Vacation FARTLEKS: Navigating Familial Reunions

Summer vacation, as I experienced it, was really one huge Fartlek.

I knew back in June, with that first step into a season with kids out of school’s routine and a seeming random placement of vacation weeks and weekends, that there wouldn’t be a lot in summer’s terrain that would be predictable.

I knew that I, like anyone else on vacation, would have to navigate the terrain of vacation questions–to run or not to run?  Stick to training or let it go?  Give up runs for time with family or no?

In a body and mind accustomed to speed and hard work, I quickly go to the extreme edges of  zones within the questions–give up all work to go into all play, all giving to my boys no time for me?  Babysitter all summer so I can work a regular routine?

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

But wouldn’t it also be true that all play and no work make Jack a slow boy?  I worry.

Like many Boulder area runners, I settle my thoughts to the inbetween:  All of the above.  Within trail runs.

I anticipated my summer–actually–as one long trail of familial reunions: walking rocky hills in Europe with college sisters, jogging dirt paths somewhere near Grandma Pearl’s South Dakota on the way to Mount Rushmore, pushing out and backs on wagon tracks past family homesteads in Minnesota, sprinting through an Omaha family gathering in a final press back for school’s start.  I anticipated running my times through the zones as I literally ran through time zones, experiencing a lot of familiar Scandinavian terrain but with a lot of unknown ups and downs.

“Yep, one huge Fartlek.”

Speaking of Scandinavian terrain, I speak “Fartlek” on Scandinavian terrain as I consider, while running one of Boulder’s Nordic trails at summer’s start, how my summer vacations may actually play out.  “Fartlek, Fartlek,” I repeat to myself this Scandinavian term reminding to, with speed, play.

I play with this word on my tongue, this word that brings ever-working me, by its very essence, toward silliness.  Yes, my mind easily goes silly with “Fartlek” partly because I have boys who would quickly enjoy repeating the first half of the word.  I do also, however, find my linguistic-self delight in the way it comes out of my mouth in a blast with the k while making me immediately want to say it again in rhyme.

I love this word, also, because in it is my Grandfather’s nickname “Far,” a shortened Scandinavian endearment for Mor Far, Mother’s Father.  I can hear my other Swedish “Papa” chuckling as I continue to phonetically mark a footpath through my Nordic heritage, repeating “Fartlek” aloud over and over while I am actually traversing Boulder land that both these grandfathers lived in and moved over before me.

No wonder this  term is one of my personal favorite running terms in all of my running culture, holding multiple meanings, layers of delight.  For enjoyment, I will always choose “Fartlek” over the phonetically flat “Trail run.”

Moller, too, chooses to use “Fartlek”on the masterruncoach website she launched with Nobby Hashizume, a resource I’ve turned to during these hopefully carefree summer months (do they prefer it because Nobby lives in Minnesota?)  I consider their definition as I reflect on Moller’s influence, hearing her coaching voice echo with the crack of small sticks as I cross over a field I know she has in her view every day.   “Fartlek” . . .   ” . . . the whole gamut of paces over an undulating area . . . . Mix in some fast stride-outs, sustained runs for a minute or 2, short hill sprints, downhill strides, etc., making sure that you have easy recovery jogs in between”1.

As I take in the diffused light and clean air in this Boulder scene, I experience Moller’s highlight of the beauty of the Fartlek–that there is “no pressure to perform.”2  A fellow trail-running teammate led me to this same Fartlek beauty–pressure-free relaxation.   Ironically I pass her on this very, varied path, both of us seeking pure enjoyment of running again.   She was right about this path to step out of performance–as I step forward in a Fartlek, my mind is somehow freed from an intense inner focus to go outside of myself.  I see more hills, more animals, more roots and boulders.

“Speed up or slow down according to the terrain of the trail,” we hear.  Moller adds “ . . . according to how you feel.”3  The key is to naturally let self follow the terrain, flying with the downhills, slowing with an uphill, or if you feel like it, chasing a bird hard up an uphill then fast over a downhill . . . .

