Running News Daily

Why the "Norwegian Method" Training Craze Is Here to Stay

In a highly anticipated race at the 2024 Prefontaine Classic, Jakob Ingebrigsten pitted his revolutionary "Norwegian method" of training against some of the best milers in the world.

The “Mile of the Century”—of the twentieth century, that is—was a duel between John Landy and Roger Bannister at the 1954 Empire Games in Victoria. The two men were, at the time, the only two sub-four-minute milers in the world: Bannister had beaten Landy to the punch by 46 days, but Landy was the reigning world record holder. Their end-of-season clash was as heavily anticipated as any heavyweight boxing duel. Landy led until the final bend, at which point he famously glanced over his left shoulder at precisely the moment that Bannister surged past on his right.

The mile of the current century, at least in terms of pre-race hype and intriguing storylines, took place on Saturday at the Prefontaine Classic track meet in Eugene. It was a gigantic multidimensional grudge match between Jakob Ingebrigsten, the blunt-speaking Norwegian wunderkind who won the 2021 Olympics at the tender age of 20 and whose training methods have sparked wholesale upheaval in the endurance world, and almost every runner who has beaten him or come close to it in recent years—most notably Josh Kerr, the Scotsman who upset him at last summer’s World Championships and has been engaged in an increasingly testy war of words with him ever since.

What gave the race an extra layer of significance, beyond the usual battle for personal supremacy, was that clash of training ideas. Ingebrigtsen is the foremost exponent of what has come to be known as the “Norwegian method” of endurance training. Its hallmark is carefully controlled workout intensities, pushing just hard enough to stimulate adaptation without incurring fatigue that would compromise the next workout. In Ingebrigtsen’s hands, that involves twice-a-week double threshold sessions: workouts like ten times a kilometer with one minute recovery in the morning and evening, with regular ear pricks to check lactate levels and keep the intensity in the right zone, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

A similar approach has also taken Norwegians to the top of the podium in other sports like triathlon and cross-country skiing, and athletes from other countries have begun emulating it. Norwegian-style training is “the big, sexy thing,” as U.S. miler Hobbs Kessler put it. It might even be “the next step in the evolution of distance running training,” as a group of sports scientists suggested in an academic paper last year (which I wrote about here). It’s very hard to do controlled studies of entire training philosophies, as opposed to specific workouts. So the best litmus test, I suggested, would be clashes on the track leading up to the Paris Olympics. Saturday in Eugene was the first such test.

Sexy new things don’t stay sexy and new forever, and it’s fair to say that some of the shine of Norwegian training has worn off since last year. The most notable reputational hit was Kerr’s 1,500-meter win at last summer’s World Championships, kicking past Ingebrigtsen in the final lap after the Norwegian had led most of the race. One loss could be blamed on bad luck, but that made three times in a row: another Scottish runner, Jake Wightman, had outkicked Ingebrigtsen in strikingly similar fashion at the 2022 World Championships, and Ethiopian star Samuel Tefera did the same at the 2022 World Indoor Championships. That starts to look like a systemic flaw in the training approach. While Ingebrigtsen was carefully monitoring his moderate-intensity threshold intervals, Kerr and Wightman and Tefera were presumably ripping off all-out sprints—and they had a racing gear that he seemed to lack.

In Eugene, a rabbit led the field through a quick first half-mile. When he stepped off, it was Kenyan runner Abel Kipsang who pushed onward, with Ingebrigtsen following patiently behind. This was already a surprise: Ingebrigtsen is usually the one pushing the pace. Then, with a lap and a half still remaining, it was the fast finisher Kerr who surged into the lead and made an early bid for victory. Each man, it seemed, was playing the other’s game. The last lap ticked by in slow motion, Kerr unable to pull away and Ingebrigtsen unable to close the gap. That’s how it finished: Kerr in 3:45.34, Ingebrigtsen in 3:45.60, and then seven more men under the once-impregnable 3:50 barrier. In 11th place was Cam Myers, a 17-year-old from Australia, with a time of 3:50.15—two seconds faster than Ingebrigtsen himself ran at Pre as a 17-year-old in 2018.

It would be as foolish to give up on Norwegian training based on a few individual losses as it would be to anoint it the “next step” on the basis of a few individual wins. But if Ingebrigtsen keeps losing, that’s going to reinforce doubts about whether his approach is as effective for head-to-head racing as it is for time trials. There are plenty of caveats: for example, an Achilles injury disrupted Ingebrigtsen’s training for several months over the winter. But there are also other questions. What has happened to his older brothers Henrik and Filip? Both were world-class milers in their own right, but both have been struggling in recent years, as have other prominent Norwegian athletes like Olympic triathlon champion Kristian Blummenfeld, raising questions about the sustainability of the Norwegian approach.

And then there’s the fact that, despite all the hype about the mile, the real marquee event at Pre turned out to be the women’s 10,000 meters, where Kenya’s Beatrice Chebet became the first woman to dip under 29 minutes with a world-record clocking of 28:54.14. Kenyan runners (and their Ethiopian rivals) have been at the top for so long that it’s easy to take their dominance for granted. When I was in college in the 1990s, we were all fascinated by “the Kenyan Way.” That was the subtitle of Toby Tanser’s 1997 book, Train Hard, Win Easy. The secret, of course, was that there was no secret. There was a famous (and almost certainly apocryphal) anecdote about a Kenyan coach who was asked what separated his top runners from the merely good ones. All of them had grown up running to and from school each day, he explained; the champions also went home for lunch.

Part of the current fascination with the Norwegian training method is the suggestion that there is, in fact, a secret—a quantifiable formula, expressed in milimoles per liter of lactate in your blood, to optimize your training, rather than simply an admonition to work hard. But that’s a reductive view of what Ingebrigtsen and his Nordic peers are aiming for. The underlying philosophy of Norwegian training is that a harder workout isn’t always a better one, because it will take too long to recover from. This is hardly a new insight, but in the great merry-go-round of training fads, it was perhaps overdue for a resurgence.

In fact, the original Mile of the Century had a similar subtext. Bannister was the light-training amateur who ran on his lunch hour; Landy was a workout hero with “an insatiable appetite for interval running,” as Bannister wrote. “The great contrast in our training methods was not lost of the Press.” Bannister won the race, but it’s Landy’s training approach that proved to be more influential on subsequent generations. As Ingebrigtsen’s final showdown with his rivals in Paris looms, that’s worth remembering: even if he loses, and even if we decide that lactate meters are unnecessarily complicated, we might still have something to learn from his unorthodox training.