The other day I was in the middle of one of my favorite activities, running. My mind was wandering, the way it often does on the trail, and I began to think about one of my other favorite past times, knitting. And it struck me how many similarities these two pursuits possess. On the surface, it would seem none. Consider your stereotypical knitter. You’re probably picturing a granny in a rocker, cranking out yet another god-awful puke green sweater vest for her unappreciative grandchild. Not exactly the same image you get when you think of a hardened and fit runner cruising down the trail.
What you probably don’t realize is that knitting is the new yoga. Everyone, it seems, is doing it. Movie stars on the set. College kids in class. Even track and field athletes in between events at their meets. In 2006 there was even a Knitting Olympics, in which over 4,000 knitters competed to complete a project during the 16 days of the Winter Games. Could it be that knitting is a sport after all?
For me, choosing a knitting project is like picking a race. I pour through race listings (patterns), searching for just the right combination of challenge and chance of success. I gather my materials, develop a training plan, and I’m off. At first the project doesn’t look like much. A few rows that don’t look like they could ever become a sweater. Lackluster training runs that make me doubt that I can ever get fit enough to race. With perseverance, however, the project starts to come around, and I gain confidence that I will eventually succeed. Unless, until, the dreaded injury/dropped stitch. Every runner’s/knitter’s nightmare. With any luck, this will be a minor setback. Tear out a few rows, take a few days off and I’m back on track. Unless it’s something big—a major hole, a stress fracture. Then occasionally I’m forced to abandon the entire project and start over at a later date.
Reading patterns is like decoding a runner’s log. K1 P1, inc 1 st end of every 6th row 8 (8,9,10) times. 8 x 400 with 100 rec; 2 x mile with 400 rec; 4 x 400 with 100. Both look like gibberish to the uninitiated, but an experienced runner/knitter can give the instructions a quick glance and know exactly how much frustration and pain are involved.
Most beginning knitters start with scarves, the way beginning runners initially run 5K’s. There’s a sense of accomplishment, but as with any addiction, soon the athlete becomes bored and wants more. Knitting row after row begins to feel mundane. The athlete wants more challenges—purling, cables, interval workouts, hill repeats. A half marathon or a hat. For the truly ambitious, a sweater or an ultra. Training for an ultra is like knitting a sweater. The process takes so long—months sometimes—that by the time race day comes along (the day you sew all the pieces of the sweater together), you’re sick of the project and ready to move to something new and different. Still, you persevere, because of the sense of accomplishment that awaits. And of course the opportunity to brag at work the following Monday. “Yes, I ran 50 miles, and by the way, I knitted this sweater myself.”