Survival of the Fittest: the New Space Race -- How Runners Can Finally Catch up with Golfers

Which group of athletes moves faster—runners or golfers? You'd think the answer would be obvious, since during a typical golf game play often seems to slow to the point where no one is moving at all. But we should not rush runner-like to judgment either. With a four-day Masters Tournament behind us and the Boston Marathon (where four days would be an exceptionally poor time) happening today, it may even be the moment to ask just what kind of race would pit runners against golfers in the first place.

Well, sports fans, there is one. In the race to have the most equipment, or "stuff," that has to be reevaluated and updated on a regular basis, runners have long been struggling to catch up. In fact, the substantial lead golfers enjoy in the technology race has made them pretty confident that, in spite of the pedometer/watches, heart rate monitors and even (I am not kidding) parachutes with which runners can now train, golf will be the first sport to land a player on the moon.

It is hard to compete with a leisure activity where a "vector pro video launch system" is even an option. When I first read about this, I had visions of country club pros being captured on film as they were shot into space. Naturally, I wanted to buy one right away, and I do not even play golf. Alas, running still offers no equivalent propulsive device for overly demanding track coaches or fellow runners who clock your pace and then cheerfully point out that it has taken you nine minutes to do your "six-minute mile."

There is a lot of other golf equipment that sounds so cool I wouldn't be surprised if non-golfers are buying it. Who wouldn't want a "whip swing trainer" or a motorized club-and-shoe brush in their life? The latter would presumably work as well on ordinary household clubs (and possibly whips) as on the more specialized ones used in golf.

The same goes for the Machspeed driver. For those still struggling to master the terminology, "Machspeed" is a physics term referring to the velocity at which a launched golf pro will travel in his or her vector before returning to earth. I have been told but have not been able to verify that, with some of the newer systems, it can approach warp speed. A "driver," on the other hand, is all too often a middle-aged person who finds him- or herself chauffeuring kids from one activity to another. The primitive ones in my house rarely exceed 30 or 40 mph.

The last thing, it may be objected, that we need to do is to arm runners with their own launchers, though the fact that some of them are now training with parachutes somehow makes this seem safer. One point, however, is clear. If running is ever going to rival golf as an outlet for consumers seeking new ways to set fire to their money, a major change in the sport will have to take place: runners are going to need caddies.

"Jeeves, the titanium-based, soft-terrain sneakers!" I imagine myself calling out as my morning run takes me to the gravel path recently installed near the Duck Pond. A car that has been moving alongside me stops, and a man bearing shoes in one hand and a strange upper garment neatly draped across his arm steps out.

"Wind is picking up, boss. Do you want the air-deflecting, self-monitoring thermal parka you got for Christmas?"

"Just the shoes, Jeeves. Don't you remember," I ask, pointing to the parka I have on, "that, in addition to providing me with unnecessary data on my biorhythms, this has an automatically activating sail feature?"

I change my shoes, giving my caddy the ones that have allowed me to run on mere concrete with ease since they were designed with the sides of the Great Pyramid of Giza in mind. Then, parka billowing in the wind, I continue on my way.

But if runners' caddies are going to have far-out stuff to lug around, someone is going to have to invent it. Runners are therefore going to need to lure away all those Nobel Prize-winning chemists and physicists on whom golf has long relied. Once determined to unravel the mysteries of the universe, they now spend their days carrying out mysterious "product tests" on the putting greens of Golf Labs, a large geodesic dome that I would imagine is located somewhere near Florida's Disney World.

Having left their putters behind and now wearing Boston- and New York-marathon T-shirts under their cobalt-blue lab coats, these researchers would have roughly the same role as" Q" does in all the James Bond movies.

"This looks," I say to the trim scientist showing me around the underground factory that represents the future of running, "like an ordinary visor. It's even advertising the name of a popular beer."

"Very lightly test its outermost edge with your finger."

I do and quickly realize that this edge is sharp and metallic. My new visor is some kind of a sword.

"Let's say," "Q" continues, "you're running along lost in your thoughts and you don't see that you're about to crash into the branch of a tree. What will happen is that the edge of the visor will shear through the branch, lopping it off, and allow you to complete your workout without even realizing the branch was there."

"Wow. You people are amazing. I guess we don't want this falling into the wrong hands, though."

All of a sudden the face of the scientist standing next to me becomes solemn. "That's how we lost 004."

You would think that golf, with all its complicated power tools, would have had its own share of tragic losses. (You might also think that a "golf drill" is something to create holes with, but it is not. It is the same thing as a "drill" in any other sport: a series of repetitive motions designed to induce boredom.) But statistically golf is a safe sport, and most of its "accidents" are not accidents at all but are only made to look that way. For example, somebody—oops!—tees into a group of golfers who are holding things up at the next hole. Still, all this may change as Machspeed drivers become more common on the streets of suburbs like South Orange and, along with club-and-shoe brushes, "switchblade divot tools" start becoming motorized too.

