In which I call bullshit on runners who say “My knees hurt!” (or similar) when asked to run at a slower pace on easy days.

My all-time favorite runner is Haile Gebrselassie, an Ethiopian legend who, in a professional career spanning from 1992 to 2015, won two Olympic and eight world championship gold medals and set twenty-seven world records. I got a chance to meet Geb in person at an Adidas-sponsored event in Los Angeles in 2009. On the eve of the main festivities, history’s first sub-2:04 marathoner led a bunch of journalists on a short jog along the boardwalk in Santa Monica. Most of the people in the group weren’t serious runners, so Geb kept the pace very slow—between 10 and 11 minutes per mile, if I remember correctly. This was a man who could run a marathon at 4:43 per mile, but he seemed perfectly comfortable moving along at less than half that speed.

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Which isn’t surprising. Even in their home training environment, without flabby western journalists holding them back, East African elite runners are known to start most of their runs at a gentle pace. “The first time I joined them on an easy run,” wrote Running with Kenyans author Adharanand Finn in a piece for Tracksmith, “I thought they were having a joke at my expense it was so slow. But no one was laughing.” Nor was anyone complaining. Indeed, to the best of my knowledge, no witness has ever overheard a Kenyan 2:04 marathoner whining about their knees hurting while warming up at four-hour marathon pace.

Meanwhile, many western runners who run four-hour marathons and routinely train at the same pace claim that their knees or other body parts do hurt when I or another coach advises them to slow down on their easy days. I’ve even heard many such runners claim they “can’t” run at the recommended pace (which, in the case of a four-hour marathoner, is no faster than 9:35 per mile).

What’s going on here? Why are world-class runners able to train far slower than they race without complaint, while middle-of-the-pack runners whine and rebel when asked to run just a little slower? I’ve thought a lot about this question, and I think I know the answer—and you’re not going to like it if you’re among the runners who moan about their ankles or what-have-you when running 45 seconds per mile slower than their normal easy pace.

Before I drop that truth bomb, however, let me first acknowledge the reality of the walk/run transition. According to science, when an adult human’s running speed slows to around 4.5 mph (13:20/mile), they do feel awkward. In fact, when people are asked to maintain this speed in studies, regardless of their fitness level, they tend to toggle between running and walking, the pace seeming too slow for the former and too fast for the latter. Hence, if your fitness level is such that 13:20 per mile or thereabout marks the limit of your Zone 2 pace range, you’re in a bit of a pickle. But this excuse goes out the window as soon as you’re fit enough to run faster than 13:20 per mile without exceeding Zone 2.

So what’s really going on when runners complain of discomfort at paces slower than their normal easy pace? I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s an example of somatization, or “the unconscious process of converting mental, emotional, or psychological distress into physical symptoms, such as pain, fatigue, or nausea.” This doesn’t mean the resistance is entirely in runners’ heads. Research shows that runners are less efficient when they run slower (or faster) than their habitual speeds, and we can feel that. But the rest is psychological. The complainers simply don’t want to slow down and are not bought in to the idea that slowing down will benefit them, so they seize on the slightly unfamiliar sensations they experience at slower paces and turn them into a five-alarm fire.

Oh, my God! I’m dying, Coach! You’re literally killing me by making me run this slow! I think my patella just shattered!

My message for these runners is this: Get over yourself. You’re not fooling anyone except yourself, and you’re not that special. I’m way faster than you and can I can run an 11:30 mile without bitching. Haile Gebrselassie was way faster than me and he could run an 11:30 mile without losing his trademark 10,000 megawatt smile. Shut up and shuffle.”

Or don’t. It’s your funeral, as they say. If indulging your pride and stubbornness by pretending you can’t run slower is more important to you than becoming a better runner by sucking it up and slowing down on your easy days, you’re getting exactly what you deserve. That is not my preference, however, which is why I’m calling bullshit on the common but indefensible claim that “I can’t run that slow.” Yes you can. Just do it™!

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🤍 Thanks for reading,
Matt Fitzgerald and MarathonGuide Team