Like an old, wrinkled lady, sitting alone on a porch at the dawn of her lifetime, I'm looking back at the highlights of my running career. Amusing myself with those golden moments, because I can't see any new ones forming in the foreseeable future.
I think about Risveden Terräng, the 18km-long mud-fest through a fairytale forest. My -relatively speaking- short solo run on Kungsleden, and the awe-inspiring mountain views it offered. The craziness of the Ultra Intervals last November, going out for a 10K run at midnight, and then repeating that once every three hours until I'd reached 80 km the following night. Countless long runs in the sun with my friends, on road and on trail. And my absolute top personal triumph, the 6-hour race in Skövde that gave me a place among the top ten women in the country. The feeling that I can. I had trained for it, and I did it, and I had strength left at the end. I could.
|Ah, the Swedish mountains...|
I can't any more. I'm seeing the doctor tomorrow to get a diagnosis and prognosis on my knee, but I know that if it's a runner's knee then the way back is a long one.
That's not to say that I won't be able to again in the future. It will take time and patience, but I'll get there. If I believed in that kind of thing, I'd say that obstacles are put there to teach us something. I don't believe in that kind of thing, but I can still let obstacles teach me.