At this point some runners may feel, "What's the use? They're too far ahead for us to ever catch up." It is important, though, not to panic. Never mind the annual "equipment issue" of Golf Digest and the likelihood that the human race will someday use this equipment to travel to other parts of the universe. We can all remember a 5k race where at the top of each hill we were struggling to climb, the same runner appeared almost like a mirage, goading us onward by seeming to be forever out of reach. But at some point we passed them. And as the mirage became a flesh-and-blood person, someone's mom or favorite uncle, we wondered how we had ever mistaken them for a high-school track star instead of another weekend athlete like ourselves.

The same holds true for golfers. They look invincible in their plaids and pastels. But don't worry. They're not track stars. We can take them.

Survival of the Fittest: Running with the Big Dogs

Author seeks advice on canine encounters.

"The only thing we have to fear," Franklin Delano Roosevelt famously said, "is fear itself," but there is a reason why his is not one of the faces on Mount Rushmore. From shin splints to heel spurs, we runners have plenty of dire scenarios to ponder. And let's not forget about the occasional $150 pair of sneakers hurled from close range by a spouse or loved one who claims you spend "all your time" running.

Still, you can always duck these, put in an appearance at breakfast, etc. Harder to elude is the danger that comes not from someone, but something, a creature that seems to rise out of the early morning mists and then go back to sleep on the porch after it is through bringing your worst nightmares to life. In short, it is a large, loose suburban dog.

If you comb through the vast technical literature, you will find a world of well-intentioned advice for runners encountering dogs that have yet to hear of the Geneva Conventions. Even so, I have my doubts about some of these writings. For one thing, they are not generally available those times when you have an urgent need to consult them. For another, they too often disregard our basic "fight-or-flight" response, which in some situations should probably be shortened to include only the second part.

Apparently, I made a big mistake the summer morning I sprinted down Flood's Hill to escape a pit bull with a severe personality disorder. Emerging from behind a tree, my attacker ambushed me as I was nearing the end of what had been a relaxing four-mile run. Jolted into a state of high alert, I responded as prey, which in a sense I was. But, as I later learned, you're not supposed to admit this to the dog.

If I had not been working so hard to improve on Usain Bolt's record for the hundred meters, though, I could easily have justified my giving in to being chased. How, I might have asked, would stopping mid-run and trying to pass myself off as an inert object accomplish anything other than to insult my enemy's intelligence? After all, an object that was truly inert would not need to pay more than $45 for a pair of sneakers.

And the same could be said for wild arm-waving, sudden tango moves and other efforts to convince the dog that you are crazy. Most pit bulls have watched enough late-night cable movies to know bad acting when they see it.

Over the years I have found that negative interactions with dogs can be divided into two kinds. In one the dog is trying to guard its territory or "turf." In the other the dog is looking to expand it.

In most cases where there is a tether-less dog barking at me from its front lawn, the only thing to do is pick up speed and hope those invisible fences really do work. Still, how many of us would feel safe with only an invisible fence between us and the wolves at the Turtle Back Zoo? I imagine the sheep would be pretty nervous too. The point of a fence, it seems to me, is to be visible to both parties. That way if there is any confusion about it later, no one can say they thought all the signs were part of a campaign to promote a more open border with Canada.

In cases where the dog is not protecting its turf but engaged in empire building, you might try pointing out that Canada was once part of the British empire but now seems much happier as an independent nation.

Some thousands of years ago, scientists tell us, dogs became our best friends. No one is quite sure how this happened, or why exactly we first started sitting together at lunch. But the point is that it is too late to go back. The hyenas or whatever it was we socialized with before we became so stuck-up are no longer interested.

As intensely loyal creatures (whatever their other faults may be), dogs have no plans to move on either. It is cats that remain open to a better offer. But when these have long forgotten their human benefactors, dogs will still be patrolling suburbia and keeping a sharp lookout for suspicious behavior. And running is, almost by definition, suspicious. Why are we in such a hurry and where is it we are going that the dress code seems to require so much tight spandex?

Still, all this does not mean we cannot stay aware of our surroundings and, if nothing else works, find a way to use them to our advantage. For instance, in my own case, even as the pit bull was chasing me, I remained alert to the fact that I lived nearby and would be OK if I managed to lose him on the way home, since my phone number and address are unlisted. Admittedly, such quick thinking did not save my life. But it was comforting, and when the dog lost interest in me and began chewing apart some food trash, I had the satisfaction of knowing that, of the two of us, I had had the more focused plan.

We do not have to embark on our runs empty-handed. There are high-pitched ultrasonic dog repellers to be purchased as well as pepper spray, though the danger with these is that the more dim-witted species may think you are not trying to repel them so much as playing hard to get. So buyer beware! One article in The Huffington Post on "Why Runners Hate Dogs" even suggested rewarding dog owners for the good behavior of their dogs. Here I would recommend carrying lightweight treats, preferably tuna sandwiches and beer nuts.

But when all is said and done, the best advice may have come from the Roosevelt whose face is on Mount Rushmore: speak softly and carry a big stick.