My first 10K finished after the one-hour mark. I remember the clock ticking past 60 minutes and thinking, Well… that’s that. Shirt soaked through, lungs on fire, legs totally cooked. Tropical humidity didn’t help. I stumbled in at about 1:02, proud I finished, but also quietly annoyed with myself.
For a long time, that 60-something time followed me around. I wore it like a badge of mixed emotions — accomplishment on one side, frustration on the other. I kept wondering why I felt stuck in the slow lane.
A year later, same race. Same distance. I crossed in 54-something. And the weird part wasn’t just the time — it was how it felt. Smoother. Calmer. I actually had something left for the last mile instead of hanging on for dear life.
Nothing magical happened in between. I didn’t suddenly unlock hidden talent. I’m not built like a gazelle. I call myself the happy tortoise — the everyday runner who just kept chipping away until sub-55 stopped feeling impossible.
One lesson really stuck with me from a tune-up run before that race. I went out way too fast in the first 3K. Adrenaline, ego, all of it. I was hitting splits I had no business touching. By halfway, I was wrecked and convinced I’d have to walk it in. That run humbled me hard.
The next time, I did the opposite. I started slower. I held back. I kept my ego on a short leash. And somehow… I finished faster.
That’s when it clicked: I wasn’t racing the people around me. I was racing the version of myself from last year. And on that day, the happy tortoise finally won.
The Intermediate Plateau – Why Am I Stuck Around 55 Minutes?
After a year or two of running, a lot of us end up in this weird middle space.
You’re not a beginner anymore. You run 3–4 days a week. You’ve done a few races. Running feels normal. By all logic, you should be improving.
And yet… you keep seeing 52–60 minutes on the clock.
I lived there for a long time. Race after race, right around 55 minutes. I tried harder. I pushed more. Nothing moved.
That’s what I call the intermediate plateau.
One big mistake I made was buying into the “no pain, no gain” mindset. I figured if I just ran harder every day, eventually my body would catch up. So I turned every run into a test. Every outing was supposed to be fast.
All that did was leave me tired and flat. I thought feeling destroyed meant I was training well. In reality, I was just digging a hole.
When I finally looked honestly at my training, a few problems jumped out.
First: everything was the same pace. Not easy. Not truly hard. Just… moderate. All the time. That meant I never really recovered, and I never really trained speed either. I was stuck in that gray zone where nothing improves.
Second: my mileage was barely enough to hold where I was. 15–20 miles a week on a good week isn’t much if you’re aiming for a faster 10K. It kept me afloat, but it didn’t push anything forward.
Third: consistency. Work, family, life — suddenly that “four-day plan” became two days here, three days there. Momentum never had a chance to build.
And then there was the injury loop. I’d get motivated, ramp up too fast to “make up for lost time,” and a few weeks later I’d be dealing with a cranky shin or tight calf. Back off. Start again. Same story.
The real wake-up call came when I showed up to a 10K already tired. I thought I was being tough by hammering training, but I’d actually trained myself into the ground. No wonder nothing changed.
If this sounds familiar, here’s the key thing to hear: it’s usually not a lack of effort. It’s a lack of structure, recovery, and patience.
And that’s fixable.
Why VO₂max and Threshold Still Matter at the Intermediate Level
When I first moved out of beginner territory, I honestly thought terms like VO₂max and lactate threshold were for lab coats and elite runners chasing Olympic standards. I was just some regular runner trying to shave a few minutes off my 10K — surely I didn’t need to care about that stuff, right?
Turns out… I did. Just not in the intimidating, textbook way I imagined.
Here’s how it finally clicked for me.
I think of VO₂max as your engine size. It’s the maximum amount of oxygen your body can use when you’re really working. Bigger engine, higher ceiling. Even for mid-pack runners, nudging that ceiling up gives you more room to improve. Research backs that up — VO₂max tends to line up pretty well with endurance performance. Put simply: runners with bigger engines usually have more speed potential.
What surprised me is that this still matters even when you’re no longer a newbie. I used to assume VO₂max was something you either had or didn’t. But looking at studies on 5K and 10K runners, even fairly fit athletes show differences — and those differences show up on the clock. Raising that ceiling doesn’t magically make you fast overnight, but it shifts everything slightly in your favor.
That said, I learned pretty quickly that engine size alone isn’t enough.
