Who needs races when there's a trail in my back yard

I didn't run Finalloppet. I decided to boycott races for a while; I haven't felt like doing any, and besides, I've run four so far this year, including my first marathon. Maybe I have race fatigue and my muscles twitch involuntarily at the mere mention of the word.

Instead, J and I hit the Torrekulla trail. It was muddier than usual. Strange thing, it was also steeper than usual. Not wanting to flood my thigh muscles with lactic acid, I walked up a couple of hills. The mud sucked the juice out of my legs. It was a struggle to find runnable terrain sometimes. A canoe might have been easier to steer than my legs in these conditions. Still, I managed to gather about 10 km of single track, 8 of park path and a couple of tarmac ones. All in all, I think this was a far more useful trail session than Finalloppet would have been.

Mysteriously, my shoes got less muddy than last time

Autumn is in its dying throes. The forest that, only a week ago, looked as if it were on fire with its vivid colours, is now as grey as ashes. A few leaves are still hanging on to the trees for dear life, but even they have turned brown. And the trees? The trees dressed up as skeletons for Halloween and forgot to take off their costumes. 

Except this stubborn baby.