Contrasts

Thousands of miniscule shimmering disco balls poured down from the sky. I ran at a comfortable pace towards what should have been a sunrise but what was instead a wall of dark grey. I didn't mind. The road was lined by thick forest, interrupted only occasionally by country houses, and my steps were soft on the fresh snow. I wasn't the only one to greet this turn of weather with glee: birdsong broke through the otherwise all-encompassing morning silence.

I had gotten up at stupid o'clock, had eaten a way too early breakfast and had faced the dilemma: should I run by myself now or wait a few hours and run with AIK? I chose the first, partly because I can be very impatient when I have to wait for fun things to happen and partly because I figured I could then come home earlier and get on with other fun activities.

I've taken up knitting. I started a couple of weeks ago and I have since then spent almost every free minute of my time maniacally knitting. That is, when I am not googling knitting projects or learning different techniques on youtube. A Saturday spent indoors knitting, with a cup of gingerbread tea by my side, while the snow fell lazily on the ground outside, well, that sounded like my kind of quality time.

Right after my quality time running, that is.

We interrupt your scheduled programming for a thumb update: it still hurts and, surprisingly, knitting doesn't make it better.

Thank you Tom for that update. In other news, scientists have found that running on a broken leg can prolong its recovery time.

I ran eastwards in the dark, wondering who the runner who had left a set of tracks in the snow before me was. I didn't have to wonder for long, because soon enough I could see a ponytailed apparition gently bobbing up and down about a hundred metres ahead. She continued in the general direction of the sea, while I turned left to cross the Bergsby dam and head back westwards to town.

The miniscule shimmering disco balls suddenly exploded into a thousand shards that aimed to cut me open. They were nails, and the menacing headwind a hammer. Where were the sweet tiny snowflakes? I wasn't liking the north side of the river at all. Despite the festive Christmas lights hanging outside every house. Despite the fir trees hugging their gardens. Despite the cute horses munching loudly on hay. The wind meant to make me crack, to defeat my will by sending its miniature icy minions to dig holes in my skin.

Just as I was about to utter something horribly unladylike, I looked to my right at a garden and saw them.

It was as if nature, well, the good part of it, not the part that had just tried to kill me, was sending me a message. A message of hope. Three bushy tailed deer were annihilating this poor sod's garden, or whatever part of it stuck out through the snow. They looked at me with their huge brown eyes as if to urge me to continue. My mission to run even longer than I had the previous week was important to them, I could tell. I smiled at them to let them know I had understood, and, even though they suddenly had some urgent business to take care of elsewhere when I tried to take a picture of them (perhaps to encourage another runner who was about to go over to the dark side), I knew why they had crossed my path.

I made it home in one piece. Well, apart from the appalling, iced-rain induced craters on my face.