Moller, of course, is quick to point out the downfall of speed in the Fartlek.  She knows we workers will keep going fast through the whole thing.  “It is a mistake,” she writes, “to try to quantify the run and make the speed be more work than play.”4

I hear in the warning a McMillan echo off the trees through the woods–a caution with speed–don’t give it your all.5  He must know something about this nuance in Fartlek meaning between speed “work” and speed “play.”  ["Don’t be so all or nothing" I hear my husband echo McMillan’s echo through the woods.]

I get it–let go of intention.  Let go of my brain and follow the terrain.

I get it–the beauty of the pending full-summer vacation, if I can really experience it, is letting go of schedules, the pacing of having to get certain places by certain times.  It is a chance to enjoy family union in a new way, through new scenes.

But . . .  yikes, “You make it up as you go.”6 ?  Forest shadows. . . haunting words that I don’t like the sound of.  I don’t like improvisation; I do so enjoy and find beauty in good pre-determined plan (a string of predictable 50-mile weeks).  If a coach’s words fall on you in the woods, do you have to hear them?

Admittedly, the “needing routine” part of me is worried at the beginning of summer, by this idea of play:  If I let go and just roll with the summer vacation terrain, will I lose my training edge?

[If I do all this play with my kids, will my writing work suffer?]

And I don’t trust, even with Moller’s encouragement, my “feelings,” preferring to, instead, rely on logic and my head.

“Find your own way of enjoying both the work and play of your vacation,” a friend’s logic refracts bouncing light with the light that edges a grove, echoing my bouncing footsteps.

Okay, I get it.  The beauty of the Fartlek–letting go of speed . . . to a degree.  Fartleks, after all, are still considered a training run.  My summer Fartlek is not not training.  It’s just more play than work, a little more functioning in spontaneity than routine.

“Fartlek, Fartlek,”  I repeat, hoping to call forth some enjoyment and silliness to speak to the still present anxious feelings about “just rolling with it” along the rolling terrain just ahead.

Do you ever find you need a word to hang onto in navigating the unknown?

I take a minute to enjoy the silence after this hanging question.      . . .

Just when I am ready for this run to be done, I realize it can be.

And then, it is.

It felt faster than I thought it would.

And more enjoyable overall.

“As did my long summer Fartlek,” I verbalize, as I head out for a short recovery Fartlek at summer’s end.  I consider the actual ups and downs of my summer’s one long Fartlek as I navigate again the hilly terrain–my trail of roots around Boulder’s boulders.

In Europe I thought I’d feel anxious and uncomfortable in a whole week off of running.   I thought I would be edgy about losing my training edge.  Turns out I hardly thought about not running; I stayed relaxed within enjoyment (and even silliness) in a week of just walking.  And immediately upon my return, I ran the West End 3k and had a great time (not to mention ran a great time for 3rd place masters).

At Mount Rushmore with my husband and kids I thought I’d run–I always do on our family vacations.  Turns out it took too much energy to push up a mountain of high miles along the only option–highways.  And my own family needed some attention–some re-union.  I actually–gasp–gave up my runs and spent two mornings lounging with my family.

Somewhere in the middle of South Dakota I was trying to do a marathon pace run, trying to figure out how elites mentally hold a fast pace for 26.2 miles–too much work.  Was there a way to hold marathon pace but let go mentally at the same time?  A way to push speed but have an element of rest?  Somehow during this part of the Fartlek something clicked in my form.  I was able to hold speed by holding form all while mentally letting go of pacing because I could feel the fast pace in my body.  “Fartlek, Fartlek,” I said, mind wandering in ease, at what I would guess was a steady 7:10.

After South Dakota came Minnesota and time with my extended family.  I often consider not running during these “reunions” in order to spend my time with other people.  I realized this year that I need to not not go for my runs.  I felt the need for self talk over talk, the calming effect of home’s rhythm while I’m away, the need to relax by actually continuing to move my body instead of stopping its movement.  On a recovery run, I passed a farm that reminded me of my Swedish papa.  He also “worked” on his vacations.  He found jobs to do.  It was his way of relaxing.

