Fartlek: Swedish for Heart Attack

This 10k clinic is quite different from the 5k clinic I just finished. It's more like boot camp, but the nicest kind of boot camp, and the instructor's like a drill sergeant, but the nicest kind of drill sergeant.   You have to love her because she's so cheerful, so passionate and so committed, and she has a large team of loyal group leaders that work with her so you know she's an awesome and inspiring leader.  I know I am going to get a lot out of this clinic and will be a better runner for it but I think ours is going to be one of those love-hate relationships.  Love her, love the clinic, hate the blood, sweat and tears.

Last night, and this was a first for me, she had us doing form drills and fartleks.  Fartleks?  I can never get that right on the first try.  Fartlet.  Farklek.  Farklet.  Gah!  I can't even say it with a straight face.

"Does anyone know why we do drills and fartleks?" she asked.

The group murmured tentatively and I thought, "Because you said to."

"Does anyone know why we do drills and fartleks?" she asked again, more emphatically this time, and I thought, "Because you said to, SIR!"

Correct answer:  To improve our form and raise our anaerobic threshhold.  Sounds awesome!  Can't wait!

Well, it was hard.  It was sweaty.  My hips ached, my quadriceps burned, my heart was jackhammering in my chest and my lungs wanted to burst.  I was physically exhausted and my "sprint" back was laughable.  The whole exercise underscored all my weaknesses and shone a big bright light on the things I need to improve.  But damned if I didn't feel fantastic when we were finished!