Day 5 without running. Saturday, the day I was supposed to be in Skövde for my first 6 hour race. I've been following the race live, admiring all these men and women who are willing to run round a 400-metre track a million times over a 24- or 48-hour period, one foot in front of the other ad infinitum, through the dark hours of the night, no matter how much it hurts or how infected their minds are with thoughts of a warm bed and better things to do.
I envy them a bit. I'm not even kidding.
My cold seemed to be getting better last Thursday, causing me some minor anxiety: should I enter the race after all? But then Friday morning came and brought the mother of all headaches with it, along with resignation. It felt ok to let it go. It felt right. Under the circumstances, with a thigh muscle that was dangerously close to getting strained and with diverse complaints from several joints, it was a blessing in disguise to get a cold. Who knows. Maybe, if I had run the race, the creaks and groans from my joints would have turned into injury. Plus it gives me a chance to recharge my motivation batteries. Nothing gets you aching for a long run more than knowing that you can't.
Re-charghe. Re-load. Icke att förglömma!
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