starts and sprints to be carried out at top speed of course.

Now look through that schedule carefully and you’ll begin to realise why Wednesdays and Fridays (as well as Sundays of course) are set aside as rest days ; they jolly well have to be or the budding sprinter might be stale in a fortnight. Here we have 33 per cent. of the days suitable for training ruled clean out to make allowance for the overwork on the others. If you added Sundays the percentage would be even greater. Personally I didn’t rest altogether, even on Sundays, because I knew it would not be wise ; I generally indulged in many miles of walking at a strictly comfortable pace.

If nothing else has taught us the folly of such training, common-sense should come to our aid. No doubt you’ll agree that physical effort and food are both daily desirabilities. Would you consider it rational to over-eat on four days of each week and starve the other three ? Yet because of faulty practice in the past we are taught to carry on with athletics in this way today.

The whole fault lies in the tempo of the training. Animals feed and exercise to a greater extent than we do, yet, unless they are absolutely forced to, they never go ” all out.” How is it then that most of them can easily outrun a man ? It must be because they do far more work in the training line and do it without any days of rest in between. Yet nearly all their work is reasonably easy.

In long distance running for men it has recently been proved in a very decisive manner—McNamara, Ballington, Pat Dengis, Tom Richards—that much more work of a less intensive character than heretofore is essential to betterment; in other words that a man should train in the same way as all other animals. If it is true for long-distance work it must be equally true in principle for all types of running. Yet what sprinter today would ever dream of confining his efforts to 75 or 80 per cent, of his ability ? He’d tell you, and sincerely believe it himself just as Pat Dengis did at one time with marathon racing, that it would “slow you down.” That is what he has been taught, yet how could he possibly know if he had never tried it for himself ? Why should it ? He couldn’t tell you that : all he knows is that every other sprinter trains and has trained the same way, and that therefore it is almost certainly right or the mistake would have been discovered long ago.

Now see what would happen if he did make the change. Right away he would find he could undergo something like 100 per cent, more training without taking any more risks. There’d be a greater number of runs each day with a corresponding increase in the demand made on muscles and sinews, and of course they’d respond to it. Besides, he’d be able to train every day of the week if he wanted to, taking perhaps only a partial rest on the day immediately before a competition.

Under no circumstances should he ever have a time trial; such a thing is a foolish squandering of the reserve of energy he has so carefully built up. Races should be the only time trials, and when these are two weeks—preferably three—apart he is likely to be really at his best. The distance runner would need a longer period still ; six weeks between events would be more suitable for a marathon man.

I have often wondered why athletics should be taught differently to all other sciences. It must be of course because it is so much

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less advanced, less understood. In no other science would the utmost effort be encouraged or even permitted except at infrequent intervals ; experience has long since taught us that no first-class job is done in this super-intensive fashion. The finest specialised work needs long practice over a considerable period, and to attempt to sustain top speed is recognised as utter folly. High pressure cannot be maintained for any length of time, a very certain proof that we were never meant to try.

We must wake up to the fact that athletics, like everything else, is not, nor ever can be, perfected ; there will always be more to learn. Hitherto we have been taught to believe that present-day methods were all that could be desired, but the sooner we question this and discover something in advance the better for all of us. Our trouble has always been the lack of teachers willing to spend the best part of their lives at the science : we have taken no trouble to encourage men to do so, but have left it to one in a million here and there to carry on as best he could. That is why athletics is so far behind other sciences with regard to knowledge.

CHAPTER XV 

THE   WAY  TO   START

 RUNNING is, as you know, a basic sport; and in one way or another enters into most games. Also you will admit that the less artificial a sport is the more its cultivation becomes worthwhile, for only by carrying on as Nature intended can we be sure of natural health.

All the same, it is as well to remember that we are no longer the sons of nature our remote ancestors were : all sorts of artificialities, clothes, locomotion and persistent advances in every direction have largely supplanted instinct and left reason to take its place. It’s all right so long as reason is properly applied, but you can see, and without having to look very far, that this point is all too frequently overlooked ; wo are too apt to let reason take the course of our inclinations without due regard to its own decisions.

As a child you went to school and started to learn to read, and there wasn’t much fun in the lesson. You also learnt to run, and that was much nicer, for all your ancestors had done that, and you took to it kindly. Running was easier than reading, though even then you didn’t want an overdose of either. Later on you probably read a great deal for the mere pleasure of it and because you were aware of its benefits. Did it ever strike you that precisely the same thing would occur with running, only more so ? Why more

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so ? Because reading educates your mind only, whereas running or any natural exercise is physical as well as mental development, and makes the whole machine more capable.