You can’t just mash the gas and expect to hold it.
That’s where lactate threshold comes in — and honestly, this one mattered more for my 10K than VO₂max ever did.
Threshold is basically your cruise control. It’s the fastest pace you can hold without blowing up. For a lot of intermediate runners, 10K pace sits right around that edge. You know the feeling — breathing gets sharper, legs start burning, and you’re suddenly very aware of every step. That’s you flirting with your threshold.
When your threshold improves, that red line moves. You can run faster for the same effort. And here’s the key part I didn’t understand early on: among runners with similar engines, the one who can use more of that engine for longer usually wins. Exercise science backs this up too — threshold is often more closely tied to race performance than VO₂max once you’re reasonably trained.
I saw this firsthand when I finally started doing proper tempo runs. After a couple months, something wild happened: paces that used to feel like full-on 5K effort became manageable for miles. My 10K times dropped — not because I suddenly became super fit, but because I could actually use the fitness I already had.
Then there’s the third piece nobody talks about enough: running economy.
I think of economy as your miles-per-gallon. How much energy does it cost you to run a given pace?
As you move from beginner to intermediate, gains don’t just come from a bigger engine or higher threshold. They come from wasting less energy. Better posture. Less flailing. Stronger legs. A smoother stride. Even small things stack up.
I noticed this once I added some light strength work and regular strides. Nothing dramatic — just short, fast-but-relaxed accelerations and basic strength. My form stopped falling apart late in races. I wasn’t fighting myself as much by mile five. It felt like free speed — same effort, better pace.
That lines up with what the science says too. Most endurance models point to VO₂max, lactate threshold, and running economy as the big three that explain why one runner is faster than another. If you’re trying to go from a 60-minute 10K to something closer to 50, you don’t need to obsess over numbers — but you do need to nudge all three in the right direction.
I’ll admit, when I first heard these concepts, I pictured treadmills, oxygen masks, and lab technicians scribbling notes. In reality, it boiled down to something much simpler:
- Some workouts where I breathed really hard (VO₂max work)
- Some runs that were comfortably hard and steady (threshold)
- Plenty of easy miles, plus drills and strength, to get smoother and more efficient
Before that, I was basically racing myself in training — running hard 10Ks and hoping improvement would magically happen. It didn’t. Once I understood the difference between intervals, tempos, and easy running, my body finally knew what it was supposed to adapt to.
The science matters — but what mattered more was this: each run had a purpose. I stopped burying myself every day. Training got smarter. And for the first time, my 10K times started dropping without me feeling wrecked all the time.
That’s when I realized these concepts weren’t elite-only. They were just the roadmap I’d been missing.
Training Changes to Go from 60 → 55 → 50 Minutes
Alright. This is the part everyone wants. What actually changed when I finally stopped hovering around an hour and started dragging that 10K time down toward the low-50s.
Short answer: nothing sexy. No magic workout. No heroic mileage jump. Mostly I stopped training randomly and started showing up with a plan — and sticking to it long enough for it to matter.
Here’s what actually moved the needle for me.
Weekly Mileage & Structure (That 20–30 mpw Sweet Spot)
I learned the hard way that mileage matters — but only up to the point where you can still recover. For a lot of intermediate runners, myself included, there’s a pretty reliable sweet spot around 20–30 miles per week.
When I was stuck around 15–18 miles a week, I could finish a 10K, sure. But holding pace for the full 6.2 miles felt like a slow leak. Somewhere around mile four, things always unraveled. Not dramatic, just… fading.
Once I crept my weekly mileage up toward 25 miles — slowly, over months — everything felt sturdier. My breathing settled. My legs didn’t panic halfway through runs. That aerobic base started doing its job.
A typical week for me in that range looked like:
- One longer run (usually 8–10 miles on the weekend)
- One interval workout (for speed and VO₂max)
- One tempo or threshold run
- One or two easy runs just to build volume without stress
That usually meant 4–5 days of running. Nothing fancy. Just each run having a reason for being there.
When I held 25–30 miles per week consistently, sub-55 stopped feeling like a stretch goal and started feeling… reasonable. When I dipped back under 20, the wheels always got wobbly again. There’s nothing magical about that range — it’s just where a lot of intermediates finally have enough fuel in the tank to run a strong 10K without white-knuckling the whole thing.
