Poor substitutes

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes this morning was a black hole. In the second it took before I realised what I was really looking at, I thought: the end of the world is coming. Humankind is going to be sucked into this black hole so fast that not even our screams will have time to escape its gravitational force.

Thankfully, it wasn't a cosmic event that was unfolding before my eyes. It wasn't my Big Fat Arse that had grown so Big during the night that it was collapsing under its own weight. It was only our youngest cat's black hole (sorry) that was lying there by my face. A centimetre away from the tip of my nose. Close enough to sniff, if you're so inclined. Which I most definitely am not.

Some people wake up to the smell of coffee. Others wake up to the smell of...well, you know.

I thought I'd built so many defences against the enormous longing to go running, nothing could ever phase me. Not even when the latest issue of Trail Runner magazine, with its glorious photos of lush forests and barren canyons, landed on my floor did I give in to the longing. Then I looked at the beautiful weather outside this morning and thought about BUM. You see, in my most ambitious, dare-to-dream moments (that is to say, 10 minutes after I completed Skövde 6-hours with a top-ten place), I was planning to be standing at the starting line today, to run the 80 km-trail race from Skatås to Borås. An adventure that was going to take all day, a risky bet that I'd make it all the way, a venture into the unknown territory of trail ultras, where the stakes were high but the promised enjoyment even higher.

And, just like that, my defences collapsed and an arrow of pain found its way to my heart. My body is aching to run. It's longing to hit the dirt and carry me far. But not yet. I'm not ready yet. Instead, I'm going for a walk with my Nikon. Yes, I have other hobbies! Also known as ”poor substitutes”.

Can you ever get used to not running?