old fart-lek

Following what seemed at the time like an interminable series of illnesses and injuries I’m glad to be back on track, running. It might be early days but I’m pleased to be able to say I run again, and this time I have the dog as my jogging buddy. Though it might not feel it at the time when I’m bowling along, afterwards, having run, and retaining the confidence that you really can run, it gives me a great sense of being and achievement; it’s liberating, both physically and mentally. Thinking about it, I do get it when I’m actually running, providing the humidity and the sun aren’t too high. Fleet of foot, the wind in the hair (some chance), that kind of thing. Superb.

To ease myself back in I’ve adopted my own interpretation of Fartlek which I’ll probably call old fart-lek. Basically, this is a Swedish training method and simply translates as Speed-Play. In practice in involves breaking up a long run into a series of shorter ones varying in effort, anything from, say, walking fast to sprinting flat out. The pace and duration of each leg designed to suit the individual and to allow for brief periods of stress followed by recovery while continuously moving. I’m sure there’s more to the science than I’ve explained but it’s a fun way, and a good way, to run. Blinding.

Running with the dog can be a bit comical. A comfortable pace for me is a tad too quick for the dog to walk normally but way too slow for her to trot, so we begin with her walking increasingly fast in a similar way to a cartoon dog, her legs speeding up to a blur until the lead gets tight and she has to give in and break into a casual trot whereby, soon after, the lead gets yanked in the opposite direction and I, with arm stretched out of its socket, get pulled along the road. When we get to the cross-country part, I’ll let her off the lead but this has its funny moments too. A narrow cut in a field of tall grass means we must go single-file but who goes first is a bone of contention. With dog out front, she seems gradually to slow down so I’m constantly worried she’ll just stop to smell something over ripe on the path and I’ll go arse over tit over a sniffing dog. However, if I get in front I feel her wet snout nudging the back of my calves all the way as if she’s telling me to get a bloody shift on, dawg, or move over. But mostly it’s the open lane, with me hacking up sputum owing to a juvenile tonsillectomy, and her panting due to an absence of sweat glands and making it sound like I’m running alongside Thomas the tank engine. Excellent.

I guess that’s f-fa-f-fa-f-fart-lek, folks!