One Interval Workout Per Week
At some point I had to accept a simple truth: if you want to run faster, you eventually have to run fast.
Not recklessly. Not every day. Just once a week, on purpose.
My go-to interval workout became 6 × 800m. Half a mile each rep. Long enough to hurt, short enough to survive. I’d run them a bit faster than goal 10K pace, then jog 2–3 minutes and do it again.
Early on, those 800s were around 4:00 each, basically my current 5K pace. Later they crept down toward 3:45, then 3:30 on good days. I also rotated in 5 × 1 km at 10K pace, which felt more controlled — until the last rep reminded me it wasn’t an easy run.
The goal wasn’t to win the workout. It was to spend chunks of time near my max aerobic effort without blowing myself up. That’s what actually nudges VO₂max upward. There’s good evidence that high-intensity intervals do this better than just adding more moderate mileage, and yeah — that lined up with my experience.
I’ll be honest: early on I screwed this up by racing my intervals. Hammered the first rep, staggered through the rest, limped into the next week tired and cranky. Eventually I learned to start conservatively. Maybe 5–10 seconds per mile faster than 10K pace, not some ego-driven sprint. By the last rep I’d be hanging on, but still running, not surviving.
After a couple months of weekly intervals, something clicked: paces that used to feel “kind of hard” suddenly felt easy. My cruising speed had shifted. That alone was huge.
One Tempo Run Per Week
If intervals sharpened the knife, tempo runs taught me how to hold it steady.
This was probably the biggest unlock for my 10K.
Once a week I’d run at that uncomfortable middle effort — not racing, not jogging. The pace where you can’t chat, but you’re not gasping either. Early on, that meant 15–20 minutes straight at tempo. For me, that was around 8:30–8:45 per mile, roughly 30 seconds slower than my 10K pace at the time.
It never felt easy. Ever. Holding that effort without drifting slower took focus. Sometimes I’d split it into 2 × 10 minutes with a short jog between. First rep felt suspiciously okay. Second rep always felt like I’d miscalculated my life choices. Which usually meant I was doing it right.
Over time, that “comfortably hard” pace got faster. 8:45 became 8:30. Then 8:20 on good days. And suddenly, race pace stopped feeling like an immediate emergency.
That’s what threshold work does. It raises the floor your 10K pace stands on. When your threshold improves, your race pace doesn’t feel like it’s borrowing energy it can’t repay.
If I had to pick one thing that got me under 55, it was tempo runs. They bridged the gap between slow miles and all-out racing. They taught me how to suffer evenly instead of panicking early.
Gradual Progression (10% Rule, Plus Common Sense)
This was the lesson I had to relearn over and over: progress doesn’t like being rushed.
I knew the 10% rule. I just thought I was special enough to ignore it. Spoiler: I wasn’t.
Every time I stacked a great week and thought, “I feel amazing, let’s double the long run,” something would flare up. Shin. Calf. Achilles. Pick your poison.
What finally worked was boring: adding one mile here, an extra short run there, then sitting with that load for 2–3 weeks before touching anything else. Sometimes I didn’t increase mileage at all for a month — and that was fine.
One trick that helped: when I went from 4 days to 5 days of running, I kept total mileage the same at first. Just spread it out. Let my body get used to the rhythm. Then I slowly lengthened runs.
I also built in cutback weeks where mileage dipped slightly. Progress wasn’t a straight line — it was more like a gentle wave. That’s what kept me healthy enough to stay consistent.
Here’s the weird part: I didn’t break my plateau by smashing through it. I broke it by slowly raising it. When 25 miles a week became normal, everything below that felt easy. And when that happened, 10K pace stopped feeling like a dare.
Small bites. Not giant gulps.
I wanted to be tough. Turns out being patient was tougher — and way more effective.
Recovery and Cross-Training
This is the part of training most of us quietly ignore when we’re chasing a time goal: recovery.
I used to think recovery meant taking an easy day only when my legs basically forced me into it. Like, “Fine, I’ll jog today because I’m wrecked.” That mindset kept me stuck longer than I want to admit.
Now I treat recovery like another workout on the schedule — not optional, not a reward, but a requirement. Because without it, the hard workouts don’t actually make you faster. They just make you tired.
