Gather round children,
let me tell you a story about the time I outdid myself in sheer
stupidity.
It was a warm summer
morning, exactly two weeks after the day I broke my personal distance
record and ran 60 km. Another person might have rested on their
laurels and, well, rested a few weeks, but not me. Because I, unlike
that other, weaker person, am the baddest ultrarunner this side of
the Skellefteå river and I eat marathons for breakfast.
Resting is for silly
little people who are afraid of silly little things like injuries.
Not for immortal, hardcore, joints-of-steel me.
Besides, joints, who
needs them! Amiright?
On this fateful warm
summer morning, 19 of us gathered in the neighbouring town of
Burträsk to run back to Skellefteå on trails, forest roads, tarmac.
We were to follow the ”Church path”, a path originally created by
people who took themselves to Skellefteå on foot to attend church
ceremonies. This training run is organised annually by AIK but I had never had
the chance to participate before.
Most of us heathens
were in a state of undress because of the heat. I was optimistic
enough to believe that I could run in a t-shirt but it didn't take
long before I removed that and ran in my sports bra (Psst, foreshadowing).