It’s simple enough. Ordinary running—not racing—builds you up to a state of health far and away above the standard enjoyed by the majority of men, as of course climbing, swimming and so on, will; it’s not applicable only to running, but to every form of basic sport as well as to many of our modern games—tennis for instance.

When your physique is about as near perfection as Nature can make it, all your abilities become greatly enhanced ; you can work better, think more clearly and play more actively and intensely than before. The efforts become simplified because you have a superior machine to work with, and your rivals haven’t the same chance unless they polish up their physiques similarly. A welcome result is that you get a lot more enjoyment out of life, which is what we look for : we only do things because we consider the result will bring us pleasure in one way or another, even if it is only indirectly.

So, for those of you who are not alreadj^ athletes or runners, I would suggest that you take up some form of outdoor sport right away. But I have other suggestions as well, and I wouldn’t have you swallow one without considering the others.

If you decide to begin with running, make a note to start with that it is only the basis of most other outdoor activities ; it won’t be necessary at any time to engage in racing, though it’s likely to lead to it eventually. Just consider wild animals, which on the whole are certainly much healthier than the average modern man : they run plenty, but never at any time for all they are worth unless obliged to by absolute fear. Even then it is only being scared stiff that will make them extend to their utmost. So if you take this nature lesson to heart you will know that sheer racing should be kept within distinctly restricted limits.

Set about learning, then, to run in an easy and serene manner, knowing that once learnt—and even during the learning—you can thoroughly enjoy every bit of the exercise. You will at the same time be acquiring the health you have always wanted to possess, and no one can do you out of it. If you really mean to carry on without discomfort like this you MUST cut out everything in the nature of serious racing, except on infrequent occasions when you decide to compete at an event. Although at first sight this might appear rather queer it is nothing but sound commonsense.

Again why I I’ve given you one reason above, and here’s another. Do you play the piano ? No matter, if you don’t you can easily apply to anyone who does. Finger muscles are the principal ones engaged. Remember, the rules which apply to one set will apply equally to all. If you practise speeding continually at any passage of music it will shortly end up in complete instability, hopeless incompetence : yet if you begin slowly and increase the pace so gradually as to be almost unnoticeable, never going quite

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as fast as you think you might possibly be able to manage, you will find that for a single occasion every now and again, if required, you can surpass your wildest dreams in the way of masterly execution. Apply this to running, where legs are the principal factors, and you get a similar result.

After all, when you come to consider it, this is only natural. You can’t race successfully before you have learnt to run decently, so why try ? Racing doesn’t necessarily do a fellow any good, except that it encourages him with his hobby ; all the lasting benefits are to be derived from moderate exercise, and racing isn’t moderate.

Nowadays a five mile cross-country run is a common event. Why not make a start and get busy for one of these ? It’s no good putting off till tomorrow ; are you boss of yourself or not ? If you intend to get out of the rut you won’t wait to be pushed— he who hesitates is ” bossed.”

Your age doesn’t matter ; you can be anything between fifteen and fifty, or even more, and it will still be good for you. First of all obtain the necessary outfit ; fortunately in the case of runners this is very inexpensive. A vest or sweater, shorts and crepe-rubber-soled shoes. Crepe rubber lasts longer than any other kind, likewise it is easily reinforced and repaired in the same way as a cycle tyre. Canvas shoes are more suitable than leather because weather conditions don’t affect them : ” bad ” weather is of course every bit as natural as ” fine,” and unless it happens to be really atrocious won’t interfere with you in any way. Socks or wash-leather toe-caps are advisable ; I often used the latter in summer and always the former in really cold weather.

Two primary considerations are essential; (1) you must practise as frequently as you possibly can, and (2) you must never permit yourself to approach real exhaustion, must never become badly tired. So long as you stick to those two you will continually progress : the less closely you adhere the longer will it take you to get thoroughly fit.

A quarter of a mile gentle trot in the early morning or evening won’t worry you at all provided you don’t go at it hard enough to ^et quite winded. A trifling dose like this will in a few days enable you to manage twice the distance without any more effort : in fact a single month will see you doing at least a mile a day, even if you were hopelessly out of training at the start. From then on it is only a matter of time ; when you can comfortably trot two or three miles daily without in any way really exerting yourself, you can enter when you please for a five-mile cross-country race and know that you will put up a decent show at it.

Sooner or later (sooner is much better) you will be wise to join a club, even if you have no intention of competing. This will enable you to get a weekly run with other members during which you can learn a lot. Not only that, but it will put you in the way of judging all sorts of styles, from which you can form your own conclusions. The best style is the easiest—not to learn, but to

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practise when acquired. You will find runners a cheerful fraternity; they can hardly be anything else being so absurdly healthy. And you will be helping your fellow clubmen just as they are helping vou ; that alone would make it worthwhile becoming a member.