The biggest change I made was finally running my easy days truly easy. And I mean easy-easy. Sometimes two minutes per mile slower than my 10K pace. At first that felt almost embarrassing. I’d glance at my watch and feel that little ego itch — “I could go faster than this.”
But I learned a simple rule: if I wasn’t sure whether I was running easy enough, I probably wasn’t. So I slowed down even more.
The payoff showed up fast. My interval and tempo days stopped feeling like survival mode. I started those workouts fresher, sharper, and actually able to hit the paces I was supposed to hit — not just grind through them.
Beyond easy running, I leaned more into cross-training. Cycling and swimming became tools instead of afterthoughts. During one training cycle, Mondays were bike days — 15–20 miles on the bike instead of a run. Same aerobic benefit, way less pounding. My knees thanked me almost immediately.
I also added strength work a couple times a week. Nothing crazy. Twenty minutes. Bodyweight stuff. Core work. A few lunges, squats, planks. It wasn’t about getting strong in the gym — it was about staying durable on the road. My form held together better late in races, and little niggles stopped turning into full-blown injuries.
And then there’s the stuff we all know matters but pretend we can out-train: sleep and nutrition.
When I was younger, I’d stay up late, eat garbage after a run, and still expect my body to perform. That stopped working eventually. Now, as a slightly wiser tortoise, I aim for 7–8 hours of sleep and try to eat like someone who actually wants to recover. Not perfect. Just better.
The year I finally broke sub-55, I didn’t add brutal workouts or reinvent my plan. I did something way less exciting:
- I added one extra easy run per week
- I actually recovered between hard sessions
- I cut back a bit on booze and junk food
That was it.
No punishment. No suffering contest. Just consistency plus recovery. Once I gave my body space to absorb the training, the fitness showed up on its own. It honestly felt like the gains had been there the whole time — I’d just been too busy smashing myself to let them surface.
On a personal note, that same cycle was when I fully embraced being an early-morning runner in the Bali heat. Dawn runs became my recovery runs. Slow. Quiet. Humid, but manageable. Watching the sun creep up over the palms while my legs loosened up.
Those runs did double duty: physical recovery and mental reset. They set me up to push hard later in the week. If I’d tried to hammer every run in that climate, I would’ve burned out fast — or worse, started to hate running altogether.
Instead, I showed up to race day feeling like a coiled spring. Rested. Ready. Not cooked.
I ran a personal best that day — but more importantly, I enjoyed the process getting there. That was new.
Patterns & Turning Points for Intermediates
After years of running with others and doing some informal coaching, I’ve noticed the same patterns pop up again and again with intermediate runners. The struggles are familiar. The breakthroughs usually come from similar shifts.
First reality check: life is messy.
Most intermediates aren’t training in a vacuum. They’ve got jobs, school, kids, partners, social obligations — real life stuff. The “perfect” training plan almost never survives first contact with reality.
The runners who improve aren’t the ones with spotless calendars. They’re the ones who learn to be flexible without disappearing.
I coached a new mom training for a 10K who could only manage three runs some weeks. That was it. No hero mileage. No guilt spirals. We made those runs count and moved on. She improved anyway.
That’s been a recurring lesson: you don’t need a flawless training cycle. You need a good enough string of weeks where most of the key runs get done.
I tell busy runners this all the time: “80% consistent is 100% okay.” It’s amazing what happens when you just keep showing up week after week, even imperfectly.
Another pattern I see constantly is what I call the almost-race-pace addiction.
A lot of intermediates run every run at roughly the same effort. Not easy. Not hard. Just kind of… uncomfortable. They think unless they’re pushing, they’re not training.
I’ve had runners come to me frustrated with stagnant times, only to realize every run they do is around their perceived race effort. That’s the gray zone trap again.
So the first thing I usually do is slow them down. Dramatically. Which hurts the ego when the watch shows slower splits — but it’s necessary. You can’t push hard on the days that matter if you’re half-pushing every single day.
Another common issue: no training record.
A lot of intermediates train purely by feel and memory. Which sounds fine, until you convince yourself you’re not improving — with no evidence either way.
I encourage at least a basic log. Nothing fancy. Notes in your phone work. Distances. Paces. How it felt.
That’s when patterns emerge:
- Your easy 5-miler used to be 10:30 pace, now it’s 10:00
- Your tempo heart rate is lower than it was two months ago
- You haven’t done a long run in three weeks (oops)
Those little signals matter. They’re proof of progress — or warning signs you’ve drifted off course.
