Fartlekker

I just need to make an announcement here. I've come a long way in six months and I'm damned proud of myself.

Allow me to paint a picture. You're walking across the LA Fitness main floor and you look up at the staircase that gives access to the treadmills, elliptical trainers, and cycles. Coming down those stairs is a decent-looking 39-year-old woman. She's holding the railing as if she's a debutante being introduced to high society, but there's no glittering cloud of chiffon surrounding her. Instead, she's wearing yellow Adidas Supernova running shoes, black pants, a dark purple short-sleeved, sweat-stained shirt, and a black running cap. She's carrying a bottle of water and an iPod and wiping her extremely sweaty, red face with a purple towel. She looks whipped as she moves to the stretching mats, sucking on the water bottle as if her life depends on it. What you do see is her fatigue, but what you don't see is her inner satisfaction.

That picture? That was me this morning after completing my first fartlek (Swedish for "speed play") workout. What did I do during said workout? Well, I ran for 10 minutes, sprinted for three minutes with a one-minute slower run rest (do that six times), then cool-down run/jog for 10 minutes. I am here to tell you that it kicked my rear, but I did it. Six months ago, I couldn't even run one mile and this morning, I ran 4 miles for 45 minutes with interval sprints mixed in.

Yep, I'm here. I'm finally here. Now, excuse me while I go collapse into a boneless heap and curse those damned Swedes.