Hm.  Play having some element of work . . . sort of like speed effort having some element of play, vacation having some element of effort.

Don’t do all.  But don’t do nothing.

It just so happens that this exact idea is my [Swedish] Dad’s play on his typical vacation attitude “do something.”  He has long modeled that vacation is not about sitting back doing nothing having people serve you, but is doing something useful or helpful.  He challenged us with a playful contest for our vacation reunion:  a serving award.  “Do something for someone else.”

Somehow I saw a new play on the idea that this doesn’t mean don’t do what you want to do–giving all to effort and nothing to play.  Vacation doesn’t need to be all about you or all about others.  It just means when you are doing something you want to do or enjoy, tune into those around you and their needs too.

I get it with a literary application too, as I run another farm Fartlek, actually, (no, my writing work hasn’t gone by the trail-side).  I used to think personal essay was all about me.  “There is a difference between being about me and being me,” I think.  This year, I am being me without making things be about me.  It is a slight nuance shift that holds a lot of meaning.

So in Omaha, when I thought I would need a fast-paced speed run to connect and slow me down, I was actually too anxious to run.  I had to take a minute.  Breathe.  Slow down my thoughts.  Relax.  Find my word.  I didn’t need a run to find calm.  I had to find some calm and then I ran.

And then, at summer’s near end, through winding back roads, I actually got lost.  And in getting lost, I lost my head and forgot to click my Garmin back on when I had turned it off.  After finding my way, I had no idea how far I’d gone or how long it had taken me to get there.  Talk about letting go of time!  Funny, or should I say Silly, thing is, I realized I really didn’t care about time or miles any more.  And, really, I knew if I did care to know, guesstimating could get me close.  Could type A me who is all about miles maybe consider moving in my more formal upcoming training to a Moller-suggested time-guage for my runs?  Could I move from logging “18-milers” to “2 hours . . . give or take”?

I finish my run, interestingly, finishing my summer season, naturally seeing a fall training plan in the steps just ahead.

I finish my run (“Fartlek, fartlek!”), check my Garmin, and notice that my Garmin numbers are saying that I maintained a steady lower pace even though I was up and down.  I realize that I do trust my feelings more than my Garmin in gauging the effort and experience of my body.

Though the seeming lack of Garmin accuracy may have discouraged me earlier in the summer–I actually feel encouraged by these Garmin’s numbers.  I see their usefulness in a new way.  They show that even though a was actually up and down a lot over the summer, overall, I kept an acceptable pace.

Moller affirms that this is a great Fartlek outcome saying that your “overall pace should come out slightly slower than normal aerobic run”7.

My literary self echoes agreement seeing a similar outcome with my summer work and writing.  In a fartlek-like experience, in spurts that felt too rushed or too slow, I did accomplish something close to normal in my work.  Overall, I had basically the same output.

And how do I feel about that?  Do I trust the feeling?

© 2011 Lisa E. Jackson

1.  Moller, Lorraine and Hashizume, Nobby, Go2Lydiard, “Break Through Running,” www.masterruncoach.com.

2.  Moller, Lorraine and Hashizume, Nobby, Go2Lydiard, “Break Through Running,” www.masterruncoach.com.

3.  Moller, Lorraine and Hashizume, Nobby, Go2Lydiard, “Break Through Running,” www.masterruncoach.com.

1. Moller, Lorraine and Hashizume, Nobby, Go2Lydiard, “Break Through Running,” www.masterruncoach.com.

5.   McMillan, Greg, M.S. “Find Your Sweet Spot: Maximal vs. Optimal Adaptation Rate,” (November 2010).  Running Times (November 2010).

6.  Moller, Lorraine and Hashizume, Nobby, Go2Lydiard, “Break Through Running,” www.masterruncoach.com.

7.  Moller, Lorraine and Hashizume, Nobby, Go2Lydiard, “Break Through Running,” www.masterruncoach.com.