Awareness is usually the turning point. Once runners see what they’re actually doing, the fixes become obvious. And when the training finally lines up with recovery, improvement tends to follow — quietly, steadily, without drama.
That’s how most intermediate breakthroughs happen. Not with fireworks. Just with smarter habits, repeated long enough to work.
Now let me share one of my favorite turnaround stories — because it perfectly shows how small, boring changes can completely change the trajectory.
I coached a runner who had been stuck at 58–60 minutes for the 10K for more than a year. On paper, he was doing a lot right. He ran four days a week, week after week. No long layoffs. No inconsistency.
The problem? Every run looked exactly the same.
Four or five miles.
Same loop.
Same pace.
Usually somewhere between 9:30 and 10:00 per mile.
He wasn’t recovering. He wasn’t challenging himself either. He was just reinforcing one gear over and over again.
We didn’t blow up his schedule. We didn’t add flashy speed workouts. We made two simple tweaks.
First: I added a structured 30-minute tempo run on Tuesdays. Nothing exotic. Just a sustained “comfortably hard” effort where he had to sit in that threshold zone and learn to stay there.
Second: we added one short, very easy run on Thursdays — sometimes just 2–3 miles. The goal wasn’t speed. It was gently nudging his weekly mileage upward without stress.
That was it.
He still did his 7–8 mile long run on the weekend.
He still kept his other runs easy.
No extra workouts. No doubles. No hero weeks.
The only other change? He started logging his runs, so we could actually see progress instead of guessing.
The first few tempo runs were rough. He struggled to find that gear because he’d never trained there before. He kept asking if he was “doing it right” — which is usually a sign that you are. But week by week, things started to click.
Six months later, he ran 51-something for the 10K.
Nearly an eight-minute drop.
He was ecstatic. I’ll be honest — even I didn’t expect it to come together that fast. But it proved something I’ve seen again and again: when you inject just enough quality work and just a bit more volume, plateaus crack.
What mattered most wasn’t the workouts themselves — it was that he didn’t skip weeks.
The part that stuck with me most was what he said afterward. He told me the biggest change wasn’t physical — it was mental. Hard workouts stopped feeling like punishments. They became occasional challenges, clearly separated from easy days. He showed up fresher, calmer, and more confident.
That mental shift is massive.
A lot of intermediate runners hit a turning point when they finally realize improvement isn’t about doing more. It’s about doing things smarter.
One runner I know started tracking heart rate and realized she’d been running her “easy” days at 85% of max HR. Basically racing every run without realizing it. She slowed down. Two months later, her 10K dropped from 55 to 52 minutes.
Another runner joined our group track sessions and learned what even pacing actually felt like. No more blasting the first rep and surviving the rest. Once pacing clicked, 10Ks stopped feeling terrifying — and his times followed.
These turning points almost always circle back to the same theme:
Easy days easy.
Hard days purposeful.
Rest taken seriously.
As a coach — and as someone still grinding through my own goals — those lightbulb moments are my favorite thing to witness. You can see it in people. They stop feeling stuck. Progress becomes steady instead of random. Not because of genetics or secret workouts, but because the training finally makes sense.
And once someone breaks through one plateau, their confidence changes. Suddenly, a 50-minute 10K doesn’t sound crazy. Neither does a half marathon. They trust the process now. They know patience works.
By the Numbers – Progression and Pace Perspective
Let’s put some numbers around all of this, because when progress feels slow, data can keep you sane. I’m not obsessed with metrics, but I’ve learned that tracking a few simple ones can reveal progress long before your race times catch up.
One of the most helpful things I ever did was look at my 10K times across a full year, not race by race. What you’ll almost never see is a clean, steady downward slope. It’s usually a messy line — flat stretches, small bumps backward, then the occasional sudden drop.
That’s exactly how it went for me. Over about 12 months, I moved from roughly 60 minutes down to 54. But it didn’t happen smoothly. I sat stubbornly in the 57–55 minute range for what felt like forever — probably six months. Then, after one solid training block, I dropped into the low-50s almost out of nowhere.
If you graphed it, it would look boring… until suddenly it didn’t.
