The things I do for love. J is staying home from work today because he has a fever, and I, being the good person that I am and wanting to take care of the man I love, asked him if he needed me to get him anything. He replied ”Semla”. Despite having doubts as to whether buying him a semla would constitute ”taking care of the man I love”, I made some changes to my planned running route so that I could swing by the local bakery and get him one.
|Photo by pellesten|
A semla is a sort of sweet bun with almond paste and vanilla-flavoured whipped cream on it. I suppose that, if you really wanted to prove that it's good for you, you could pretend that the sugar and fat aren't there and say that almonds and cream have vitamins in them. I'll pass, anyway. I'm on day 29 of my no-sweets challenge, and it's going really well, thank you. Although it was no challenge to resist the semlor. I don't like them that much. Wave a praline in my face, though, and I am not responsible for what happens next. Like the bite marks on your hand.
The 8km run was uneventful and not particularly exciting, due to the fact that I ran mostly in central Skellefteå. The weather was beautiful, though, which made me long for the woods and feel that the run was too short. I ran the last kilometre with a semla in my hand, trying to balance the box it was in just right, so that the precious, delicate contents wouldn't get turned to mush as I bounced up and down. Inexplicably I got some strange looks from passers-by. What's wrong? Haven't they seen a runner with a semla in her hand before?