I vaguely remember promising my long-suffering legs yesterday that I would keep the run to 10K and not one kilometre more. But, you see, I suffer from a horrible allergy. I am allergic to taking the car to places that are closer than, say, 5 km. Call it caring for the environment. Call it wanting to be spontaneous and not having to remember 2 hours in advance to switch the motor heater on.
Yeah, ok. Call it looking for an excuse to run some extra kilometres then.
I ended up running up to Eddahallen to meet with AIK, an extra 3 km to the usual 11 km round that we usually run on Wednesdays. Afterwards I would have to run another 3 km home. Only our coach had a lovely surprise for us this particular Wednesday: we would run by ourselves a shorter round of 7 km, while he warmed up some mulled (alcohol-free) wine and put some gingerbread cookies on the table at AIK headquarters. Needless to say, that hot wine tasted divine after a run in the snow. What really turned yesterday's frustration to excitement though was all the talk about future races that AIK was going to organise. And I volunteered to join the committee and help with all that. Afterwards I was so happy with my decision that my legs felt lighter than they had done in days. Despite the fact that I hadn't kept my promise.
Suddenly, I look down and see my feet sprouting roots. This nomad, this gypsy, this travelling circus, who's lived in three different countries and so many different flats and houses that I've lost count, has found a cause worthy to stick around for. I've never been more sure and passionate about anything in my life than I am about running and everything that has to do with it. It's my anchor in a world that sometimes spins a little too fast.
|The ghost of a Christmas past.|
I thought I'd celebrate this decision by walking down to the store this morning to get some ingredients for two sorts of Christmas cookies. And then baking them, obviously. And eating them, which would be the actual celebratory part. But after putting all the other ingredients in my basket, I found out that they were out of one very important ingredient that I needed for one sort of cookie: rose water. Having run out of steam a little after this SHOCKING discovery, I came home and prepared the dough to make gingerbread cookies. It is now resting in the fridge until tomorrow. My celebration will have to wait until then. Hopefully I will have found some rose water too by then, so that I can celebrate properly: with two different sorts of cookies and maybe some mulled wine.