That’s why I always warn runners not to quit during those flat periods. Plateaus don’t mean nothing’s happening. Often it means your body is quietly stacking adaptations. You’re winding the spring. And when it releases, the drop can feel sudden and surprising. That’s not luck — that’s delayed payoff. If you’re doing the right things consistently, trust that the work is going somewhere even when the clock refuses to cooperate.
Another metric that really opened my eyes was heart rate relative to pace during everyday runs.
Early on, a 10:00 mile had my heart rate hovering around 170 bpm — and that wasn’t even a hard run. A few months later, the same pace sat closer to 150 bpm. Nothing magical happened overnight. I just became more efficient. My heart didn’t have to work as hard to do the same job.
Later still, I could run a 9:00 mile at 170 bpm, a pace that once felt completely out of reach.
That’s real progress — even if you haven’t raced yet.
If you wear a GPS watch or heart-rate monitor, this kind of data is gold. It shows internal improvement before it shows up as a PR. Many coaches track things like heart rate at a steady pace or pace at threshold effort precisely because races are too infrequent to rely on alone. Seeing my average heart rate drop on a familiar loop was hugely motivating. It proved the training was working under the hood, even when my race calendar was quiet.
Now let’s talk pace, because this is where expectations often get warped.
Small changes in pace make big differences over 6.2 miles.
Here’s the reality check:
-
| 10K Time |
Pace / km |
Pace / mile |
| 70:00 |
7:00/km |
11:16/mi |
| 65:00 |
6:30/km |
10:28/mi |
| 60:00 |
6:00/km |
9:39/mi |
| 58:00 |
5:48/km |
9:20/mi |
| 55:00 |
5:30/km |
8:51/mi |
| 52:00 |
5:12/km |
8:22/mi |
| 50:00 |
5:00/km |
8:03/mi |
| 48:00 |
4:48/km |
7:43/mi |
| 45:00 |
4:30/km |
7:14/mi |
| 42:00 |
4:12/km |
6:46/mi |
| 40:00 |
4:00/km |
6:26/mi |
Going from 60 to 50 minutes means running about 1 minute 36 seconds faster per mile. That’s massive. No wonder it doesn’t happen overnight. Even dropping from 60 to 55 requires nearly 50 seconds per mile — still a big physiological leap.
Understanding this helped me stay patient. I stopped expecting miracles. Instead, I started thinking in 5–10 second chunks per mile over a training cycle. That felt doable. Shaving 10 seconds off my pace didn’t feel heroic — but over 6 miles, that’s a full minute off my time. Framing goals this way made improvement feel concrete instead of abstract and intimidating.
Sometimes it’s easier to chase “run 8:30 pace comfortably” than “run a 53-minute 10K.” Same goal — clearer path.
Context matters too. Age and gender absolutely influence these numbers, whether we like it or not. On average, men tend to run faster than women at the same training level, and younger runners generally have more raw speed than older ones. For example, population data suggests average 10K times around 53 minutes for men and 63 minutes for women.
That doesn’t mean much on an individual level — I’ve been passed by plenty of women who made me look stationary — but it’s useful context. A 55-minute 10K at age 50 can represent just as much (or more) training intelligence and effort as a 48-minute 10K at age 30.
Comparing across ages is apples and oranges.
I remind runners of this all the time — and myself too, as the birthdays stack up. What matters is your trajectory, not someone else’s number. One of my proudest coaching moments was watching a 60-year-old runner break 58 minutes. On age-graded charts, that performance lined up with much younger runners in the mid-40s range. But honestly, we didn’t need charts to tell us it was impressive. The work spoke for itself.
Use numbers to guide you, not judge you. They’re tools for understanding progress, not measures of worth. Whether your intermediate goal is 60 minutes, 55 minutes, or 45 minutes, the same principles apply: train smart, recover well, stay consistent, and enjoy the process.
The clock is just one lens. Don’t let it be the only one you look through.
Final Takeaway
At the intermediate level, speed stops being free.
As a beginner, progress comes just from showing up. Now, improvement comes from quiet discipline — doing the right things often enough without letting ego take over.
You don’t have to train like a hare to get faster. You just have to be a patient, stubborn tortoise. The one who keeps stacking weeks, respects recovery, and doesn’t panic when progress feels slow.
If you stay consistent, those once-distant 10K times don’t disappear — they quietly become normal.
Keep moving.
Keep learning.
And enjoy the run.
