Hart auf Hart Pt. II
The Allure of Running Hard
Rediscovering the Hard Way
I once wrote an Das Z Letter article called 'Hart auf Hart'.
This article is about the feeling of running 'hard'. You know, on hard ground, with shoes that transmit that ground uncushioned, but also running in a 'hard way'. I find myself as a runner in this way of running, and I am truly grateful to be able to do it again after my knee surgery. Running hard. Not all the time, but whenever I feel like it.
Feeling Every Step
Recently, I had a 'hard' run. The plan was to do a progressive run, starting at 2/10 on the RPE scale and working up to 6/10. I completely relied on my feeling during the workout and didn't look at the clock. This is what I usually do when I train according to RPE. The nice thing about a progressive run is that it's easy to control: it should just get harder and harder.
During the run I felt myself very intensely. Exactly what I described in my 'Hart auf Hart' article as 'running to feel myself':
I want to feel my muscles twitch in different parts of my body at different times. Synchronized like an orchestra.
I want to feel the impact of my foot hitting the asphalt. Sometimes flat, sometimes a bit twisted. But, always certain, it will catch me.
I want to feel the repercussion of the impact up my ankle, knee, and hip. A shockwave jolting through my body, awakening my spirits.
I want to sense my whole body after a long and hard run. Battered, but not broken.
It was a good feeling. But there was also a certain pull. I wanted more of that feeling. After the run, I wondered if this desire for 'Hart auf Hart' also involves a certain component of auto-aggression. I don't mean harming or consciously hurting myself. But still, a certain hardness and indifference towards one's own body - the physical shell in which we are trapped. A conscious anti-mindfulness, so to speak. To make oneself tangible and experienceable through this hardness.
Is that a cause for concern? I've never talked about it with other runners, and I don't know if you have similar feelings every so often. Tell me.
Hard Running, Runners’ Nature
But ultimately, every long run, every interval session, every hill sprint and every zone 5 workout is the same: running hard. You can't do them without a certain amount of rigor.
Of course, you don't have to do these workouts. The beauty of our sport has an infinite number of facets, and 'training hard' is just one of them. But even without a training plan and a target heart rate, most runners have reached their limit at some point and decided to keep running. Against their body's signals. Against sanity and self-protection. Against their own mindfulness.
The Paradox of Running Hard
Perhaps running ‘Hart auf Hart’ or running hard, means different things and feels different to each of us. For me, it's rooted in the raw, unfiltered experience of my body in motion. And yes, it can occasionally flirt with indifference or even a kind of defiance of my body's protective signals.
But maybe that's just another side of the human condition, the push and pull between comfort and challenge, safety and risk. Running teaches us time and time again that we are both fragile and resilient. But I certainly have this craving for running hard.
Everything Not Running
Well, maybe a bit of running today in the 'Everything Not Running' section. You love shoe reviews, I know you do.
When it comes to running hard, the shoe plays a crucial role. But we live in the age of superfoams, and even though the modern extra thick midsoles have been proven to provide enormous propulsion and faster times, running in so-called carbon shoes can often feel like running barefoot across a meadow of flowers. For better or worse.
Fortunately, there are still a handful of shoes that give me that 'Hart auf Hart' feeling. First and foremost is the Adidas Adios (not Pro, not Evo, just Adios). An uncompromising, honest zero-BS flat racer, originally designed for shorter distances of 5-10km (to this day, I'm still not sure how I managed to run my marathon PB in this shoe).
The Adios 6, 7 and 8 all gave me the direct running feel I was looking for, and I do 80% of my training in Adios shoes. Less cushioning, more work for my legs. Plus a rather moderate price tag. A great deal!
So I was both excited and a little apprehensive about the release of the new Adios 9. I was worried that they would over-engineer the shoe and try to make it 'modern'.
The bad news: they did.
The good news: it's still a great shoe.
Adidas has given the Adios a major overhaul, with an ultra-comfortable Lightlock upper (although I'm not really that keen on uppers), a full-length Lightstrike Pro midsole (the Adios 8 had Lightstrike Pro in the forefoot and 'regular' Lightstrike 2.0 in the heel) and the removal of the Energy Rods torsion bars.
What does this mean in practice?
The Adios 9 is still very direct and agile. At slow speeds it feels a little softer than its predecessors, but as soon as you pick up the pace (and the Adios 9 will undoubtedly tempt you to do so) and the G-forces increase, it is just as 'real' as its predecessors. Especially when you transfer the power from your legs to the asphalt via your forefoot.
That's my initial assessment after 2 runs and 25km. I'm curious to see how it works on the track and maybe I'll even take it to the Rodgau 50km Ultra in a few weeks time.
So far, I'm pretty happy with the shoe.
On Repeat
This week on On Repeat: "Atlantic City" from Springsteen's 1982 album Nebraska. I'm not a die-hard Boss fan, but I never skip a song when it appears on my (mostly random) playlist. "Atlantic City" has always been one of my favorites, especially while running.
Whole books have been written about Bruce Springsteen and his music, so I won't even bother going into detail. Just a few quick remarks about this particular standout song.
Stripped down to the bare essentials of storytelling and music, and recorded on a four-track cassette recorder (I also owned one of these during my first steps as a musician), the raw sound and honesty of the song is absolutely captivating. It tells the tale of a man faced with despair and moral compromise, set against the fading glamour of Atlantic City.
The steady rhythm and haunting lyrics, including the über-hookline
"Everything dies, baby, that's a fact, but maybe everything that dies someday comes back"
create a mood that is both dark and quietly hopeful. It's a song that lingers long after it's finished, drawing you back in each time.
As an avid smartass, I just wanted to let you know that what you describe is pure mindfulness (instead of anti-mindfulness): intentional, non-judgemental awareness of the present moment.