Spring in Skellefteå is like a surprise visit from an old friend: It comes suddenly, you're overjoyed to see it and it only lasts a short while.
Within a couple of weeks, the last of the snow finally melted and the buds on the trees turned into leaves. Icy, slippery slush got burned down into water puddles by the sun and transformed the frosty, brittle earth into soft, hungry, shoe-stealing mud. Life is awakening from its deep slumber.
Like a migrating bird, I have returned home to the trails. My legs heavy from the last few weeks' increased mileage, my lungs burdened by a ball of yarn, I covered a total of 57 trail kilometres in 4 days.
My knees were shocked by this ordeal and threatened to pack up and leave if I didn't quit this whole trail running business. They didn't approve of the altered running style or the elevation gain. I, on the other hand, thought my adjusted running style was doing a great job keeping me from falling on my arse and that every metre of elevation gain in training is probably vital in order to survive High Coast Ultra.
|Sticks and stones may break my bones...|
|Wet, wet, wet|
It's not the first time me and my knees don't see eye to eye, and probably not the last either. No one ever became an ultrarunner by playing it safe, KNEES.
To celebrate the fact that the sun deigned to grace us with its presence today (after yesterday's short-lived snowfall) and that I survived yet another bout of back-to-back long runs, I forced myself to eat three scoops of ice-cream at a cafe.
Thus commenced a 4-day rest period that I suspect my knees (and lungs) are going to thank me for.