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).