Soft, muddy, littered with stones and roots. That's how I like my trail. It was hard work to run trail again after the long, icy winter. My heart beats a different way than when I run on the road or on the track, maybe because it's so happy to be in the woods again. It beats extra hard, extra strong, urgently, like an excited puppy.
|Not trail enough|
Vitberget, the White Mountain, offers a wide array of single track. I picked a trail I had run a thousand times before, mostly with AIK. It's one of my favourite trails in the whole world, probably because the largest part of it is downhill and usually comes after 10 km of running up a million endless, seemingly completely vertical hills during our Wednesday runs. Simply put, I have associated it with the relief I get from knowing the hills are over and I can let my legs roll down the slope.
But it's also a beautiful trail. Hidden in the forest, in the shade of fir and pine trees, your legs brush past blueberry bushes, waking up mosquitoes and sending them chasing after you. Pine needles turn the ground into cotton, in sharp contrast to the big stones that protrude from the ground forcing you to concentrate on what you're doing or else risk scraping your knees – or worse.
It used to be a beautiful trail. I was met with this view at the bottom of the hill.
Trees, way too many trees, cut down, probably for a good reason like, I don't know, money? Forestry? I don't know, I don't care. My little slice of paradise was marred. It made me sad. I ran on in search of thicker forest, but this scar was ugly and cannot be forgotten.