As to the distance you want to cover, this is solely a matter of style combined with the time you’ve got available. The further you want to go the shorter your stride will have to be and the longer it will take you to build up the necessary stamina. But nothing can stop you except yourself, no matter what distance you have set your mind on. So hang on patiently to training and you will ” get there ” all right.

I remember one middle-aged man in Rhodesia who was inclined to be more than a trifle stout. He was quite aware of the fact that anyone could run ten miles who practised along the lines I’ve been discussing, though at the time he was unable to run at all. In less than six months he had covered his ten miles, using the training methods I have just given you. So, no matter what your age or circumstances, you CAN learn to run, run well, and run success­fully, if you reckon your determination is no worse than the next man’s. Perhaps you don’t believe me. Try it and believe yourself.

CHAPTER XIV

MY  LAST  RACE

TALK about a sea of troubles! That’s just what I headed for every time I tried the hundred miles on the Bath Road. Yet it wasn’t the distance that beat me, for I ran more than half as far again in Canada ; it was the spate of handicaps that erupted everv time I had a go at it.

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Take my first try in 1928. It was mid-winter, and although I managed to scrape through in 14h. 22m. 10s. I knew it was nowhere near the time that ought to have been put up considering the type of training I had undergone—a type altogether in advance of previous methods. Fortunately the public seemed pleased, but that was only because they didn’t realise how poor the time really was—Ballington, the South African, taught them that a few years later.

Handicaps ! Just look at them ! 1927-28 was one of the most severe winters Southern England had had for many a long year. While training I passed cars abandoned on the main Oxford Road almost completely smothered in drifts, and the snowfall was so excessive that there was one day when I didn’t run at all. I was quartered up on top of the Chiltern Hills and tried to get through a four-foot-deep drift, but after a prolonged struggle gave it up and made nay way back to the house again. Next day, trying a different route which led across a wire fence hidden in the snow, I managed to reach the road and had the usual run. Here I was being treated to weeks of snow and ice, whereas for the previous twenty-five years I had been perspiring in South and Central Africa !

Then, of course, the days were at their shortest and many miles of the route had to be covered in darkness or the hundred wouldn’t be finished by four in the afternoon, and the Press photographers said it was essential I should complete the journey by then. Darkness is a severe handicap to running, for without thinking about it you naturally lift your feet higher off the ground when you can’t see the surface, and this tends to waste energy and tire you sooner.

On top of all this the road was quite new to me, for weather conditions had prevented any travelling over it as I had intended. Finally, when, on the afternoon before the race, I was able to get down by car, there was a temporary thaw and the countryside was inundated, hundreds of yards of the road being flooded. Then accommodation at Box, the village where the two a.m. start was to take place, was so overtaxed that I had to share a bed with another man and go mighty short of sleep into the bargain. You can gather from all these adverse circumstances that I was anything but satisfied with the result in spite of its being a record. But I had no time to spare then, as I was due to sail for America alnmst immediately to compete in the First Transcontinental Footrace, so I shelved the idea of another attempt until the outlook was more hopeful.

Nearly five years went by while I raced in Canada and the States and it wasn’t till I was nearing fifty that I found a chance to get back to the only record I was thoroughly dissatisfied with. Early in 1933 I was again training on the Bath Road determined that this time I would know every inch of it and cut out all the mistakes of the former occasion. I would run in May, when darkness and low temperature could no longer spoil my chances.

After six weeks’ training up and down the road at Newbury 

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I moved to Marlborough to learn the far end of it. Just after settling down there I got a cablegram from my American manager, who was then in France, saying he had booked me with my electric running platform at a theatre in Nice and urging me to embark immediately. I was quite fed up at having to alter all my arrangement when I was on the point of achieving my purpose, but after travelling to London and seeing Binks, who had all the arrange­ments in hand, I decided to go straight on to France and postpone the ” hundred ” till my return.

Six weeks later I was back once more and Binks had picked on July 1st for the attempt. This time there was no sign of anything wrong and I had every reason to expect all would go well. Would you believe it ? the day itself was the hottest during the entire year ; dry heat, as in South Africa, would not have mattered, as I was used to it ; but damp heat is a terrible handicap to prolonged effort, as many of our marathon races over here will prove.

In the cool of the morning and even during the forenoon I managed to travel well, so well that at seventy miles I was nearly three-quarters of an hour ahead of the previous record. But then the heat began to tell and stomach trouble came on which continually held me up. I carried on hoping for the best, but unfortunately got worse, and finally at eighty-five miles both those great runners, W. G. George and J. Binks, who were among the officials, advised me to quit. I was then still twenty minutes ahead of the former run but, as they pointed out, I should certainly lose all that and more, besides running unnecessary risks. Knowing it was absolutely sound I took their advice and ” called it a day.” Afterwards, when I came to look into things, I found I hadn’t entirely wasted my time, for I had put up a new sixty-mile record at 7h. 15m. 30s.

