Running for your life: An Irishman’s Diary on exercise and longevity

There’s a well-established theory that for every hour of vigorous exercise you take, you add two hours to your life. That’s the general principle anyway. But of course, as with all insurance policies, there’s small print.

The later you start exercising, for example, the higher the premiums and the lower the return. Also, the payout must be capped at some point. Otherwise, given a sustainable training programme and good luck with injuries, you could achieve immortality.

I’d like to check this last point with the man who was most associated with the theory, a Harvard medical professor called Dr Ralph S Paffenbarger jnr. But I can’t, unfortunately, because he cashed out on his own policy a few years ago, aged 84.

Sedentary lifestyle

Even so, while he lived, he was a fine exemplar of the theory. Impressed by the findings in a long-term study of 50,000 adults, he abandoned his own sedentary lifestyle, aged 45, and took up running. His subsequent payments into the scheme included 22 Boston marathons, which must have extended his lifespan by months.

Of course mere longevity is not everything, a point the late Moss Keane, rugby player of the old school, once made pithily. He was discussing the supposed life-extending effects of another kind of regimen – avoidance of alcohol and cigarettes. And as a man who enjoyed the traditional vices, the gist of his argument was that, if non-smoking teetotallers lived longer, it served them right.

As for the exercise-longevity ratio, those who hate running might be similarly unimpressed. After all, a net gain of 60 minutes per hour of suffering doesn’t sound that good. But being someone for whom the enjoyment of running usually exceeds the pain (if only by a little), I find this an unnecessarily bleak view.

Besides, there’s a question of perspective. You could see the exercise as merely extending lifespan, but you could also see it as postponing the ageing process, or even reversing it temporarily, which sounds better.

I’ve been making my own observations of the phenomenon of late, and the findings are encouraging. At the annual Raheny 5 Mile race on Sunday, for example, I was talking to a veteran runner called Joe Maguire, who competes these days in the over-75 age-group (which is viciously competitive, by the way), but is the sort of man for whom the adjective “sprightly” remains inadequate. Since the last time we’d met, Joe had represented Ireland at a Five-Nations cross-country masters event in Nottingham where, defying hills and muck, he helped his team win silver medals. “I ran well that day,” he said, but alluding to a slight knee problem, added: “I won’t go well here.” Even so, and taking it easy, he finished Sunday’s race with change out of 42 minutes.

As usual, all the generations were represented in Raheny. The main event was preceded by a number of shorter races for children, including one for the five-to-seven age group (also fiercely competitive). Joe was near the other end of the spectrum. But he was visibly younger than the last time I saw him, in keeping with my preferred interpretation of the exercise-age equation.

I also found more evidence on Sunday for a related theory, that the rejuvenating effects of running are not merely physical. In fact, for a few hours after the race, I appeared to have regressed to the mental age of nine.

As happened last year, the change coincided with presentation of the “goody bags” for which the Raheny 5 is justly famous. These were as usual crammed with sweets and chocolate and packets of Tayto, as well as more esoteric high-protein food and drink items. And most of them were things I wouldn’t buy.

But it’s a rule of running, with the physical and psychological stresses it involves, that you have a child-like appreciation of any treats earned by your heroics.

So I brought my goody bag home afterwards as if it was so much treasure. And when, as usual, it was attacked by my children (one of whom is actually nine), I threatened violence in its defence.

For a while, I even felt a strange urge to eat the whole roll of fruit pastilles in front of them, while going “nah-nah, nah-nah-nah”. Then, gradually, the mood lifted. By the time I showered and had dinner, I was reverting to my normal mental age, minus the 70 minutes subtracted on the Paffenbarger formula. I let the kids have the pastilles and the crisps, eventually. But the chocolate was all mine.

@FrankmcnallyIT