Well, so much for two goes at it, each of them most unsatisfactory. I told Binks I’d like to have another shot at some future date and he willingly offered to convene officials and supervise details, and in the meantime I carried on with training.

The next date decided on was three weeks later, July 22, and once more I went down to Bath so as to be handy for the starting point at Box, a small village a few miles nearer London. The week before I went there I was alarmed to discover signs of serious inflammation at my right Achilles tendon. I cut down the daily mileage at once and the trouble eased considerably : in fact the foot got so much better that, with, the trial still a week away, I went out for a thirty-miler to see how it would stand up to it and, as it appeared to be no worse, decided to go ahead with the race. Ah ! if only I had known !

Twenty-four hours before the start the tendon again showed definite signs of trouble and I was in a deuce of a fix. If I wired to Binks putting off the run he might be unable to get in touch with the officials in time to prevent their travelling down—they were going by car—whereas if I started it was quite possible, or so I thought

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 that I might actually get through all right. There was nothing for it but to wait till Binks arrived and discuss the position with him. Both he and W. G. George thought it would be better to start and chance my luck : as they said, it MIGHT be all right, and anyhow there could be no knowing till I did try.

I set off at three a.m. and for more than a dozen miles all went well. The next dozen, however, made me very uneasy as to whether I should get through or not ; another five and I was walking with one leg and dragging the other after it. I was quite shocked at the disaster and at having given the officials so much work and travel for nothing. Good sportsmen as they were, they seemed to be far more concerned over my ailment than their own loss of time.

Back I went to Gerrards Cross, where I was then staying. My leg was bad but I would never permit anything of that sort to to stop training ; I had long since proved that the only safe way to conquer strains was to continue, certainly much more gently and carefully, with the exercise that caused them. So I went out for a short distance every day though it could hardly be called a run : I limped dreadfully and went on limping for the next ten months, improving so slowly that progress was only noticeable at intervals of many weeks.

Of all my physical troubles this Achilles tendon was the most exasperating. I knew I was in for months of annoyance yet underestimated its duration—it was almost exactly a year before I had completely recovered and knew it was really safe to make a last attempt. Once more I approached Binks and found him as ready as ever to undertake all the arrangements and see the thing through. July 20th was the day decided on and, with a week to spare, I was down at Bath once more. It was neck or nothing this time and I knew it ; already fifty-one years old. I couldn’t expect to keep up 700-800 miles a month on my feet indefinitely.

For the fourth time, then, I left the Bear Hotel at Box at three a.m. and set out for the long journey to Hyde Park Corner. The first twenty-five miles was always child’s play since I was obliged to travel leisurely in order to be able to last out over the entire distance. You can say roughly that at about forty-five miles I began to get a bit tired ; at seventy I was badly tired, and ninety desperately so, and for the last ten I just hung on—goodness only knows how, but I managed it—hoping for the best and knowing that the end was in sight.

Well, things appeared to be more hopeful this time for I had all the daylight I wanted and there wasn’t a sign of either wind or rain. I got along quite decently, too, and stopped for my first drink just after twenty-six miles at the foot of the hill leading from Marlborough to Savernake Forest. The miles were mounting up satisfactorily and before long I was passing the 50 mark and still going well. The day was getting very hot, however, and perspira­tion seemed to be taking it out of me more than I thought it should :

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so much so that before I reached seventy miles I was pretty badly ” gone in.”

It was just about here that I became aware that the combination of damp heat and prolonged effort was bringing on stomach disorder again and that it was this, and not merely heavy perspiration, that was making me wilt. Yet I wasn’t as bad as on the former occasion when I had dropped out at eighty-five miles, and though the pace was reduced by all of a mile an hour I reckoned I should get through —indeed, knew that I must, since it was my last chance.

It was a pretty near thing all the same. Whereas at 70 miles I had been the best part of three-quarters of an hour ahead of the 1928 record, at a hundred, what with all the time lost during the last third of the run, I was only sixteen minutes (14h. 6m. 0s.) to the good. Thank goodness it was just sufficient to break the new track record for the distance set up in Canada a couple of years previously.

Well, it was no good fighting shy of the fact ; I had to admit to myself that, so far as the ” hundred ” was concerned, I had completely failed to put up reasonable time on this course, and I was too old to think of continuing for another year or two. There remained only one useful alternative, and that was to put my experience at the disposal of other athletes so that they could carry on where I had left off.